After Lex's birthday party, I told you all about the smart, funny guy who asked for my number. Unfortunately, he happened to be a math teacher named Tom. I decided not to let that strange coincidence get in the way and gave him my digits.
Then, on Tuesday, Tom 2.0 (the newer, better Tom) called to ask me out. I said yes and asked him what he had in mind. He began, "Okay, this may be a dorky suggestion, but there's this think called Hell House." According to Wikipedia, a Hell House "is a haunted house-style attraction typically run by fundamentalist Christian churches [...] Hell houses frequently feature exhibits that are meant to depict sin and its consequences. Common examples include abortion, homosexuality, suicide, use of alcoholic beverages and other recreational drugs, pre-marital sex and occultism."
I replied that that sounded awesome. A Brooklyn theater group decided to put on the Hell House. They're not really mocking the original. They want expose people here to a different view of the world. It's really up to the audience how they take it. That's why the writer of the Hell House script gave them the rights to put it on. He said he felt it would cause some New Yorkers to convert.
I found the extremity of the script to be funny, but if I'd seen it when I was twelve, I would have been scared to death. In fact, I think I would still be traumatized to this day. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Friday night, I rushed around to be ready for our date. He's said he would aim to pick me up at 6:30, but with traffic might not make it until 7. At 7:10, I hadn't even heard from him. I was pacing around my aparment, looking hot but steaming mad. I thought he'd stood me up. Then the phone rang. He apologized for being late and told me he was stuck in traffic. At 8, he finally picked me up. I was a bit crabby until I saw how upset he looked. He'd been on the road since 4:30. It turns out, a major route from Brooklyn was recently closed (and will remain closed for the rest of the year). Now all the other bridges between Manhattan and Brooklyn are packed.
Anyway, we went straight to the Hell House. The actors were amazing. They managed to play every scene straight, tears and all, while the audience laughed. The script was just so over the top.
After the show ended, we went to a quirky French restaurant. The food was great and we talked and laughed. Then we lingered at the table. Tom 2.0 said, "I don't want to go home, and we can't go to a bar..." (since I'm on antibiotics) "...I've got an idea. There's someplace I want you to see. Let's go."
He took me to the Brooklyn Promenade (see photo above, which I downloaded from Petite Pomme). "This is why I live in New York," I said with a sigh. The view was gorgeous. It's also kind of surreal because it looks so serene, but the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway is humming away under your feet.
Anyway, it was 1 a.m. and we strolled along admiring the view. He was casting these little sideways looks at me. I just smiled at him and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, "What are you going to do?" And he kissed me.
When he kissed me I was disappointed. Kiss. "Damn," I thought. Kiss. "And I really liked him." Kiss. "Now I'm going to have to find a way..." Kiss. "...to tell him I'm not interested when he calls, and..." Kiss. "Wait, what was I saying?" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
We kissed, on and on. I was bent back a little, and we kissed until my back began to ache. I stumbled, and we ended up leaning against the railing, which was helpful. We kissed for a long time. Suddenly, a bunch of people showed up, even though it was about 1:30. We ignored them and kept kissing until they went away. We kissed until we were both shaking. Once in a while, we had to stop to get my hair out of the way. "Buzz cut," I whispered. "Don't do that!" he replied, laughing. We kept kissing.
He kissed me with his hands in my hair. Once in a while, he would grab a handful of it just hard enough. Other times, we would stop with our foreheads touching (which I've always been a sucker for on TV and in the movies, but had never experienced so perfectly in real life). A couple of times, we paused with our lips almost touching, each daring the other to be the first to close the distance and start the kiss. I apologized for my cold hand against his face. He took my hand in his, and placed both our hands just below my collarbone on the skin exposed by the v-neck of my shirt and coat. It was sweet. Then he said softly, "You know you don't have to go home."
"I know," I replied, "but things are moving really fast. They've already gone further that I'd usually take it on a first date. I don't think I've ever kissed for so long before."
"You're fun," he said with a laugh. When we got to the car, it was 2 a.m. He drove me home and called the next day to see how I was doing. So far, so good.