He greeted me with a brown paper bag and a smile.
It was the first time we’d come face to face, though we’d talked for a few months online. He lived several states away and despite some flirtation I’d never planned on us actually meeting; that is until he suggested flying into New York City for a night to take me out on the town.
He wasn’t the type of guy I was normally attracted to, not that there was anything wrong with him. He was kind and generous. In fact he’d treated me to an extravagant Christmas gift a few months before. He was a nice enough looking guy with a sense of humor, but I just didn’t feel much of a romantic connection between us.
So when he suggested spending upwards of a thousand dollars to fly to NYC, stay in a hotel room, and spend even more of his hard earned money treating me to a fancy dinner and a show, I was hesitant to agree knowing chances were he was not going to get his money’s vagina’s worth when I wasn’t physically into to him.
But he was persistent and assured me he was looking for nothing more than some company and an adventure.
That I knew I could give him, so I conceded.
After all, the more I thought about it the more I decided I deserved to be wooed. No man had ever gone out of his way to take me out to a nice dinner and show before, or flown thousands of miles just to pamper me. And even if I wasn’t physically attracted to him now, maybe once we met in person I’d feel something more.
I opened the bag and found two small bottles of Patron and a lemon. In lieu of flowers he’d gifted me booze in the middle of Port Authority.
He sure knew how to treat a Mely!
We headed to a nearby taxi stand, only to find it empty. The two of us made small talk until a town car pulled up a few minutes later and dropped someone off. He must’ve been impatient because instead of waiting for a regular cab, he approached the town car and motioned for me to get inside.
Being a New Yorker(ish), I knew a town car was going to be more than a cab, but this was his show so I let him run it and got in.
What was supposed to be a 10-minute ride turned into twenty plus, as the driver seemed to take us the longest route with the most traffic. When we finally reached our destination (of which he didn’t even drop us at the door due to construction) he announced that the fare was $120 and I nearly died. I think my date nearly died too, but paid it anyway.
So the man who I currently had no intentions of sleeping with had already spent $120 on me and we hadn’t even had dinner.
Oy.
He’d made reservations for us at a place called Bridge Café. Though our adventure that night was supposed to be a surprise I’d convinced him to tell me the name of the restaurant the night before, and upon Googling I’d discovered it used to be a brothel.
My luck, it could very well still be.
All brothel jokes aside, the reason we ended up at that particular restaurant was very sweet.
It had been the fifth or sixth place he’d called before making a reservation. Why? Because they were highly rated and made Crème Brulee. I’d mentioned in a conversation to him once that I’d never had it, so he’d gone out of his way to make sure he could treat me to it that night.
I’d never felt more special.
When we walked inside the restaurant it was completely empty aside from a man at the bar. He looked at me and made a joke that they’d probably laughed their asses off when he’d called to make a reservation, as you probably didn’t need one.
It certainly didn’t look like a fancy restaurant to me, though I’d never even been in one so I wasn’t even sure what to expect. I can tell you it certainly looked like it might still be a front for a brothel, but I was hungry and way too sober so I followed the host to our table and hoped to get some booze in me before any of the waitresses started performing burlesque.
Turned out, despite its lackluster appearance and empty tables Bridge Café was no longer a brothel but an amazing restaurant. The bottle of wine we got from their cellar was amazing. The fried oysters and fritters we had as appetizers were amazing. The scallops with bacon jelly I had for dinner were amazing. And the Crème Brulee I had for dessert was so delicious I nearly orgasmed.
And to top it all off my date that evening was even starting to look amazing after all the alcohol I’d consumed.
Go figure…
In all seriousness I had a great time during dinner. We joked and got to know each other as we drank our worries away. I still didn’t feel a romantic connection between us, but I was definitely enjoying his company.
As we finished up dinner he handed me a sheet of paper that was a clue to our next destination.
Closer inspection revealed it was a ticket to see The Blue Man Group.
I squealed with drunken delight.
We then hopped in a cab (He’d learned his lesson with the town car) and made our way to the show. As we exited the car and walked toward the entrance to the theater, teenagers began to swarm around us. Not one, not three, but at least 80 of them, giggling like hormonal hyenas.
Apparently they were on a senior trip and those of us over thirty were to be the minority that evening.
Then would’ve been a good time to swig from one of the bottles in the brown paper bag my date had gifted me earlier, but I refrained for fear one of the teenagers might steal it.
An hour later we left grinning. The show was great and the teenagers turned out to be rather well behaved. I think my date shouted out during the performance more often than they did.
Next we decided to walk back to his hotel for a drink at the bar. Of course once we arrived at the hotel he suggested we run up to his room so I could use the bathroom and he could drop off the bag he was carrying.
I knew what he was up to but I indulged him anyway just to see if he was as much of a gentleman as he’d claimed he was. Besides, I couldn’t blame him for trying with a girl like me.
We never did make it back down for that drink at the bar.
I left the city that night swigging from my brown paper bag with a smile. My fairytale evening didn’t end with me finding my Prince, but I did feel like a Princess; A less classy and drunker one than Cinderella, but a Princess just the same.
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