Part 1: Sexy*
Mr. Coffee was right on time. I had told him that I would be done putting the kids to bed and dealing with the mundane details of prep for the next day by 7:30 p.m. When I asked him what time he wanted to come over, he said, "I'll be there at 7:35." He was not kidding. I appreciate that. Promptness is a good thing. Eagerness to see me is also a good thing.
As promised, he brought sushi and wine. As a surprise, he brought flowers.
We ate dinner. We drank wine. We talked a lot. I felt totally comfortable having him in the house; I'd been worried about that, that it might feel awkward, but it didn't. A fear of awkwardness about all things has groundlessly worried me all along. I need to let it go.
I was, of course, thinking a lot about kissing during dinner. I am certain that I was not alone, because as soon as we were done eating, there was kissing! Yay. He is a good kisser. I am a good kisser. We kiss well together.
And lo! There was much kissing interspersed with talking and proclamations of how surprising it was that this was going so well, etc. and it was lovely.
Thus endeth Date #3, Part the First.
Part 2: Slutty
Yes, it's true, Part 2 of Date #3 ventures into the territory of slutty despite the fact that I was wearing a totally non-slutty outfit. It wasn't even particularly sexy! It was jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt!
But anyway. Internets, I'm now going to talk about SEX. If this is a problem for you, STOP READING NOW. If, for example, you are my mom or dad and you don't want to think about the fact that your grown daughter is involved in sexual activity, now is the time to move on to your next URL. Don't say I didn't warn you.
The last time John and I had sex was over two years ago. When I got the all-clear at my six-week post-birth appointment, there was one brief night of passion and that was that. Late-stage pancreatic cancer does not exactly bring out the tiger in you. Nor does the presence of two newborns in your life. And it's not like we were having lots of sex before that, what with me being four feet around and John on chemo that made him feel like barfing all the time and such. Our life, while it had lots of lovely and even romantic moments, was not what I'd term sexy.
To be honest, I really didn't remember what it was like to have sex, didn't miss it, and just didn't think about it much at all. That part of my life vanished with cancer and pregnancy and C-sections and dying husbands. Gone. Poof! Archived along with the ability to get butterflies and enjoy kissing.
Well. Once the butterflies and the kissing were reactivated, so, too was the sex drive. And lo! After enough sexy kissing, things turned slutty. Good slutty, mind you. Not trampy, streetwalker slutty, but "Wow, this is our third date and I feel OK doing this?" slutty.
And that's the thing. I did feel OK. I felt better than OK. Frankly, I felt fantastic. And I still do. No regrets, no matter what happens next.
Although speaking of that, looks like Date #4 will be on Sunday . . .
*Remember for Date #2 how I had to ask my babysitter if my shirt was sexy or slutty? Well. You can see where this is going.