Safari

Outfitting
The musicians didn’t suck. Thank goodness. The fellow with too much receding hairline (lead vocals) and the hot black guy (bass) both made meaningful eye contact with me over several casual interactions, and I chatted with them in a muse-ish way, how they might develop their sound, other places they might perform. I asked what else they do (musicians generally do something else): hairline boy teaches music lessons on the side, and hot black guy is…wait for it…very high up in a governmental agency in which he does something complex with behavioral intervention psychology. My estimate of his worth rises exponentially. So I’ll be calling him Secret Scientist. Sorry, Hairline Boy, you’re screwed.

Still-Hunting
Power Girl and I go to dinner with Secret Scientist and Hairline Boy. Casual pizza, Secret Scientist and I stand in line to order for the table. I pull out money for the girls’ share. SS waves it away. Point! He also turns out to be 37, about ten years older than he looks. Double Points! While we’re eating, I casually let my leg touch his leg, and play a very careful conversational tennis between the boys and another lady who has joined us and is less attractive than we are. I’m not judging her looks, I’m judging her role as a hanger-on. (We are also prettier.) Power Girl eats pizza in a state of beatific observational glee as I move on Secret Scientist, Hairline Boy gives me sparkly eyes, and the hanger-on responds earnestly to my inquiries about her role in the chemical industry. Between ‘accidental’ touches and “gee-you’re-nice-but-sorry-I’m-married” looks, I learn quite a bit about refining.

Stalking
After a discussion of fans who don’t know when to quit in which Power Girl and I explain to the boys that any girl who PM’s you wants to do you, there is no other reason for a girl to PM a guy (longtime friends and short exchanges about the Chem notes excepted), we all head home. Hairline Boy hugs me for that crucial I-wanna-do-you amount of time. So does Secret Scientist, who rests his arm around my waist during goodbyes. I text him: So what are my chances?

Persistence Hunting
I generally prefer a direct club to the head. He hasn’t gotten my text. I rescue him from a group of hangers-on and tell him I texted him. He asks what I said. Then he tells me my chances would be excellent…were it not for his longtime live-in girlfriend. (Waa-waa-waaaahhhh….) I am torn. Karma-wise, I’m trying to be a better person, I should respect his thing and enjoy our flirting and not push.

Regroup. Hang out with the band and chat normally. Throughout the time we’re around each other, he and Hairline Boy each find excuses to talk to me alone, more than once one arriving as the other departs. Power Girl nearly wets herself with amusement. I casually ask Secret Scientist out of hearing, “So, does head count?” He says he believes in quid pro quo…

The last time I see him today, he waits patiently while I deal with business, then we sit alone but publicly. I tell him my deal with Husband, that I have a lover, that I like being with new people. He tells me about his girlfriend whom he wants to be with but doesn’t want to marry (minus half a point!). He’s committed to cooking at home tonight. He’s been flirted with before, often, but never with someone who “put their cards on the table” the way I do. I’m straddling a bench and in the tension between us I am oh-so-conscious of the pressure of my pussy on the metal. He is slightly dominant. He feels polyamorous. I like him. I say, “I’d like to kiss you but it’s too public here.” His thoughts exactly. “Step into my parlor,” I say and lead him somewhere marginally more private but not by much.

We stand. He looks. I step forward and put my hands on his shoulders, reach for his mouth with mine. His tongue is strong and slender and firm in my mouth. I suck it gently, part my lips as his arms go around me. One hand strays towards my breast, he’s not quite brave enough yet. We step back. Eyes. He comes to me this time, his hand solid on the small of my back, his mouth covering mine. I run my hand up the inside of his leg, stopping low enough so that he will think of me all night, cooking dinner, sleeping next to girlfriend.

Tomorrow, we go to the circus.