Stella II

I had a second date with Stella last night and stuck with my tried and true bike/fish market evening. The night started out OK but nearly ended with a free ride in a police cruiser.

I picked Stella up at her house after work. She came out of her building and she looked cute. I know I keep saying this, I just can't stress it enough, she's TALL. I mean giant Viking, queen of the Norse, slayer of Grendel, tall. Everything on this girl is long. She has long legs, a long torso, long arms, long neck. All night I kept noticing "long" and "tall" features. Stella wore sneakers and at dinner I noticed they were almost my size, and I wear 11 or 11.5's. I like it. As we rode I kept bumping into parts of her; legs, elbows, shoulders. I felt like a humongous praying mantis had climbed on my back. Again, I'm not complaining, I like tall chicks, this is just an observation.

Here's another one: I think Stella is the classic ugly duck that transformed into the graceful swan. I have two reasons. The first is because she mentioned that she never got much attention from boys when she was younger. She's painfully shy now, so my guess is that she was a lanky, gawky child and kids tend to prey on weaknesses. The second reason I think she was the ugly duck is because she still sees herself somewhat as the ugly duck. She's extraordinarily self conscious about her height, and she seems to have no idea that she's beautiful. Honestly, she could easily be modeling in Europe right now, instead she was drinking wine on my deck. I'm not saying she should be modeling, only that she could be.

Anyway, back to the date. Stella and I rode the bike for a little over an hour. We went out to Virginia, road around the hills a little, then hopped on I-395 and ran back into the city. We stopped at the fish market on Maine Ave, grabbed some seafood for dinner and went back to my place to cook.

Stella went to culinary school so I opened some wine and put her to work in the kitchen. I handed her some ginger and garlic and asked her to "cut it up". Generally that description is sufficient for most girls. Stella, though, asked "How do you want it, chopped, minced, crushed...", I stopped her, "Minced is great". I was cleaning the fish and a second later I heard chock-chock-chock-chock-chock in rapid-fire succession. I looked over her shoulder and the knife was moving so fast it was blurred. This girl takes her mincing seriously.

We sat down for dinner at about 9pm on my deck. It was Stella's first time on a motorcycle, and despite my going very slow I think she was a little shaky from the ride. After a few glasses of wine she loosened up and relaxed. She's a pretty cool chick, she's amusing in a quirky (but good) way, and is really bright.

After dinner we cleaned up and did our best to get the crab smell off our fingers. While I loaded the dishwasher I noticed it was almost 11pm. Stella didn't have work the next day and was showing no signs of slowing down, but I had to be up at 5:30am. It was time to "call the ball", we were either going to open a second bottle of wine and see where that took us, or I was going to drive her home and have another awkward hug-cheek-kiss exchange in front of her building.

As I plopped another dish in the dishwasher I said "Hey, want to grab another bottle of wine off the rack and open it?" Without missing a beat Stella said "Sure, where's the opener?" That seemed to go well. She opened the bottle and we went back on the deck.

While we talked I went back and forth about whether or not I should suggest a dip in the hot tub. I certainly wasn't getting any overt "I want you to take my clothes off" vibes from her like with Firecracker. She was, however, making it very clear that she was having a good time and didn't want to leave. The crux was I didn't want to scare her off by being too aggressive, but if I didn't make a move I ran the risk of floundering into that mushy "friend" ground. I finally said "Would you have any interest in going in the hot tub?" [I still had the strained ending to our last date in the back of my mind and couldn't help but think that she "thought I was a nice guy" and "just wanted to be friends". If that was the case I guessed she would decline the hot tub offer.] Much to my surprise she said, in her funny way, "Sure, but I don't have appropriate attire". I set her up with a pair of mesh short and a t-shirt and she changed in the bathroom.

I feel the need to point out that she was in there for at least fifteen minutes. Maybe even twenty. How long does it take to: remove shoes and socks, take off jeans and a t-shirt, then put on another t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts? What was she doing in there? Please, tell me, I sincerely want to know. Was she polling her friends to see if this was a good idea? I finally grabbed my Blackberry and started going through work emails. Eventually she came out and we got in.

By now Stella was a little tipsy and became very talkative. I stopped drinking because the heat tends to get to me, but she plowed through another glass of wine in the tub. Stella was sitting in a corner seat and I think her long legs were acting like a ships rudder because she kept getting swept out of her seat by the jets and pulled across the tub, talking the whole time and unaware of her voyage. She was constantly fighting the "current" until finally I moved to the spot she kept getting blown to and she bumped right into me. We started kissing and she said "I'm an 'old fashioned' girl". I said "Are you implying that I'm not an 'old fashioned' guy? What does that mean?" Stella said "It means not much more is going to happen tonight and I expect a ride home later". I can respect that. I've looked back at my first dates with girls I respected and eventually had relationships with and none of them slept with me on first, or even second, dates.

We made out in the tub until about 1:30. Our fingers were getting pruned so we decided to get out. I wasn't even going to suggest a shower together because I knew the answer, so Stella went into the bathroom to change and I put on jeans and a t-shirt in the bedroom.

Stella came out a few minutes later and I said "You ready to go?" She said she was and asked me if I was OK to drive, which I felt I was. The dog hadn't been out in a while so I grabbed her leash and we hit the road.

This is where the night got a little hairy.

As I drove up 18th Street through Adam's Morgan I saw a marked police cruiser in a parking lot. I'm not sure why I noticed it, or what made me think it was unusual, but I kind of did a double-take. We had passed dozens of cop cars on the street (it was 2am, and the bars were getting out, so there were cops everywhere), that one looked out of place. Anyway, I passed him and he immediately pulled out behind me. I figured it was a coincidence and kept driving. As I crossed Columbia Road he hit his lights. I wasn't sure if he was pulling me over or going to a call and wanted to get around me (or at least I didn't want to admit he was likely pulling me over), but I immediately stopped on the side of the road. He pulled right behind me and turned on his spot light, which pretty much answered my question. A second squad car pulled in behind the first one, and a motorcycle cop passing by did a u-turn and joined his friends. This was going really well. Stella kept asking "Why did he stop us? What's he doing? What's going to happen?" I don't know if I said "shut up", or put my hand in her face, or both, but something finally made her stop talking and I was relieved.

As the first cop approached the passenger side of the car my dog went bananas, growling, barking, and doing her best to get through the soft top. I turned off the car and put on my dome light. The windows were already down, and a second cop came to my side, but was standing way back from the car. He said "Driver, do you have that dog?" I said I did, but he said "You sure!". I apologized for the dog but assured him I had her. He said "Why don't you close those windows a little so he can't get out, then slip me your license, registration and insurance". No problem, I handed him everything and he walked back to his car. His friends, however, had by then surrounded my car, hands on guns, and the dog was nearly apoplectic. She's very protective and I was afraid she would get through the thin plastic top and then I'd really have a situation. I kept one hand on her collar to restrain her, and the other hand on the steering wheel so I wouldn't get shot in the face.

The cop came back and said "Do you know why I stopped you". Why do cops always ask that? It's such a stupid fucking question. What am I, a mind reader? My license plate doesn't say "Psykik". I always think of the movie Liar Liar when cops ask me that and want to say "Well, that depends on how long you've been following me". I said "No sir". "Well, you were traveling at a high rate of speed up 18th Street, and you stopped on the white line at that red light back there". For those of you who are unfamiliar, that is technical police lingo for "You're tail lights are both working and I needed to stop you for something to see if you've been drinking, so here's the bullshit I came up with". Also, let the record note that he didn't say I was "speeding", because I wasn't. I made a point of going exactly the speed limit up 18th Street just for this reason, and he knew it. Maybe they ask you if you know why they stopped you to see if your reason is better than theirs. Perhaps if I said "I turned without signaling" They would think "Sweet, he really did do something" then say "Exactly!" I apologized again. He left and went back to his car.

As he came back to my car I expected this was when he would start with the "Where have you been-where are you going-have you had anything to drink tonight?" questions. After my last near-DWI I consulted with my attorney who advised me that "If you think you will pass a field sobriety test, say you've had nothing to drink all day, and they likely won't have adequate probable cause to get you out of the car" [notice attorney's liberal use of vague terms such as 'likley']. He went on to say that it's a calculated risk, but one he would be willing to take. Since I averaged less than one drink an hour all night, and hadn't had anything to drink in more than an hour, I was confident I was 100% sober, so I was ready to roll the dice.

When he got to my window he said "Thank you Mr. NN, please drive carefully tonight".

I drove like a preacher on his way to church the rest of the way to Stella's house. We had a quick make-out session in front of her building. Then I drove like a preacher back home. When I went back through Adam's Morgan the two cop cars and the bike were still parked where they pulled me over. As I drove past all five cops stopped talking and slowly watched me go by, this time with the dog sitting in the passenger seat. I meekly waived but kept going and never made eye contact.

I believe this is why my friends say I should write a bog.


*UPDATE*

I emailed D-Ron today and told him about my night, his respone is below:

"what does old fashioned mean...no anal?"