I had a date.
I have not been on many official dates.
I had my car door opened for me.
I had my car door closed for me.
The chair was pulled out for me.
I was wined, I was dined.
My feminist sensibilities endured it all... just about.
He made me blush, squirm, fidget, and eat mother-fucking octupus (I bleach my tongue)... nevertheless, out of mercy, he bit off all of the legs first...
He did not lay a finger on me until the very end of the meal, when his finger lightly brushed mine.
He drove me home.
Inside the car, I gingerly allowed my fingers to touch his coat.
Then, before I realised it, my hand was gently resting on his knee.
Then he took my hand in his.
We drove and spoke about lots of things...
And then we missed my flat, because I wasn't concentrating... We had to turn around... Then he pointed out that my street is one way only, which I have never noticed before... I sunk lower into my seat.
We pulled up outside my door.
I can never look him in the eye, and he knows it.
This is a man who cuts me no slack whatsoever. Any question, challenge, manipulation of any kind, he throws right back at me. Tenfold.
He remembers everything. You cannot say a word without it being stored and coming back to haunt you.
And he doesn't back down. Ever.
He took my chin in his hands, lifted my face, and he looked at me.
And then he kissed me.
Oh, how he kissed me.