Third Date


Oh God, do you have a sense of humor or what.



I am leaving in five weeks.


Ah, fuck it.  Go with the flow, enjoy the time, let whatever is going to happen happen.


Like holding hands.

I cannot believe that, I just blushed sitting here at the long dining room table at Graceland writing my blog and I just blushed over holding hands.

But what nice hands.

I like it when the other paw is bigger than mine, and warm and it was unexpected and lovely and taken so naturally and easily and ah, blushing again.


You may get the impression I like this gentleman.


You may be right.

I have always liked him.  No question about that, although, I never saw this coming.  And I certainly have no idea where it is going.  He chuckled tonight as he said, “and here we are becoming friends right before you leave for Paris and I am in the busiest month of the year at work.”


And I am house sitting in Oakland and he lives in Russian Hill.

For Pete’s sake.

I used to live within a five-minute bike ride of him.  We were actually within the same half mile radius before I moved out of Nob Hill.

We went to the movies tonight.

I had a movie date.

I wore the heels.

I was almost as tall as him.  He is 6’3″.

I like a tall man.

God, that is nice to be shorter than the person you are on a date with.  I have been with plenty of men that were my height, no problem, but something does light up in my endocrine system when with a man taller than me.

I just feel more feminine.  And being a strong natured, strong bodied woman, it is a genuinely unique experience to be feminized by the presence of a man.



My god, blushing some more.

I do not even know if I can continue writing this blog.


And it is almost midnight.

Not that I will be easily falling asleep as I giggle my way along here in the house with the cats.

Note to self, send the Master of the house pictures of his cats tomorrow, he misses the kids.  They were all over me this evening when I got back.  I think they are used to my comings and goings by this point and know my schedule pretty darn well.

They got up in my face, “hey where you been?”

Getting lost on the way home from the movie.

Two adults, two smart phones, one brand new navigation system and still got lost.

Oakland you naughty city you.

A secret–I did not mind so much this getting lost part.

I am comfortable with him.  He is sweet to me.  He took my hand in the theater and I just about swooned.  It was natural and easy and not awkward at all.

I uncrossed and crossed my legs, short dress, high heels, stockings, and suddenly, easily, no thought to it, he took my hand and held it, warm, solid, strong.


There was a lot of strength there, but not overwhelming or overpowering, safe.



Done with this.

Well, actually, maybe not.  Maybe it is ok to be so affected, so touched.

That was what he said when he picked me up from the airport, that I was more touchable, more approachable.

This changed woman I am becoming.

The change is happening, of course it is, allowing myself this kind of intimacy is not something I do really well.

Not something I do at all.

Truth be told.

I can give away my body, it is not that hard, I can have sex with someone, slightly challenging, getting naked, but letting someone see me just for me.

Lost, directionless, giddy, silly, goofy, and gangly, this is new territory.

I have to say though, he makes me feel beautiful.

I see myself, just for a moment, now both this time and the last time he dropped me off, and there, just for a fleeting moment, I see what he sees.

And I am beautiful.

There is something gone, some filter that I normally have up, some screen, and it is gone and there I am.  And I am amazing.

Is this what they mean to see oneself truly?

I do not think that I see myself very well.

But I like looking into his eyes, green, topaz, gold, and I like the connection.

He took my hand again when we finally made it to Graceland and for the first time since I have been here there was not a single car in front of the house, in fact, it was so isolated that we both thought that it was street cleaning–but I know better.

We sat in the car and talked silly talk, that talk that you talk when it is not really talk, it is to fill the space between the beating heart in your throat and what is going to happen next.

He took my hand and it was warm and strong and I shivered and he kissed me.

My glasses pressed against my cheeks and I wanted to take them off, but his mouth, there on mine, so rich ad soft and firm and just insistent enough.

Neither too much, nor too little.


I am going to blush all the way to bed now.

Happily in the moment, no thought of what comes next other than seeing him on Sunday.

And maybe getting another kiss.

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