JAZZ AND CARNAL MOONLIGHTING

As for online dating, first dates are a lot like the tagline from the great TV show Wide World of Sports – “the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.” With online dating, victory isn’t as easily defined as crossing the finish line first… it’s more complicated. Your date has to look vaguely like her picture, must arrive at least somewhat on time, should remember your first name, and must speak a language you both can understand.

I thought this first date, my seventeenth date of 2009, could be a winner. We had lots in common: grown children, similar backgrounds, jobs, hobbies, and a love for jazz. It didn’t require long telephone conversations to convince her to meet me for dinner. My offer is always the same, “You pick the restaurant, and I’ll pick up the tab.” There are great advantages to meeting at a restaurant. The lights are dim so you both look better. You worry less because alcohol is readily available, and you quickly learn if she is confused by more than four pieces of silverware.

She insisted on meeting at a very obscure, off-the-beaten-path little sushi restaurant in the ‘burbs. I got to the restaurant first, and when she walked in, conversation stopped and heads turned. Linda was a classic southern beauty with auburn hair, piercing blue eyes, and long tan legs in a pair of nosebleed Jimmy Choos. Her jewelry was serious too: a diamond ring that spanned from one knuckle to another. To put it bluntly, she was HOT!

She said she wanted to sit in the back, and the hostess obliged us. We were either going to hit it off, or she was hiding from embarrassment. If conversation was bait, then I was reeled in from her attention to detail and accurate memory of my profile. As we are leaving the restaurant, she told me that she had a great CD of Miles Davis, the jazz legend. “Why don’t you listen to a few tracks with me in my car? It’s the white Mercedes E-500,” she said. A $125,000-car? Clearly she did well in her divorce settlement.

When we arrived at her car, she said, “Let’s sit in the back seat. The stereo is incredible from there.” My night was getting a lot better and fast! Jazz and a beautiful woman in the back seat of a car? Oh, twist my arm!

She clicked the remote, and the 480-horse power screamed to life. I hopped into the back. “Darling, can you help me get these heels off?” she asked. The paparazzi couldn’t have gotten a better shot! As I peeled off her sexy stilettos, I couldn’t help devouring her long, tan legs with my eyes, and at the top of them – NOTHING! I mean, she had an incredible mind, but no panties. What a beautiful sight!

The windows were thoroughly fogged. Now we are getting somewhere, I said to myself. First base…second base…third… and I’ll be sliding into home plate! What the hell, I’m out? Who the hell is that? Suddenly, someone was rapping on the window with a large flashlight. My date reached over and slowly lowered the window without a word. In the front of my now open window was a VERY LARGE MAN with a badge and a holstered gun, shining a flashlight in my face. I am a COO, so I immediately cringed at not being able to complete that successful merger we WERE about to execute before we were so rudely interrupted. NOW, I was facing a cop with my pants pulled down to my ankles, and it was not a beautiful sight!He looked at my license for a second and pointed the flashlight of truth at my date. “Linda, I thought we talked about this kind of behavior.”I kept thinking to myself, Uhh, her name is Linda… no need for her ID?… uh... no vanity plate…I’m fu**ed!

The officer looked at me dead straight in the eye and said, “Sir, are you aware this woman is MARRIED to a judge?”

I answered, “NO. I had no clue she was married.” Hell, this can’t get any worse, I thought. The agony of defeat, and it was going to land me right in the local jail cell.

The officer gently nodded his head. “Sir, I think it is time you get out of my BROTHER’S car and go home!” And that is exactly what I did – albeit within the speed limit for all forty-two miles.

Married women who make out in their husbands’ cars: a revelation and activity that I won’t ever forget! I finally made it home, kissed my granite driveway, and checked to see that everything was supposed to be attached. I think I need a BREAK from online dating…well, for a while at least. - Mike in Atlanta, Georgia

SILENT MARLBORO MAN

I met a wonderful man online who was tall, gray, and handsome! He fit my modus operandi and was definitely my forte. Our very first date, we decided to meet at a nice Thai restaurant in mid-town Atlanta. He was an absolutely beautiful specimen of masculinity with broad shoulders, a John Wayne swagger, and rugged good looks. Although he was a quiet man of few words, conversing with him was like pulling nails out of plywood at best. I upheld most of the conversation that evening with his random few interjections, but I was nonetheless mesmerized! This man was a successful developer with social status who owned his own plane which he flew himself. WOW! He could have been a deaf mute, I would have eagerly learned sign language. He oozed confidence and ultimately managed to switch the light on my libido. Confidence is such a turn-on! We all know the rules about kissing on the first date, but screw that! I could not WAIT for a long, hot, tongue wrestling kiss. “Let’s skip dessert. Check, please,” I said as I motioned to the waitress. What an enticing first date!

Our next date was a wild game party at his home, complete with his staff cooking and serving wild boar, quail, and elk coupled with all the southern sides. His house was a bona fide panty trap, totally gorgeous and stately. I was ecstatic that he had included me to meet his friends. Was this an omen that I was maybe special, or just another shot in the dark from a great hunter? I had not a clue. I barely saw him, although he did introduce me to some fraternity brothers. Mostly, he was just busy. Eventually, all the guests left, and he turned and took my tiny little hand in his and started to half drag me up the stairs to his bed without one spoken word.

“Sweetie, it's so late... let’s just cuddle on the sofa for a bit. I really do have to get home to my kids,” I whispered softly in his ear. I wasn't about to be bagged and mounted without more effort on his part – at least some flowers. I have to admit his skin smelled so delicious! As we were kissing on his worn leather sofa, I opened my eyes to a multitude of dead animals, stuffed and hanging on the walls. A huge moose head was glaring at my every move. Was that his last girlfriend? I wondered. To top it off, his bird dogs jumped all over me, panting profusely, leaving a trail of saliva and dog hair all over my dress. Christ resurrected could not salvage the annihilation of the mood.

So, the third date is a charm, right? Or is it three strikes, you’re out? What is it about the three date thing with men? Something about a return on some kind of investment. Who can figure their reasoning, and what does money have to do with it? I was turning forty, which was depressing, but hey, it's the new thirty, and I was keeping it all together. He took me out for my birthday, and we wined and dined at a cozy little restaurant. The food was divine! I was so stuffed and drunk I was worried sick I would either fart or belch before the evening was over. Again, there were no deep conversations – just a few caveman responses here and there. I sized him up as rich, handsome, masculine, and confident, so who cared if he could carry on a conversation! I was beginning to like it quiet! It was a commendable dinner, and I invited him in for a night cap – his favorite, bourbon on ice.

I lit a candle, popped in a CD of soft music for a little "le mood" atmosphere, and noticed he was gulping down his bourbon like ice water. He embraced me with his strong, burly arms and laid me back on the sofa, passionately kissing me. Within a heartbeat, he unlatched my bra with one hand and managed to de-shirt me with the other, burying his face in my 36 DDs, declining to come up for air. Where do men learn these tricks? Is there a class somewhere? It was a most inopportune time for the damn CD to skip, but skip annoyingly it did. Embarrassed, I raced over topless to change it to the next song, and when I turned around, my jaw fell to the floor. My date was totally naked on my sofa wearing nothing but a huge grin. He had beautiful teeth! Had he incurred a lack of oxygen in the brain? He was laying there speechless striking the "COME AND GET ME" pose. I had no idea where to look in between the flickering light. Oh my God! What is that! I thought.

Straining my eyes, I could see what looked like a huge oversized robust baton. The closer I got, the more it resembled a tall light house beckoning for it's vessel to port. As attracted physically as I was to him, I just wasn't emotionally there yet. I mean, does a little boob action signal to a man that it’s time to move directly past go and collect at the bank? Something told me that the naked sofa trick had worked for him before. I sat down with a doe-in-the-headlight look and said, “Sugar, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to take my pants off.” The screeching sound of brakes and deafening silence was altogether too much. My date was going south, and the lighthouse had shrunk to a stub.

“What about birthday sex?” he uttered with a baffled look.

“It is my birthday, but I am not going to have sex with you at this time,” I exclaimed.

With a sad face and a tone he quipped, “Well, I just better go home then,” as he pulled up his pants, commando style.

I could sense a huge rejection, and I hated to send him home empty handed. On the way to the door, I swung by the freezer and grabbed a big frozen Tupperware of spaghetti sauce I had made earlier. “Here, darling, sit this on your lap as you drive home and enjoy,” I said as I closed the door.

He did call a few days later but never mentioned or apologized for his presumptuous behavior. However, he did rave about my sauce. There was never a fourth date. Patience is a virtue, and obviously he had none. - Lisa in Sandy Springs, Georgia