I met a nice professional woman on Sunday night and she whispered to me, how about going to the movies. I winked and said sure. Now it was easy because she was attractive, I was lonely and I haven’t been to the movies in a long time, so I know I could pick something good. We went to the movies and got to know each other pretty intimately. The subject of unprotected sex comes up and she gets horny and you can imagine what’s going through my mind.
We make plans to meet in two nights and I want to show off my amazingly unique apartment filled with photography books and every comfort in the world, a truly seductive palace. Mondays are the toughest days for me at work, so waiting an extra day is no big deal even though I am so sensitive I can’t sleep the whole night. I don’t want to get into details about this woman other than to say she professionally has a lot of experience dealing with men and must always get her way, so I am very tolerant of her complex and completely unmanageable life. This is not a woman I can bring home to Mom. She makes other women feel extremely insecure and intimidated by her presence.
I have never been one to discuss unprotected sex and believe that as adults in this day and age, if you’re going to share body fluids, everyone is clean, honest, trustworthy and willing to disclose any fears about the reality of going all the way. Romance usually gets diminished with the horrible subject of safety and protection. I am only sharing my opinion as a male who never really worried about these things, much less talked openly about them until after the fact, thinking the worst-case scenario would be a pregnancy.
We agree that we enjoy each other’s company tons and are going to share our common interests in art, food, shopping, photography, and completely enjoying life with each other’s company, also realizing that we both lead entirely different lives. I am willing to take all the risks of intimacy without any desire to control her. This freedom turns out to be very difficult, and I truly have no expectations while preparing myself for rejection or lack of commitment and responsibility on her part.
She is completely seductive, kind, and has such a pleasant enticing voice, that I am drawn into the trap of thinking that this is going to be a beautiful ongoing relationship. My plan is to say hey why not let me have every Tuesday night. We aren’t even on our second date and I am calling her honey, and she’s calling me hon and sweet.
Having an intense job in the Social Work field, I have learned and experienced life as a reality of many unexpected, uncontrollable outcomes that can never be predicted, and that almost everything in life never goes the way you want it to. That’s what keeps it adventurous. Some of us call it accepting life on life’s terms. So I am totally looking forward to my date, and we even planned having Italian food to go with our new friendship.
The woman calls and is having an anxiety attack over all of her unpaid bills, and says that she needs to have her life balanced through Medication and adjustment. I am on the 9-5 schedule at work and she has no consistent works hours. Her bedtime is 4:00 a.m. and mine is midnight.
After a change of plans and a plea to maybe meet in the suburbs, where I never venture, even for a hot woman, I am let down and the date is postponed to a later time and eventually to another day. Having unrealistic high hopes, I think in my mind this is strike one, or maybe even strike two. Because of her bitchiness even after an apology, I decide that maybe all of this is a blessing in a Dada disguise, and my complete vulnerable sensitivity has been a vulva fantasy. How in the world could I imagine having a healthy wholesome relationship with a woman I wouldn’t dare introduce to my mother?
My mother also hates Texans and the seductive woman is originally from Texas. Before all of this sudden unexpected possibility of a romantic liaison, I dropped off some artwork to be framed at the Avant Garde Gallery. It’s some work by some exceptional artists, one of which required two months of precious painful waiting to get my surrealistic print. The frame shop told me the works would be framed after Thanksgiving, and I always assume the worst, so I wasn’t completely disappointed when the framer told me the works wouldn’t be ready until Saturday.
In my mind I am thinking I am going to be with the woman on Saturday because we were going to go to some galleries, and this unfortunate delay is going to cramp my style. My date cancels the Italian dinner tonight, which reinforces yet another disappointment that life never goes my way. I have truly learned incredible patience and tolerance that when God wants me to have something, it’s going to happen in God’s time. I have never been one of those glass half-full as opposed to glass half-empty optimistic thinkers. My half-glass would have wine in it, instead of water.
Now what really inspired me to write this little story, was when I completely accepted the tragic outcome of that evening. I decided to kick back and read some magazines, decompress from my stressful job, and cook a fabulous dinner. On the way to go out, I decided to fill my tank, which was only half-full. As I patiently waited for a spot at the gas pump in Georgetown, I observed a woman who looked like she was having trouble finding her gas tank. A gentleman attempted to partially help her, and then he backed out, giving me a space to pull in and fill my tank.
The beautiful blonde woman with her daughter looks completely lost. I get out and help her. It’s as if this is the very first time she has filled her tank, doesn’t know how to pay, or even how to remove the gas cap. I tell her to pay the guy inside and she gives him a twenty dollar bill. I then ask her if she wants the best gas and she says yes. She is completely apologetic and says that her husband always does this. She has a very heavy East European accent. I remove the gas cap and fill her tank for her. I was almost going to offer to pay for it too.
I ask her if she is from Poland and she says no, Russia, have you ever been there? I say no but I have been to Yugoslavia. I am trying to think of the name of the Russian spy that they named a drink after in Georgetown, Yurechenko, to make a joke, and all I can think of is telling her that Gorbachev was a great man. She says yes, he had the great ideas. I say yes. I tell her my dad was a Diplomat. I see she has normal DC License tags, not Diplomatic plates. In my mind I think she has got to be a spy because she is running around town loose.
Then I am wondering how can she drive, if she doesn’t know how to fill up a gas tank, or much less even pay for the gas? What blows my mind is she tried to tip me and give me a dollar for helping her. She also almost wanted to take me home. In my mind I am thinking that the Russian father is very lucky to have such a beautiful wife. What amazed me also was her confidence, even though she had no knowledge of how to pay, even more her lack of experience in filling up her gas tank. This incompetence was so surreal, it was almost straight out of a Wim Wenders film.