From October 1 at 2 pm . . .

Were I writing this during the early morning hours instead of early afternoon, I might have a different take on my date with BV. But, I am writing this at a little after 2 pm, still in his bed as he is feverishly snoozing next to me.

We are in hour 14 of our date and it’s been utterly bizarre. And awesome. But bizarre.

And we finally kissed. And then had sex. As we had expected.

The sex was great, actually. The post-sex cuddling was great. We slept well together. He’s a sleep cuddler, always moving into position to touch me.

On Thursday, he called me and asked me to come over. It was sweet. He was clearly exhausted, but he wanted to see me and wanted to lay on the sofa and watch movies. I was out of town on business and coming back early evening. My battery had died and I missed a few of his texts. Still we were only about a half an hour apart.

I went to his super-secure doorman building and I couldn’t connect with him. I’d remembered his apartment number incorrectly and I was too embarrassed to tell the doorman his name. Silly, but instead I just kept trying him and not connecting.


At this point, he had awakened and I had begun a series of cold compresses to help make him more comfortable.

His apartment is like a meat locker. It’s freezing cold and yet he’s burning up.


We realized when he called me on Friday morning that I didn’t have his landline number. He thought I’d blown him off. His cell phone doesn’t work effectively on the high floor of his building.

We just resolved to move past our disappointment. He asked me to come over midafternoon. He was going to play golf at 3 (well, a car was picking him up at 3), I had plans to attend opening night of a performance with BFD, C, and other friends, which I told him, so I’d wanted to see him for a couple of hours before I had to head over there.


He wanted to see me, too. He asked me to come over at 1 and we negotiated. I hadn’t showered yet (“who needs to shower?! you can just get ready here.”), hadn’t even figured out which dress or jewelry I’d be wearing, and I hadn’t finished work.

His offer was quite adorable: bring my stuff, get ready there while he’s playing golf, and use his computer to finish my work. Sold.

I figured out when the next bus was coming which takes exactly 8 minutes from the front of my building to the front of his, and told him I could make it then. I did not tell him about the bus. Some people get weird about it.

As I struggled to find the shoes I wanted to wear and throw everything into a “reusable shopping bag” from a boutique I love, I ran downstairs to await the bus.

Which never came.

Rather, it came about 8 minutes after it was already 15 minutes late and I had given up thinking I’d missed it. Instead, I hadn’t. But I wanted to call BV to tell him I was not going to make it.

More negotiations ensued, more options discussed. Ultimately, while talking, I asked him to flip on his video chat. We connected — him on his computer, me on my phone — and chatted for about a half an hour. I did my makeup in front of him, threw my dress on just out of frame (and he was sort of disappointed that he didn’t get to pick my dress), and we talked and hung out. It was great. He walked me around his apartment because we’d both agreed he’d most likely be asleep when I got there and I wanted to be sure I could find him in the dark.

I got to see him in his golf-appropriate stuff, and he looked adorable. He’s a handsome guy with a wicked sense of humor who jokes about nearly everything all the time. He got to see me in my dress, and then his car arrived and I headed down to a bus that would get me to his building after he’d departed.

My favorite coffeeshop and my favorite restaurant are both across the street. My former high rise office is next door. His building is at the heart of my downtown life.

I made it down to the coffeeshop, where I had an iced coffee and awaited C . . . who missed her bus. Instead, I joined FM at his favorite hang out a few blocks away. I picked up money from him (rent) and he bought me a drink or two. Then we wandered to meet up with C before C and I left him for the performance.

[Which was great.]

During the performance, which, as we were with BFD and had vip access, meant open bar upstairs during intermission and post-performance, I texted BV to tell him I was thinking about him, but I did not hear back when my phone was still on.

After the performance, C and I again spent about an hour with BFD and my friends before walking the two blocks where I would be leaving her to meet BV and she’d be meeting with her boyfriend (who is just awful). Her battery was nearly dead and her boyfriend, who is just awful, told her to hold for about 45 minutes as he was going to be heading to a bar with his friends about 8 blocks away, but not until then.

Um . . .

So, here I made a mistake, of course.

Rather than postpone BV, who is telling me “come here now,” and knowing he’s about to fall asleep, I drag C with me, but (wine-influenced) forgot to tell BV.

Somehow, we walk in with someone, so we are able to get to his floor. I knock, and he answers the door . . . in boxers.


Fail on so many fronts for me.

So, he’s cool about it, and very gracious, but he says, uh, let me go put on clothes.

I am so embarrassed that I hadn’t told him. I . . . have no words.

So, he goes and throws on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and we stand around talking and eventually sit on the sofa. At some point, she steps outside to smoke a cigarette and it’s just awful. She takes no hints about leaving. When she went to the bathroom, I leaned over as we snuggled a bit on the love seat to kiss him. Our first kiss, initiated by me, was essentially me feeling awful about having C there.

Finally, I just give up after asking her again, where’s your boyfriend?! I just turn to BV and say, okay, I am going to walk her to him, and I will be back in 20 minutes. And that’s what I do.

I leave his comfortable place where we are talking and having fun to go walk her to a bar. En route, she tells me she wants me to walk in there with her, as she doesn’t want to walk in alone. At this point, I stop speaking to her. I tell her, absolutely not, and continue walking.

I also tell her I am not walking her the entire way. I stop a block short. We are on the main street in this district, so she’ll be fine, but I stop to pick up food to bring back for BV. I get one thing for myself that I eat there, and then two things for him.

It’s now 1 am, but I know I haven’t actually eaten dinner.

By this point, C, to whom I am still not speaking, informs me her boyfriend will be meeting here where I am awaiting my food.

Once it arrives, I leave, heading back to BV’s, which is several blocks and at least two entertainment districts away. It’s walkable, but there are two sketchy no-man’s lands.

When I arrive back at his building, the doorman buzzes me into the lobby and I call BV. No answer. Instead, he walks out of a screening room on the other side of the bank of elevators. While I was gone, a friend had called him to watch a foreign sporting event taking place live in the middle of the night. As I was not back and he was awake, he agreed of course.

So, then our evening became yet another awkward threesome. I drank a beer, he drank a couple and we sat with his friend for an hour.

Finally . . . finally . . . post-game, we make it back upstairs. I put the food away, and he gets ready for bed.

There is no pretense as we both knew from our earlier discussion that I was spending the night. (Smartly, I’d thrown a dress for the next day in my bag.)

It’s sort of strange in retrospect that we just naturally go to bed as if we’ve been doing this for months when this is the first night we’ve actually kissed, but we each undress and crawl until his heavy comforter.

Being with him just feels like that . . . like we’ve been together for a long time already, even though we haven’t. Even though we have no idea how any of this will work.

Sleeping with someone for the first time is usually weird and often sort of unsatisfying, as you don’t yet know what he likes or how he works. For us, though, it’s very good. We’re there and we’re connected and it just works.

He is 10 years my junior, so we curl up next to each other after the first time and then we end up a couple of more times. At some point, I got him food and both of us water. By the end, we’re both tired and it’s nearly 430 am.

The next morning, I awaken a little early and nd it was lovely. I mean, I slept fitfully of course, new bed, new dude, but we were cuddled up in our sleep and he kept his body pressed against mine all night. He had warned me that he probably wouldn’t be getting up until like 1, which was fine with me. I have a fully charged smart phone and I could always leave if I got bored.

Except he’s awake too.

And sick.

Like really sick . . . fever, chills, cramps, etc. I comfort him the best I can without being too intrusive — I offer to leave, I get things for him, etc.

He wants to say no, which he does for a while, but ultimately, I convince him. He tells me where to find the dongle thingy that gets me into the elevator and I head off to the market. When I am back, I make him drink zico, of course, and save a vitamin-infused juice he’d requested until later.

He’s still fevered, still terribly ill, and I am concerned.

As it’s freezing in his place, as I type these notes, my fingers become little ice cubes, which I then put against his forehead or his neck. We’re not certain if we’re going to the hospital at this point. For some reason, when I hold his forearm tightly, he falls fast asleep, so I do, comforting him and wrapping my body around him when I think he needs that comfort.

To be continued . . .