Patience is a virtue,

But it can also hurt you.

When subtlety goes over his head,

You get just what you mostly dread.

“It’s time,” said the wench, “to turn things around,

and get this thing right off the ground.”

 
As many of you know, I’ve been jonesing for Sinbad ever since the first time his lips graced the back of my hand, almost ten months ago.  But between late July and late March, I only ran into him one time, and he was with his girlfriend, Molly Bly.  So, I put my passions on simmer for a while.

And then, one day, Ms. L mentioned that Molly Bly was out of the picture.  I could hardly believe my luck, and pressed her for details.

“Of course, how could she put up with him?” she said, laying out a long list of his faults.

 “How could she put up without him?” I thought. 

 I became obsessed with the idea of hurling myself through this window of opportunity.  I had been on my own too long, and a guy this desirable surely wouldn’t be available for long.  I had to act fast, but things were complicated.  I had no way to contact him except through Pegleg or Ms. L.  No phone number, no email, and no chance of “accidentally” running into him. 

 Attempts to get together with Pegleg had never worked out too well, and my luck always dictated Sinbad’s absence any time I happened to drop by.  My only hope was to get Ms. L to invite me over to the Crow’s Nest and hope that Sinbad would be around.  She was complaining that he had been around too much, so I figured my chances were good, but Ms. L was either very dense or very stubborn, because all my attempts to wrangle an invitation ended up in her coming over to my place or us going out somewhere.

 On one such occasion, I was having a Sunday morning tea with Ms. L and another female friend.  As usual, Ms. L started complaining about Sinbad.. how he was always there, how he didn’t pay rent (why should he?  He’s Pegleg’s guest), how he was always using “the” (Pegleg’s) computer, etc., etc. 

 I laughed and told her to send him over to me… that I would keep him occupied and out of her hair.  She looked surprised. 

 “I thought it was Pegleg that you liked.”

 “Oh, I like Pegleg, too, but there’s no hope with him, and anyway… Sinbad is soooo much sexier.”

 “Sure an’ let me give you his number,” she offered.  (Woohoo!)

 I gladly took the number and then enlisted her aid in coming up with a viable reason why I would be inviting him over.  I wasn’t confident enough to just invite him over for dinner for no reason.  She suggested that I tell him that I needed his help with an art project, because that would really boost his ego.  (He’s a very talented artist).

 “But what kind of project?”

 “Sure an’ it doesn’t matter,” she said.  “You just come up with something to get him over there, and then it never materializes.”

 Hmmm.  I liked the idea of the art project, but I just couldn’t scam him like that.  I really like the guy.  So, I went home and asked Fanny Farmer for her input.  She really liked the idea of having an artist come over and do some work on the flat.  She got very excited about it and suggested all sorts of spots where he could paint a mural on the wall.  I told her that I wasn’t sure if he painted or not.  He mostly does pen and ink drawings and caricatures. 

 Then, I came up with the idea of having him  do some sketches for faux stained glass designs on the glass windows of our kitchen cabinets.  Fanny loved the idea, and so it was settled.  Still too chicken to make the phone call, I ran to my mobile and sent an SMS:

  “Ahoj Sinbad,  Are you free this weekend?  I need your help with an art project.  I’ll make you dinner, too. J  Kruuyai”

 I tried sending the message, but it wouldn’t go through.  Not to be so easily defeated, I cranked up the computer and opened Skype to send an SMS via that route.  After sending the message, its status showed as “pending” for a number of hours, and I realized it was never going to go through.

 So, I sent an email to Ms. L:

 “Hey, I tried sending an SMS to Sinbad, but it wouldn’t go through.  Could you ask him to contact me about that art project either by email or SMS?”

The reply came from Ms. L by SMS on Thursday:

 “Sinbad got your message.  He’s thrilled and will text you soon.”

 Yippee!  Things were finally moving along.  This time, I promised myself that I was going to go for it.  No more waiting around for him to make the first move.  I realized that I had been way too subtle in the past, and it wasn’t getting me anywhere.  He didn’t even have a clue what I wanted, but this time, there would be no room for doubt. 

 In the past, when I’ve had a guy over that I was attracted to, I always avoided dressing up in any way that could be construed as anything other than normal, because I didn’t want to be “obvious.”  And I guarded my words… also going for only the subtlest of flirtations.  To hell with that, I decided.  From now on… “obvious” was going to be my m.o.  After all, I wasn’t looking for Mr. Right.  I was looking for Mr. Right Now. 

 So, I cleared my schedule for the weekend, turning down all offers for rehearsals or for hosting guests from the Hospitality Club.  And I went shopping.  Boy, did I go shopping.  I got strawberries and wine… I got fresh veggies for a Greek salad… I got tzatziki and calamata olives and feta… I got pasta and pesto and mushrooms… I got new clothes… I got lipstick… and… I got two different kinds of condoms.  I was ready.

 And I waited for his call… and waited.  Friday night came and went… Saturday, too.  By Sunday morning, I had given up on hearing from him.

 “Yeah, he was so thrilled,” I thought, “that he couldn’t be bothered to get in touch with me.”

 So, I stayed in bed all morning that rainy Sunday and read.  And ate chocolate.

 Amazing Grace, a ringing bell,

A throbbing ache begins to swell.

 Around one in the afternoon, my phone rang… an unusual occurrence in this land of text messages.  It was Sinbad.  He seemed friendly and shy at the same time.  His voice made me weak. 

 He asked about the art project, and I told him that it was difficult to explain without showing him, but that it was a project for my flat, and asked if he had some free time to come over and discuss it. 

“I can come today.”

My God!  I was still in my pajamas… I hadn’t showered… my room was an unholy mess, and I’d eaten half of the food that I’d bought in preparation for his visit!

“Could you come over a little later?  Like around six?”

“Hmmmm, problem is… I have to be back here at five… at Pegleg’s flat.” 

Drat that Pegleg!  Why does he have such a hold over Sinbad?  And I certainly didn’t want him to come over when he had a reason to leave in a hurry.  I hemmed and hawed.

“Maybe I could come over tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow won’t work; I have my acting class.  Could you come over on Friday?” 

He could.

“Great.  I’ll make you dinner, too.”

“Ahh,” he laughed.  “Then I should bring a bottle of wine.”

I laughed, too.  “I already have some.”

We made our plans for six on Friday and hung up.  Good, I thought.  There’s no harm in letting the anticipation build up over another week.  I’ve waited this long already.  And I went shopping again.

On Thursday night, I hosted a guest from the Hospitality Club… a guy from Spain who I had agreed to host long before setting this date with Sinbad.  It was touch and go for a while as to whether he would be gone before the date, but luck was with me, and his train would be leaving at five.

Razor’s edge over gleaming thigh,

Ensures that the pirate will have a smooth ride.

Friday morning was a flurry of activity.  Everything had to be clean, clean, clean… in every sense of the word.  Scrub, scrub, scrub… pluck, pluck, pluck… you get the idea.

Meanwhile, knowing Sinbad’s free-spirited lifestyle, I was a bit nervous that he might forget about our appointment, but I didn’t want to send him an outright reminder, because I didn’t want to appear too needy (even if I am).  So, on my way to my last class, I sent him a text asking if he could come at 6:30 instead of six, because I had to do some shopping on the way home (which was true).  The answer came as I was going up the elevator to teach my class:

 “Probably I can.  Will let you know.  :)”

 What did that mean?  Probably I can what… come late or come at all?  I couldn’t exactly text back for clarification, but I assumed the worst.  How difficult would it be to come a half hour later?  Not difficult at all, as far as anything I could imagine, so I guessed he meant that maybe he could come and maybe he couldn’t… probably not.  I had a very depressing lesson, but I went through the process of buying pesto and some other things on the way home. 

And I went through the motions of getting dressed up… a long, flowing white skirt with open toed heels and an off-the-shoulder loosely woven, pale green top that set off my eyes and skin tone nicely.  I put my hair back just slightly to dramatize the height of my cheekbones, and applied just traces of cranberry colored lipstick and blush.  I may have even put on a bit of mascara, which is making me cringe even now… that’s so outside the realm of my normal behavior.

I did not, however, begin dinner.  I was so sure that he was going to blow me off, and I wasn’t even hungry yet, so I didn’t want to go to the effort of preparing a big meal that would just sit and get cold.  If he showed up, I reasoned, we could cook together, or he could keep me company while I cooked.  After all, we had practically lived together before, so this could be a very casual meeting, and it would be less stressful that way for both of us. 

So, I sat in my chair and waited to be stood up.  Six o’clock came and went, and so did six-thirty.  At nearly seven, my phone rang.  I could see that it was Sinbad, and I braced myself.

He surprised me by saying that he was already at the tram stop and asking me to tell him how to get to my flat from there.  He would arrive in just a few minutes.  Suddenly, I didn’t know if I was ready for this, and my stomach started churning a bit.  I paced around nervously until he rang the doorbell.  I buzzed him up and told him to come up to the second floor, and then waited by the open door. 

I listened to his footsteps on the stairs and waited for his appearance.  He was even more beautiful than I remembered. 

He came in, and the first thing he said to me was,

“I’m sorry, but I can only stay for an hour.  I have to go and help my friend.”

“Oh.”  I couldn’t hide my disappointment.  I wasn’t even going to have time to make dinner, much less attempt to seduce him.  

“I’m sorry, I haven’t made dinner yet, because I didn’t know if you were coming.”

“That’s alright… I ate something before I came.”

He explained that he had promised to help his friend with whatever it was a long time before, but the call never came through, so he agreed to come to see me that night, and then his friend called, and he had to go.  I believed him, but it didn’t make me any happier. 

I turned to close the door.  When I turned around, he was a few steps away from me, but he reached out and took my hand.  His hand was so deliciously warm and dry that I couldn’t resist taking it in both of mine.

“How can your hands be so warm when it’s so cold outside?”

He seemed pleased.  “I don’t know… I always have warm hands.”

I could have stood there, clasping his hand, for hours… but my damned manners kicked in.

“Can I take your coat?”

He looked confused. 

“Can I take your coat?  To hang it up?”

He finally caught on, and we got that business out of the way.  Then, he started taking his shoes off.  (Czechs always, always, always take their shoes off upon entering the house.  They can’t understand people who don’t do this).  I told him that he didn’t need to take his shoes off if he didn’t want to. 

“Oh yes,” he said, “I heard that sometimes Americans wear their shoes in the house.  Is that true?” 

I smiled and showed him my shoes.  Then, I walked over to the fridge.

Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker,

She opens a bottle, he lets out a snicker.

“You can at least have a glass of wine,” I offered, and let him choose between white and red.  He chose white… my preference, too.  As I was preparing to open the bottle, he asked another cultural question.

“Mmmm, I hope this isn’t rude question, but… how many times a day you take a bath?”

I leaned over and gave him a semi-mirthful “what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about” look. 

“I mean, I’ve heard that sometimes Americans take a bath three times a day,” he added quickly.  “Is it true?”

“Not that I know of.  Usually, once a day is good.  Maybe more if you’ve been working out or if it’s really hot out.”

“Me, sometimes I go to my friend’s house for a week, and we just drink a lot of beer and play some games, and that’s the most important thing.  We don’t think about other things, like taking a bath…”

“So, after a week…?”

“Yeah, so then I really can appreciate getting clean.”

I looked around for the cork.

“I’m clean now, though,” he hastened to assure me.  He certainly looked clean… fluffy, even.

“Where’s the cork?”

“Oh, I’m so stupid boy… I put it in the rubbish.”  (Czechs always seem to talk in terms of boys and girls rather than men and women, no matter what age they are.  I don’t know if they do it or not in Czech, but that’s the way it comes across in English).

I laughed.  “Yes, you really are a silly.  Now, we have to drink the whole bottle.”

I led him into my room and invited him to sit at the table.  I really would rather have sat with him on the sofa bed, but it looks more like a bed than a sofa, so I couldn’t bring myself to be that forward.  I took a seat just around the corner from him, so I could be close, but cursed my lack of foresight at having neglected to move the chairs closer together.

The subject of bathing came up again.  Sinbad declared that one bath every two days was probably enough.  I shrugged my agreement..

“It depends on what you’ve been doing… or what you’re going to do.”   The innuendo was not lost on him, and he gave me a mischievous grin that set the tone for the evening. 

Although most of the conversation is a blur for me now, because it’s been so long, a few things stand out clearly (hey… I can hear all those sighs of relief… I can’t help it!  It’s called diarrhea of the fingertips!)

Sinbad admired the Mucha prints on my wall and said that he had two of the same ones in his family’s cottage.  That got him to talking about his family and his personal history… things that I won’t share with you here, but the things he shared really got me to start seeing him as much more three-dimensional instead of the 2-D cartoon character (albeit colorful) that I have painted him as on these pages.  And I liked what I heard.  This is a man who thinks and feels and is able to express his thoughts and feelings, even in another language.  He’s easy to connect with, smiles easily, and is interested in a lot of topics.  The conversation never lagged. 

I felt guilty about not feeding him, so I offered to make a salad, but he didn’t want any.  When I went to the kitchen to get the bottle for refills, I remembered the strawberries I had in the fridge.

“How about strawberries?  Do you like strawberries?”

His face lit up.

“You have strawberries?  Really?  I can’t believe it!”

I held up a basket of strawberries for him to see.  “Yes, I really have strawberries.”

“Oh!  I can’t believe it!  That’s my favorite fruit!” 

I held up a second basket for him to see.  “We have lots of strawberries.”

I was thrilled to have found something that pleased him so much.  Bringing a bowl of strawberries to the table, I took one and absent-mindedly dipped one into my glass of wine before taking a bite.  He followed my example.  I watched, enthralled, as his full, tender lips kissed the luscious fruit.  Here was a man in ecstasy.  I told him how beautiful he looked eating a strawberry, and took in the compliment easily.  I’m smiling, even now, as I write this. 

“I love strawberries so much that I only eat them once a year,” he said.  “I don’t want to lose my passion for them.”

“Really?  Are you that way with all your passions?” 

He laughed.

At some point, he mentioned that he loved the music of the violincello, so I turned off the classic rock that I had on and put on some Yoyo Ma.  This man was full of surprises.

He made a point of mentioning, a couple of times during the conversation, that he had broken up with his girlfriend.  I had already heard about that, which was why he was there in the first place.  I asked him,

“So, do you prefer life without a girlfriend?”

He laughed, and his eyes twinkled.  “Yeah.  Sometimes.”

We got to talking about his living situation, and he told me that he had moved his computer out of his friend’s house, and  brought it back to his mother’s home.  He’d been living with his friend, but they weren’t getting along so well.  They spent a lot of time playing computer games together and with other people online, but his friend took the game so seriously and got upset if Sinbad didn’t.

“We have different… I don’t know how to say… temperament.  Like for him, he don’t want his guy to fall down and die, but I don’t care.  I like to have fun and yelling and laughing.  And if my guy falls down and dies, I don’t care, because I know he’s going to get up and walk again, but my friend acts like it’s real.”

“Are you talking about Pegleg?”

“Oh… yeah, I forgot you know him.”  Ha ha.

“Yeah, I’ve watched Pegleg play computer games,” I said.  “He sure does take it seriously.”  I told him about my experience visiting Pegleg during one of his pirate games.  “It’s like an addiction for him,” I added.

“Yeah,” Sinbad agreed.  “For me, too.  But I’m the kind of addict, where I do something really intense for maybe one month, and then I have to take a break from it and do something else.  The same thing with drinking and drugs.  I can’t do it all the time, because then it’s not fun for me anymore.  But if I disappear with my friends and we just drink and play games, and we just let the house get dirty… we don’t care.  And that’s great.  But after that, I can appreciate a clean house and woman…”  He looked around my tidy room. 

I smiled.

After he’d been there for about an hour and a half, he brought up the reason for his visit.

“You said that you had some kind of job for me?”

“Oh yeah, we haven’t even talked about that.  Sorry.”

I took him out into the kitchen and explained the project to him.  He took measurements of the windows and recorded them in an interesting looking journal that came out of a leg pocket on his baggy, camouflaged pants.  I peeked over his shoulder, and he drew the book away, saying,

“I don’t want to show you my book, because it has some drawings that I did when I was 18, and they’re not very good.”

“I’m sure they are,” I said.

He seemed to want to show them, but at the same time, he hesitated.

“Well, there are a lot of naked people here.”

I smiled.  “Well, now there’s something I’ve never seen before,” I kidded.

He showed me a page…  it was a very graphic cartoon of a man getting ready to butt fuck a woman.  I wasn’t shocked, because I’d already seen his drawing of Spiderman, and Ms. L had mentioned that he liked to draw pornography.  He flipped through and showed me some other pages.  These were mostly drawings of naked women… some cartoonish and some more realistic.  They were all very well done and with great attention to detail.  I admired them.

We got back onto the subject of the window design, and he asked what I wanted him to draw.  I told him I was going to leave it up to him, but maybe either some sort of geometric design or some fruits or vegetables or anything else he could think of.  I suggested that he make several different simple sketches and bring them over so my flatmate and I could decide which we liked best.

He suggested a scene from the Bible, but I told him I didn’t really want to look at a scene from the Bible when I was getting ready to eat.  He explained that he was thinking of something like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  I said that might be okay. 

“Just no naked people,” he laughed.  I said,

“There can be naked people, but…”

“But maybe I can put a melon here and here,” he said.

“No, you don’t have to cover them up, but… you know… not.. fornication.  It is a kitchen, after all.”

While we were talking his friend called, urging him to come.  I was relieved to hear a man’s voice on the other end of the line.  He told me that he had to get going.  Even so, he didn’t seem to be in a big hurry and stood talking for  awhile.

got his coat for him, and he promised to get some sketches to me during the week, asking what days were best for me. I told him weekends were best.  Before he left, he took my hands again.  His were still so deliciously warm.  He gave my left hand a little double kiss, looked playfully into my eyes, and then left.

 I returned to my room and munched on a strawberry and sipped some wine while I savored my new memories of a delightful evening and looked forward to my next meeting with Sinbad.  Just then, the doorbell buzzed.  I went to the door with my half-eaten strawberry in my hand.  It was Sinbad.

 “Is the door locked?”  I asked.  It was.  Czech apartment buildings are such fire hazards.  You can’t usually get out without a key.  I grabbed my key, and as I headed out to let him out the main door, I spotted an unfamiliar fanny pack on the chair. 

 “Is this yours?”  I asked.  It was.  He was grateful not to have left it behind.  I half cursed myself for noticing it.  It would have been a good excuse for him to come back later, but I had a feeling he’d be back anyway. 

 I walked him down the stairs and we stood in the freezing foyer talking.  I was enjoying the fact that he wasn’t so eager to say goodbye, but shivering nonetheless.  He noticed me shivering and rubbed my arm briskly but gently.  And then, he left. 

 I went to sleep with a smile on my face that night.

 I was going to write this entire adventure down in one post, but it’s already gotten too long for that, so stay tuned for parts 2 and 3, and here’s hoping that there’s a part 4 before I get finished posting them!