Meet Story, Part 2. First Date, First Kiss, Etc.

Tom picks me up at about six thirty and we head out for the hour or so drive to Lake Minnetonka. I am all excited because I am off to a new place with what seems like a nice guy, and I am wearing my hot new dress.

Tom is driving an older Buick Cutlass. When I get in the car the floor mat kind of smooshes and moves around funny under my feet. I look down and see a bunch of coins. “Oh,” I say. “You dropped some change down there!”

“Oh,” he answers, “I hate carrying change so I always just throw it under the floor mat on the passenger side. I’ll clean it out eventually.”

I tip the floor mat back with my sexy gold heel. There is maybe an inch and half deep layer of coins on the floor or his car. Okay; that’s weird. Maybe the guy isn’t such a catch after all. What kind of idiot throws change on the floor until it is inches deep?

His car engine makes a weird sound and he says something about some engine part maybe going bad, and hopes it will hold up. It starts to rain lightly. Even though it is June, his windshield fogs. The wipers don’t work well. He is out of washer fluid. He sticks one hand out the window and wipes at the windshield while we fly along the freeway. He seems to be alternately accelerating and decelerating. I think I start gritting my teeth.

Then he really pushes my buttons. He drives in the passing lane the whole way! For no reason!!! I hate that and can’t stop myself from asking why he is driving in the wrong lane. He says that way he never has to worry about people trying to merge into his lane. Drove of people are passing us on the right, and I am going nuts because I CAN’T STAND LEFT LANE DRIVERS! He can’t see out his windshield and he’s driving like a madman. Plus? I think he senses that I am not very happy because he starts talking way too much, babbling on about the strange fog and his reluctant window wipers and how he can’t remember exactly where it is we’re going!

Yes, Tom has left his invitation at home. He can’t remember the name of the yacht club or where exactly on Lake Minnetonka it is. His plan is that we will just find the right place because that’s how it goes. Again, I go crazy because *I* always have a map and addresses with directions and phone numbers and all kinds of resources when I go somewhere.

I make a mental vow that I will never go out with this idiot again. Never!

Amazingly he suddenly says “This looks like it!” pulls across two lanes of traffic and just like that we are off the freeway and in the parking lot of the yacht club. It stops raining and the sun comes out. Just. Like That.

The parking lot is very full but we find a spot and walk in. Tom introduces me to a couple of people, but with a funny, tight and rather uncomfortable smile. Several people look at me with the oddest expression on their face. I can’t figure it out. I am in a strapless red dress, but it doesn’t have a plunging neckline or anything—it is a straight-across, all-cleavage-covered kind of cut. I am entirely decent. My hair is combed; there’s nothing in my teeth; I can’t figure it out. Year later I would finally discover that when he took me to the yacht club Tom had been separated from his wife for all of two weeks. Two. Whole. Weeks. For most of the wives there, meeting me was the same moment they learned that Tom and his first wife had broken up! No wonder they looked at me like I was some kind of pro. I am there with a married man, wearing a strapless red dress and fuck-me shoes! Kind of funny, in retrospect.

We find some people to socialize with. The food buffet is fabulous! I eat a little and have a couple of Bloody Marys. (I drink Bloody Marys because they match my dress, lol.) We walk out on the dock and look at some of the boats. Minnetonka is a huge lake—just huge—so there are any number of very expensive boats pulled up, some with parties on board. We watch the sun set from the end of the dock before rejoining the CPA’s party. It turns out to be a great evening and I have a wonderful time with Tom.

The ride home goes well. No fog, no rain, no wiper problems—even his driving seems improved! Tom is charming. So I forget all my earlier reservations about his being an idiot and we agree to go on a picnic the next afternoon. I will supply the picnic basket, with all the plates & silverware & napkins & stuff. We will stop at a deli and pick up some food to put in the basket.

Tom walks me to my front door. I decide to not invite him in, but I give him that kiss-me look and so we have our first kiss, that all-important first kiss—the one where you test the waters, or the pheromones, or whatever it is that makes one kiss perfection and another kiss just wet lips on yours.

Mmmmmmmmmm—this is a kiss! All my body parts line up with his body parts just right. He tastes just right. His arms around me are just right. He doesn’t try to play grab-ass or anything else; just gives himself to the kiss. Perfection.

Oh, one funny thing. At some point during the kiss I decide to run my tongue along the lines of his teeth. Beginning with his top teeth I trace the line where his teeth meet the gum, from the backmost tooth around to his front teeth and then on to the other side and back again. Soft gums, hard teeth, mmmm. He likes this. When I switch to his lower teeth he gets suddenly stiff. Same thing, I start at a back molar and trace around the gum line until I get to the front, when suddenly there is nothing—no front teeth, just a gaping hole! I remember stopping and thinking “Okay, this is awkward. Guy has no teeth!” But I am already committed so I finish the maneuver with his lower teeth.

We break off the kiss for a minute and he gives me such a strange, almost guilty look.

“You don’t have teeth?” I ask. (Yeah, I know—that sounds like a stupid and rude question. And it probably was. But I was pretty surprised at the time and missing teeth was not a situation I had ever encountered before. So the question just fell from my lips.)

“They were knocked out by an oar,” he answers.

I look at him blankly. Who gets their teeth knocked out by an oar? What the hell kind of story is that?

Then he explains—he used to row Crew for Rutgers and his teeth were knocked out when one of his team mates mishandled an oar. He had a bridge to replace those teeth, but it had cracked a day or so before and he was getting a new bridge made. So I said the first thing I could think of, which was “I have two capped teeth!”

So I showed him my two capped teeth, and he showed me his gaping hole and we discussed dentition for a while. Romantic, huh? But it was a strangely intimate thing to do, standing close there in the dark, on my front stoop, looking into each other’s mouths. It also explained his uncomfortable smile as he introduced me at the club—he was trying to cover up his temporary problem!

After we had settled our oral hygiene issues we kissed a couple of more time, nice soft smooches, no deep explores, and he said goodnight.

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The next day, a Sunday, I decide on wearing a 3-tiered skirt with matching blouse in shades of deep blues and purples on a black background. Possibly, this is a prairie skirt thing (!!!) although we didn’t call them that. They were just an in-style look, circa 1980. It is a hot day so rather than wear my hair loose as I usually did on a date, I pull it back into a ponytail and tie it with a big, silk hair scarf. Anyone remember those?

Also, at the last minute I decide to go without panties. This is something I often did on a date because it just gives me a nice edge of naughtiness or something. Maybe a Mona Lisa smile thing—I know I have no panties on, but you don’t (yet).

We go for a picnic supper at the Lake of the Isles. (When they say Minnesota has 10,000 lakes they are not kidding. And Lake of the Isles is one of the more popular of the seven large lakes within the city limits of Minneapolis). We walk around the lake for a while, then find a nice spot to spread the tablecloth I have brought.

We have such a good time, just sitting and chatting. I get to be Mona Lisa, sitting on the ground in constant danger of flashing my naked crotch. Tom gets to pull out his pocket knife and demolish the cork in the wine bottle since neither of us had thought of a corkscrew. We drink wine from Dixie cups, spitting out the odd bit of cork. It is such a sweet date. And the funny thing? Less than a year and a half later we would buy our first house together about 4 blocks from where we sat down for the picnic!

So we get back to my house early, and this time I do invite him in. My daughter is at her dad’s house; we have the place all to ourselves. We sit on the couch and start making out. Kiss, touch, first base, second base—like that. When I finally let him discover that I have no panties on, the expression on his face is glorious! He has no idea that sometimes women don’t wear panties.

I decide to show him the rest of the house, beginning with my bedroom. Oh, he is so much fun to play with! No hang-ups, no awkwardness, just sweet and generous all the way. We undress each other and fool around. Tom is an old college jock who still works out. He has a marvelous body, such strong and perfect legs. I am a sucker for sculpted legs. He has a nice amount of curly black chest hair—another plus. And? His dick is my favorite size, lol. Right before he enters me for the first time I finally see him truly naked—he puts one hand on each side of my face, looks at me with such intensity I can barely stand it and says “Oh, God. I NEED you!”

It is good to be needed.


…to be continued.