A Curious Cure
This little story begins with me agreeing to meet this gentleman for dinner, against my better judgment. One day I will learn to listen to that inner voice, especially when it screams, “Don’t do it!” He asked me to go to a local sushi hot spot. Since the restaurant was a favorite of mine, I agreed and said I would meet him there instead of having him pick me up at my place. On the evening of our date, I was not feeling so well as allergy season had hit me with full force. But being game and not wanting to be rude and cancel at the last minute, I made my way to the restaurant at the agreed time.
Once there we got a seat in the bar area and he ordered us some wine. He then proceeded to sit right next to me, almost on top of me even, instead of sitting across from me. His excuse was that he could hear me better this way (yeah right). I let him know that I was not feeling very well and had a headache due to allergies. He, of course, could not seem to keep to himself and continually touched my arm, leg, whatever he could reach. I was ready to call it quits within the first five minutes but bravely hung in there. That is until he proceeded to grab my hand, stared deep into my eyes and said, “I can take care of that headache for you. Not to worry, I’m really good.” He then proceeded to suck on my finger. I do not mean a lick or kiss, I mean he deep throated my finger and I could feel the ridges on the roof of his mouth. I yanked my hand away, wiped it on his napkin, and then ran off to wash my hands, repeatedly.
When I came back to the table, I made sure to sit on the opposite side. He asked if anything was wrong. I let him know that my headache was getting worse and that I was going to make it a short evening. He begged me to stay and at least have dinner. Once again, this Romeo tried to convince me of his prowess, and grabbed my hand and before I could stop him starts to suck my finger again. I was so disgusted that I threw some money on the table, thanked him for the wine and left. I couldn’t get to my car fast enough and put this disaster behind me. On the way home, I called a friend. Her first words were: “What happened? You haven’t been out an hour.” I proceeded to tell her the miserable tale, and as soon as she stopped laughing, she promptly came up with his new nickname: “The Colonel” since he was “finger-lickin good.” I started laughing so hard I had to pull over. I now cannot pass a KFC without shuddering.
