Apologize for the length. I write, and this is an excerpt from a journal entry. I'm involved with the girl who lives down the hall from me. Before you chodes say I've got her on a pedestal, I'm pretty capable of keeping my interior disposition completely masked, to the point that this girl in particular has told me a few times that I probably think I'm too cool for her. We'd reached an impasse where she thought I wasn't taking her seriously, and where I'd get frustrated because she'd vacate as soon as our makeouts started heating up. Not a typical field report, but hopefully some of you guys might like it.

Friday. I return from the bars, well-suited. Kat has her door open. She’s just returned from a party. Fancy Friday. I can’t take my eyes off her. It’s impossible. From head to toe she’s in ornamented black, her lips stained berry red against her pale face. What she’s wearing is these hose in a floral pattern which runs up the side of her ankles and calves, along her thighs and end just below the hem of her dress in faux stocking bands. The dress itself hugs the hips. Jesus. The way she looks at me is like heat lightning on a hot velvet night; flashes of blue eyes against the dark of hair, alternately violent or uttering a sullen challenge. I’m standing transfixed, my hungry eyes boring down on her. She looks at me sideways and I follow into her room. That night a kiss from her was like cool wine on parched lips, intoxicating. Later she visits me in my room and when she’s through chattering nervously we kiss and it’s like kissing a virgin, each demonstration of affection carrying more weight than all the summer’s kisses combined. [she's not. I've asked.] Headrush. Her cheeks are flushed. Soon her coach will turn into a pumpkin and she’ll fly from my room leaving me to savor the touches which linger on my lips.

I’d had her pegged wrong. She’s much more of a traditionalist than I’d thought. Saturday night we returned from our walk and I’m lingering in her room. We're kissing and it's heating up.

“Kat. I want to spend the night with you tonight.”

“No. Not tonight. Goodnight!” She’s smiling. She’s wearing lacy panties. She’s pressed up against me. Just before she’d gone to the bathroom, she’d told me that I was right, that she really was a tease. Now she’s come back sans pantalones wearing nothing but her creamy thighs. For fucks sake.

I’m flirting, poised at the doorframe like a vampire on the threshold, stealing kisses. I’m not going to cross her boundaries but goddamn am I going to push it.

She’s tugging my shirt. “Why? Why do you want to spend the night with me!”

“Because I enjoy your company Katherine. What else is there?”

“I think you really don’t even like me.”

“I’m offended you’d even say that. You should know that’s not true at all.”

“Where I come from, you at least buy a girl dinner first.”

“Well I think it’s a silly convention, if two people have a connection, it’s naturally going to lead where it will, dinner or no.”

“Well I think it’s a silly convention too.” She’s silent for a minute. “Do we share a connection?”

“Kat you and I both know the answer to that question.”

She sighs. “I just hope we’ve got the same answer. Do we?”

“Well you tell me. What do you think?”

“Well goodnight. You’re cute though!” She kisses me and closes the door in my face.

And that’s how I came to ask her out for dinner. It’s Sunday night, and she’s come over my room to watch Adventure Time on my laptop. She’s about to sweep out of the room again. I stay her with a quick kiss.

“Kat, I think we should both start thinking about coming down off the fence about each other.”

“I don’t know. I’m still…on the fence about that.” Our banter is really fun but here’s where it’s starting to get old. Holy fuck was my buddy Joe absolutely right about that.

“Listen. I think we should spend more time together.”

“We do spend time together! Like all the time!”

“Well I said I’d cook for you. It’s something I’ve wanted to do. You wanted steaks right? Ribeyes. Rare. What day works best for you?”

“Wednesday. Let’s do Wednesday.”

“Wednesday it is then.”

Here’s where I transmute the conversation. Katherine had really put me on the spot by bringing up a dinner date like that. I want to turn her inside out and leave us both shaking on tangled sheets. I’ve been pretty clear about that since day one. I've been pretty direct about tell her I want to fuck her. But if I were to ask her out apropos of nothing the very next time I saw her I’d seem like an enormous cad who’s trying too hard to please her only for the sake of getting in her pants, even if dinner is something I would have wanted to do anyways, sex or no. She’s put me on the spot somewhat, but it’s also kind of galling. In a very oblique way I was being compared to a standard of manhood she’s carried from back home in Alabama. I am not standing for that. If she wants a man she’s going to get one. I’m going to take her to the nicest restaurant in Nashville. I’m going to dress to the nines for her, and demand that she do the same for me. I’m going to wine and dine the hell out her and we’ll share brilliant and flirtatious conversation as we eye-fuck each other from across the candlelit table in an intimate café setting renowned for delicate French-style interpretations of regional dishes crafted from fresh, locally sourced ingredients. So:

“On second thought, I’d have to shift the table from against the wall.” In our kitchen, the table is pushed against the wall. It leaves the floor space open, but when you sit down to eat, you’re staring at the wall. It’s very anti-social and not conducive to a cooking dinner date.

“I like the table where it is! I always eat standing up.”

“Ah you see, if we hang out it’s going to be a sit down meal where we can’t be interrupted. Also I’m kind of tired of being cooped up in the apartment. How about we go somewhere for steak?”

“Like Texas? Texas has the best steaks.”

“Yes Katherine we’re going to Texas. Let me just fire up my G6 and we’ll be there in a few hours.”

“Oh. That would be really nice.”

“Here in Nashville, Kat. Nine PM. Wednesday. Let’s go to dinner.”

“Dinner?” She pauses. “Wait, let’s do Thursday. No, Friday.” She’s upselling me. Now we’re talking serious date territory. It’s on like Donkey Kong.

“Friday it is then. Nine PM. Think you can be ready by then?”

“I think so.” She’s smiling.

“I’ve got conditions though. Are you ready for these? One, I want you to wear a dress. Two, I want you to wear nice shoes. No wedges. Preferably heels.”

“Ooh where are we going? Is a skirt okay?”

“Kat I’m not telling you where we’re going. You let me handle that. Skirt or dress, I trust you. I’m sure you’ll look pretty.”

“I’ll try. I’m kind of worried that I’ll get all dressed up and you won’t think I look good.”

“Kat, look at me. I really don’t think that’s going to be the case.”

“What if I’m ready by 9:07?”

“If you spend those extra seven minutes doing your hair, then I’m sure it will be worth it. I can rap with 9:07.”

“I have to do my hair now?! Is there anything else?”

“Yes. Third condition: you let me handle everything and just enjoy yourself.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ughh I’ll try.”

I tickle her until she’s giggling.

As she leaves she tells me she was thinking of ceasing to shower and just growing dreadlocks. I tell her she can do whatever she wants with her hair after I leave in three weeks, but that I don’t want to see them before that. She closes the door behind her, then raps on my door a few minutes later to recover her mug or something. She’s chattering about how I shouldn’t wear ripped jeans and flip flops like some other guys who’ve taken her out. I miss a chance to tell her that those guys were chodes and I’m not, but as she whirls out I settle back, contented. Let’s see how this plays out.