What Happened Next with the Hot Baby F-man

We went back to his place and ...


Yesterday, as you may recall, I was telling you about the baby f-man. Since some of you have written in to ask how we met: He contacted me online, through a certain Internet dating site that shall remain nameless; we exchanged a few emails; had a brief phone conversation, which went well, and agreed to meet up. What went less well was the call he gave me to discuss what we'd do on our date. He phoned me to bark orders, or so it seemed, saying we'd be having a drink and then going to an amateur comedy night. When I'd tried to suggest we skip the open mike thing, since it wouldn't necessarily give us an opportunity to get to know each other better, he said, "What have we got to lose? If we hate it, we leave." True enough ... and yet something about his reaction seemed so unyielding that I thought about canceling. (The fact that he was only 25 was adding to my hesitation.)

But I decided to go through with it, thinking it would likely be a good story, if nothing else. And as it turned out, I was quite glad I showed up: I enjoyed the comedy and, maybe even more, the f-man's company. So when he invited me back to his place, I felt a little nervous, but I wasn't about to turn him down.

There was something pleasantly innocent about hanging out in his apartment. He showed me around--the living room, the kitchen, etc. I looked at his books, and picked out one in particular, asking him if he liked it; he said I was welcome to take it home, since he was sure he'd never get around to reading it. He made drinks--club soda for me, vodka+soda for him--while I made a playlist for us to listen to. At one point, I said, "So, is dating older women your usual thing?" And he said, "No. I usually don't date, period." Why not? "It's too much of a hassle--all the trying to make plans and coordinating schedules and all the rest of it."

Hmmm. Ohhhh ... kay?

I did not ask the logical follow-up question: So why are you trying to date now? Or are you just using the Internet personals in a quest to get laid as much as possible?

Then he said, in a voice that he made to sound both scolding and concerned--like he was somebody's nagging mother: "Mooore-ahh, you've hardly touched your drink."

It was funny, and I giggled ...

And one thing led to another ... before I said, "You know, it's really getting late. Maybe I should go."

He picked me up off the couch.

"Oh, are you going to carry me all the way to my car?" I laughed.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Sure."

Then I realized we were actually heading for his bedroom. "Wait! Wait!" I grabbed the door-jamb before we could cross the Rubicon. "Put me down. ... I mean it! Put me down!"

He did. There was a little back and forth, and then he swooped me up, and had me in his arms again, like he was getting ready to carry me out of a burning building. I have to say--I know it's incredibly girly of me, but--I love that kind of macho physicality.

Eventually, I did manage to leave--standing on my own two feet, I might add. And I informed the fireman he was going to walk me to my car, and he agreed that he would, and then I gave him a ride home; and I barely had enough time to get a decent song on the radio before I'd pulled up in front of his apartment and we were saying good-bye and he was getting out and then he was gone.

As I drove away, I was thinking, "Hmm. We have no follow-up plan. Is that because he's kind of clueless about dating or because he's not interested?"

# # # # #

I spent the following day thinking about Good Will Hunting and wondering if I'd hear from him again.

The next night, around 9pm -- as I was laying on a wax paper sheet at the beauty salon, receiving an electrolysis treatment--I decided to get it over with. I texted him:

FYI: When you go out with a girl, it's a good idea to tell her you had a nice time within 24 hours. Luckily, you still have some time.

Within 45 minutes, he texted back:

Ha! There's no section in Emily Post on texting. You forgot to take that book I offered you.

I pondered that last sentence. Had he thought I'd left the book behind to symbolize I wasn't interested? I wanted him to know that wasn't the case. But I didn't want to be all literal and boring about it. So I wrote back:

I also left behind one of my glass slippers. Have you seen that around?

So ... I have no idea what he's thinking.