What is it about women and sports bars? What is it about women and bars, in general? I have gone a year without intercourse, a single frustrating year without coitus non-interruptus. I go to the sports bar downtown on three occassions, two of them I meet women, and one of them I take home with me.
Yes, K-Mart shoppers, this Middle-Aged Head got laid.
It was this past Sunday night. I had been to the hospital to visit my dad, recovering from quadruple bypass surgery. Dad’s fine; he went home yesterday. As I was walking home, the notion of getting out of the house was too tempting so I decided to head to the sports bar. I thought that I might see the woman whom I met while watching the Bruins a couple weeks ago. The chances were slim, but I was willling to take a chance. The Celtics were on the tube, and there was the game on ESPN, so I figured the place would be packed.
As I walked in, I saw a sea of empty tables spread out before me. There were a few tables with customers, but there weren’t many. There were open seats at the bar, so I made my way across the room. I happened to notice a cute strawberry blonde sitting alone. (Is this a pattern developing?) I sat at the bar with three seats between us. The ESPN game was Mets/Yankees and the Mets were winning. I suddenly became a National League fan, figuring it was good to root for anyone BUT the Yankees. I kept glancing over at the woman to my left. Again taking the “no guts, no glory” attitude, I asked her who she was rooting for? She said she was a Red Sox fan, but she was rooting for the Mets. Just to beat the Yankees. My kind of woman.
The rest of the evening was a mixture of getting-to-know-you talk, off-the-wall humor, baseball chatter, and a healthy dose of inuendo. She lobbed the first naughty line towards me, saying something about being good at being bad. That was a bit obvious, but definitely a pitch to hit. All this talk was tempered by an occassional lean-in, using the excuse of not hearing what she said. Just to get close. And she didn’t shy away.
Back and forth, all night. Again I offered to walk her home since she had a few more drinks than I. Before you think awful things about me, I was buzzed myself but had my wits about me. We walked up the street and I kept looking for an opening to sneak in a kiss. She said something about me being a nice guy, and that there was no way I would be bad. Oh, really? Seeing the large doorway coming up on her right side, I twirled her around to face me and planted a soft, but firm kiss. She didn’t shy away. She returned the kiss, actually. She’s a great kisser with soft lips that made me melt.
Two lonely hearts meet to find comfort.
This happened a couple times as we walked. We’d stop in a doorway and make out a little. I felt so giddy. The last time we stopped kissing, she told me that we couldn’t go back to her place because of her roommates. I could tell this could go further than it had. I told her that my place was the next block over, pointing down a one-way street. She took my hand without hesitation and we walked to my place.
I am going to hold back the tasty bits out of respect of her. Let’s just say that we didn’t get to sleep until almost 2:30am.
Can you see the big shit-eatting grin on my face?
I took her to the beach for a picnic dinner last night. After a unusually hot day, the cool air of dusk felt good. We talked and got to know each other. I am trying so hard to take this slowly. It doesn’t make it any easier that we had great sex only a few hours after meeting. Putting that out of my head and slowing down won’t be easy, but will do my best