Wednesday, January 23, 2002
Let Your Hair Down
Dirt, indeed. I met my The Stranger Personals date at the Film Forum for an early showing of Shampoo, during which we held hands and traded veiled comments about the movie so that we could put our mouths near each other's ears. Afterwards, a martini and some hot innuendo that led to a blissful taxi make-out session on the way to Brooklyn. My new friend had purchased a lovely bottle of red wine, which we proceeded to sip as we slow-danced to a Bing Crosby CD. This led to full-on writhing on the hardwood floor. We moved to his large bed, which took up most of the spare square footage in his studio apartment. He gently undid the braids in my hair, combing them out as he read to me from Whitman's Leaves of Grass
An extremely lovely nighttime that shall remain untold followed.
In the morning, he squeezed three fresh oranges and gave me a glass of juice. I used his toothbrush, and he combed the post-coital tangles from my hair. He walked me to the subway, and we kissed through the iron gates as I, regretfully, trekked back to Manhattan.
How very "personal," indeed. I think I am in love.
AG
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