First There was G

I met G at the airport. He was on a layover in Miami — on his  way to Norway, or Sweden or Italy.  With him, I was never sure about the facts because he spoke in one-liners. Even when we chatted online he  always got to the point: We should meet.  You are beautiful and charming. Darling, what is your telephone number?  Silence today???? He never answered my questions and after a while it didn’t matter because he was insistent, and I love men who insist.   At first, I wasn’t going to meet him; he didn’t even have a picture posted on his online profile. But I was curious and, of course, he begged me to stop by, so I did.

He recognized me first.  I thought he looked disheveled (his shirt was not completely tucked into his pants). He was nervous, boyish, funny, but I already knew these things from his profile and our Instant Messages (I’m good at reading between the lines, which has made me a success at online dating  and playing the Proust Questionnaire with my students at college).  He smelled of  being on too many planes, being on unhealthy diets, and leading a life too hectic for the practice of daily personal hygiene.  Sometime during that afternoon, I learned he was an American of Indian descent, who had been raised in the Midwest and educated in American universities.  Yet, he was tired of the rat race.  When he returned to the country of his parent’s origin he never looked back.  In India, he had a maid and driver, but, ironically, he was not home long enough to enjoy what he worked for. He was a trainer/coach for a Scandinavian technology company, and he traveled the world for his job.   I knew he loved his wife and children because he never spoke about them.   And I figured he used the internet to meet women he could sleep with on his airport layovers around the world..

At the airport bar we ordered Cosmopolitans and G told me about his travels.  He was impressed by how good–looking and well-dressed the Italians were.  He smiled and repeated this many times because he was nervous.  I recognized  his smile. It was the smile of a man I once loved: the delicate red lips and small white teeth made visible only when the thought was genuine and the feeling was well-intended.   At times, I thought G was charming. When we got up to leave we were both tipsy.  He held my hand.  But, I was not attracted to him. And, I was very nervous as this was one of my first dates after my divorce.  Still, I was beautiful in  black silk kimono dress,  patent leather pumps and a touch of expensive French white musk perfume; I was on my way to a friend’s graduation party when G called and begged me to stop by to meet him at the airport. 

At the exit stairwell G kissed me, and it was all very sudden and very public.  Yet, there is nothing like a bad kiss to stop any possibilities between two hopeful strangers, which I realized from G’s kiss.   His tongue was thick and fleshy, and he rolled it around like a spring.  He came at me “tongue first” and stuck it in my mouth as if he was trying to put a stopper on a drainage pipe.   All my senses were accosted, and  the only thing I thought was I hope no else is watching.  I left him after that.  He texted me several times that afternoon to get my opinion about his kiss, but I did not respond. I never saw G again. Every once in awhile he emails me with a hello and asks when it is that we are going to see each other again.