When I arrived at the Commissary, he was already there, sitting on a stool at the bar facing me standing in the doorway. Dressed down in a sweater and jeans (and not the usual suit and tie) I don't think I'd ever seen him look so sexy.
"Do you want to sit at the bar or get a table" he asked me. "Let's do the bar," I suggested. "We're 'bar people' after all," I said. "We are indeed bar people," he agreed.
And there we sat. Bodies turned towards each other on our stools. He sat with his thighs framing the outsides of my own legs closed together, gently squeezing inward. He leaned over and rested his hands on my shoulders.
And there we sat for hours, our faces only inches apart, talking softly in the dimly lit restaurant. Only parting to give our server our orders and to eat. We both got Steak and Eggs, which I recall being good but don't really remember eating it. There was only him. And me. And being together.
I couldn't tell you what we talked about. How we'd spent our weekends. A few stories of past travels. I told him about my favorite bridge in Venice, "Ponte de Sospiri" - The Bridge of Sighs - a spot historically known for painful and beautiful tragedies. He told me how he'd gotten lost in a field once in Thailand and befriended a local man who drew him a map to find his way home. And I kept thinking that I could listen to him talk forever... Had anyone ever captivated my attention like this?
Already I could feel us getting closer. I was no longer being wined and dined and introduced to friends, while we dawned our best outfits and thought of clever things to say. Instead, we were meeting at a late hour, at the last minute, after long work days, to find comfort and a breath, in the company of one another. In our street clothes. At our bar stools. His thighs wrapped tightly around mine. His hands on my shoulders.
When it came time to pay, Mr. Unicorn once again refused to let me contribute. And as honored and grateful and touched I continued to be at his adamant and continued generosity, I was starting to feel guilty at his unselfishness. I finally spoke up: "You really aren't going to let me pay?" "No, he said." "Really, I said?" "Really," he said. "You have to let me pay for something," I insisted. "No, I don't." He was resolute. "Okay.." I pondered. "What about, if for your birthday, I get to plan a date for you. I do all the planning and all the paying. For one night. How about that?" "That would be nice," he said. So that was that.
Then we finished our drinks and left the restaurant linked arm and arm and walked to my car. I gave him a ride back to his apartment, put the car in park and leaned over to kiss him. We continued slowly and sweetly and tenderly with one another for several minutes. "I don't want to say good night," he said. "Neither do I," I said. He squeezed my hand and got out. I watched him walk to his door and shut it behind him. Then I slowly drove down his street and exhaled a long breath. Lucky, lucky me, I thought. Lucky me. With a soft smile on my lips, musing dreamily on this wonderful man, I eventually found my way home through the quiet and empty streets of the city.