We met at Rm 55 at 8pm. Thanks to the relatively balmy weather I was able to wear my favorite lipstick red Valentino pencil skirt with bare legs, and a Masayuki Marakawa black top with artful white button-down details at the forearms and wrists. I topped it off with an Iosselliani necklace, Louboutin shoe booties and my Burberry trench.
The Stats: Martin, British (in NY six months), 39, Divorced, 6 feet, Central Park South apt, runs his own hedge fund, adventure junkie. He and I had started talking when I first joined and hadn't yet realized that men tend to embellish their height. Nevertheless he won me over with his joie de vivre and sense of adventure, so I kind of forgot about the height thing. When he walked up, it was obvious my Loubs made me taller than he. We sat down rather quickly on one of the large couches and sipped vodka martinis.
Almost immediately he launched into oration about his myriad adventures around the world- scuba diving in Thailand, snowboarding (and cracking two ribs) in Jackson Hole, playing rugby with a dislocated shoulder, and surviving a mid-air collision-- in his own glider plane.
(Sidenote: I have been enthralled with glider planes ever since my favorite movie, The Thomas Crown Affair.) Nevertheless, an hour and a half had gone by and I had perhaps said five words: Wow, Interesting, Hmm, Really? & Hahaha. I was wary of the vodka kicking in too much as I wanted to make a subtle exit. When he got up to use the restroom after thrilling me with photos of his dislocated shoulder (!!) I texted my BFF, "This was a total waste of Valentino!" I was gathering my resolve to wind down the evening when he returned.
"You know, I have a weakness for blondes and for heels, and when I saw you I knew I was done for. I've been a bit nervous..." he said. It then occured to me that he hadn't been rambling on because he was a narcissist, but rather because he was trying to sell himself to me. (Note to men: the plane worked, the macabre shoulder sugery pics did not).
We then settled into a easy banter. He opened up quite a bit, and seemed much more relaxed. We both talked about our attitude towards life, and realized we're quite similar. We both believe in taking the harder path, making the difficult decision, throwing yourself into something and refusing to let fear hold you back. We also talked about authenticity and how rare it is on this island of posturers. We then both started smiling at finding the counterpoint in the other. At that point, he leaned in, "How do you not have a boyfriend?"
I told him, "Anyone can have a boyfriend, I want the boyfriend. I'm looking for some very specific characteristics." (I left out the part about commitmentphobia) When I told him I needed both intellectual discussion and debate on top of a sense of adventure, he lit up. Obviously, he thinks he has both. There's no doubt he's intelligent, but I need intellectualism as well - a love for questioning social mores. (And, I hate to say it, but I was kind of missing Jason at that point. Forget the swanky shit, I wanted to feel like I could be myself.)
We lounged a bit longer, and the vodka must've kicked in because we started kissing. He showered me with compliments (points to him for them not all being about what I looked like -- but a hefty percentage of them were). In true British form, he noted my 'crackling personality' and said that he couldn't wait to see me again.
I'm going to give him one more shot. After all, I wouldn't necessarily mind a ride on that gliderplane...
*scorpio*
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