Continued from this previous post.
I had a boyfriend in high school who was half Brazilian. You never would have guessed it looking at him, he was about as pasty as any white boy you can find in Northern California. You never would have guessed it talking to him, because, well, people don’t often embody giant clichés. Well, unless you’re talking about me. I 100% embodied the cliché of the WASPy teenage girl who thinks saying she had a Latino boyfriend was just the coolest. Totes bad ass.
Fortunately I’ve grown up since then.
Now I’m on a second date with a Latino man. I no longer think that’s bad ass. No, I’ve graduated to a new cliché, thinking it’s sexy. I mean come on, he invited me to a Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn where he gets to tell me what platanos rellenos is. I get to blush because I know I’ve mispronounced it so badly. He and our very attractive waitress speak to each other in perfect Spanish but it’s as plain as our plantain appetizer that he’s not flirting with her. He’s flirting with me.
We finish dinner and head for Union Hall, an event space in Park Slope. I suggested this part of the date and I’m slightly nervous about it. We’re going to see a story-telling show that I wanted to check out but have never been to. Will it be a good show? Will it be a good date? I have no idea, but I hedged my bets. I’ve decided that it’s important to me that I date someone who likes exploring New York City events. Someone who thinks sitting in a small basement room in Brooklyn, watching people from various walks of life get up on a small stage is a valid way to spend an evening.
The show ends up exceeding expectations. I can be overly critical of performing artists but I have nothing bad to say. During intermission my date kisses me on the cheek and says “This is fun. I’m glad you suggested this.” It is a memorable cheek kiss. Milliseconds longer than a peck but nowhere near the ew-what-are-you-doing-to-my-face zone. It’s a deliberate, sensual kiss on the cheek. I’d never experienced such a kiss before, didn’t even know they existed.
He’s not my Latino boyfriend. He’s not my Latin lover. Yet? He’s my sexy date from Costa Rica who has all the moves.
Oh yeah, this guy is smooth.
He puts his arm around me right before the second half of the show starts. He does it with a confidence that no arm reaching for my shoulder has had before. What’s sexier than confidence?
What guy makes a cheek kiss sexy? I mean, can we marvel at that for a minute? Yeah….this guy knows what he’s doing.
The show ends and we walk together toward the subway. Y’all know I hate kissing in subway stations. But it’s the reality of dating in NYC. Our first kiss, the first one that’s caught me so off guard, happened in a subway station. But maybe this guy’s read my blog because before we arrive at the subway station, my date interrupts the conversation we’re having. “I’m sorry, I have to interrupt,” he says. Then he steps of to the side of the Brooklyn sidewalk and pulls me towards his lips.
That cheek kiss was nothing compared to this.
It’s a little side street in Brooklyn, I don’t have to worry about the crowds of pedestrians passing us. I can get lost in this kiss. My mind becoming cloudy, like mists circling Costa Rican mountains. I think that idea of mist comes from aerial footage shown in Jurassic Park. Maybe I’m making it up. The point is, you can’t think straight after a kiss like this.
Our lips part. We’re both smiling. “You’re a good kisser,” he says. Isn’t that what every girl wants to hear? “Hm. I was going to say the same thing.”
On the subway traveling back to Manhattan we sit holding hands. “Are you free this weekend? When can I see you?” Aren’t those the words you hope every great date ends with? It’s enough to make a girl giddy, to waltz back to her apartment and announce to her roommates a statement so rarely uttered by singles in this city: Guys, I just had a great date.