Flibbertigibbet

First and Last Date

Several months ago, I received an email from Chemistry.com inviting me to join and find the love of my life. I decided to check it out to see how it was different from Match.com, its parent site.

It seemed alright. Nothing special. Just a different design as far as I could tell.

Well, it only matched me with one boy. Wonder of wonders he is my age. He's atheist (why are those so hard to find?) and his profile reflected a good sense of humor. He's cute. He has a real job i.e., not an actor, musician, or student. I don't think I've ever seen a better profile, actually.

So, I went to clickity-click and find out more and learned very quickly that Chemistry.com is distinct from Match.com in one important way: price.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before but I am stingy. I don't like paying for stuff like this. I mean, I can sort through a bunch of losers on gay.com and find perfectly nice people to chat with and, occasionally -- between explaining to people why I won't accept money for sex even if the would-be client is hot -- someone worth a date or two. And it is free.

I ate a can of cat food for $100. Just before we found out that Chinese people are taking revenge on us for our affinity for cheap sneakers by poisoning our pet food, even.

Rather than "stingy," let's say "thrifty."

But I really had to think about it because this boy looked to be cute as a button.

Well, that was several months ago and the other night, I was being thrifty on gay.com chatting with perverts and generally eroding my good faith in humanity by actually interacting with humanity ("free" isn't without its risks) when I got an instant message from -- you guessed it -- the Chemistry.com boy.

We chatted and it was fun. We buddy listed one another. We friended on MySpace. We agreed to meet for drinks.

Here's the catch: Boy is moving to Las Vegas in a week. Moving. Not just visiting.

Well, apart from being thrifty, one of my other traits is a near-foolish optimism about people and the general course of life. That is to say, I tend to think things will work themselves out.

I'm just waiting to be the perfect victim of some horrible crime. You'll see me on the news with curlers in my hair, a look of shock on my face, and a large blurry spot over my naughty bits. Watch for it. I'll YouTube it if someone can tell me how to do that.

Anyway, even though I knew he's moving, I agreed to meet up with him for dinner.

He is cute. Not exactly the sort I usually go for, but still attractive.

He is funny, although I think his nerves got the best of him and he was trying too hard. People react to stress in different ways. I tend to get quiet. He, apparently, becomes a chatterbox. I don't mind, that.

After a bit, we settled into a good conversational pattern. We laughed and carried on a bit. It was good.

Even if he weren't moving away, I don't think it was exactly a love connection.

For starters, he invited me back to his place. You might be thinking, "Score!" But I was thinking, "Those perverts on gay.com are right. I do look like a prostitute."

You'd think that moment would be both the climax and the end of the date and this story, but it's not.

When I declined his invitation to his apartment, he asked me to stay out a bit longer and go get a couple of drinks with him. I agreed since it was still pretty early -- although it was actually pretty late with it being a school night and all -- and I was enjoying myself.

So, we went and had a couple of drinks and continued our repartee and flirtations. And then the time came for me to head back over the river and get to bed. We chatted while we walked to the corner where we had to part ways and bid our adieus. I gave him a hug and thanked him for an enjoyable evening.

He asked, "Is that all we're going to do with this?"

I laughed, "What more is there to do?" I found the question a bit ridiculous. We're both fully aware of the fact that he's moving three quarters of the way across the continent in a few days. I couldn't imagine what more he could reasonably want.

Now, before you sniff and suggest I am naive, I will point out that rutting about like fevered animals is an option for some, but it isn't for me. I won't even consider making the beast with two backs and two horns with someone I've only just met and I am extending the benefit of the doubt to everyone else by assuming you -- and he -- would not regard it as a serious course of action in this context.

Well, the next day, he IMed me and the conversation was stilted and awkward. I couldn't think why, but I also couldn't pay attention to it because I was working. After a bit of chatter, he came down to the point.

"So, we hugged."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"A kiss is better."

The dude wanted me to kiss him and apparently he felt snubbed by my hug.

Well, I didn't kiss him because I didn't want to give him the impression that I intended more affection than I do. Basically, I didn't want to kiss him. Not because he isn't attractive and not because I didn't enjoy myself. But apart from the simple fact that I didn't feel romantically inclined toward him enough to make the move, I am also completely conscious of the fact that he's moving. It would be overhasty and foolish, I think, to launch a romance that is going to be thrown away or put on indefinite hiatus in just a few days.

I don't think "flings" are all that cool and I'm at a point in my life right now where I find sex too easy and therefore boring to pursue or even accept when offered outside of the potential for a serious relationship.

Perhaps I'm out of place in this city that is crawling with beautiful, gay men, but that's a possibility I'm willing to accept. But I'm not willing to ignore the obvious for the sake of someone else's ego.