Love your neighbor.. just not literally

After a year in the US, I found myself tired of the ‘ex frat boy’ dates on offer. I yearned for some intelligent conversation, an actual glass instead of a red plastic cup and a date who didn’t look terrified at the suggestion of oral sex. Yes. It was time to date a man.

Unfortunately I didn’t know where to find one, so when I found myself being chatted up in my building laundry room, I figured ‘what the hell’. He was cute in a ‘salt and pepper’ way, slightly heavier than my ideal, a litter older than my target, but he made me laugh and he had the requisite big nose I am so fond of.  Hey, you can’t have everything. At 42, he had a decade and a half on me so there was no way I was going to find myself at a ‘kegger’ with this guy, a definite plus. And maybe I’d actually get dinner at a place with tablecloths?
I had heard that adage ‘don’t shit where you eat’ but I wasn’t planning on that. We were both adults. This was casual, he seemed cool. What’s the worse that could happen?

We started with drinks, which led to dinner at a very fancy place which led to the first weirdness. At 27 I’d never gone out with a guy over 40 or thought about ‘age difference’ in any real way. 15 years? No biggie. I was rocking a skin tight, thigh high red dress, wobbling on new heels and wearing hose for the first time since graduation. My date was wearing a jacket and tie. The tables not only had linens but multiple forks, glasses and candles. I felt quite the grown up.
Until I looked around the restaurant and noticed that I was getting a few looks from people at neighboring tables. I’m not someone who ever gets a first, never mind second look (unless I’ve got my dress tucked into my panties), so I noticed the glances and raised eyebrows right away.  My date was wearing a shit eating grin as he acknowledged the looks,

‘They think you’re my second wife’

‘…or a hooker’

Looking down at my dress, it occurred to me for the first time that attire appropriate for a dance club probably wasn’t the most appropriate wear for the fancy-schmancy restaurant. Add a large age difference, the height of my heels and my slap dash attempt at make up – yep, they probably thought I was a hooker. I had gone a bit ‘Ru Paul’ on my eyeliner.
I spent the remainder of the meal trying to cover myself with my napkin while surreptitiously wiping off my fuchsia lipstick. Next time… beige. Lots of beige. And maybe a turtleneck.

But after a few glasses of wine I started to relax, so when my date suggested that we hightail it back to his apartment to watch a new George Carlin special, I thought ‘ how fun!’

Half an hour later I was curled up on his sofa, sipping some wine and laughing at Carlin. Mark was fun to be around and conversation was easy. He had a great smile, he was witty and charming,  For a first date, things seemed to be going swimmingly. Plus he lived in the same building!  Who’d have thought that such a great guy had been rolling around literally 12 feet above my head? I thanked god for shared laundry and mentally imagined popping upstairs for the occasional coffee, nightcap, romantic dinner over the coming weeks. I guess you never know.

As the credits rolled some time later, Mark excused himself to head to the bathroom and I drained the last of my wine.

After a few minutes he hadn’t returned and I wondered what he might be getting up to in the bathroom. Yuck. Not where my imagination needed to go. I heard the bathroom door click open and sat back in relief. It had been a perfect evening and I was slightly nervous about that good night kiss.  Had my dinner included garlic? Were my teeth stained? Had I eaten all of my lipstick off? I dived in my purse for a quick touch up.

I looked up from my purse to see Mark standing in front of me.

Naked.

Oh yeah. Buck naked in all his 42 year old, 275lb glory.

My jaw dropped as my mind immediately thought ‘so that’s what fat guys look like naked’.

It wasn’t so much that his junk was semi-covered by his stomach, or that his greying chest hair covered him like a Wookie suit. I could get past the ‘moobs’ and droopy nipples. I might have even accepted the stretched out violet testis (you can always turn out the light) and the cellulite wasn’t that bad. But the the seductive leer????

‘So…. do you want to see the bedroom?’

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

His face fell. I realized it wasn’t a joke.  This was actually part of his seduction. Wine, dinner and a show.  He might have been 42, accomplished and sophisticated with his clothes on. But buck naked on a first date as a seduction? Even Daniel Craig couldn’t have pulled that off.
Well at least I’d not have to see him again… except…. fuccccccccccccccccccccccck. I’d have to move.

Love your neighbor.. just don’t ever see him naked.

 

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