Two weeks on a new dating site, six messages exchanged with him, and a telephone number given out three days later.
Twenty-four hours later is a missed telephone call the very next day, a sexy and succinct voice leaves the message.
Three hours later, one attempt and a return call following an “okay” date a few hours early, pleasantries exchanged.
Five minutes into the first telephone call, the first meeting for an “hour or so” is arranged.
Thirty minutes later in strolls a tall (6 feet) and bald gentleman, with a smile looking like a million bucks.
Five seconds after seeing me, a huge grin followed by a welcoming hug is enveloping my 5’2 petite frame.
Twenty seconds later jokes, football jabber and travel stories are shared.
Sixty minutes later, we’re strolling through the mall, smiling and laughing while enjoying delectable caramel apples.
Two hundred and forty minutes later, we exchange pleasantries and said gentleman asks if he can see me again in twenty four hours.
Twenty-four hours later we’re snuggling up the center back row, reveling in the action-packed ending of the latest 007 flick.
Seventy-eight minutes later we can’t seem to say goodbye, and end the seventh day of the week with two pecks. Muah, muah.
Twenty-two minutes later, were sending our “made it home” messages, which turns into a series of “can’t stop smiling” and “enjoyed myself with you” exchanges.
Seventy-two hours later, I decide it is I who wants more and initiates the planning of our next gathering.
Forty-eight hours later, he’s walking in and greets me with a “you look amazing”, as he guides me to our dinner table.
Twenty minutes and our table is filled with endless laughter, debatable topics and everything else in between. Suddenly out of know where after twelve minutes said gentleman gently pulls my face to his, giving me one of the most sensual open mouth kisses had in a long time.
Eighty-six minutes into the night, we walk to our cars and said gentleman asks “Are you ready to go” to which I reply “No, let me grab my coat and we’ll walk”.
Ten minutes into the walk on the boardwalk, I’m squealing happily as he puts a quarter in the Tom and Jerry kiddie carousel machine. Don’t judge me, he allowed me to be me while filming for blackmail evidence no doubt.
Thirty-two minutes later, we’re at my car and again – that mouth, those lips, that tongue.
Twenty-seven hours and we’re at it again.
Seven days, four dates, two pecks, several real kisses, countless laughs and stimulating conversations, two pairs of wet panties.
I’m feeling this one in every way imaginable.
Introducing the one I’ll call…. Hope.
Until there’s a cure…