The More Things Change...

We all know how the rest of that time-tested adage reads. Things constantly change yet somehow manage to stay very much the same, indeed. In layman's slash dating terms, that pretty much all boils down to the fact that I am no longer on hiatus. But not for the reason (or should I say not because of the specific boy) that one might think.

I never did have that second date with M. My crush on him, grounded pretty much entirely on my affection for M's way with the written word, fizzled out when we met in person. When you're not feelin' it, you're not feelin' it. Despite how much you really really really want to feel it. But even with that said, I was still more than willing to have a second date with M on the off-chance that I'd perhaps rushed to judgement. He had such potential...maybe if we had more time together (and a cocktail or three), I might feel differently. That date was supposed to be tonight.

Enter D.

D and I "met" about a week and a half ago through my beloved dating site to remain nameless. A week and a half ago when I was totally mid-crush with M. After exchanging some oddly entertaining email that touched on conventional topics such as the sexual suicide of males in the animal kingdom and the mechanics of his city league dodgeball team, D quickly earned his proverbial street cred. Something about him, and his words, struck me.

A few days later, during a phone call with D that nearly inspired me to recant my previously-published statement re: my vehement opposition to talking on the phone, we discussed the possibility of getting together later in the week, on Sunday. That evening, I'd be driving right past his town en route to our state's capital city where I'd be spending four days (and more importantly, four nights) on a work assignment. So it was nothing if not convenient, but if Sunday didn't work, we agreed that maybe we'd get together another night that week.

Alas, in the end, Sunday didn't work. But D called the following night and about 90 minutes after hanging up the phone, we were standing face to face in my hotel bar. Now, I'd seen a few photos, including a delightful shirtless number, so I had a pretty good sense of what I was signing on for...though he far exceeded my expectations. D is a triathlete, you see, and that is a terribly joyous thing.

I think we both sensed fairly quickly that something was going on. There was an immediate ease between us which made my patented and highly cultivated light n' breezy approach -- the one I'd so often utilized in the company of other boys because I was afraid that simply being "me" wasn't good enough or safe or okay -- immediately fall away. It just wasn't necessary with D. He was real. And therefore, I could be, too.

The bar in my crappy hotel was closing (it *was* 9:45pm, after all) so I invited him up to my room. (Sorry, Mom.) We then proceeded to spend the next three hours laying on my bed talking. And the next three hours making out.

I tried not to be too mortified when we simultaneously discovered that his legs were smoother than my own (due to the high volume of swimming and biking that he insists on doing for some inexplicable reason), but when he laughed and said that he could care less and oh by the way only an hour earlier had talked about wanting to take me to the aquarium to show me the anatomical structure of jellyfish (long story that's not nearly as boring as one might expect) and at that point we were only about an hour into our very first date not to mention he'd already touched my knee so many times that I'd lost count and he never really took his eyes off me for like the entire evening...well...you just sort of forget about the two inches of growth on your calves and roll with it.

As night turned to early, early morning, D and I admitted that neither of us wanted him to leave. I said I'd snore, he said he wouldn't care. And I believed him. We slept tangled up in one another. Awoke that way, too.

The next day, I received a text message. D said he was happy...and looking forward to seeing me later that night.

And when later that night was finally upon us, we ended up spending Date #2 sequestered in my hotel room. For the first few moments after he arrived, we briefly entertained ideas of leaving the premises but neither of us ultimately could devise a good enough reason why we'd voluntarily go someplace where public groping might be frowned upon. When D left the next morning, we said a very long, sweet goodbye...knowing that soon he was headed to LA and I to Seattle for the weekend...and that after spending two fabulous nights together, it would be a bit until we'd see one another again.

Later that morning, it was I who sent the next-day-follow-up text message. It was witty, provocative, candid, sweet and honest. It was the kind of message that, after being emotionally demolished by K earlier this summer, scared the living crap out of me to send. But his response was perfect. He even used exclamation points.

I don't know when I'll see D again but something tells me that it will be at the earliest possible opportunity once our respective travels have come to a close. Mere days, really, though right now it feels like it could be years.

As far as M is concerned, the jury just never reconvened. I may have very well rushed to judgement but at this point, I'm left with no choice, really. M is officially out.

And D is very, very much in.