Green Lights

“When I was a child of eleven or so, I saw a gore spot on the grass over there” I gesture to a lawn at the base of a sixteen-story, brick apartment building. “From a jumper. The body had been removed already but the flies were feasting on this gore patch.” I say, realizing as I say it, that I might have been a bit too graphic.

“Jesus.” my companion says, then chuckles good-naturedly. Nope, still haven't found any lines to cross with this guy.

“Is that one of the most fucked-up things you’ve ever seen?” We make eye contact as he asks me. He seems genuinely interested, engaging with me.

“I feel like I’ve seen some things in my day,” I laugh, to break the tension. We are waiting for the traffic light to turn green and when it does, we resume walking.

“That's a messed-up thing for me to have seen, for sure, but I only thought of it because it was that lawn, there. It doesn't keep me up at night or anything,” I say, as we walk down the boulevard together. My fluffy black poodle, Denver, leads the way and I pull him back to the sidewalk so she doesn’t pee on the lawn I’m referring to. “I don’t think it caused any serious psychosis,” I add, and we both laugh nervously.

“Nothing too serious, eh?” he says and smiles. It’s a good smile, with nice teeth and a balance between wholesome and devilish in charm. I like the look and feel of this man. He draws me in, radiating warmth.

My dog pulls up to yet another hedge that needs full investigation, and we stop to let her sniff. He squares himself toward me in a way that feels like an invitation and I am compelled to slip my hands around his ribs. One hand drops to rest around his waist and the other hand lands near the spot on his mid-back I already know he likes me to rub, even though I’m new to touching him. I press my head into the cushion of chest hair draped in a black Depeche Mode t-shirt and inhale his scent. He squeezes me tight. It’s a good hug. All of our hugs, so far, have been good.

“I’m into finding out about all the ingredients that make up your various psychoses,” he says and strokes my head in mock condescension.

“That’s good. I am, after all, a person off the internet. Maybe you don’t know my crazy yet?” I push away from him so he can see the ‘crazy eyes’ and mischief face I’m pulling.

“I’m sure I’ll be pleased to meet all your personalities,” he laughs.

"And I’m sure we’ll all continue to be charmed,” I tease back.

“Oh, she likes me. She just said so,” he does a little score gesture with his fist and I laugh. As if he couldn’t tell already.

“Let’s not get carried away. You’re still around on a trial basis. But should you continue to impress...” I say, and glance down below his waistline quick, and back up, so he knows I’m flirting. “Who knows?” I say, shrugging.

Yesterday after dinner, we hooked up for the first time. Followed by round two a little later and this morning once again.

“I’ll take that. And any notes you may have about how to improve your dating situation. I’d like to continue to impress.”

“No notes so far. Especially in the kissing department. That you have on lock,” I say, and prepare for the planting of the kiss he lays on me. “Mmm. See, just right.” I say, after.

My dog finishes her discovery of the hedges and moves us along again.

He wants to hold my hand. I’m not used to the ease of intimacy this guy has, readily taking my hand and using his fingers to splay mine, brushing the length of each. “I’ve been on a lot of dates. Had my fair share of kisses,” he says.

“Is that because you’re so ol - “

“Don’t you say it,” he interrupts, smiling and smacking my bum which turns into a few little softer pats for enjoyment.

“ - experienced! I was going to say ``experienced.” I smile up, projecting pure innocence. I’m loving how warm his hand is, now resting on the curve of my ass. Between the butt pats, the kiss, and the closeness, I feel my body responding to him, again. I’ve longed to feel this excited to be with someone.

“Sure. Yes – it's because I know from all my wisdom and experience. This is a good fit. I’m comfortable. I can tell you are, too. Relaxed. It’s very important. In the past I’ve felt unable to put down my workday – deescalating the person I’m with when I get home. Not allowing me the opportunity to decompress. A person needs that from their home, that mental coziness, I think,” he says.

“That’s exactly why I love interior design,” I say, “that feeling you explained. If I wasn’t a nurse, I’d like to think I’d be a designer. Or an event planner. If someone told me the feeling they wanted to have when they walked into a space...I think I could reverse engineer something nice for them.”

“You’re too cool, miss,” he says earnestly, and I blush.

Denver is turning circles around the spot he has chosen to soil. I begin to untie the poop bag from the handle of the leash and the man presents his hand for it.

“Allow me, my lady,” he says, bowing in thanks as I hand him the bag.

Is this guy for real? I think, watching him pick up dogshit for me.

“Thank you, sir” I say as he ties the bag and returns to the sidewalk.

“All in a day’s work, as a responsible pet owner, m’am.”

I didn’t know how important that pet-love aspect of a match was to me until this one. He also loves dogs and lost his not too long ago. I can still see the shadow of sadness around him about the loss. I see how happy he is that my little guy loves him so much. I came back from the washroom earlier this afternoon to find Denver curled up in the small of his muscular back and him with a giant grin on his face that melted me.

I’d never considered having a person in my life who’d be willing to pick up literal shit for me. This in combination with the dusting he did this morning when I complained about how dusty my old condo gets brings about a sexy level of adulting in a man. I had apologized for being behind in my dusting; the dust is from the baseball field behind my building, and I must put up with it if I want the windows open in the summer, which I do.

He listened fully then picked up the Swiffer duster and began slowly tracing all the surfaces he could reach. He even made a little mechanical noise to go along with the action. Still in my cute but cozy pajamas, drinking coffee, I watched him, giggling.

He asked me what I’d like to see on a man cleaning for me, what my version of the French maid outfit would be. ‘Tell me, what would turn you on?’ As if I needed more than a man cleaning my condo to do that.

I remembered my time in the islands before I remembered my thing for lumberjacks, and I brought him one of my sarongs. After putting it on for me, he said he thinks I will like his kilt better, shows more leg, he says. It’s hot that he can deliver a line like that, in all seriousness, and wink at the end, sending a shiver of delight through me.

We are still in overtime from date number four. I had to cancel our third date because I lost a patient in long-term care and the paperwork sent my already long shift into overtime. I was exhausted, the complaint behind a lot of my previous dates telling me they think we should just be friends (some add ‘with benefits’ just in case I'm only interested in fucking.) This guy was different about that too.

He asked me through text if I think I could handle a virtual date. That way I wouldn’t even have to put on a bra for it, he added, showing care toward my comfort. He said he understood I was wiped from my day, but he had really been looking forward to seeing me again.

He would take as much as I could give, even just more texting. I poured a nice glass of wine and wore a top that showed great cleavage.

We had some drinks and hours passed. We took turns asking and answering questions about ourselves. He asked me what the best advice I’ve ever received from one of the elderly patients was. I know what the funniest advice is and told him.

After the ending of my last relationship, a patient asked me if I was dating again. I told her no, not yet, and the 92-year-old woman turned to me and said, “Don’t waste your wet years, dear’. We laughed until we cried. When we recovered, he assured me that he felt heavily invested to make sure there was no wastage. I had to wait until our next date, last night, to learn how firmly he felt.

Our first few times together, between last night and this morning, have me very keyed into him, his vibe. It’s clear he loves sex, loves finding the things that excite me, and discovering how to make me respond to his soft touches or desperate clutches. On our second date, as we kissed in his car, he acknowledged that it felt like we could have a lot of fun together. I told him how I made the last guy I dated wait for that kind of fun. ‘Awe, it’s cute you think you’re going to be able to make me wait,’ he said, and then laughed. ‘You won’t be able to wait,’ he continued, confidently, while tracing the hairline around the side of my neck with his fingertips. He pulled me in for a kiss. ‘I’ll have you begging for it,' he said, low, and gentle into my ear before we parted. Thinking about it now gives me a low, aching, desire and nipples that stand at attention.

He told me he’s the type that is always falling hard and fast. So am I. I’ve never felt as matched in enthusiasm before, so it might be true that we are the same fool for love type people. Maybe it’s just overdue thirst-quenching but I’ve never been so hot for someone before.

“We better turn around soon,” I say, pouting, “you’re leaving tonight, and I won’t see you all week. I want more cuddles before you go.”

“Is it cuddles you want, miss?” he asks, playfully.

“Cuddles, plus,” I add, already thinking of what we should do with each other next. Whatever it is, it’ll be green lights all the way from this woman looking to wring out every last drop of her wet years.