My final eHarmony Adventure

My lastest personal failure doesn't even deserve a name.
On the final day of my eHarmony account, I was contacted by a 22 year old middle school science teacher. She enjoys Sports, Bars, and "Partying" whatever that means. Not really my scene, but she was a science teacher, so she had to be a nerd right? Apparently not.

We raced through eHarmony's the controlled communication phases, well aware that at any time eHarmony could give me the axe. I asked her some open ended questions, very simple ones. I didn't ask the zombie question, I was in a hurry. What a shame. Her answers were unremarkable.

This morning she asked me some questions. The highlight is as follows:

"ok, so you have to explain about your photos.... goggles, zombie, and rave lights? :)"

I have a unique personal style. Like everything in my life, it's pulled together from bits and pieces of other things. I like to personalize everything around me. My clothing is certainly no exception. I wear a tie to work on most days, but on evenings and weekends I like to dress up. Men don't have many options as far as accessorizing goes, and to me, goggles say "post nuclear badass" which is a look I frequently strive for. Subtley. The leather jacket with the rave lights is one of my best Mad Max style jackets. I directed a Zombie Film for UCI's 24 hour film festival last year. It was absolutely beautiful. I had a team of 5 students, and we had next to no filmmaking experience between us. Part of the 24 hours included running tutorials on our editing software :^). The photo with the rave lights is from a series of me and some friend at the beach playing with extended shutter time. I've never been to a rave, but I do love techno.

After I responded to her question, she closed contact.
Reason: Other

This concludes my adventures with eHarmony.
Now I'll have to find dates the old fashioned way. at gunpoint.

Gentlemen don't dry hump

I love to dance. I could be called a "dancin' fool," but no one has thus far taken the opportunity.

Last night was my 5 year highschool reunion, and after my only friend left the bar, I took an empty table and decided to relive my highschool days, by sitting alone. This didn't actually last. Two women, whom I'd alwasy thoguht were too cool for me, and who had alwasy thought of themselvesas big dorks, took to the dance floor and beckoned me to follow. It would put me behind in my brooding, but it could be fun. I'll just make sure I brood twice as hard later.

To my great fortune, the next song to play was swing. My style of choice. My only style, if you want to get picky. I took Pigeon by the hands, and we danced. I believe that during a dance, it is the responsibility of the man to make the woman look good. In the case of swing, the male is the lead. I'm afraid to say that Pigeon was hammered, and nothing was going to make her look good. But I could show her a good time.

The first thing is to make her feel like she's dancing well. Her timing was off, she was dancing 4 beats per measure instead of the classic 6 of East Coast Swing. I pulled my timing off too, and we danced together. The next thing is to let her know that you are having a great time. Eye contact, and smiles. If your partner is having a good time, then you must be doing things right. After that is the trivial step of dancing. Consulting your library of swing turns and dips, and patching them all together to the beat of a familar song.
Pigeon had a great time. So good, she completely forgot that she had to pee. As I said, she was hammered. And as unexpectedly as it started, the music stopped, and was replaced with a song about "My Goodies."

I do not dance like "the kids" dance. This imaginary copulation exercise that "the kids" are all crazy about. The grinding, the freaking, it's not my scene. I can not turn off my mind. Everything I do is tightly considered, and for me, physical contact always has meaning. I will not dry hump a stranger. I think it's rude, and a little obscene.

But Pigeon clearly wanted to dance in this fashion, and the dance floor was otherwise unoccupied. I had to be the hero. I buckled my lip, and decided to take one for the team. And we dry humped. Rhythmically.

Even after seven drinks, I was focusing on what this action would mean to the people around me. I knew exactly what it meant. Nothing. It was how people dance. Pigeon's hands running up my sides like she was my lover. Her thigh pressed up against my nethers. Who is she? I don't even know if she has parents, or if she grew her self out of a pod. This was an insignificant act for everyone else, but for me, it was a sacrifice.

I think odds are good I take myself too seriously, but a man is defined by his actions, and a gentleman doesn't dry hump in public.

On the other hand, it was really nice to feel appreciated, even if it was only because I gave off warmth and occupied space.

The IFC

"Don't say that," he said.
"They Talk." He said.
"You think it, I think it, we all think it. Just don't tell them. It scares them. And they have a wide spread communication network." He said.

I am of course referring to the International Female Conspiracy.

I, like most of my generation, learned everything I know about women by watching sitcoms in the 80's and 90's. Some of the important lessons I've learned include: "While hiding the truth from your beau may result in a hilarious and ultimately forgivable circumstance, it's not really worth the trouble," and "Miscommunication is the comedic root of most problems." While these values not entirely outdated, perhaps my teachings have lead me astray with the belief that women enjoy stability and commitment.

I'm not saying YOU, attractive female reader (mailto:dhoffmann@gmail.com) are afraid of commitment, but a great many of your number are. Your similarly attractive sister, perhaps. How does this effect Spam? Why is he afraid of a lack of committment? I don't really know.

But in a mostly unrelated note, I had a truly excellent time with Octave and her friends last night at her party.

"This could become something really special," I thought.
pause.

That right there is my problem, and the problem of many of my ilk. "Could become." "Will be." "One day." With an eye to the future, I and so many others fail to appreciate what is around us right now. Right now, down the road, there is a girl who put her nose in my ear. I wonder what she's doing, or if she's wondering what I'm doing.
And on top of that, I'm thinking and plotting. Right now. When can I next see her? When can we next talk, and share something? I never stop. I live in the future. I live within plots and plans. One eye on the future, one eye on the past. Watch where I'm going, remember where I've been. I'm doing pretty well for myself, but I don't stop long enough to appreciate what is going on now.

play.
I drove home at 80 miles an hour, and discovered that some of the songs on my depressing playlist weren't actually depressing at all.
When can I see her next?

And this is where tact comes in. This is where I hold my tongue.
"Don't tell her." He said. "It will scare her. They do not like plans and plots." I considered.
"Of course, you cannot stop planning. You cannot stop thinking. We are the brown haired boys. We are the ones who stay up late, worrying about the daylight. Between the hours, between blinks, we are thinking. Of course you cannot turn it off, but you must keep it to yourself." He didn't actually say that in those words, but it's my story, so I say he did.

If a kiss is just a kiss, and an earsniff is just an earsniff, then I'd better just keep on improvising. No expectations. No reasons to be disappointed, and no way to be let down. I need to focus on the present. On enjoying what is going on, without setting goals.

The International Female Conspiracy sends out monthly newsletters with recipes, videogame cheats, and the potential plots of would be suiters. If I made front page, I'm concerned that I'd get a short email stating that we have different priorities right now.

So I'm keeping quiet. I can't actually stop plotting. I can't have no plans, none of us can. But I can shut up. I can fail to mention fantasies of our first kiss. I can withold my enthusiasm for the curves of her body and the smell of her hair. These are things that a romantic heart would dream about. These things do not concern me. I can keep silent on all this mess.

Of course, she reads this blog, so I guess I fucked that up.

Not actually as stupid as I look.

I have a personal problem.
I try to act like a gentleman at all times. However, somewhere I picked up the idea that gentlemen do not discuss sex or sexuality openly. On top of that, is a layer of feigned ignorance. When the topic of sex comes up, my halo turns on. *boop!* I don't share stories, commonly. I don't look on knowingly. I am an innocent lamb.

I am not actually a lamb. I'm not a goat either, but I'm definitely not a lamb. However, my calculated demeanor gives to those around me the impression of ignorance on all topics reproductive. Incidentally, through normal conversation, I gave all participants the impression that I did not understand how the Female Systems worked. With my personal habits, it's no suprise.
This is not the case, I insisted. However, my eyes got shifty, and it appeared as if this was just a cleaver ruse to cover up the ignorance I surely posess.

The female body is a complicated system of glands and ductwork that can only be described as a "wonderland," (don't blame me for that, this was a preferred adjective by an ex girlfriend of mine). That is stupid, and incidentally, she is stupid. Branching away from her preferences, I would describe it as "complicated." Certainly more complicated that its counterpart.
This system is composed of various internal and external components, which need to be operated in the right order and combination to produce a desired effect. There is no manual, and the combination changes every day.
::sigh:: Observe my charming, matter of fact approach to the subject. I don't think I've ever actually had a sensual talk on this subject. This contributes to my awkwardness.

Just so we're clear, there are 58,266 files, stored in 13.8 gigabytes on my computer that demonstrate a decade's worth of intensive "study" on this subject. I have personal experience on the subject as well, but this is hardly the place to discuss others. That would be rude.
And apparently, today, I care.

The fault lies in my personal belief that I am more approachable as an innocent. A friend suggested that perhaps I should be like James Bond. James Bond is unquestionably a gentleman. And unquestionably a gentleman of the world. Also an assasin. Through cleaver use of innuendo he appears both polite and sexy. Through accurate use of firearms, he is also deadly. This is a new goal of mine.

Still not a Date

Today is the close of the worst week of my life. It's not like I got pubic sores, or I accidentally decapitated a friend, I was just completely unable to relax. On tuesday morning, I thought about car crashes all the way to work. On coming traffic. Bridge pillars. Canyon cliffs. I'm in my mom's station wagon. The thing is so big, I would kill whomever I struck, and survive to continue my lamentations.

It was a bad week.
One thing about me, is that when I am depressed, I am DEPRESSED.
It passes, mostly after liberal application of sleep, but it happens sometimes.

All week, I was looking forward to thursday night gaming. Octave was getting a small group of friends together, and I would meet them. It's not an interview, or a judgement. I'm just meeting them. And if they don't assimilate me into the friendhood, she can't date me. no pressure.
Octave wasn't able to get enough of her friends for thursday, so she rescheduled it for monday.
It sort of hurt my feelings, and suddenly I lost it.

I don't really want to defend my behavior, I was emotional. That's either enough of an excuse or no excuse at all. Depends on who you are.
With Princess in a separate IM Window telling me that I should say what is on my mind, I told her that it hurt me that she rescheduled it again.
I have an eager heart, and I have been trying so hard to keep my hands on it, but it leaks. And spurts. I got some of my heart juice on Octave.

With an additional 4 day delay proposed without even my consideration, it seemed that Octave was not in fact counting down the hours until our next encounter. She may not even be looking forward to seeing me. I lost my perspective, and I told her how I felt.
A little too much about how I felt.
That went about as well as you can imagine.

I am not happy without something to worry about, and at this point, it's perfectly reasonable for me to start sabotaging my own love life.
I think you don't have interest in me, I said in different, possibly more insulting words.
Hah hah! take that ME! Take that Previous Post where she said she was Interested in me. Take that LOGIC! Do you like these Apples? Yes I do.

She was insulted, and possibly considered me too demanding or needy.
Uh oh. I thought. I explained myself, and speedily brought the situation from "too demanding," to "too messed up." not necessarily a step up.

But she seem to forgive my transgressions. I told her that it would mean a lot to see her thursday night, no matter what we did. So she agreed it it.

It's not even a question of whether it's a date or not. It's not. Not because I upset her, but we aren't dating. We're friends who happen to flirt and go out a bit.

It was the epitome of a laid back evening.
I must of course leave out the sultry details. Of which there are none.
But there was pie involved. Any evening with pie is a good evening.

If you read this blog weekly, then I have no doubt accidentally seduced you. That tends to happen to the women who are near me (that never happens). Sorry, but the feeling isn't mutual. I LIKE you, and I like the time we spend together (mostly at MY request, so why don't you finally bookmark this site?) but really, I need to be in a committed relationship before things get physical. Sorry Ladies.

It was a Statutory Evening

Tonight I was rescued from my misery by Octave, and her cadre.

It began with a long sought after conversation between us, where we sort of laid down our hands, and said everything on our minds. While it was clear to both of us that the other was attracted, complicated circumstances continue to hinder a clear understanding between us.
I won't really get into detail, that part's not funny.

Afterwards, we picked up a cadre of her friends: Dave, a Fiery Scotsman (an ex of hers), and a Trio of Teens. Together, we wen't to Carrows and sat loudly while ordering mostly drinks. It's okay, it was late, and we weren't too disruptive. I care about these things, and after expressing that, Someone called me an old man.
Her friends were delightful. Yound and crazy, I took my turns at sugarshots with the rest of them, while sharing a dessert with Octave. Actually, I was too full to even eat it. Cursed milkshakes and their delicious goodness! Her friends liked me quite a bit, seemed relieved by my gentlemanly aires, and caught many of my obscure pop culture references. One girl even caught my crossover Winnie the Pooh/ Harry Potter comment "Hufflepuffs and Woozles."
"I love you." She said. A Geek always appreciates it when people recognize his bizarre references.

It was a wonderful night, as as we took them home, Octave and I offered relationship advice to a young friend considering starting her first relationship. Together we agreed that she should do all the communication with him directly, not outsource it to friends. Then I went on a brief tirade about the importance of communication, and practicing it. She said I sounded 25 years older than I looked.

It's not the age, it's the mileage.

I have an Eager Heart

Every now and again, it's important to take some time for personal reflection.
The first thing I need to do is start listening to my intuition. I have spent the past 8 years ignoring that fucker, and instead, going to friends for advice. I think it's time I put a little faith in myself.

Second, I have a very eager heart. This is decidedly a flaw. I get too excited too quickly, and then I get hurt. I need to be more cautious about who I give my heart to. I guess it had just been a while since someone was receptive.

Apparently Sakura has a chain of broken hearts in her wake, and lamentous souls stuffed in her pockets. Allegedly there was concern for my well being when we started going out, since everyone else knew what was going to happen. I'm not going to focus on how silly I sounded in that post, or how offensive it is that I was right. I think she just has some stuff to work through, and I wish her the best.

It has been brought to my attention that "my type" of girl, is... messed up. My past two relationships (3 years, 2 years) were both with women who thought of themselves as unlovable. In the confidence pool, they were sitting on the steps in the shallow end. These are traits that despite my own best interest, I am drawn to. Hence Sakura. I need to knock that shit off. I need to find someone who is stable and confident.

And to reiterate, despite the continuation of this blog, I'm am not on a quest anymore.
I'm not looking anymore. I said it, and I meant it. I'm just playing it as it comes. It's just that despite the constant, painful, and seldom creative rejection, I keep meeting new people.

Date Review: Sakura Round 2

A Reasonable Man would get a little sleep before putting his thoughts in print. I am not a reasonable man. As previously stated, I am a funny man. Comedy At the expense of women and their trust.
So if you have a problem with that, you'd better not be laughing. Also, a man walks into a Bar. "Ouch," he says. You'd better not laugh at that either.

Our date did not go well. Sakura had planned this one, and it was to be Italian food, followed by Pride and Prejudice. I didn't really want to see P&P, but I knew it was a sappy lovey film, and that I'd probably like it, despite my own pride and prejudice. It was the film she recommended, and when you're going out on a second date, you don't say "Romance is for Fags. Let's see Jarhead." You say " That sounds great. I'll pick you up after work." After work came pretty quickly. I pulled through the LA traffic in record time, and was at her door by 5:30.
My mind wandered from place to place, to the kiss we'd shared, to her calves, back to the kiss, and then to the not so subtle remark she'd made about finding time for making out. I was seventeen again. I was very excited about the making out. That didn't end up happening.
I met her at the door, and pulled her in for a hug, followed with a smooth transition into a kiss. This was how we ended the last date, and it was very important for me to reestablish our comfort and attraction. The kiss didn't work out for some reason. It was stopped by something. I'd assumed that maybe she needed alcohol before she could kiss me. I decided not to press the issue, afterall, I had just gotten there, and I had a present for her.
We popped into her apartment, talked with her charming roommate, and I gave her a small wrapped parcel. A Serenity comicbook, #2 of 3. It had Kaylee on the cover, and I wrote her a note.

"When you can't run anymore, you crawl. And when you can't do that any more... well you know the rest." For those of you who aren't cool enough to know the rest, it goes like this: "And when you can't do that anymore, you get someone to carry you." I thought it was a nice quote from the series, and I thought it carried my hopes of a strengthening relationship. Her roommate assured us that she wouldn't be in the apartment when we got back. *wink* *wink*

Since I got there so early, I was hoping for some makeouts, but Sakura was sort of in a hurry to get out. If we were able to get our dinner, we could concievably catch the 8:20 showing, instead of the 10:30 one. She said she'd rather not be out late.
The awkwardness continues.
We walk to the car, and I put my hand over her shoulder. This is friendly cuddling. This is a level of contact that we have established as acceptable. This is something we have shared in the past. More than once. But she was cold. Not physically, just emotionally. She had no response to my touch. Didn't move closer, didn't touch me back, didn't look at me, just kept walking. So I kept that attempt up for all of four seconds. She didn't say anything.
I didn't say anything, and I should have. Instead, I got into her car (she wanted to drive) and we went to the restaurant. We were at a light for about 3 minutes. I tried to lean and kiss her on the cheek. As I said before, it was important to me to reestablish our connection. She ignored me, and I couldn't reach. She always drives with 2 hands, so I could not try to hold her hand. It was awkward. She didn't say anything.
Sakura and I have a history of physical contact. Not a lot of it. Just simple cuddling and flirting. She's rested her head in my lap. I've put my hands on her face. I've held her around the waist. We kissed once. But today, she didn't want me touching her. It bothered me a lot.
At the Restaurant, the adorable Maitre'D gave us a four person table so we could "sit next to each other." Sakura decided it would be best to sit across from each other. I was starting to get frustrated, as you can imagine. As she perused the wine list, and told mer her favorite types, I said I wasn't interested in wine. I don't really like wine, but I would have tried it for her. NOPE. Not Tonight. It's about time we had some sober time together anyway. Over dinner (it was delicious) we talked. The conversation wasn't bad. She told me about her dad's mid-life crisis. She didn't really ask me about myself, so I just let her talk.

Over Dinner, Sakura was fixated on her phone. Tonight, during our date, she would be receiving a phone call giving her a position in an upperdivision film production.

The rest of the date went this way. She was tied to her phone, and I was an arms length away. We're in a romantic movie, with no arm rest between us, and I'm wondering "am I just not trying hard enough? She SHOULD be wanting me to at least hold her goddamned hand." I touch her thigh with one finger, and then go back to minding my own business. If she is interested in contact, she'll grab my hand. She wasn't interested in contact. I thought about leaving, but I realized that she'd driven, so I'd be stuck there. Also my hat was in her car.

I spent the rest of the movie wondering why she'd agreed to this date. She didn't seem interested in me. She was behaving... inconsistently. I imagined that maybe she decided I wasn't attractive anymore. Maybe without alcohol, she just wasn't interested. It sort of made me upset. I watched the movie. the main character cried when she learned her sister ran away with a soldier. I laughed. Somewhat bitterly.

The evening moves on, and we end up at her gate. "I'm so tired," she says as a way to be perfectly clear that there are no makings out waiting for me back at her place. So I hug her and say good night. We broke apart, but I held onto her hand.
"What's going on? Things were... weird tonight." I said.
"Yeah." she said, lookign down. Then she explained it. She was afraid things had been moving too fast.

I can see where she's coming from, and I can see how her behavior came about. But I am too frustrated to sympathize.
She should have fucking told me at the beginning of the goddamned date, when I tried to kiss her. That would have saved me an entire evening of heartache.

"You're only the fifth girl I've ever kissed." I said, to exeplify the fact that fast or not, my attraction is significant. "You're the first guy I've gone out with." She says, with what could have only been an intention to shatter my hope in the relationship. "So you can see why I'm a little awkward."

If I'm her first relationship, and this is our second date, then I really think this is going to have problems. I am tired of being training wheels. I'm tired of women who have no idea how, when, or why to share themselves in a relationship. We're already working on a critical communications failure. But I'm a nice guy. I know what she needs to hear.

"I like you. I'm willing to take things slowly." I held her hand, and looked at her. "I'll see you later." And I left.

But now that I'm home, I have all these sugar plumbs dancing in my head. It just doesn't seem worth it. That may not sound like a sugar plumb to you, but I've always been afraid of those things.

What I think is really going on is this: Sakura has a history of painful flings. Perhaps they developed much like this. Meet someone, like them. Kiss them, then Insert Penis. Perhaps she really likes me, and she doesn't want this to go the same way as other relationships. She's being cautious.

I can understand that. I don't think it's a good reason. ButI can understand.
She should know that I'm not like that. She's been talking to emily, she's been talking to me. She should have an idea of the strength of amy character. But it isn't this decision that bothers me. I'd never kissed so quickly either. In my past relationships, it was literally weeks before saliva was shared. If she hadn't made the move, this would have been a normal date. What bothers me is that she made this ground breaking, date altering decision, and didn't tell me.
What also bothers me, perhaps more than anything, when is holding hands moving too fast? If she didn't want to kiss me, that's one thing. And it's decidedly less awkward. But she wouldn't touch me. Despite all the stories, despite conjecture and rumor, the fact of the matter was that she wanted the date to go short from the beginning, and she didn't want to touch me.

I feel like she doesn't have any interest in me, and her past enamourations were just an inebriated desire for comfort. I feel used.

Goodnight Bowl and Goodnight Brush.
Goodnight, Goodnight Bowl of Mush.

Date Review: Sakura

Tonight, I had the first successful date in the history of this blog. *throws some confetti*
There was Danger, Laughter, Tears, Adventure, and even some Loose Lovins. Read on.

It started in the way all good dates start: with my keys locked in my mom's station wagon. That always impresses "The Ladies." One word: Classy.
So she had to drive. Then I found out that her car is awesome. Awesome in the way that my old car was awesome. She has an aftermarket GPS system installed. The screen is attached snuggly beneath the radio, and it is operated by a hand joystick. The annoying voice can not be turned off, and has no name. She has an XM radio reciever mounted to her dash as well. And all these things have wires. Lots of wires. I have a thing for wires. I likes me the wires.

We went to a play. A carefully selected play. A date play. It was called "Hello, Hello" and it was a series of 7 short plays all about the difficulties of modern relationships. We laughed. She Cried. I Laughed some more. Apparently Geoff had warned her that I laugh at "unusual" times. If Suicidal depression isn't funny, then what is?
I got the impression that she was a very passionate and emotional person. I imagined us, far in the future, watching a lifetime movie, and crying out eyes out as we pass a box of Kleenex back and forth. I have never been with an openly emotional woman. It will be an entirely new dynamic for me.

But I am getting ahead of myself. We arrived at the theater quite early, and Sakura was noticable tense. So I decided to get her liquored up. If there is one thing this woman likes, it's the sauce. We walked two blocks at a mexican dive bar, and she ordeed a Lemon Drop Martini, and I, a Vodka Tonic. Recently I have become aware of my iron consitution. I can drink quite a lot before it gets to me. Sakura can't. She loosened up a lot after she got some booze in her.

The play took us through seven different relationships, and it took us straight into our own lives. Let me first tell you that Chewbacca is dead. If this comes as a suprise, then you have never read the Star Wars Novels. I haven't either. But this topic has come up 3 times, in 3 different companies since I met Sakura. In this play, two socially inept adults bond in their sorrow over Chewbacca's fate, as they decide that despite their differences, the challenge of being together is better than facing another day alone. That's not the part that strikes close to home. Just the part abotu Chewbacca. We are not socially inept, but we are nerds. And mightily so. And if we haven't read the books, our friends have. As we've previouse established, and thoroughly believe, I am not a lonely person. Who said I was?!? I'll cut them. Sakura, on the other hand...
She has a door in her living room. It was a film prop, and has been attacked thoroughly by sharpies. and a Sledge Hammer. On it are written all the things that she hates. Amongst these things is "always being at fault," "being lied to," "bad sex," and just to the left of a sledge hole: "All men. Every one. Ever." I can't help but feel included in that last one. Maybe the last two.
But regardless of my physical prowess, which is as of yet untested, the evidence says she may be lonely.

But everyone is lonely. So that doesn't really mean much. Give me a few weeks, and even I, Spam, beloved by all, could become lonely. Most likely at night. Mostly when I'm cold. Mostly.

So the play went well, and after we retired to her place for tea. This is significant, because I have a food phobia. However, nothing is as strong as a man's will to impress a woman. While I admitted that I had never had earl grey, I failed to mention that I had previously referred to all tea as "dirt water." I happily drank it. And don't you go ahead telling her I said that. You'll just cause trouble. Then I'll cut you.

More Time passed. As much as I would love to forget that I was locked out of MY MOM'S STATION WAGON, this was sort of something we had to face. Triple A was putting me on hold for 30 minutes, so she decided it would be better jsut to go get the keys. We spent some time in her car talking. I learned about her family, and her film projects. She learned about my friends. It was a truly excellent piece of sharing. Then we arrived back at her house, with my spare keys. And it was time to go.

She stood close to me, and I put my hand around her waist and gave her a good hug. Maybe I sniffed her hair. Her hair smelled very good. I leaned back to look at her. And she looked backat me. Without speaking, she told me to kiss her. "What if I'm still contagious?" I blurted out. "Then that will be my problem." I kissed her. And I saw spots. And a little tongue.

The interesting thing about a first kiss with a woman: the only think I can think about is what the inside of her mouth must look like. Like my tongue is a camera, I imagine her mouth as I do battle with her tongue. This is how I remember each and every one of my first kisses. Sakura has a very firm kiss. she was strong and skilled, but not overly excited. She was very controlled. She is an excellent kisser, and it warranted additional combat.

We're planning a date for the very next available evening, Monday.