Marcello and I had a fairly fast connection, owing to my ease with both Italian culture and perverts in general. We agreed to meet on an inauspicious Sunday evening. As we went back and forth about a location, he invited me to his apartment, which should have immediately tipped me off as to the level of pervert I would be dealing with. But I was lightly hungover and felt like I needed a reason to shower.
After greeting and checking each other out (stylish!) I was most alarmed by how closely he resembled my former Italian love Carlo- were they mannerisms and inflections particular to the North of Italy? I couldn't be sure, but as I felt the first cocktail crawl up the back of my legs I thought I was in the presence of a ghost. Approximately 15 minutes into the date Marcello began what became a peculiar dance- him trying to wrestle me into a kiss, me trying to wrestle my way to the bar and out of his arms. But the connection was brilliant- we bantered in three languages, discussed mid century furniture and design, restaurants and the industry. As his stories of a long full life poured out, I blurted, "How old are you?". He confessed he had lied about his age, was 49, and divorced with two teenaged daughters living in a different city. Red flags were practically shooting out of his ears, but I hadn't laughed so hard with a man in years, and had conversations I had never imagined having with a man. As I listened to him ramble on about remodeling a Provencal kitchen, I realized I had cheated myself out of dating men I might actually have common interests with.
As he begged me to come back to his apartment, I said, "Are you out of your mind? I can barely fight you off in public! How could I ever be alone with you?"
As Dorothy before me once asked, "Are you a good pervert, or a bad pervert?" Remains to be seen.
Second Date- STRANGE. FUN.
Cocktail selection- EXCELLENT NEGRONIS
Interesting tidbit- Men over 40 like to talk on the phone. They do not like when you point this out.
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