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I know I’m supposed to write about taking a village girl to a castle dinner, but I need to interrupt that program with a story about a very recent date. Back on track for next week!
I met her through total chance. The chance that my car would break down, the repair would take 40 mins, and the sandwich shop near the repair center didn’t have power so I was forced to move down the street to wait. The chance that the nearest restaurant would only be serving hard-serve ice cream because their power was out, too. The chance that my server would be an attractive redhead I’d met years earlier but never had a chance to spend time with. As well as the chance that our ensuing date would scare the living hell out of me. It’s barely October, but Halloween has already come to my house.
I’m a pretty tolerant guy. Open-minded, in fact. I like to try new things and it’s difficult to scare me. This woman seemed like a really good time and when she suggested we drive out of the city to an ice cream stand she’d not visited all summer, I was game!
I’d put my car in the shop again for a full inspection and borrowed my friend’s mustang convertible. I’m one of those people who feels torn between the inspiring power of an enormous engine and the giggle-inducing efficiency of a car that runs for days on a tank of fuel. As we powered down the highway, it was just fun. Lots of fun. The ice cream stand still churned it’s own amazing ice cream and had milk crates strewn across the grass to sit on. We sat and she made a show of adjusting the brevity of denim she was wearing as a skirt. She mentioned that she liked talking to me, that I made her feel comfortable.
This can mean one of two things. The first is very good, the second leads to what transpired.
We finished our ice cream and headed back to the city. It was one of those first cold nights we got this month and the stars were brilliant. Our conversation went back and forth with bits of personal information sprinkled among conversations on music, food, and places we’d traveled. Then she hit me:
“Seth?” She asked.
“Do you think it’s weird for people to have sex with somebody they like, even if that person is dead?” She uttered, completely serious and wondering at my response.
“I think the person being dead makes it more about the live person than the dead one. Probably not so much about liking them at that point.”
She pressed. “Do you like me?”
“Yeah, from what I know of you. You’re smart and fun and really pretty.” I coughed out. Then she released the bit that causes this interruption:
“If you’re still alive at the time, would you promise to have sex with me after I die?” She asked, still straight-faced.
I said I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I don’t know what she needed me to tell her to set her mind at ease about the question of sex after death. I was sure, however, that I was not up to the task of figuring it out. I’m pretty open-minded, but I keep the line at live people. Live consenting people.
And giving consent before you die doesn’t count.
I guess the best part of this date was the experience I got out of it. It was still early enough after I dropped my date off to meet up with a buddy for a drink. I highly recommend that you find a friend to share your experiences with. They don’t need to have a lot of experience dating. All they need is a sense of humor and a belief that you are a person of value. Mine does. She went home after our drink to ask her husband if he’d promise the same. Perhaps it was the wine!