"Touched for the very first time. Feel your heartbeat, next to mine..." How can you not love a story that starts with a line from a Madonna song? Answer: You can't and I'm guessing some of you will have that song stuck in your heads for the rest of the day. You're welcome.
I met Mr. Purity at my friend Natalie's Memorial Day BBQ a few weeks ago. He and his two friends crashed the party, and we hit it off while I was busy kicking his butt in flip cup. He was cute--really tall, shaved head, good body, blue eyes and great teeth. I usually like my men with hair, but there was something sexy about him and I couldn't put my finger on it. It could have been a mix of the heat and the alcohol, because he kept looking better and better with every beer-filled cup I drank (then flipped). By the end of the BBQ, we were making out on the street corner like drunken teenagers. I'm not necessarily a P.D.A. kind of gal, but supply me with enough alcohol in a short period of time, and I have been known to do worse. We exchanged numbers, and in between kisses, he put me into a cab.
Flash forward two days later, and there I am standing and looking disgruntled into my refrigerator trying to figure out what the hell I could scrounge together to make for dinner. Mustard? Check. Ketchup? Check. Pickles? Check. Hamburgers, hot dogs, or any other meat products to put said condiments on? Negative. Shit. I was getting ready to throw on some shoes and hike to the grocery store when my phone rang and it was Mr. Purity inviting me to meet him for dinner around the corner. I happily obliged and when I arrived, Mr. Purity had already scored a seat outside and had ordered me a drink. Well played sir, well played.
We had a great time, and one hour turned into four hours, and then one date turned into three dates before I even knew it. Things were going really well, and I was getting excited for the chance at a budding romance! We ended up seeing each other one more time for dinner on Saturday night. Mind you, that was technically our third date. If you have read the blog entry entitled, "The Waiting Game: When in a New Relationship, How Soon is Too Soon," then you know where I'm headed with this. I should probably also mention that it was half-price martini night at the restaurant. Need I say more?
We sat drinking martinis, eating, talking and laughing for a solid three hours and listening to the live jazz. It will probably go down as one of my favorite dates here in Chicago so far. After dinner, I assumed we would stumble back to my apartment, and at the very least, make out like we did that night on the street corner. We got back to my apartment, popped in a movie and started pretending to watch, even though we both knew it was just a formality. The next thing you know his hand moves to my hand, then to my face, and before I could say "don't stop," we are going at it on the sofa. The entire time I kept thinking, "This is totally going to happen" and "Crap! Did I remember to shave my legs?" He interrupted my neurosis when he abruptly stopped kissing me and yelled, "I can't do this! I'm a virgin!"
I sat there and stared at him as if he had four heads until I was able to find my voice again and managed to get out a, "You're kidding, right?" I'm sitting there thinking that nobody at the age of 34--correction, no straight, handsome, smart, red-blooded male would, or could for that matter, still be a virgin. Right? He looked at me and said, "Gena, I told you about my religion and I don't take that sort of thing lightly." Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold the horse! I vaguely remember him mentioning his religious views somewhere between our first and fourth martini, but I definitely don't remember him saying how serious those beliefs were to him! I mean, I have religious beliefs as well, but I like to follow them loosely (clearly, seeing as there is a half naked man, who is not my husband, laying on my couch during this conversation) and I just assumed we were on the same page with that one. We immediately sat up and awkwardly finished out the night by watching the end of the movie.
Neither of us called each other after that night. I think we both knew that the relationship was doomed. Don't get me wrong, I love that he stood for something and has a strong belief and faith. I think that is a very sexy quality in a person, but that only works when we share the same beliefs. I think having a healthy sex life in a relationship is very important. It helps create a bond, both physically and emotionally, so dating someone who doesn't feel the same way, well, I can't see that lasting too long. It was better to quit while we were ahead.
It's such a bummer though because he is a really great guy in every other way. That's just a deal breaker of mine. I'm sure he will find someone equally as wonderful as he is, that shares his same beliefs some day. I'm guessing it will probably someone from his church group. I just hope that I don't read about him in the Tribune under a picture of a bunch of people lying dead on the floor in their Nikes because they drank the "Kool-Aid." What? Too far? OK, OK, I'm done now.