HOWELL
He said yes! A few hours after our call, he’d texted me he was in for a date.
Asking Onno out had been unexpectedly hard and incredibly easy at the same time. It was scary to put myself out there and face the fear of rejection. I had given myself a stern talking-to before making that call to Onno.
But once I’d had him on the phone, we’d chatted naturally, even with his one-syllabic answers. He was cute and sweet and kind, and I loved his dry sense of humor. I wanted to hug him, assure him everything would be okay, and roll him in bubble wrap to keep him safe, but that wasn’t a topic for a first conversation.
Asking him out had been the first step. Now, I needed to make sure we had a date to remember. How long had it been since I’d had an official date? Jeez, it must’ve been before I’d gotten married, so at least fifteen years. After my divorce, I hadn’t planned on staying single, but I’d needed time to process and move on—code for nursing my wounded heart and probably also a little of my pride. Being dumped is hard on the ego, even if I could see all the reasons in hindsight.
But after that, I’d been open to dating again. Except I hadn’t met anyone I liked enough to ask out on a date. Hookups, sure, but not the official going-out-for-dinner-and-maybe-kiss-afterward thing. Until Onno, which was surprising since he was a guy. Back in college, a drunken bet with my gay roommate had led to us making out. I’d liked it enough to try it with two other guys, and it had been hot.
But since then, I hadn’t met a guy who’d made me want a repeat, so I thought those had been, for lack of better words, youthful experiments. And then I’d met Lori-Ann, and that had decided it. Straight it was.
Until now. And I was so out of practice, it wasn’t even funny. What could we do together that would be fun? Dinner? A movie? All that seemed so cliché. I wanted something special, something that suited Onno. I could think of only one guy to ask.
“Howie,” my former roommate—yes, that one—said cheerfully as he picked up. “How’s life?”
“Bubbles, I need your help.”
I could practically see him sit up straight. “You do? What strange calamity has befallen you that the most competent man on the planet needs my help?”
“I’m going on a date.”
He clapped his hands. “Oh, excellent.”
“With a guy.”
Long silence. “I’ll be goddamned. I just lost a five-year bet with Justin.”
“Why on earth would you make a bet with your husband about me?”
“He said you’d do at least one date or hookup with a guy before finding someone new. I assured him you’d only been bicurious in college and were now firmly established in your straightness as a fierce ally, but he told me I was wrong.”
I winced. “Sorry? Seems your husband was right.”
“And you couldn’t have discovered that earlier, like, before I met Justin, so we could’ve at least had one passionate night together? We never went all the way back in college.”
I laughed. “You always told me you were too much for me to handle. Something about you being a power bottom and me being too bossy?”
He sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I do admit we would’ve had compatibility issues.”
“Now that we’ve settled that, can we focus on my problem? I need you to tell me what to do for a first date with a guy. And maybe what to wear.”
“The latter is easy. Wear a white button-down shirt that’s just a little tight. It’ll show off your gorgeous body with all those big muscles. Pair it with nice jeans or, if you wanna go dressier, a pair of slacks, and you’re good.”
Okay, that was easy enough. “And what can we do? I asked him out, and I want to do something original. Something special.”
“Tell me about him.”
“His name is Onno, and he’s from the Netherlands.”
Five minutes later, I stopped talking.
“And you’ve only met him twice?” Bubbles asked.
“Yeah, and we FaceTimed once.”
“Howie, my friend, you’ve got it bad. But I have an idea.”
