I had just been disappointed by my first meal in NYC up the street when though I had changed my mind about taking my poor excuse for Empanadas to go they arrive in a 2 individually wrapped pockets thrown into a plastic/aluminum container wrapped in a brown paper bag. Two people had walked out since they never came back to take their order and I almost left without paying the bill but my conscience allowed me to not leave a tip. So unfulfilled, I walked toward my favorite juice place on the corner when I was stopped by a picture in the window of what looked like a bagel stuffed with meat? I had to read the publicity blurbs on this Israeli joint write-up taped to the window. Quietly he stood next to me and  explained what was looking at. He opened the door and said, “I’m going in.. you might want to try it out.” Holy crap this guy is HOT!! Hesitantly, I followed as the door almost shut. He sat facing the window and offered me a seat even if I didn’t eat or that he would share one with me. A Burekas, if I recall. This chef was famous for making the traditional puff savory pastry. I was wearing sweats rolled up to my knees, a tank top and my black baseball hat covering the almost sticky ponytail from the yoga class I had come from. He was in black biking, full length pants and thin white t-shirt, large backpack and those new, not-so-attractive, toes shoes people are wearing so it feels like you’re barefoot, though protected. Neither of us were dressed to meet new people, in my opinion. He had just come from doing handstands in the park. He stared at me with his “once shy” hazel-green eyes as we shared a spinach and goat cheese filo bagel-looking pastry as I wasn’t hungry from the less than sub-par lunch I selected. We walked to the juice place and he bought us a jusice to share;  carrot, pineapple, ginger. We walked out and he blurted out that he had a couple of hours to kill and since I was just going back to my place to shower off the grime, we took a turn toward the East River.

He is an engineer that was making plastic bottles in Belgium for the last 6 weeks until he decided it wasn’t for him. He was traveling here to visit a friend and ended up having dinner with Congressmen the night before. He is learning to play the single Djembe and blows glass jewelry. With vast knowledge and a wide vocabulary, I somehow feel at ease by his student-like quest for more. His parents hippies from Wisconsin and Israel. We speak about religious theories and acid trips. Staring at one another without breaking eye contact, the intimacy that is attached… He massages my feet, which I felt at ease even as he slips his fingers between my toes explaining the importance of toe separation and posture. I allow this. I massage his shoulders while we lay our heads on his bag. He gives me a book to read while we sit listening to the water break on the ships coming into the port. the time is slipping by and leaving color on my body to prove it.

It is the longest day of the year. He lies his head in my lap as I massage his neck with the uneasy feeling of “letting go” he struggles with. Giving over or up control still lies within him as most of us. He wants to dance with me sometime. He’s one of the most stunningly handsome guys I’ve seen in a long time, with an interesting quality behind it. Like the shy kid that was a late bloomer and didn’t realize he could get whatever he wanted by being genuine and gorgeous. Pulling at his hair and reddening his chest, he relaxes. I see it in his breathing, feel it in his pulse. Trust. Allow. It’s a more loving massage than the touch before. He feels it. I want him to kiss me. It’s getting late and my date for the evening has just texted to cancel on me. We walk off the grass and gaze at the Battleship “Intrepid” before heading to find a bite to eat. It’s been almost 6 hours since we met. He’s off to meet a friend and I to shower off the dirty. We find an Ethiopian spot which was not the sushi he desired but a new experience nonetheless.

We take a picture of the moment and the time comes to walk our separate ways. Passion pours through our full bodied hug. Tomorrow may bring us together again as he wants to repay the oil-less massage. Maybe a free ride on the EastRiver Ferry and a stroll in Williamsburg before he jets back to Miami to help his sister move her furniture back home. Until then.. I shake my head… such different places in our lives and yet some of the same. Wish he wasn’t 13 years younger than me, though maybe I just have a lot to learn.

Date #3 and #4 Tongue-guy and Massage-guy rolled into 1!

The restaurant was undetectable from the street. A hidden treasure buried underground. I recognized him and remembered that I wasn’t really too interested though he was better looking than his pictures displayed. “I almost didn’t come”, he revealed. “You wouldn’t give me your number so I thought you wouldn’t show and I’ve been stood up before so I almost didn’t take the chance.” Wow, what a first impression. The waitress knew him as he apparently lives up the street and brings people here as it’s dark and cool? He kept wanting to find a cool table. I needed a sweater after a bit as the breeze was coming up from the waterfall stream that ran through the cavern. He ordered for us, 1 drink each and appetizers of his choice, changing the sauces as he didn’t care for spicy stuff. I wasn’t impressed though I didn’t have to think about anything so that was fine by me. I found out that he was put into the Spiderman movie by Sam Reimi when he was doing camera for the today show and still on the clock! Apparently he was going to do whatever Reimi asked and it was only going to take 1 take to do it in.. “Don’t worry, Sam. I got this!,” he boasted. “He had never been talked to that way but I was going to show him how we did things in New York.” Wow! Uh, huh. “I host a TV show and am a cameraman for many shows,” he continued on. Once it was revealed I was an actor, the name dropping continued at ad nauseam. “So what do you think so far?” asking.. “about what?” I replied. “About me! What do you think? How do you think it’s going?” Well, you’re better looking than your pictures, I smirked. “Come on, you know within 2 minutes of meeting someone if you’re interested, so?” he continued. “I’m not always that certain, sorry. Sometimes someone grows on me that I didn’t think was going to and other times the really hot one becomes less hot,” I answered. “So why did you go out with me, then?”, he asked. “Honestly? You were persistent”, I answered. Ya? Really? Not cause of what I looked like, huh?” he said in disbelief. “OK, I’ll take that.” After a few seconds of silence, he continued…“I can’t stand it when a woman’s not intimate”, he revealed. “What kind of intimate? There’s many forms of intimacy”, I explained. “You know when you told me the story about your ex asking you to hold hands..” I nodded, “that showed me that you were able to be intimate,” he continued. “huh, this is going to be interesting, I thought. 2 words make me laugh no matter what… 1 of them is Whore!” We were discussing my theory of the Hole. That most every man is in search of a hole they can plug. He was fascinated by this and went on for a while about how not all guys are like that but funny I would mention it.  Continuing with, “And one thing I can’t stand is….” Yes?” “Oh, you know.. the worst!” “What? I don’t have any idea,” shaking my head. “You know, when a girl gives you… oh, you know… the cheek! That’s the worst. It’s just rude!” he continued.  He sat staring for a few moments leaning in, said, “I’m trying to come up with a nickname for ya.” “Pretty early for that, don’t you think? What have you come up with so far?” I responded. “I’m thinking either… The Hole.” (Silence. ) “or.. Sexy Jew Broad, eh? Bet you never been called that before, right?” “Well, I’m gonna say ‘no’”, shaking my head in disbelief, smiling. “You’ll probably not get too far with the first name.” I continued, eyebrows raised. After he finished his and some of my portion of the food we were to share, the bill was paid and we were outta there cause he wanted ice cream and I was going to join him. Oh, well, the night was early and I had walked 25 blocks to get there.. so why not? We walked which was apparently his neighborhood (guess if he was going to get stood up, it might as well be in his hood). He paid for the ice cream with a credit card and then he wanted to get his dog and take him for a walk. I waited downstairs for them to come back down and we were off. There was an illegal dog-run near the river where your dog had to be hoisted over a fence but there were more than a couple running around at 9p. We jumped over as the cool breeze kicked in. “Touch my face!” he desired. That’s one of my favorite things.. when my woman touches my face. Your hands are cold and I’m hot so if you touch me you’ll get warmer,” actually came out of his mouth and I don’t think it was a line. I think he was just that corny! Then he kissed me. On the mouth. With full tongue thrusting into my mouth. His words popped into my brain as I almost gave him the cheek while he drew me closer into him… then it was like he thought we were a couple! Holding me, kissing my neck, my shoulder, caressing my hands, putting them to his face (probably to cool himself off). After more minutes he came out with…”you know, you’re more than just a hole”. “Ya, I know this. It’s you guys that have to figure that out.” I replied. After a few minutes of trying to get Teddy, his Terrier back over the fence, I said that we should walk back so I could get going. Now, did this guy want to walk me back to my place 30 blocks away? No way! He did offer to put me in a cab, which was sweet, though since he had no cash I didn’t see him paying for it and it was such a beautiful night I wanted to walk back. I suggested that he at least walk me to my Avenue which was 1 over and that he was almost willing to burden his pot belly with. So Teddy, the tongue and I walked holding hands down the street, no harm no foul. Then he had reached his limit and was ready to head back in his own direction. “Come on, give me your tongue” he pleaded as he kept thrusting his out of his mouth into the open air as to search for a hole to rest it in. “Come on, give me that tongue” he continued as I broke away, thanking him for the night  with a less than pleasant taste in my mouth from both him and the prior ice cream residue. “I don’t have your number, why don’t you text me when you get home and that way I’ll have it so we can go out again”, he came up with. “Ya, ok, thanks again”, were my departing words as we went our separate ways. I found myself on the steps of Lincoln Center with a toy dinosaur in one hand and my camera perched in the other. As I walked past I was stopped by the words “Bula Vinaka” glowing from the steps in a soon to find out, rotating, light installment. As I stood eyes glazing over waiting for the Welcome in Fijian to reappear, I noticed a woman to my right also kneeled down waiting for her word to show itself again. We had a laugh as our eyes darted back and forth over the hundreds of randomly, flashing words “Welcome” every language imaginable disappeared from sight. 5 rotations came and went; some faster than others and the odds of seeing Bula Vinaka long enough to spot it, set the dinosaur down and take the picture were knowingly becoming scarce. A few minutes later and another had joined. I thought they were together as they spoke and even hugged. Another 10 minutes of the now 3 of us attempting to predict where the words were going to come up next, if at all were enough for her to take and she sweetly smiled, hugged each of us and departed. He stayed back to aid me in my now 30 minute quest. She returned a minute later with a big smile and a CD for each of us to take home. She was a breath of fresh air, obviously a tourist. So now I stand with my dinosaur and this strange tall bald man attempting to snap pictures before I gave up altogether. He snapped a few “Welcome to Lincoln Center” pictures with his camera phone as my had had enough. Walking in the same direction we did so together. He’s a masseuse and an actor out here living on the Upper West Side which doubles as his massage studio. He had just been to the Ballet and was on his way to the 59th street station. We had common ground so we kept talking past the station and closer to where I lived. “Wanna just get a drink?” I suggested. And we settled in to a lavish Thai Bar with leather upholstery on the bathroom doors. The bar keeps were adorn with tiny hats holding up their buns and sexy stocking under their unique dress. He, being a masseuse saw my furrowed brow and began to touch my shoulders. His hands were strong and his eyes stayed glued to mine even when my closed from the painful sensations he pushed into what are known as my “steel cables”, the point between the neck and shoulder. “You need to come over so I can help you with this, maybe an hour or two” he claimed. “I’ve just had a long week so far”, I responded, “maybe some time.” He leaned over and took a bite out of my shoulder and that kind of woke me up a bit. I know he works with his hands but his mouth, too? We’ve only known each a few blocks and he knew I was just with someone else. He invited me on a boat the next day with some friends of his, which I graciously declined as I wanted to see my grandmother’s cousin and with our schedules.. this might be the only day.. also a nice way to get out of the boat thing. I mean, really? I meet a guy walking down the street and the next day go out on a boat with him and friends and what? Maybe make it back the next day? It seemed legit but my fears, we’ll call them or common sense kicked in and he walked me home. He has a friend that lives across the street from me and as we hugged goodbye and I thanked him for walking me home… bam! A tongue in my mouth! Really?? Maybe the difference is the guys in NYC are a bit more forward with their tongues!! I Googled him from his number since I gave him my email address to send me the dinosaur pics with on the steps and it turns out.. he IS a masseuse and he DID act… in Porn! Don’t think my body didn’t think twice about returning his email. At least I would get a rub down with my rub down J