I had a wonderful first date tonight with Mark. We ate on the water with the boats passing by the tall windows. The lights from the restaurant and the boats reflected on the water and made everything seem shimmery and magical. He told me about his work and his passions and his trip last summer to Egypt.
We were warm inside but the cool window next to me gave me a chill and he offered me his jacket. I ordered beef rounds and a salad and had a glass of red wine and didn’t spill any. I entertained him with my witty and flirtatious banter. Conversation was easy but the way he looked at me when I was telling him about how I don’t believe in statistics was thrilling and distracting. (There’s only a 50/50 chance of everything. Either it happens or it doesn’t. 50/50. Don’t argue with me, I know I’m right). He looked at me as if he wasn’t listening to me at all and instead was imagining what it would feel like to undress me using his teeth. This was a good thing but it made me forget which part of the story I was on. But since he wasn’t listening anyway, it didn’t matter and so I changed the subject to talk about how delicious the food was.
I even gave him a sexy kiss after dinner next to my car and he grabbed my ass in an “accidentally on purpose” kind of way. It was pretty amazing how smooth it all went until he texted me after getting to his car to thank me for my company and for the kiss. Turns out I had him in my phone as Peter. His name is Peter and I called him Mark all night.
Mark is my date on Friday. This guy was Peter. Seriously, this is not my fault. He looked like a Mark. I need a spreadsheet to track these men.