Men's Club: The Perfect Date

The Perfect Date is one where you know you can do no wrong.

Regular readers know that I believe in karma and reincarnation. Not in the New Agey incense-and-candles sense. Karma and reincarnation are the logical inferences of a personal scientific investigation into the nature of life.

So what has this to do with The Perfect Date? Twice in my life I knew I could do no wrong because I inwardly saw the door wide open for me.

Let me explain.

About 20 years ago one summer, I had a professor who taught an incredible course in Homer. (You know, The Iliad and The Odyssey.) We became good friends and she told me her two daughters who lived and worked in Manhatten were going to spend three weeks with her in June/July and I should come visit.

Well, I did and they both were stunning, especially the older one, Andrea. She had long white-blonde hair and dark creamy skin that fit her Teutonic heritage. We got along for the first week. Somewhere during the second week the karmic stirrings began.

You have all felt these karmic stirrings. They are the forces that begin to draw you to a person. When you have something to finish up with someone, these karmic stirrings kick in, almost requiring you to follow through with getting closer to that person. Until you cross a certain line, and then the hard stuff begins to get worked out.

Anyway, I felt those karmic stirrings, knew what they meant, and had enough experience to know that there was no point in resisting so I decided to take full advantage of it. You see, when you are in that initial karmic glow, all of life seems to support you, supply you with everything you need to make the event happen.

So naturally I won a radio contest for two tickets to a dinner theater in Fair Oaks, California. The girls and her mother were out sailing that day, so I left an ambiguous message about having a couple of tickets to a dinner theater, and was there anyone who would like to go?

I knew Andrea would call back. And she did. We set the date. And I knew it was going to be The Perfect Date. I could do no wrong. Karma was on my side. (To hell with the consequences after!)

So I borrowed my boss's Mercedes and stuffed the trunk with a picnic basket containing champagne, two glasses, and a small blanket a friend got me from Greece, and two pillows. (Uh, no, not what you think...not yet, anyway.)

I picked her up, played it cool. We had a lovely dinner, lovely conversation, watched the play (whatever it was). We never touched or kissed or anything. That was part of the plan.

After the theater, I drove her to a small plateau overlooking some bluffs and the American River. I parked, opened the trunk, pulled out the picnic basket and pillows and I had her walk with me along a dirt path to the bluffs. The air was slightly cool and perfect for late-June. It was night and the stars were out. There were also stars in her eyes.

I pulled out the blanket, lay out the pillows and set up the champagne and glasses. I poured the champagne and with the full confidence of karma on my side, and I made a toast.

"To first dates, first sips, and first kisses." We sipped the champagne and we kissed.

The planets were aligned, the universe in balance, and our lips sparked with karmic pleasure.

It was perfect. We drank champagne and talked and kissed and looked at the stars, both of us feeling the perfection of it all.

We finally drove back to my townhouse. My manic-depressive, roommate, Jodi, was conveniently out for the evening with her boyfriend.

Andrea and I did not fuck. We made love. Exquisite, beautiful heart-opening love. It's an interesting pattern how these karmic things work. They often start in the head (recognition), move down into the heart (that heart-rending, heart-opening pull), and then down into the groin.

But then the hard stuff happened. She naturally found out I had had a vasectomy and she wanted children, so I was off the list. But we had several days of fun together and I went ahead and bought a ticket to Manhattan for a two-week stay with her and her sister six weeks later in August.

Manhatten in August is bad enough. But they lived in a Hell's Kitchen apartment at, oh I think it was 57th Street and 10th Avenue. Something like that. The floor was at a slant, the walls and some windows white-painted shut, the shower barely functional and no air-conditioning. Plus, even though we made love on the fourth-floor roof looking up at the Manhattan skyline, it was all downhill from there.

The first week in Manhattan was great. I had money, I was still in that glow, I could safely walk Central Park at night, take the late Staten Island Ferry past the Statue of Liberty coming into those incredible twin towers, and ride the subway at 2:00 am and feel absolutely safe.

I got a toxic amount of beauty at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and listened to one of the greatest jazz concerts I ever attended at Alice Tully Hall: A Tribute to Thelonius Monk.

The second week I ran out of money, I ran out of good karma, and I ran out of a girlfriend. Hellish days that ended when I finally flew back to California.

But it was worth it. Sometimes I wonder how Andrea is doing? If she's still in Manhatten? Did she ever have children, and did she get over her depression over the death of her father many years before?

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The Devastating Divas and The Mahvelous Men's Club also give you their takes on Valentine's The Perfect Date:

silk loves cuddling and talking after a nice dinner. Phoenix has similar tastes to silk, but throw in a few chocolate martinis. Theresa is easy to please--as long as there are no kids! Arielle will be posting soon.

Jim - a little time, consideration, and one-on-one attention. James - easy answer...just make sure you're with the perfect person. And Nugget has taken the guest spot this week...