I imagine that cummin to my home for the very first time must be a nerve-wrecking experience for fellas. Of course, I send my dates my address, directons, and a picture of my house to alleviate any concerns regarding the trip, itself. Still, it is completely understandable how meeting me, or any female, for a first date could, certainly, stress a guy out.
Gentlemen on first dates, almost always, arrive about ten to fifteen minutes early. Seriously. That’s, almost, every single time. In fact, it happens so frequently that, somewhere, in my first few years escorting, I came up with a method for working out time issues, without causing either of us too much grief. Of course, the entire process has, also, laid bare my own faults when it cums to being on time for a date.
You see, no matter how hard I try or how early I begin getting ready, I, still, ALWAYS cum up just a few minutes shy of being considered “available” on time. SO UNPROFESSIONAL!
I, suppose, it all began way back, when I used to live in hotels. Back then, I wouldn’t even commence getting ready until my date had informed me that he was drawing within ten to fifteen minutes of me. In fact, contacting me in that particular time frame WAS the system I used to help me be ready on time for several years. (Not that it ever worked all that well.)
I’d spend the first ten minutes rushing around, lighting the candles, making my bed, and straightening up the floor. Then, I’d jump under the water and administer a quick shave from the side of the tub. The same towel I used to dry my azz, would end up wrapped around it as I approached the door. All, before I could, finally, usher in my new guest. I was in need of a simpler solution; a better system.
There is nothing sweeter, on God’s green earth, than a man on his way to get some pussy. IT’S THE TRUTH. They will move Heaven, Hell, and St. Peter, himself, to complete their mission of planting that seed.
(Ooh. She’s sooo nasty! Yeah, right. We all know how this really works.)
During that short window of time, no matter how outrageous the request, I was guaranteed that my date would, at the very, very least, think about it. I had only to inquire, very nonchalantly, “Are you planning on stopping by the store? If not, it’s alright.”
My dates, just like the true gentlemen their mama’s raised them to be, most often, would respond, “Sure. Would you like something?”
Would I?? “Yes, please.” Now, back then, I used to drink Coke like it was h2o. So, of course, my request was always for a fountain drink Coke. Despite the fact that I do prefer all iced fountain drinks, flavor was not, actually, my true concern.
From start to finish, the process of making a drink from the soda fountain was sure to afford me, at least, an additional three to ten minutes to better prepare for my new friend’s arrival. He would have to stop by a gas station, gather the cup, ice, and Coke, attach a lid, find a clean straw (they are rarely stocked and readily available in corner convenience stores), make the purchase, and, finally, leave. Y’all feelin me yet??
Times, sure, have changed, but my “system” of doing things really hasn’t, too much. These days, if I find myself in need of a few extra moments, I cue them up until I get the question, and I answer…
“Yes, please. Icee!” Cherry or Coke are preferred flavors for me. That is, unless they have cotton candy. That is, hands down, my ultimate favorite flavor! But, it’s, also, insanely difficult to find. So, cherry or Coke work, just, as well.
Of course, I don’t request one every time, and it, certainly, doesn’t work every time I request one, either. Truthfully, I’ve found that it doesn’t, really, matter if I use it anymore. I still tend to run, just, a few minutes late, OR, even worse, I’m, actually, on time. But, that only lasts a few moments, until, I bust my azz falling in the tub, or some other painful injury is incurred that fucks me completely up in those last few moments before he arrives at my door, making me, once again, two to fifteen minutes late.
It’s, truly, very annoying. It is an ever present reminder that I just can’t seem to get my shit together. No matter how old I become.
But, I’m tryin.
To all of the fellas who have taken the time to make me a delicious frozen treat and were brave enough to deliver it, as well… THANK YOU.
I, honestly, am just now realizing that I, even, still, do this. I’m, definitely, not a perfect person. Not even close. I grow in character, spirit and esteem through every trial and tribulation and negative experience that I endure. I think we all, kinda, do.
Truthfully, I was, somewhat, proud of myself, for a minute there. I hadn’t even noticed I was using any special techniques to assist me in “appearing” well put-together. Hey. I’m, more than, delighted that this ole dog can still learn a few new tricks, considering how much time I, freely, invest in what I enjoy best… Burying friendly bones…