Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Just Like a Real Date

We had our weekend date. Daniel met me at the station platform near his house and we rode down to the village together, to see a jazz singer he likes a lot. As we were walking to the café – one I used to go to in high school with my friend Amy– Daniel mused, “I have a feeling we’re going to run into my brother tonight.” Daniel had called him before leaving his apartment but got no answer, and was convinced his brother, Matt, was on his way to hear the singer, too. They’d recently run into one another outside a K.T. Tunstall concert, so this wasn’t unprecedented.

As it turned out, this was the case: “Hey!” said Daniel, clapping his brother on the back. Matt was tall, bulkier than Daniel, with a round, handsome face. He introduced us, and we went inside, where we caught the end of the set of a cute singer/songwriter, who lamented, “It’s getting worse…” in a soulful voice over his guitar, the very cliché of the emo boy. Which I thought was pretty funny.

His brother was waiting for a friend. Matt didn’t seem especially taken with me; at least; I didn’t find him particularly friendly. But this may have been because, as Daniel later explained somewhat sheepishly, his brother is used to seeing him with Robin. Ah. Eventually Matt’s friend showed up, and they retired to a nearby table. I leant against Daniel, and he absently stroked my hair. Just like a real date.

“There’s this swing party next month, after Christmas,” said Daniel.

“That sounds fun,” I said. Note the noncommittal-ness.

“Do you. Want to come with me?” he grinned, aware of his awkwardness.

“I'd love to.” I wondered what he was doing for New Year’s Eve, and if I’d have the courage to ask him if he wanted to do something. Probably he’s already committed to Robin. But still!

The singer was great, although I’m not crazy about jazz, and it was nice to just sit in a small café and listen to music, even though I was eating the most boring food and couldn’t even have a drink, thanks to the South Beach Diet. When it was over we bid his brother goodbye and headed back to the train.

At his place we climbed into bed but it occurred to me that Daniel was too tired for sex. Grr! “I can stop nudging, you,” I offered, nobly. “I’m sensitive to your need for sleep.”

“But I’m sensitive to your need for fucking,” he responded gallantly.

“That makes me sound so … needy,” I exclaimed, dismayed.

We turned off the light and spooned, but after a minute or two his hand sneaked over to my pussy and started stroking me. “Not too tired?” I asked, and rolled over on top of him.

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