Tonight was odd.
I called BFD this afternoon to chat. He asked me for a working date and to meet him at the little restaurant he loves that is near my place. He wanted to walk me through the business deal he had offered me, so we met at the restaurant and then I would drive down to his place and drive myself home. Dinner was good, and they treated him like a conquering hero, which he loved. Then we went back to his place and he educated me on his business model. Sadly, that is not a euphemism. He became ill while we were working. We went downstairs and hung out, but he was really not feeling well. After watching tv for an hour, though far more affectionately than last night, I headed home. I wrote him an email about 30 minutes ago and as I went to hit send, I received one from him.
He loves that I have a car, his car. He is proud that I have his car. It is meaningful to him that he can do that for me.
When he arrived at the restaurant, he parked next to me and noticed the car was not clean. It had been outside and there was pollen on it. I did not have time to get it washed and be there on time, so I didn’t. I should have. It’s the kind of thing he notices and he did. He mentioned it a couple of times, and I was embarrassed.
At the end of the evening, he said we could trade cars for a day this week and he’d wash and wax it for me. First, omg, I would hate to drive his primary car. It’s an suv, it’s brand new, and omg it’s his car. Second, when I said he did not have to do that, he told me he wanted to. He loves doing it.
Sigh. Yes, I know it’s as much about the car as me, but it’s still sweet.
I mentioned to him that I washed it before I picked him up on Monday and he had noticed.
As we walked in to the restaurant, he said, wow, you’re really dressed up. I turned and said over my shoulder: did you just meet me???
I told him I just threw on a pair of heels with the sundress I’d been wearing all day, which is true. I wore heels, which I never do with him, and it worked well. I was comfortable and I looked cute, despite the fact he was in sweats.
Dinner was strange — they treated him like a rock star, brought food before we ordered it, sent over a special treat from the chef, etc.
When I asked him how often he goes, I think he lied. He said the last time he was there was with me, which would have been in December. We had spoken about going two weeks ago, so that may have been what he was thinking, but since the manager, the waiter, and the chef all greeted him excitedly, clearly he comes here all the time.
My food was good, but we did not linger long. We spoke about business and he told me again that he likes one of the jobs I have in my past. It’s a ridiculous thing, and he loves that I have those types of connections.
I told him about a new project, which led me to mention BP, and he made certain to ask his name and clarify his last name and ethnicity. I have a feeling he will be checking out BP quickly.
We sat at his desk and he showed me everything, how different variables affected things, and then he quizzed me. I did not do well. It was hard and I do not do math in my head.
He started to not feel well while we were at his desk. I could hear his stomach as I sat next to him, but we persevered. I was prepared to leave as soon as we were finished.
We have not had sex in more than two weeks. BFD was traveling, then back this week and though I have seen him three times, no sex.
Tonight, he started to get sick. We went downstairs after we finished work and he told me how ill he was becoming. We were together on the sofa, curled up, and touching, but he was really not doing well. He asked me to hear his stomach, so I put my ear to his belly and it was roiling.
I told him that this is why it is better to start with sex. We hung out for about an hour, until finally, he started cramping. We stood up, so he could walk me out and we started kissing. We held each other close and kissed each other passionately and kissed on each other’s necks. He grabbed me, but he was just ailing.
Still, he was too sick for anything and we made plans for tomorrow . . . which will begin with sex.