I pressed play on the CD. She set her glass on the coffee table, then reached for mine. She set it next to hers and held her hand out. I pulled her up. She smiled at the stereo, “I love this song. We’re dancing.”

“I never have.”

“You are tonight.”

My Baby Just Cares for Me played, and we slow danced. She talked in my ear, “I knew I liked you, John. I knew it right when I saw you. You’re fucking perfect. Thank you for the best night I’ve had in over two years, if not longer.”

“Likewise.”

By the middle of the next song, we were kissing and she was pulling my shirt off, which led to the bed in less than a verse. We went at it like rabbits, then like lazy, drunken people, then like rabbits again. Her body was perfect to the point of ridiculousness.   In the morning she was at the table, writing me a note. I put my pants on.

“Morning.” I kissed her head, then her lips. She set the pen down. I started some coffee and called from the kitchen, “Want some eggs, baby?”

“I should get back,” she said. I walked out of the kitchen. She was putting her coat on. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her. She put her hands on my forearms, “It’s too fast, John, and I like you too much already. I’ve never jumped into bed with a man like that. I don’t want you thinking anything.”

I turned her around and took off her coat, “We’re better than that. Get your ass back to the table.”

After sex we ate. After that, we were locked at the hip.

Honestly, my dream date is to lay next to this man I've known for three or four years now. I say man but, oh, that boyish charm of his. But he really has grown up to be a good man and he is truly something else. Something I haven't experienced before.

I would like to lay on the trampoline and look up at the stars. Hold his hand and point to which galaxies we'd want to visit. I'd want to look into those warm brown eyes, taking away the cool edge to the night. All I want to do is be with him. Learn everything I can about him. And feel content.

His voice I would recognize, as soon as I hear it.

He'd pull me closer with his eyes,

Console me with his spirit.

Camouflaged coincidences, Unraveling our fate.

Chemistry between our kisses,

Only found between soul mates.

Wow, I'd say all night and day,

How could I have survived.

Without his hand grasping mine,

I've lived a lonely life.

This perfect date, would seal our fate,

And both out hearts would know.

We've found each-other, our other half,

I'm never letting go.

Witty, earthy, dirty, impeccable. Unflinching, velvet fingers, elegant hands and at home anywhere. Open eyed, generous soul, shocking stories, able to rock an infant to sleep and dispatch unwanted advances with ease. That's me.

You should be: the same but with legs that walk for miles and are at least six inches longer than mine.

The scene. Barcelona in Park Guell, looking up towards Tibidabo, sunset after dinner in a delicious hole in the wall down by the Ramblas. We'll listen to flamenco and get tipsy on an old wine from Riojas. Leave the joint with half a bottle between us, heat burning up our calves from the sidewalk and wander through the Gothic Quarter in silence, sometimes stopping to sing or laugh or whisper a poem and point at all the people in love.

Cocoa curls would gently hang over a face as sunkissed as mine is pale, crocodile-green eyes framed by angel-thick lashes peeking out from that beautiful curtain. He'd be maybe 5'11" or so, the perfect height to cuddle and hug. He'd like stripes and flannel and all sorts of silly animes and webcomics. People might call him a childish fool, but he'd be MY childish fool, and we'd be foolish children together.

And he'd understand. He'd realize that I don't want a sensual, carnal relationship, I'm not it for sex. He'd be okay with the fact that I've never been in a relationship, never had sex, never been kissed. He'd adore my love for literature, and laugh at all my dumb jokes, even if we both know they're anything but funny.

He'd kiss me awake in the mornings with the scent of coffee on his shirt from making a fresh pot. He'd kiss my closed eyelids when I'm up at 3 in the morning, ask me to go to bed. He'd help me draw, and I'd help him write. He'd hold me tight when I'm scared or in a self-loathing slump. He'd talk me out of my lowest lows, and he'd let me do the same for him. We'd be the best of friends, the most romantic couple the world has ever seen.

We would be each other's missing half, complete each other, love each other for all of eternity.

And he would be mine.

He'd be tall, dark, and handsome. He'd be mysterious, but not keep ANY secrets from me. Black/ dark brown hair. Or a dirty blond. Shaggy hair. Not a buzz cut. And absolutely not long hair. Must be shorter than touching shoulders. He'd be smart. Really smart. A good head on those handsome shoulders. He'd be funny, but serious at the right times. I hate it when guys are so funny, always trying to make people laugh, that you never get to see their personalities. He'd be sweet. Oh, and give me suprises. I love surprises. I'd be really surprised if he showed up. Actually. Wait a minute. One of my good guy friends is a lot like that. Too bad he moved schools.