The Irish Man

We walked outside.  He asked if he could hold my hand.  He knew where he wanted to take me.  To a Spanish restaurant for tapas.  It was maybe a 15 minute walk.  We held hands and kissed pretty often as we strolled through the streets of Dublin.  We were in a busy area.  He told me some things about Dublin, and I shared a few things I had learned that he didn’t know.  It was so easy to be with him. 

Near the restaurant, he wanted to show me a statue.  Of Molly Malone.  He told me the story of her, and recited a poem to me, half singing it.  I couldn’t believe it.  That I was in Dublin, Ireland, with a guy I just met, who was reciting poetry to me. 

We went to the restaurant.  It was packed, but there was a table for us.  It was really loud in there, and we had to lean in to talk.  We talked about our life.  He was married, is now divorced, with 2 grown kids.  Same as me.  We are the same age.  We shared our stories about other relationships.  Just good conversation.  Getting to know one another.  Feeling each other out. 

We ordered our food.  I had another glass of wine.  He didn’t want to drink anymore, as he was driving.  I liked that.  Responsible behavior.  I was hungry.  I told him I had a good appetite, and fully enjoyed the meal.  When it was over, we starting walking back to where we started, kissing and holding hands the entire way.  Laughing at how we were acting like to school kids.  He asked if I would like a ride back to my B&B.  I said yes.  And honestly, I didn’t want the evening to end.  His car was in a parking garage.  As we walked in, the thought did occur to me that I was walking into a garage with a strange man.  But it just really felt safe with him.  We got to his car, and yes, I went to the wrong side.  I forgot about British cars. 

I told him where I was staying, and we were on our way.  Then he pulled over and stopped the car in front of a park.  Crazy things raced through my mind.  Then he unbuckled his seat belt, leaned over and kissed me hard.  Oh my.  Then we just started making out.  And looking at each other and asking what was going on.  He asked if I wanted to get in the back seat.  I said no.  After a lot of kissing and touching, I said I needed to go.  I did.  I wanted him, but it wasn’t the right time.  He dropped me off, and after a lot more kisses, he was gone. 

He had a 40 minute ride to his home.  I don’t really know all the rules about dating.  I waited a while, then sent him a text, thanking him for the lovely evening.  I didn’t get a response.  I thought, oh well, it was a lovely evening and I could leave it at that.  But wouldn’t you know it, I texted to the wrong number.  I received a wonderful message from him once he got back home. 

“Just home and wondering what happened tonight…I had one of the best evenings of my life…U R a really interesting, smart, attractive and engaging lady.  I had such a pleasant experience…I am so happy that we met…Thank you for being you…”

Here is something about me.  Words thrill me.  I love to read.  I am just starting to write, and discovering that I love it as well.  I love quotes.  Words turn me on.  Not porn.  Not naked pictures.  If you want to make me swoon, use words.  I didn’t tell him this.  But darn it, I loved those words. 

We texted for a while that evening.  We said good night, and said that it was a most enjoyable evening, no matter what happens in the future.  I didn’t sleep much that night.  He was in my head.  Just thoughts of him.  Not about our future or anything like that.  Just reliving what happened.  And trying to make some sense of it. 

I was supposed to take a train to a seaside town the next day with a woman I met at the B&B.  I woke up to pouring down rain and high winds.  I went to breakfast to meet her at an early hour, like we had planned. When we saw each other, we both said no, not a good day to go to the sea. 

After breakfast, I went back to my room.  I wanted to take a nap.  And then I got a text.  From him.  Asking about my day.  I told him I wasn’t going to the seaside.  He asked if I would like to get together that evening, to catch up and say goodbye.  We planned to get together early, at 4pm. 

I spent the day enjoying Dublin for one last time.  After a lot of rain in the morning, the sun came out and the day turned beautiful.  I went back to my room to get ready.  He came to pick me up.  We talked about what to do, and decided to go to a pub for a drink.  He had one in mind, outside of the touristy area.  We went and had a drink, and then another.  I asked him what he wanted to do next, and his words stunned me. 

I truly wish I had this recorded because his words were so sweet and I won’t do them justice.  He said that he wanted to know me, all of me, and he wanted to go to a hotel, and learn about each other and make love.  I make it sound so typical, but it wasn’t.  I wasn’t expecting that.  I was thinking dinner, maybe some Irish music.  And I got all choked up.  I actually started to tear up.  At which point he felt terrible, and said no, we don’t have to do that.  But that wasn’t it.  It was more that sex has always been rather pushed upon me.  The “come on, come on”, the taking my hand and putting it on their crotch.  This was so different.  He was telling me what he wanted to do and why, and asking what I thought. 

I sat there, quiet, with tears in my eyes, for quite a few minutes.  So many thoughts in my head.  What did I want to do?  What did I, me, really want?  Did I want to sleep with this Irish man, this almost stranger?  For what I believe was the first time involving sex, what did I want?

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