First Date


Butterflies. That’s what yesterday brought for me. Butterflies. A forty-three year old woman – with butterflies. Seriously?

It was a first date. My first-first date since the divorce. I was anxious, like a pre-pubescent child waiting for puberty to come and finally make me a real woman.  Yeah, that fucking anxious.

The food was absolutely decadent. The sangria was flowing as fast as the pheromone perfume racing through my blood – both of which, I couldn’t get enough of. His compliments seemed genuine and thoughtful. The conversation was intriguing, reciprocal (and that’s a good thing) easy and playful.

The dinner date ended with a kiss. Wait – that’s a lie… There were many kisses. Sweet. Gentle. Soft. All of which left me wanting more.

Patience Grasshopper…

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