by Roy Blumenthal on March 27, 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Service: * * *
Food: N/A
Ambience: * * * *
Babe Count: * * * * *
I’m waiting for a first date with M (not the same M I met in Cresta on Friday. This is the M who works with L, who I met on Tuesday).
There’s a table full of Paluhniak’s nearby (surname and names changed to protect the innocent). Adam, the dad, is a fine satirical poet. Jemima, the daughter, is approaching puberty, or is in puberty’s fearsome grip. She drew a pen portrait of me in my li’l Moleskine notebook last time I visited her mom. Neville is just a general long-haired spoiled brat of a kid, who MAY grow up to be a good guy, if all goes well. Their mom ISN’T at the table, cos they’re divorced, and it’s Adam’s turn with the kids.
M breezes into the coffee shop, and she recognises me straight away. I recognise her too. I recognise her as a jolt of sexual energy and sheer delight.
Luckily, I’ve stated up front that I’ve decided lately to stop having sex on the first date. So we’re safe. We’re protected. We’re NOT going to jump on each other within four seconds of meeting. It’s just not going to happen.
She’s small. She’s blonde. She’s got a raunchy, honey-coloured voice. She’s got scrumptious breasts. She’s curvy. She’s bright. She delves into the world. She’s stated up front that she’s “a BDSM virgin”, and she “intends to keep it that way”.
I’ve told her that BDSM isn’t the be-all and end-all to my world, and that I can sorta maybe kinda maybe-ish return to vanilla sex.
But I’ve also said that if she’s ever had sex NOT in the missionary position, then there’s a good chance she’s done some kinky stuff before. So I’ll work on the BDSM at some point. Cos, after all, I’m not into reallllly hardcore stuff. I mean, as delicious as her breasts seem to be beneath her blouse, I’m NOT fantasizing about skewering them on meat hooks and suspending her from the ceiling. Although I do know a guy who DOES fantasize about such things. And then carries them out!
We talk about all sorts of things.
“So,” I say, “seeing as we can’t have sex on the first date, how about the second?”
She ponders for all of eight milliseconds. “Sounds good!”
“Okay,” I say, “let’s have our second date right now. If we go downstairs to JB Rivers, and take different routes from each other, that’s technically our second date.”
“Let’s go and walk around a bit first,” she says. “We need to cool off.”
I want this girl.
by Roy Blumenthal on March 25, 2005
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Service: * * 1/2
Food: * * *
Ambience: * * *
Babe Count: * * * *
Unbearably awesome news… Damon’s got a script under consideration with a feature film production company. He’s written his fourth draft, and it’s been accepted!
“Fuckin’ total congrats, dude!!!” I say, and we hug across the table, and then smack tap-water glasses together in a huge “Cheers!”
He sits back, almost smug, but justifiably nervous. In the film world, it’s not a deal until the cameras start rolling. Up to that point, the production can stop at any time. Cos in terms of money, everything other than shooting the film is cheap. When the shooting starts, the money starts flowing. And it’s like an open drain at a beerfest when that happens.
“Jesus,” he says, raising his eyebrows at a g-string peeking out of a seventeen-year-old waistline. “Great crop of babes today!”
“I’d do her,” I say. “But will she do me???”
by Roy Blumenthal on March 24, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
Service: * * *
Food: * * *
Ambience: * * *
Babe Count: * * *
Yet another date. It’s Easter Friday, and as M arrives at my table, offensive things are being done to one of the world’s greatest martyrs. I must say, the stuff that was done to him is just a wee bit too extreme for my tastes. I’m into light BDSM. But who am I to judge?
M orders a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich on brown. I order the “Tsunami Chicken Burger”. M and I chat about internet dating, and the different experience women have to men.
“Men seem to have VERY little email traffic,” I tell her. “We have to work realllllly hard for every bit of attention we get. Women, on the other hand, seem to be flooooooded with responses.”
She agrees.
I say, “Have you noticed that the men who respond to your profile really seem to disregard EVERYTHING you’ve said?”
“I’ve had ALL SORTS responding to me,” she says. “And I’m very specific.”
That’s cool, cos I’ve made the cut. Hehehehe. Thanks M. I continue: “See, if you’re female, the guys just take this shotgun approach. I reckon they figure if they email a hundred girls, at least one of them will want to be with them.”
The food arrives. I look at my tsunami chicken burger skeptically. As the waiter walks away, I call him back. “I’d like to complain about this,” I say.
“Sorry sir,” he says, eyeing the burger with alarm.
“It says it’s the “tsunami” burger. I just want to know,” I say, pointing to the plate, “where are all the shattered beach houses and dead bodies and broken surfboards?”
He’s aghast for three seconds, looking at the plate. Then he catches, and laughs so loudly that three other customers smile at him as he walks away, shaking his head.
