Always Act Suave on a First Date

Quinn McIlhone

We leave the café

in the faded blue

of summer twilight

and walk to my place

only to neck like teens

in the living room.

You’re a new friend,

a lovely new friend,

and we play a new-old set

of games on the couch,

no net beneath us.

A woman dating

since adolescence knows

how to shut things down,

but you offer no resistance

as I struggle with your blouse.

Perhaps I’m typical

of how guys react

to your waif-cut hair –

blonde laced with white –

high cheeks, green eyes

and body that inspires music.

I lose my cool,

not a man of the world

but a needy child

riding a sugar high.

No timing,

no subtlety,

no adult flourishes,

I cannot help myself.

I lead you to the bedroom

and we fall on the futon,

my mouth hungry for you.

We have no condoms, and when told

not to penetrate

I shrug with

infantile indifference.

I have a theory about all this.

You’re stunning but subdued,

shy on first encounters,

almost tongue-tied.

You worry you’ve blown it

and won’t hear from me again,

not knowing I’m charmed

by your bashful good nature.

You indulge me

out of fear you’ve struck out –

that, and the certainty

your looks are captivating.

I seal my fate

with aggression,

just what you want

to make up for your reserve

in the café.

You know full well

my life will change course,

but I’m walking blind.

I renounce it all –

the girl gone down the road,

my shot at independence

and the single life.

But you knew it was coming.

You’d swept aside other worlds.