Part One: My date with “The Spaniard”

I have no problem in admitting I was nervous. I had butterflies. My hands shook as I texted my mom and a couple of friends of my soon-to-be location. I was on my way to a coffee date, my very first date of any kind since I was 15.

There I was, driving, hands sweating on the steering wheel, as I thought about the age difference: a forty-mumble-mumble-year-old woman about to meet a guy 10 years her junior. Ridiculous, I thought. How could he be interested in me?

We had been talking for over a month with him routinely asking if he could take me to dinner. And me, the novice, making excuses to him and to myself as to why I wasn’t available. Still questioning how he could be interested in a woman my age.

When I pointed out our age difference, he said, “It doesn’t matter to me so why should it bother you?” Touché. He added that he had no idea how old I was until I told him and thought we were around the same age. (Note to self: Unless asked, shut your damn mouth.)

On paper, he had the goods, plus he was from Spain (bonus points). Smart, educated, employed and smoking hot. But I wasn’t feeling it. No connection. No spark. No fireworks. When I think back to this date, I realize now that I was extremely nervous. So nervous that I don’t think I could have made a connection with anyone, not even William Levy.

Gratuitous William Levy photo

Mmm, William Levy… Ahem… Where were we?

As our coffee date came to an end, I remember noticing his eyes. I mean, I really noticed his eyes. I don’t have the words to describe his eyes. I wish I did, but I guess some things aren’t meant to be shared. That’s my only explanation.

As he walked me to my car, I caught him looking at me. In other words, he was checking me out. And he was smiling. That’s when the butterflies kicked it into high gear, which kick-started the stupidest conversation inside my head.

“What is he looking at? Did I sit on something? What am I doing? OK, we’re walking and we’re walking… Wait, where are we going? Oh yeah, my car, he’s walking me to my car…” 

MAPQUEST… GOOGLE… ANYONE… ANYONE… BUELLER?

At this point, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in this position in my adult life. Help!

Out of nowhere, this street-smart chic’s voice pops in my head: “You’re a grown-ass woman. Just chill, girlfriend… Tranquilo (Calm).”

As we start to say good-bye, I remember that at the beginning of our date, he welcomed me with a hug and a small peck on each cheek (very European, right?) so I was expecting the same gesture.

“OK,” I say to myself. “This is it. Hug, peck, peck, and you’re on your way.”

But instead of hug, peck, peck, he went for it. He went in for the kiss, but he was greeted by my cheek. I was caught completely off guard so when I turned my cheek, it looked like a deflected kiss, as in, “Thanks, but no thanks.” 

Trivia question: Who has two thumbs and doesn’t know when a guy wants to kiss her? 

How was I supposed to know homeboy was suddenly changing the game on me? What was I thinking? Glad you asked. Here it is…

“Damn, I think he’s embarrassed."


“Damn, I haven’t been kissed in a long time.”


"Damn, I’m old.“

As I drove home, I gave myself a virtual pat on the back for getting “the first one” out of the way and was pretty sure I’d never hear from him again… until I got his text message a few minutes later.

“Just to let you know, I had a very nice time, you have a beautiful smile, would be nice to see you again. Un beso (a kiss).”

Still, I was trying to make sense of it all. Did he “turn my crank” as my aunt so eloquently put it? I told myself and my inner circle that he did not. Thinking back, I was too nervous to allow myself to enjoy this. And I saw myself as too damaged to deserve it. 

But I got over it… 

We continued talking and texting over the next few weeks with him asking to see me again. Meanwhile, I was conflicted about whether or not I was ready for another date or if I wanted to see him again.

It turns out I did so I accepted his dinner invitation. We agreed that I’d pick him up and we’d drive to dinner. He’d made the reservations.

(Note to readers: Remember, he’s from Spain, doesn’t know his away around which is why I picked him up. Not that I have to explain myself!)

He greeted me. Oh yes, he greeted me. He walked up and without hesitation, pulled me to him and kissed me with such passion that my panties almost fell off by themselves. In my head, I could only hear one thing, “Oh shit.”  

To be continued…