The perfect first date. We all know what I’m talking about; everything goes perfectly. He calls, leaving the most incredible voicemail, the kind of voicemail that makes you think of him as being ever wittier than he was to begin with. He invites you on the perfect date, nothing too stuffy or pressure bearing, just a casual movie and dinner date. Scratch that, a dinner and movie date, that way just incase the dinner doesn’t go as “perfect” as you’d envision it, the movie is that great escape of sitting in silence for about an hour and half, trying to semi-enjoy what’s happening on the screen as opposed to the horrific way your meal ended. However, that’s not how my date went. It was perfect! The meal was great, the conversation was beyond what I’d ever experienced; everything was perfect, right down to the way he signed his name on the check. This date was the first of many perfect dates I’d go on with Jude.
The next few weeks gave me that feeling in my stomach, you know that feeling of being in middle school again and waiting for a response on the, “do you like me, circle yes or no,” note you passed to your crush during math period. Date after date, Jude’s perfection only seemed to improve, contrary to the popular statistic of the first few dates only going downhill. His kiss was perfect, his laugh was impeccable, the way he’d brush my hair behind my ear before he kissed me. I knew that when it came time to take our intimacy to the next level the moment would be just as perfect. The moment came, or shall I say rather, the moment came and past. It was kind of like eating one of those big hot pretzels, but all the salt fell off before you could take the first bite. There was no flavor, no taste. Feeling completely baffled, I started to wonder how everything else could be so perfect, so connected, yet, the area we should have been the most “connected” felt more distant than anything.
Later the next day, I met with my two “besties”. As we all know, a situation like mine beckoned to be “lunch talk.” The advice I received was split. Tina said, “if the sex was cold, the relationship is doomed to freeze over too.” Not exactly what I wanted to hear, because everything other than that was all I could have ever imagined. Jill gave me the advice, which I took, “if at first you don’t succeed, try, and try again.” I figured if I was into Jude enough, I could melt even the coldest of glaciers.
That Friday we went out to a swanky little lounge. I had more than my fair share of drinks; I thought that maybe I was a bit inhibited the first time, so I drank as much as I could, trying not to cross that fine line of strongly buzzed and hot mess. The date, once again was flawless. I had on my best push up bra, my highest heels, and enough perfume on to make a hooker blush. In my mind, I saw the sexiest, sassiest of nights happening. We reached my apartment. The kisses throughout the elevator ride lead me to believe that nothing could ruin this moment, it would be perfect. Reaching the bed, I began to parade around in what I believed to be a sexy manner. Jude sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me with semi-glazed eyes. As I began to do a little “shakin,” those high heels began to work against me; falling over in the middle of a “get your man hot-and –bothered dance” kind of kills the mood. But hey, I’m a trooper. I picked myself up, flipped my hair back, pouted my lips and…well he laid there passed out. I guess we both crossed the line into “hot mess” territory. So here we were beauty and the sleep. What was my next move going to be? Could Jude and I ever figure out how to take the heat from our dates into the bedroom?
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