Friday, July 24, 2009

Porn, Pigtails and Platonics (UPDATED)

It's Thursday. I love to eat on Thursday. Actually, I love good food on every day that ends in "Y". I decided to make plans to go out and eat, and who better to invite out for a food-porn non-date but AFCB#2?

You all know the gal -- we went out to lunch once, and have been regular fixtures at amazing food joints all over town. The poor gal (financially and socially) has not had a very good run with fine dining establishments, but she's a foodie. For her, it's the worst of all worlds: the desire for good food, but her busy lifestyle doesn't allow for it.

I asked her to dinner and told her I'd do something above and beyond our usual "very hip but ridiculously busy" restaurant get-togethers. Chicago, like most large towns, has a small count of VIP clubs. VIP clubs are lounges where you pay to be a member. Some clubs are reasonable at "only" $1500 a year per member, where as the others are $5000+ per year. That's just to go and drink.

She'd never heard of this particular lounge-restaurant combo, as most Chicagoans haven't. I gave her the name and the date and the time, and she used her Google wonder-talents to look it up. She was impressed by the photos, to say the least, but reviews were very hard to come by.

I made the reservation for 8:30pm, knowing full well that we'd be in a luxurious restaurant completely alone. That's the downside of private lounges: they never really get too outrageous during the week. The chef is locally renowned, and I was excited at the menu posted online.

As usual, I left at just the right time. Sadly, I had a fairly hectic day (hectic for me) and never made it home to change, so I went out in a business outfit: pinstripes, shiny dress shirt, custom cut-and-sew vest, ponytail, glasses. I was hoping to run home and change, but leaving the suburbs at 6pm to pick up #2 at 8pm left little room for a quick-change (or a shower!). Also, I had to drop off something for a family member.

Still, with 1/2" hail pouring down on my truck, I pulled onto #2's street at 7:55pm while sending her some gchats. I cranked up to her walkway and called her at about 7:59pm -- right on time, as usual.

I hopped out of the truck and walked to her doorway just as she came out. #2 is a very pretty lady, so it's hard for me not to double-take every time I see her, because in my mind's eye I see her as a friend, not a body and a face that probably should just be grabbed, shoved up against a car, a tree, a mirror or a lamppost and penetrated in more ways than imaginable. But today she was dressed to kill: a great white-ish skirt with a form-fitting salmon top.

Addition: I should also mention that she was wearing these HOT new black heels, which I had a feeling would kill her feet in record time. Still, they gave her a few inches of height, and they looked fantabulous, too. Why don't guys get sexy shoe choices? Ugh.

I have good resolve with women, friends, fuck buddies, dating interests, etc. When she walked out, though, it took me a little extra strength not to stare at her chest and say "whoa, momma." Good for me, and her, I didn't.

As we walked to the car, #2 noticed I had a string hanging off the ass of my pants. I went and gave myself a courtesy reach-around (over the pants) to try to find it but failed. This sweet lady better not put her hand ANYWHERE near my ass or there will be hell to pay.

I helped her into my tall truck (she's a petite gal) and we drove off, her giving me guidance in the streets that I still get lost in after 20 years of driving.

We made it into the busier part of Chicago, but there was construction traffic, one-way streets, and other things to throw off my (not so good) directional compass. After a few mis-turns, we made it to the valet, pulled my truck up, and waited a good 10 minutes for a valet in front of the busy hotel where the lounge lives.

We ventured in, were greeted at the host desk with a hand-written lettered envelope with my name on it, and made our way into the private elevator to the lounge-restaurant. Most people who have been to this part of town have no idea the lounge or restaurant even exists; I prefer it that way.

Upon exiting the elevator climb a few stories up, the lounge hostess greeted us and showed us a tour of the fairly large lounge. #2 was obviously impressed, the interior design of this join must top a million bucks, with antique wood ceilings, amazing furniture, and foreign linens lining everything. I wasn't here to impress her, but it's good to watch her face as she soaks up the better things in life.

We took the circular stairway down to the restaurant portion, also decked out in amazing cloths, colors and woodworking. It was EMPTY. Considering both the fair pricing and the amazing wine list, it always leaves me chagrined to see the place empty, but it was Thursday night.

The hostess told us who our server would be, and left us to talk. #2 and I have great conversations about nothing important and everything important. We tend not to talk over each other, but I do talk more to her than practically anyone else. Our server showed up, a kitschy and extremely attractive gal named Corinne. Brown hair (meow), great posture, and the cutest eyes and pigtails imaginable.

We all know where things went the last time I took out a server: hellsville, plainsville, etc. It's a rule of mine to NEVER ask out someone serving me. Nonetheless, Corinne was awesome, talking us up (we were her only table, probably all night), bringing us our menus, and making some recommendations on wine.

#2 and I wandered the private and empty restaurant area, checking out the private eating rooms in awe of the design and cost to maintain it. Cleaning, as well as keeping people from damaging or stealing expensive items, has to be a bitch.

#2 doesn't drink red wine, I don't drink white, so we ordered a glass each of our preferred varieties, as well as amazing appetizers: foie gras with endive, and a lobster salad. Our wine arrived on Corinne's platter, and she chatted with us through her happy-server smile. I've never been one to trust a server's smile, but I appreciate it because it's part of the job. Corinne's smile definitely changed from "I'm working one fucking table all night, I better be happy because I don't want to get stiffed" to "These folks are crazy and insane, I like them." Maybe I'm wrong on the latter.

We snacked on some bread with an amazing triple-serving of flavored butters, with even Sane having a few inches of the starchy devil. It was good, but we didn't want to fill up.

#2 makes the best proto-orgasmic face ever when she eats good food, and the appetizers left me chuckling. She's a beautiful gal who really does need a great guy in her life, once she gets through some relationship issues that almost everyone I know is going through. I'm glad to call her my friend, and I love the fact that we can be goofy, vulgar, and even critical of each other without any backlash. She knows how to shut me down when I get ridiculous or outrageous, but she also likes to go along for the Sane ride.

The appetizers were cleaned off to the point of us practically licking our plates. We kept forgetting our glasses of wine, the food leaving such a pungent bouquet of sex and foreplay on our noses and tongues. We looked over the menus again as we finished our appetizers, letting the lovely Corinne know that we were going to order our dinners, too: Lamb Loin with Endive, and a Veal Porterhouse. At first, #2 was uncertain about the Porterhouse because I prefer meat rare and she likes it medium. I told her it was VEAL and she basically said "ooooooh." Yes, folks, they make HUGE chunks of baby cow, and yes it is to die for (and maybe drop your pants for).

As we chatted some more, incorporating Corinne into our conversations (with the poor gal having to hold our plates for long bouts of time, swapping hands as she joined our conversations). It was at this point that I noticed how pretty Corinne was, her brilliant eyes gleaming, but her body hidden in the black-on-black outfit that she was wearing. Our seats were low, so I thought she was 5'10" towering over us. I think I bugged her about her height 5 times, but I also couldn't stop looking at her eyes.

I turned to look at #2, and must have stared at her hooters for a good 10 seconds. BUSTED, she totally saw. Most women will tell you that I _NEVER_ look at boobs, because I'm not that interested, but here I am surrounded by 2 lovely women, and something's gotta give. Oops, sorry #2.

Corinne popped out again with our entrees, and I could smell them from the doorway 15 feet away. The presentation, like the appetizers, was amazing: perfect plating, perfect temperature, perfect scents. The veal was a HUGE t-bone cut, and the lamb was nicely plated on a square plate, with the lamb cooked well (it would have been better slightly rare, #2 said, but we did order it medium).

We dove into it all, with #2 having her second foodgasm of the night. Sexy. In another universe, I would probably have tipped Corinne $100 to leave and bent her over the table. Alas, it is not meant to be -- we're pals. Keep that in mind before you email me telling me that she only goes to dinner with me hoping that I jump her. I can bet you a trip to Prague that she's in it for amazing companionship, a lot of laughter, and really good fucking food, a la food porn as said earlier.

More conversation between #2 and I, more conversation between Corinne and both of us. I keep looking at her, trying to lock eyes with her to see if she's interested in Mr. Sane, but that wasn't happening. Still, we all talked, with me finding out that Corinne loves dangerous and risky outings: skydiving, roller coasters, traveling all over the world, etc. Ok, now I have two women in my presence who are worthy of a good body rub: #2 for her food love, and Corinne for being, well, another version of me when it comes to idiocy and danger. I told her we'd swap information, at least so I can have a roller coaster buddy for the summer.

As dinner came to a close, we ordered dessert, which was wholly unnecessary. The restaurant was famous for dessert, but my favorites were not on the menu. Sad. Still, we ordered a Brown Butter Cake and Chocolate Berry tart. Corinne again exited the dining room to the kitchen as #2 and I attempted to try to finish our FIRST GLASSES OF WINE. Fail.

Addition: I should mention that the music in this lavish and expensively decorated dining room was AWESOME 80s AND 90S ROCK. Completely out of character, but perfect. It's a little bit like Sane: cultured and cared for on the outside, but a complete rock star on the inside. Well, I think so, at least.

#2 had to get up early, so around 10pm I started to get nervous and asked if I could check my phone. She checked hers as well, and we chatted each other up some more on more inane and exciting conversation, with Corinne putting her 2 cents in happily. Damn, why don't I meet women like these two in REAL LIFE instead of like this? Sheesh, I need to stop blogging and start getting out, for real.

Dessert came out and it was fine -- nothing exquisite, but not terrible. I don't believe we even finished our desserts, both of us happily full enough but not TOO full.

I'm not sure how it happened, but #2 reminded me to get Corinne's information (right in front of her). She's originally from another state that I visit a few times a month, and I attempted to guess her area code but failed, twice. Boo. Still, I got her number. #2 told Corinne that I would probably not call her for a week and a half because I am traveling a bit over the next 8 days, something I forgot about. Corinne said "It's OK, I probably would have forgotten anyway." That, my friends, is usually a sign to take that phone number, tear it up, and forget about it. If I am not remembered, and if a gal doesn't want me to call, I generally don't. In fact, I've broken the rule TWICE and both times were ruinous.

But she likes roller coasters and skydiving, so maybe it's worth calling her. We'll see. At this point, I'd bet I will probably lose the number and move along, because Sane is not the type of guy to be lost in the mix of douchebags, drunkards, and guys with tons of debt who go to restaurants to prove something. No, this man is 100% Grade A awesome to hang out with, but if I am not memorable, what's the point? We'll see. #2 said she'd remind me, but chances are I will remember that one dangling statement and put a nix to it.

#2 did remind me to share the website with Corinne, so maybe me talking out of my ass like this is a bad idea, but it's still what I thought, so why not be honest? We're being honest here, aren't we? If Corinne reads it, I'm surely out quite possibly as a friend, even, but I have been more open with people I meet to check my site if they care what I think.

Dinner came to a little over $200, which didn't jive in my head. I am VERY good at adding things up in my head, so when I found a problem, Corinne fixed it right away. The total? Nearly $200 even. Not bad for a fun night of 3 hours for 2 people. Here's the issue: what the hell do I tip? We were her ONLY customers, and she had to bus it to the restaurant and back home. Probably 4 hours of work, minimum, ugh. I tipped her 35%, but now I feel like a jackass because I sure as hell wouldn't work for only $20 per hour. I should have tipped 50%, and will gladly make it up if I see her again, somehow. Boo, Sane. TIP-FAIL.

We decided to skip after-dinner drinks because time flew, and #2 has work in the morning. We exited, saying good night to the director of the lounge operations, a cute and bouncy lady older than me but young at heart. Sadly, it was this manager who was the only woman of the night to touch me in the good ways. Fuck.

We hit the elevator, returned to the valet (where we waited forever again), poor #2 walking a little stilted due to her feet hurting (KNEW IT). I think she also snagged my ass-string at this point, but I was too happy with the foodsex to even realize a woman's hand within millimeters of my ass. We then zipped off to the highway, me of course going the wrong way at least once, and #2 having to remind me where to get off. I dropped her off close to midnight, with a friendly hug and a promise to regroup soon.

The conversation driving home was cute, with her giving me the grandest compliment I could get: if I treated her like shit, she probably would've been into me. I've heard this before, mind you, and I just can't do it. I love to fuck, I love to offer a passionate night of ridiculous desires met, but I'm not an asshole to women. I say it too often, I know: my mom taught me well. Customers, plebians, cretins, politicians and police officers always get the mean version of Sane, but ladies should be honored and respected, at least until you get half their clothes off and it's time for some hair pulling, ass spanking, shoulder biting and the use of words that would make your mom blush and your dad disown you.

Still, it was an AWESOME night. I always have fun with #2, and I know we'll have more fun. We're already thinking about a trip together -- maybe a flight to the West Coast for one purpose: IN-AND-OUT BURGER. She's never been, and I think she'd be an absolutely blast on a 1 day flight in and out for a $5 burger. Let's do it. I'm in.

As for Corinne, we'll see. She has the face and hair and eyes that can drive me nuts, but (A) she was my server, (B) she wasn't interested and verbalized it, and (C) it's just another person who will get in the way of me finding what I'm looking for (not a girlfriend, not a fuck buddy, not a friend with benefits, but what?). So if #2 pushes me to, I'll call her. At the very least, I'll have a pal who I can roller coaster with, something #2 won't do even if I paid her. In Foie Gras. And Lamb Loin.

Well, maybe with that form of payment. But I doubt it.

9 comments:

Andy said...

Call Corinne. If it doesn't work, then date #2. Easy.

Now, I know all the objections you're going to put here, so I'm already warning you they're not necessary.

Still... You could use getting laid sometime.

Yankee Girl said...

She may have said she would have forgotten as a way to sound aloof. Women do this when they want someone to call, but they try and talk themselves into thinking it wasn't a big deal.

I love waking up to finding something from you in my reader!

AFCB#1 said...

Sane, you are a riddle. You seem to actually prefer old-fashioned girls in their manners, but you say you like modern girls who are more aggressive.

You have, what? 5 girls who want to jump on your bod, right? And you don't want any of them, but you aren't a player. You spend a lot of your time with 2 or 3 girls who you don't want.

If I didn't meet you and see that you are the sweetest guy in the world, I would say you're insane. I think you sit there, look at women, and find reasons why you can't date them because you know you're a heartbreaker.

ChicagoSane said...

Andy, maybe to the first, NO to the second. #2 and I are not dateable folk, but thanks for the idea :)

As for getting laid, it will happen in good time. Why chase something when it should properly fall into your lap?


Yankee Girl, that's very true, but aloof is not how this Sane bloke rolls. I don't want anyone to be TOO aggressive, of course, but I prefer the ladies who know how to tease properly. Making me sad with side comments usually causes me to hit the road to greener pastures.

Thanks for reading me :)


AFCB#1, I like old fashioned gals who are good at giving chase and accepting the chase, but I love a hardcore vulgar gal in bed. I know it's an odd combination, but I have met them before, and they're out there.

Am I the sweetest guy in the world? I don't think so, not even close, but that comment still makes me blush. Sheesh.

As for 5 gals wanting my bod, I think you're wrong there, but I like the thought of it!

AFCB #2 said...

Honestly, how terrible are we when it takes us 3 hours to drink a damn glass of wine.

Maybe we SHOULD have wine when we do our In-N-Out field trip, if only to make up for yesterday's booze fail. :)

Also, call Corinne. The Vomit Comet awaits.

Celine de Chicago said...

I think we all want to know what AFCB#2 looks like. If Sane thinks she's hot, then she has to be drop-dead gorgeous.

Come on, Sane, tell us! Sorry the waitress gave you the phone number blow-off. OUCH.

Arundhati said...

I think you need to throw away your "rules." They don't seem to be doing you any favors.

skcitygirl said...

it's just another person who will get in the way of me finding what i'm looking for (not a boyfriend, not a fuck buddy, not a friend with benefits, but what?).

my thoughts EXACTLY. some days i think i know what i want but i don't see it anywhere i look.

strange that you mention both lamb and foie gras. those are two very intense foodgasm triggers for me. i liked the way you described the dining experience. sometimes hearing about the pleasures of good company and a good meal is just as exciting as hearing about the fucking.

ChicagoSane said...

skcitygirl, so true!

So if you get foodgasms, why haven't you and I had dinner yet?