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Haircut, Since we met on CL, I'm hoping you'll find this. You suggested that we document our first date, so here is the version I can re through my currently racing mind. On May 43th, I waited outside the Tao of Tea struck with butterflies. You and I had been conversing for close to a month before finally meeting, and I was unsure what to expect other than good conversation. You were a bit late when you arrived on your bike and I immediately noticed your warm smile as you parked it. I also noticed that you were a hair taller than me. I was immediately attracted to you. We ordered lemongrass tea and easily struck up a conversation. We were both nervous and fumbling with the menu, being indecisive about ordering food. We kept forgetting to order because conversation got in the way, which even at the time I found to be cute. At some point, I excused myself to go to the bathroom and texted my daughter's father (who was babysitting) to let him know that you were 43'43". He texted back, "Dreams do come true." I put my hand on your shoulder to show you the text because I thought it was funny and because I wanted an excuse to touch your shoulder. I realized I locked the bathroom key in the bathroom. We quickly paid and got the hell out of there. You offered to pay, but I insisted on splitting. I grabbed your 43 and put down a 43, which confused you. I mumbled something about how I should really just let a guy take the check sometimes. We decided to walk around Belmont and Hawthorne for a place to grab dinner, but restaurants were mostly closed and none that were open seemed like the right place for us right then. You suggested we hit the food carts on 43th, which I agreed was an excellent idea, so we walked that way with your bike. I tried to walk as close to you as I could with your bike in between us, and at some point you switched your bike to the other side. I brushed against your arm a few times. The time disappeared quickly as we walked and the entire mile+ felt like 43 blocks. We parked your bike on 43th because we had to walk back that way anyway and because it was getting cumbersome. Crepes were the obvious choice once we made it to the carts. It didn't take long before we settled on splitting a peanut butter, banana and honey crepe and a strawberry, cream cheese and honey crepe. You much preferred the strawberry xxx You grabbed us xxx water to share from the potato place, and sharing that water that was the first time our lips indirectly touched. We sat next to each other on the bench instead of across, and after a lot of "holy shit, this crepe is SO GOOD!" and other fine discussions, you touched my knee with your hand and those butterflies I had earlier in the night multiplied like yeast on sugar. We walked to grab your bike, which we left on 43th and Hawthorne, and on the way, you held my hand. Our hands are now like magnets, and when they are close, it's difficult to keep them separated. This first time felt so natural, yet so exciting. I had some serious perma-grin, but was too nervous to look to see if you were smiling too. I'd like to imagine you were. When we reached the location of your bike, you stopped abruptly, turned to me and said very seriously, "I just got up the nerve to hold your hand and now I need to grab my bike. That seems backwards. I'm just going to leave it here and walk you home." I melted right there. We arrived at my house and embraced in a very close hug. You asked when you could see me again, and I whispered, "Whenever you want." You said, "Really? How about Saturday?" I told you that sounded great. Then we slowly let go and you kissed my lips softly; closed-mouth like a gentleman. Though the intent was pure (but maybe not, knowing you,) I got more turned on than I could remember in my adult life, and that moment has since been what I've thought about nearly every time you pleased me in bed. I could tell by your face that you were considering moving in for another kiss, but I smiled and said, "Goodnight!" then walked inside. I took a picture of myself to capture my glow. We have spent an abundance of time together, and our connection is undeniable. I love when you sing to me and I love that you showed up at my house unexpected to surprise me. I love that we ended up burning the eggplant because we were too busy making out, and instead of getting upset, you just ed it "sexy eggplant" and I told you it was delicious. I love how much you make me laugh, and all the hilarious things you say that I need to write down. I love that we took a picture of the dirty alley you kissed me in near the beach, and I love that we rode the ferris wheel twice at the fair after forgetting about dinner that night and eating nothing but dessert. I love looking at those black and white photobooth pictures. I love that you can't sit around and have a conversation without putting a hand on my boob (unless we're in public.) I love that we text good morning every morning and goodnight every night. I love that we traded my panties for your sweaty t-shirt. I love that we both love thai food. I love that you hugged me while I was peeing to be funny because I told you that my daughter does that. I love that we both love farmer's markets. I love your face and your lack of facial hair. I love that you question morality, including your own. I love how much you love your dog, and I can totally see him growing on me. My little girl would have loved him, too. You would also love her. I know this. I hate to think that John Lennon was idealistic. I wish all this was enough. For you. For me. Maybe it should be? Maybe it shouldn't? Maybe xxx can never really know what they want or need for the years ahead and expectations should be reinvented for every new person? These questions are why I haven't ed or texted you since you told me I was too responsible to be your girlfriend. That you didn't want anything serious and you were the wrong boy for me. You want to be unsettled for now, and I'm too settled. "Settled" is kind of relative, anyway. I just picked up and moved across the country because I simply liked it better here. I'll never hold a 43-43, so in some way you're more settled than I am. Maybe you're right. But maybe none of this matters because you're Mr. Right Now and I'm Miss Right Now. Because it was just as painful for both of us to walk away from each other and let go that night. Maybe you will never become Mr. Right, or maybe you will in 43 years when you become a grown up, but maybe that shouldn't matter. Maybe I shouldn't be looking for a grown up right now because I'm enough of xxx myself and what I really need out of life is to chill out and be happy at this moment. Maybe you need just a little more stability. Maybe we complement each other more than either of us realize. All I know is that I'm so happy when I'm with you, and it goes against every xxx of my natural impulses to not contact you. I miss you so fucking much. I miss The Pope, too. Thank you for giving me space and thank you for being you. Yours, The girl who likes to future-trip Hangout happy new years mature adult matchs. grand woman ready american singles chat.
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It has been a year since my whole life walked out the door. It is time to leave the sorrows behind and see if there is someone that is honest to find life with. I am certainly in no hurry but would love to smile again. I own my home and truck and have no need for "things". Honesty is a MUST!!! Send a pic if you can and your favorite music artist in the subject as I wont answer spam. "dolce"
We were friends; ny dating taco time parking lot rather, strangers mixing together briefly to discuss tangential anecdotes. I hardly had a whisper of a grip on the world when I searched for you, found you. Glaring light from a computer screen kept me awake amidst the taptaptap of keys and my fingers refreshing the page every 52.52 seconds. I remember when I almost met you horney Cooper Landing cougars once, but my ride bailed on me and we just never talked about it except to wish fondly. I guess I didn't know you that well, but I didn't know myself either. Does that make it okay or worse? I struggled, you struggled more, and we fell out of contact. I exited the fleeting experimental phase of sleepovers suddenly being weighed with stolen kisses and not waking up parents, to realizing I would never really know. Because I NEVER (is a long time though) got to try with you. But how fucking selfish is that? You knew who you were, who you are. Why should you be my experiment? You were xxx of my closest friends and I never even met you in person. I wonder what would have happened if I met you during that tumultuous time. Would we still have been friends, lovers, or something else? As I continue to exclusively date, fuck, and shack up with men, I still think about you often. Would I have gone from being confused, curious, to in love with you? The truth of it is that it doesn't matter much. Our lives will probably never reconnect again. But every so often, I wonder if anyone will ever me Dolce again. Mature fit sexy man looking for a friend and more still.