Bob looked up from the scorecard he was reading and said, “Well, why don’t you then? You’re single. You can fuck anyone you like … if they’re up for it, too.”
And that’s when it hit me. I was single. And I could fuck anybody I wanted … providing they wanted me to.
“You’re a God-damned genius, Bob,” I said to him as I got up from the table and followed the goddess into the clubhouse dining room.
The goddess, whose name turned out to be Avery Billings, said yes to my request for her phone number, and then three days later said yes to my request for a date. I’m not sure why she said yes. I mean, I was a decent-looking 47-year-old man who hit the gym regularly, but she was an absolute goddess: long, silky blonde hair, large blue eyes and a well-proportioned and toned body. She kind of looked like Christie Brinkley in her heyday. Those are not the kind of women who should be going out with Mickey Olerud, but she said yes.
Bob was perhaps more shocked than I was when I told him she said yes. We had discussed my lack of interest in women several times over the last two years, and he seemed genuinely concerned for me as a long-time friend. Hell, his wife, Sierra, even offered to fix me up with one of her single friends so I could get a jump-start on the dating scene, so to speak.
I took Avery to the best Italian restaurant in town, as much because the way the booths sit they are fairly private, as for the food. Seems the goddess was a 28-year-old scientist with a government agency in our city. She was smart, funny, and engaging, with her brains being every bit the match to her beauty. I sat there enthralled with her stories about plant pollination, not understanding a whole lot but completely captivated by the sound of her voice.
She seemed to be somewhat taken by me as well. I kept my small talk upbeat and intelligent, and resisted the urge to drool all over her. She noticed that I wasn’t wearing a ring (neither was she) and asked if I still lived with my mother or was divorced. I told her the truth but kept the information sparse because I didn’t want Traci intruding on my night.
We walked through our city’s downtown entertainment district after finishing our meal. Five minutes into the walk, she reached for my hand, and I easily slipped her small hand into mine.
When I took her home, she invited me in for coffee, and I accepted. We sat in her kitchen and talked for about an hour before I figured I’d better not wear out my welcome, so I stood up and said my good-nights. She walked me to the door, and when I told her I had a great night, she got on her tiptoes, reached up and gave me a soft peck on the lips.
“That had better mean I get a second date, mister,” she said softly but clearly.
I think I floated to my car and I think my car floated its way home that night. I don’t remember driving home.
We didn’t make love until our third date, and we did so at her apartment after a night of food, drink, and dancing. I’m not a magician on the dance floor, but Avery wanted me to go; I think maybe as some sort of a test. Hell, I would have walked through fire for this woman, so dancing was no big deal.