The First Date #2
“Honestly? I’ve asked the same these past few days after I said yes to your invitation. Not sure. I guess I’m testing the ‘you can meet the man of your dreams in the grocery store’ theory.”
“Man of your dreams, huh?”
Gisele’s eyes widened, realizing what she’d implied, but I placed my hand on hers and she immediately calmed down. I shifted in my seat, ignoring the adrenaline rush at her acquiescence.
“That’s not what?—”
“That’s a’ight, beleza. I hear you loud and clear.
You never need to apologize for your wants and needs.
Letting me know makes sure I’m on notice.
I’m not out here trying to date for fun either, if you were wondering.
” I put my cards on the table early. Gisele needed to understand this was not some pretty little date, and I wasn’t one of those niggas out there wasting Black women’s time.
If I dated someone, it was because I saw the potential for a solid future. She needed to know that.
Gisele nodded, staring back at me. I settled in to enjoy the view.
Nothing stimulated me more than gazing into a woman’s eyes and watching her react to what she saw in mine.
Let her see the intelligence, the determination, the calm, the protection, the strength, the vulnerabilities.
Let her see it all. Her eyes were a beautiful dark brown with a darker center.
She attempted to keep up with my stare, not blinking as I watched her thoughts flit through her mind.
Her chest rose and fell under the yellow fabric, her reserved style of dress another glimpse of the woman before me.
She squared her shoulders and licked her bottom lip.
Then, in slow motion, as if she wanted to ensure I knew what she was doing, she dropped her gaze down to her lap.
Fuck me.
“Hello, diners! We’re about to begin your mystery dining experience.
Your waiter will soon come to collect you and escort you to the dining room.
Please follow their instructions as you’ll be blindfolded before entering the space.
The experience is more enhanced if you’re walking into the unknown.
With your server’s assistance, we’ll settle you at your table, and then the experience will begin.
“The dishes can be consumed however you find it best to eat—no rules besides letting your senses guide you and leaving your expectations outside the door. The meal is four courses. If you need to exit the dining room, please raise your hand, and your server will come to assist you.” A tall Black woman stood at the front of the lobby, facing the fifty guests waiting to start.
The distraction was timely; just a few words and we had already veered toward some serious topics. Following the instructions of Brad, our server, we entered the dining room and found our table.
Everything was pitch black; my ears perked up at every small sound around us. A clatter of silverware, a low hum of conversation, and what could only be the servers walking around us kept me focused until I had a good lay of the land of the room, as well as the location of the exit.
“Are you good?” I asked Gisele and heard her pleased sigh when my hand found hers across the table.
“Yes. What made you think of this experience as a first date?”
“Easy to talk without worrying about facial expressions, and we both get to try something new and be on equal, balanced…neutral ground.”
“Do you consider dating to be…unbalanced regarding power?” she asked, somehow honing in on the one thing I wasn’t trying to highlight. I squeezed her hand and she cleared her throat.
“I think this removes any pressure from both of us,” I explained.
“I see. Well, tell me about yourself. But so that I’m fair, you get to ask me a question first.” Her voice rang clear in my ears. I could hear the tone of it and why it was so full of power when she sang.
“Why were you crying in the supermarket?”
A long exhale of warm, minty air caressed my cheek.
“I…I decided to walk away from the church where I was raised. I’m not comfortable in my congregation anymore. So now it’s your turn.”
I chuckled. She kept it vague enough to know I would have a follow-up question. I let her cook for now.
“Ask away. What you wanna know?”
“What you do for a living?”
“I own a sex-positive kink club and run a kink community—mostly of Black people, but it’s diverse at its core.”
Her quiet ‘oh’ reached my ear, prickling and raising the hairs of my arms. Her warm hand still lay on mine and it twitched, then relaxed in my hold. I ran my thumb over her skin, enjoying that she hadn’t tried to move it since we sat down.
“So you own a club. Is it like… I mean, how’d you come about that work?”
Just as I was about to answer, a sound to my left warned me the waiter was next to us.
“What up, Brad? What you have for us?” I said instead.
“Oh wow, you have keen ears!” Brad chuckled, then placed the first course in front of us and the wine pairing. “You can eat with your fork, which I placed right next to your plate, or with your hands. Bon appétit.”
At this point, we had removed our blindfolds, and the room was pitch black. From my research, I knew that some of the servers were legally blind, and some utilized night vision goggles to navigate the space.
“The food is at the perfect temperature for you,” Brad said, then with a double tap to our table, he departed.
“You ready?” I asked her, feeling around my plate.
“As I can be,” she chuckled.
Reluctantly, I let go of her hand and searched around until cold steel touched my fingers. My fingers traveled along the cutlery’s edge until I realized it was a spoon.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Gisele exclaimed, a deep purr emanating from her throat. I almost ordered her to make the sound again. Touching around my plate with the spoon, a clank of porcelain told me whatever we were eating was on another container.
“Search with your hand; it’s in one of those Asian spoons,” she advised, and I found the spoon in question. Gently guiding it to my lips, delicate dough burst in my mouth and an explosion of savory broth coated my tongue.
“You’re right; this is exquisite,” I agreed, searching for the next porcelain spoon.
“So…you were telling me about your club,” Gisele prompted me, curiosity coloring her words.
“I studied psychology and delved into studies of human sexuality. In my search for understanding, I discovered some things about myself as well. It was hard, though, to find the right resources and the right people to explore my kink. Many of the clubs and information online were geared toward homogeneous communities, and I wasn’t with all of that.
I finally found some similarly-minded people, and when I had the opportunity, I opened the club.
I wanted it to be the safe space I couldn’t find back then. ”
“Oh, that…it makes sense, I-I guess. Aren’t you worried about what I might think? About what other people think? Not everyone is open-minded about sexuality and…and kink.”
“Are you open-minded about it? Or does your religion stop you from accepting anything beyond vanilla sex?” I asked bluntly.
I understood her hesitation. Many people in the Black community had it, to the extent that many of our members kept their kink and their membership private.
I didn’t judge; everyone had to navigate life to the best of their ability, and already we had odds against our favor.
No need to exacerbate that, but I’d had the privilege of always living openly and comfortable about my truth. At least this truth.
“I… I know a little about it, I’m sure not as much as you do.
I read…a lot. It’s not strange to me, but I’ve not met many people who’re open about their lifestyle.
I don’t condemn anyone as long as they’re doing it consensually.
Many Christians miss that lesson; it’s not our job to judge, it’s our job to be stewards of His Word.
Jesus welcomed the downtrodden and taught us to love each other as neighbors.
So, who am I to judge? There are some kinks I might not understand, but it’s not for me to understand it all, is it?
I know religion can seem repressive, but I believe it can change.
Our rector…well, the rector in that church is very open about our responsibility of opening the doors to all sinners.
Usually, it’s the congregations…steeped in old-fashioned thinking that don’t always allow for progress. ”
“It seems that you have thought about this a lot?” I nudged, fascinated by this woman, who was clearly reserved and demure, speaking openly about her religion and beliefs.
“I used to, with my father…a lot. My mom is very traditional. To be honest, I’m a bit traditional myself, but my father liked to push me to think differently, to investigate everything, to remember that men wrote the Bible, flawed men…
that was until he left us and the church,” she murmured, a tinge of sadness filtering through her calm tones.
“So you believe that men wrote the Bible?” I asked.
“I-I do, but…I also believe in divine inspiration,” she said firmly.
I liked Gisele’s voice; it was measured, with all this power behind it, leashed to be used only when necessary, only when she sang and praised her God in the sky. I wondered how she could use that voice in other ways…
“It is very commendable that your faith is unwavering, even when you see the challenges the modern church is tackling. I’m not gonna lie; I don’t have a lot of faith in the institution.
But to each their own. Would that be a problem, beleza?
” I needed to know. I wanted to explore how far we could go.
I was intrigued by her, so attracted to her calm sadness bolstered by optimism that peeked through in her words.
“I…I’ve always seen myself marrying a God-fearing man. This is my first time dating outside of my church community.”