Seven Dates

Chapter Twenty-Two

I pull my black leather jacket tighter around me as I walk into WingLand, a popular and affordable BBQ restaurant on the outskirts of town. As soon as I enter the greeter by the front door smiles and points me to my table. I lock eyes with my date.

He's easily 300 pounds, wearing a food-stained polo and khaki shorts. I take a deep breath and walk toward the table. I sit down and get a better look at his face. He smiles widely at me, exposing a winding set of crooked yellow teeth. It looks like he tried to pop all of his acne right before he came out and there is some dried blood still on his forehead.

"Hello there, I'm Marvin" he greets me. He has a very high pitched, nasally voice. "How are you tonight, beautiful lady?" I look down at the table and notice an empty plate of food in front of him. Did he already eat?

The waitress comes up to our table and I order a tea. I try to tell her via eye communication to "help me" but I don't think the message gets across. I look back at my date, who currently appears to be shredding a napkin.

"So I heard you're looking for a boyfriend. What do you think of the package so far?" He inquires, running his hands along his greasy dark brown hair and dandruff-covered shoulders as if to admire himself. I try to force a smile.

"You look fine," I lie, not wanting to hurt his feelings. He grins.

"Fine as wine," he tells me, using some sort of weird accent as he says it. "Speaking of, do you want a little wine? I have some some in my pocket. If you wanna get a little tipsy-too and do some hush-hush fooling around and blame it on the alcohol, I wouldn't tell," he winks. My mouth drops open.

"Uh, I'm not really the type of girl to tipsy-too or hush-hush," I chuckle nervously.

"Ahh, I see. You're the loud-and-proud type, aren't you? Nothing wrong with that. I rather like that type," he tells me. I struggle to imagine how many girls he's actually been with in order to have a type preference. The waitress brings me back my tea and I quickly order my food.

"Do you have any," Marvin clears his throat, "fetishes, of any sort?" He questions me. I quickly shake my head, absolutely not wanting the conversation to steer this direction. He wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Come on, I know you do. Everybody has some deep dark secret just yearning to come out."

"No, I don't, honestly," I say, as firmly as I can muster. A disappointed expression stirs on his face. He reaches his hand up and begins stroking his chin stubble.

"Well, maybe you'd be interested in hearing some of mine, then. Perhaps it will," Marvin inhales deeply, "inspire you."