The Third Date
Presumption, being the parlay of fools, necessitates a solid foundation, for naturally, nothing’s ever perfect. The event earmarked for excellence is the third romantic rendezvous with the personification of a beauty sublime. Do or die with a happily ever after at stake.
A game changer of a woman of whom I need to be at my best to win over so that when the memory of the first time comes to mind in years to come there can be no hesitation as to the absolute magic of the moment and its glorious resolution. A bit of pressure, perhaps, but it’s my only chance to redeem a ducat for history between her and me.
The planning begins in earnest. First a deep dive into the rabbit hole of Google for inside information to prevent the pursuit of the G spot from getting lost in the Bermuda Triangle, then on to the tangibles. An investment in some Cabernet, Gouda cheese, Rosemary crackers, lavender scented candles, and Marvin Gaye CDs seems like a good start. Maybe a plan B of the Titanic on DVD should the kinship start to sink. A little help from my friend, Leo, could salvage the evening.
But the boss needed some reports done after five so I had to scrounge the gas mart for a six pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade , Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and a bargain bin best of the seventies CD with Barry White’s , “You’re the first, the last, my everything,” wedged between The Village People and Wild Cherry. Just gotta keep hitting repeat.
As I picked her up at the strip mall, where she got her nails done in Maraschino cherry red, I realized everything I googled was lost to nerves. I rambled on about maybe ordering Chinese food but she wasn’t hungry so by the time we got to my place, my mind was stopping and going like rush hour traffic. I apologized for the low budget spread but she laughed it off and dug right in, popping the top off the first bottle and the anxiety lifted like a veil at a wedding.
I could lie and say I was like a great method actor living an art that comes off unrehearsed. An artsy type might call it Au natural. Truth be told, her sense of humor pushed any reservations through a sieve with all the fatal flaws disseminated leaving only pillars to support pleasure.
Ever the gentleman, I planted a light kiss on her apple cheek, my arm flitting on her shoulder like a hummingbird on a glass feeder. A delicate urgency. She put my hand on her thigh and I held my breath until her grip tightened. I pulled her close and she smiled before our tongues wrapped in a wet weave. Hands navigating under garments in search of blushing skin, ripening nipples, and the swell of pink flesh moistening like spring dew on rose petals until the last of the pesky inhibitions bared leaving us to dance naked in a cloud of Cheetos dust.
Tony Pena was formerly 2017-2018 Poet Laureate for the city of Beacon, New York. His work has appeared in several publications over the years including Best of the Net nominations in 2019. A volume of poetry and flash fiction, “Blood and Beats and Rock n Roll,” is available at Amazon. A chapbook of poetry, “Opening night in Gehenna,” is available from author. Colorful compositions and caterwauling with a couple of chords can be seen at: www.youtube.com/tonypenapoetry. www.facebook.com/tonypenapoetry. Instagram. tonypenapoetry.