He kissed me. (Just a peck...or two.)
This only makes you a whore if you happen to be an Irish Catholic.
He was a good looking man. He became better looking as the evening progressed.
He hailed from 4 generations of Westpoint graduates. All generals in the Airforce. He went to the Airforce Acadamy as an act of rebellion.
We met in a Pub overlooking an outdoor ice-skating rink. The perimeter of the rink was studded with trees covered with twinkle lights left over from the holidays. It was lovely.
As I arrived, I watched him put on chapstick. Talk about wishfull thinking.
He was a gentleman. That is, when his hand wasn't on my knee or trying to pull me close.
But there was nothing obnoxious about it. He'd been married for 26 years. He was successful and thought I was hilarious.
He rides a huge Harley and plays the trumpet.
I love that he plays the trumpet.
He texted me minutes after I left.
He's dating material.