Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Charming did a bad, bad thing …

Friday afternoon I sent out a text message to select friends informing them that I “required a drink” that night. My friend The Producer, a girl from college I’d been trying to hang out it for weeks, responded that she was game and she would call me after she went to dinner. So I worked out, cooked dinner and watched TV while prettying myself for the night’s festivities. She texted to meet her at a bar I like around 9:45. Loads of people from her work were there. I don’t know a lot of them personally, but I knew of some of them from being in the same program in college, others I knew from my freelancing days or by reputation because we work in the same industry. I caught up with The Producer, who is fun to go out with because she’s very talkative and because she has great “going out” manners. She always makes a point to introduce you to people you don’t know and include you in conversations when you’re the “new” person to the group. She’s nice. She pointed out that one of her coworkers had invited a friend who was new in town to the bar. She motioned to him and said she thought he was cute, if a little short for her (she’s at least 6 feet tall). She went to talk and flirt with him some. I was introduced to him later. He’s an Engineer, 34, and he just moved here a month or so ago for a new job. He’s cute, tall enough for me (I’m not quite five-eight in flats) and friendly. We hit it off immediately. Now, I wasn’t trying to scam on a guy The Producer liked since she’d been nice enough to invite me out with her friends. But she only talked to him for a few minutes and, well, we really hit it off. And I DO feel bad that it was so really obvious that we were digging each other, but she was really nice about it and even said that she knew he would be at a certain Super Bowl party on Sunday if I wanted to run into him again. So, I can only assume that she’s not mad at me. (The best thing I think I can do is to e-mail her this week and tell her that I had fun and say that we should do it again and then see what she says.) So, The Producer left with her roommate and I stayed around with the Engineer and some of the reporters and others who were playing shuffleboard quite intense and competitively. (Of all bar games …) The conversation flowed smoothly and we both started flirting shamelessly. The casual touching, cute smiles and giggles. I was really happy to have met a nice guy who seemed to like me. We joked about college and he commented on my high-heeled, pointy-toe boots and slyly asked “How high do those go up?” I leaned over and pull the hem of my jeans up above my ankle so he could see that they went up past my ankle, but not to my knee. “I used to have the tall ones,” I said. “But they are impractical, because I always felt slightly slutty wearing them with a short skirt and they were uncomfortable under jeans. I like the shorter ones.” He just smiled. So I closed out my tab and as the bar was closing, I followed him to do the same. Standing at the bar, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him, resting my hand on his hip so I was close behind him. And he kept checking to make sure I was there, rubbing my leg and teasingly pulling on my jeans. It was just so cute and wonderful that I’m still swooning about it. He walked me to my car. I didn’t know what to do. I was feeling slightly heady (but not drunk) from the evening and I took some time finding my keys at the bottom of my bag. We had one of those slightly awkward end-of-the-evening talks. “We should do this again,” I said, giving him an opening to ask for my number. “We should. I had fun,” he said, seeming very genuine. And then he raised the stakes. “So, the bars really close at 2 a.m.? There’s no where else that’s open?” he asked. “Yep, it’s either ‘Jack and the Box,’ a diner or home,” I said. He smiled. “Well, I’m not going to Jack and the Box,” he teased. I giggled and he leaned in and gave me a great (great!) kiss, full on the lips. My head told me to protest. To push him away, jokingly say that I was a lady. Keep the mystery alive. But I didn’t. I gave in and kissed him back and it was nice. He slid one hand around my back and another around the nape of neck and into my hair. He pulled his mouth away. “You know, I have wine at my place,” he whispered. “I’m sure you do,” I countered, holding firm, but with slightly weakened resolve. Some drunks walked by and cheered at us, still in our sort-of embrace. “Shiraz. It’s nothing fancy.” He kissed me again. “I want to. I do want to,” I said. “But I shouldn’t. I mean, I’m not 21 anymore …” He kissed me again. I pulled away some. “I really should go home.” I tried to be firm, even as I was mentally weighing my options. He kissed me again and let his lips travel to my neck. I relented. “Just one glass,” I warned in a whisper.



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



Associated Content Interview with Charming
The Hindu: Blog Sisters are here

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