Dating Again or The Artist

The first summer I was single again, I wasn't ready to date.  I wanted to be ready, cause of wanting to touch and kiss and hug, but it only would have been a great, hideous mess.  Then there was the next summer, which was just last summer.  (Apparently summer is the only time to date)

I'd like to tell you about a guy I dated, using the term dated quite loosely, who will be known henceforth as The Artist.  Chances are pretty nil that The Artist is reading my blog, so here goes!  (tap out to my friend, Susan in Tennessee, with her hand over her mouth, quietly muttering, "Oh, god, Ashley, don't don't don't")

I was working the front desk at the gym one bright, dry, deserty afternoon, and this man walked in.  My first thought was, "He ain't from around here.  No one looks like that in this town."  And I meant that in a good way.  

This guy was very attractive, y'all.  No, you don't get it.  Like, olive skin, nice eyes, very nice bod, white teeth, plucked brows.  We're talkin' hoTTT with a rating of 3 T's!  And, of course, like a movie in which Tina Fey plays me, he'd walk into the gym somedays when I'd forgotten to wear make-up (I look like Axl Rose without mascara), or when I'd be trying to shake the last precious crumbs out of my chip bag.

As the days go by, a friend of mine says to me, "There is a guy I'm working with that you need to meet and make out with!"  I quickly realized it was the guy at the gym!  The Artist!

Well, after some roundaboutness for a even a few more days, The Artist and I finally exchanged numbers.    

We set a date and time and met at a bar & grill.  We had a great conversation where he told me he's a vegetarian and I had nice legs.  He has that smooth, gentle kind of voice that has to come from lots of practice.  I tell him that I am of Welsh descent, that I have 4 kids, that I've only slept with 2 men.  You know, the usual.  

After dinner, we walked outside and in the middle of the parking lot, he asked me, "Would you like to come to my house?"  AFFIRMATIVE! 

I followed him to his 4,000 sq ft home that he lives in alone.  We got out of our cars- my minivan and his red BMW convertible- and he asked me if I'd first like to go for a drive.  DING DING DING DING!  RIGHT AGAIN!

This next part is gonna sound like an 80's music video- yes, it's that awesome.

I stand in his driveway while he lets the top down.  His stereo is blaring.  And I'm thinking, you gotta be kidding.  All the dreams I had as an 11 year old watching MTV are coming true!!  

Then I get it in and we drive.  We head down a long country road with The Civil Wars blasting and my hair flying all over.  It's pretty much dark by now, but he yells over the music, "Ever seen the petroglyphs?"  When I said no, he almost immediately made a hard right.  He's zooming down this new road and about 60 seconds later points and says, "There they are!" but does not slow or turn.  He just keeps going.  

Finally he slows down and comes to a stop.  We are all alone and under the stars.  We just take a moment to look up.  Music is still blasting.  Then we move in.  

Ever been kissed tongue first?  

So after some tongue slapping, he's holding me and squeezing me and starts gasping.  I move my face just a tiny bit and realize he's CRYING.

"Ashley, I'm not the one to pin your hopes on."

I just listen.

"Ashley, I have nothing.  I am a man...without."  

Listening still.  And thinking.  Thinking, There are soooooo many people who are gonna hear this story!

Then without a word, he puts his car in drive, does a 180 and we're headed back.  About 2.5 seconds later, he runs over a jack rabbit.  I don't know why, but we spend the next 5 minutes or so looking for its body.  We do not find it.  The Artist starts crying again.  

We're about halfway home, when he runs over a mouse.  "It's okay!  It's okay!" I say.  "It was just a mouse. He darted out in front of you.  Nothing you could have done."  It worked.  I got him to smile instead of cry, which meant I was still gonna get naked tonight!

Back at his place, he asked me, "Would you like to come in?"  I was pretty much just going with this.  "Mm Hmm," I replied.  

After we walked in, he turned on an episode of Entourage and he told me he'd be right back.  He went somewhere leaving me to wander the living room and kitchen.  After what felt like 20 minutes, he was back and wearing a relaxed see-through white t-shirt.

We sit on the couch next to each other.  Finally, I move my hand to his leg and squeeze and somehow I end up awkwardly on top of him.  "You can't touch me that way and not expect me to respond," he so wisely puts.

Later, in his room, I tell him I do not want to have sex, cause the last time I did I had emotions and stuff.  His reply, "We will definitely not be having sex tonight then."

However-

Let's just say (since my mom and my daughter may be reading this) that he sees some skin.

"Look at you!" he exclaims.  "You are SO white!"  I am lying below him.  "Your skin is SO WHITE, fish belly white!  Oh my goodness!  You are such a white, Welsh, woman! (see what he did there?)  Look at you, you beautiful, white, Welsh, woman!  You sexy, young mom!  So white! So Welsh!"

This went on.  I lay beneath doing something like this:  tee hee hee hee hee hee hee heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

After some intimate chatter and lots more lick-kissing, he falls asleep.  I'm wide a-freakin'-wake.  But after only a few winks, he gets up and leaves the room.  He's gone for an eternity, so my fish belly Welsh self starts tip toeing through his dark house looking for him.  I realize as I get closer to the guest bathroom that he is PUKING.  I spin around and high-tail it back to his room and lay there staring at the ceiling.  Just act normal, just act normal.

After he returned and then left 2 more times to puke, I said, "I should probably go."

And cause I'm so really nice, I left ginger-ale and crackers on his doorstep the next morning.