I was getting impatient.
Q was supposed to be at my apartment for 8 o’clock. By nine, I hadn’t heard from him, and he wasn’t answering his cell. Ten o’clock, my phone rings. It’s him. I’m mad. This is not starting well.
He wants to know why the hell I’m not at his hotel. He’s booked the honeymoon suite at the Holiday Inn Express and “time’s a wastin’”.
I debate blowing him off completely, but I’ve already paid the sitter. Plus, this was beginning to sound like a solid blog entry. Some days, it’s all about the blog. I apologized for the misunderstanding and gave him my address so he could pick me up. He refused, saying he was already naked.
I knocked on his hotel door 30 minutes later. He was naked, alright, beneath a purple bathrobe with “The Luxor” stitched on the pocket. He presented me with a gift basket and an awkward attempt at a kiss. Thanks, I started to say, until I saw the contents: airline peanuts, seedless white grapes, scented oils and a mega-box of condoms.
Uh: What are the grapes for?
You can feed me those later, he says with a wink.
With Q still in his robe, we head over to the Holiday Inn Express Bar and Karaoke Grill where “we can get the hook up”. The manager bumps fists with Q and gives me an approving look.
I signal the bartender for a menu and, waving the bartender away, Q slides the cups of pretzels and cheddar Goldfish in front of me. “These’ll fill you up, Little Mama.”
Opening the front of his robe, letting his chest hair bring on the sexy, he grabs the karaoke mic and begins his serenade. Performing both as Akon and Snoop, he turns on the charm. “This is for my special lady,” he announces to the prostitute and her traveling businessman sitting in the back.
Girl, and while you’re looking at me, I’m ready to hit the caddy right up on the patio. Move the patty to the caddy. Baby, you got a phatty. The type I like to marry. Wanting to just give you everything and that’s kinda scary ’cause I’m loving the way you shake your ass, bouncin’, got me tippin’ my glass. Li’l mully, don’t get caught up too fast, but I got a thing for you.
I see you windin’ and grindin’ up on that pole
I know you see me lookin’ at you and you already know
I wanna fuck you, you already know
I wanna fuck you, you already know
As I reached for a handful of pretzels and sipped my plastic cup of tap water, I realized this was not the worst date I’ve had. Q was a cutie, and he was funny when he wasn’t trying to do me. And he said right there in that song that I was his marrying type. That alone counts for something. I signaled to the bartender for another round, and walked on stage to be with my new man. We closed down the bar with a Tupac/Snoop/Dr. Dre/John Denver medley and renamed it Our First Night.
For Q’s version of our first date, visit his blog.
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