Creative writing

After some prodding, I convince Mindy to download a dating app on her tablet, informing her that she can create a profile but keep it inactive until she is ready, then I promise to open as many bottles of champagne as she needs. The user-friendly interface makes the first few steps relatively painless. Mindy fills out some information and asks a few clarifying questions as I pop open the next bottle. I set her refilled glass on the side table and sit next to her on the couch.

“I’m supposed to describe myself in a few paragraphs. I don’t know what to say that doesn’t sound like baggage.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s a strange challenge to decide how to present yourself. It isn’t a test. Just write something. You can always change it later to emphasize a different aspect of yourself.”

“Okay, but I don’t know where to start other than ‘Divorced, white, under-performing middle-aged mother of two under-performing children’,“she says with a pout.

I cough and shake my head. “Erase that! It’s terrible. Try to have fun with it. It is a creative writing exercise. Pick something interesting about yourself and expand on it.”

She continues to pout at me like a child being told to do something she doesn’t want to do, pretending to tap out her second attempt at describing herself. “Petrified mother seeks roommate to alleviate irrational phobias.”

“You have my attention at least, but can you say it in a way that it sounds fun?”

She continues to stare at me while fake-typing. “I need a selfless hero to help me escape from a madman that is making me fill out this website against my will.”

I laugh. “Better! That is a conversation starter, for sure.”

“You are kidding, right?”

“Not really. If someone responds to a playful profile in kind, that might be someone you could enjoy having a lunch with.”

Mindy’s **** pout fades. “Well, that doesn’t sound quite so bad. So I could just write a silly story loosely based on myself?”

“Why not? I’d read it. You have a great vocabulary. Show it off. That will say a lot about you, too, especially if you would like to date someone that enjoys reading.”

“Okay, okay. I get it now. I can do that, but I would like to spend some time on it later. What else do we need to do here?”

“You can set filters for age range, orientation, religion, etc. Don’t get overly restrictive with them unless it is really important to you. Keep an open mind, you haven’t dated much, and might be surprised by trying something new. What you think you want could be wrong.” Mindy nods. “Now on this tab is an exhaustive list of personal questions to establish a rough compatibility percent. Take it with a grain of salt, but some of the questions might speak to you.”

She scrolls down through the questions until one jumps out at her. “How often do you prefer to have sex?” She looks at me with shock, her cheeks reddening. “Wow, they don’t hold back, do they?”

“The correct answer to that one is ‘daily’,” I say, staring back at her confidently. The color in her cheeks deepens, then she lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh...my.” She looks back at the screen. “Ahem—Maybe I shouldn’t go from zero to one-hundred quite so fast. She hesitantly selects ‘2-3 times a week’ and quickly scrolls away from it. She stops on another question. “Do you like to try new things?” She looks at me guiltily. “Does watching new shows count?”

“It’s okay to answer aspirationally. Do you wish you had gone out more often over the last few years?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, without hesitation.

“Then invite people into your life that will help make that happen. If you decide that it isn’t suiting you, change your answer later.” She taps the affirmative response.

“So... what about this profile picture business? Do I really have to?”

“What’s so bad about it?”

“...I don’t have any recent photos.”

“No problem,” I say, whipping my phone out, swiping it into camera mode.

“Ahhhh! Wait!” She screams, putting her hands up to block the lens. “Not ready!” She gets up and runs into her room, mumbling to herself. I wait for her for a long time, eventually getting up to refill my wine glass and munch on some vegetables still sitting out on the table. She finally comes back thirty minutes after she had disappeared. She is wearing a sleeveless dress that comes halfway down her calf. The dress pattern is densely packed red flowers on a cream colored background. Mindy has applied fresh makeup and opted to clip her hair back instead of spending extra time to style it.

“Mindy, you look gorgeous!”

She put her fingertips to her forehead and the palm of her other hand on her abdomen self-consciously. “Oh stop. Let's just get this over with.” She pulls herself into a stiff pose. “Okay. Ready.”

“You look great, but you are not ready.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You also look anxious. Put on some music, enjoy more champagne and relax.” She doesn’t move. Apparently she meant it when she said to just get it over with. “Come on. Put on music. I have all evening, remember?”

She lets out a tight sigh. “Okay. You are so pushy, you know that?”

“Only when you need it,” I reply. She walks to an old audio receiver in the living room and tunes it to a radio station with some relaxing music. She turns it up high enough that we can easily hear it over the storm. She spins around, flaring out the hem of her dress as she locks onto the location of her drink. She struts over to her glass and takes a sip, staring at me.

"Am I ready now?"

"No." I walk up to her, taking her glass and mine, setting both of them down together. "You look amazing. You just need to loosen up a little." I take her hands and gently wave her arms side to side until she realizes how stiff they are and consciously lets them relax into the waving motion. "See? You are so anxious." There is a sharp clatter of hail pelting the windows on one side of the house, surprising us both. Mindy yelped and jumped closer to me, her hands holding my forearms tightly. "And jumpy," I say with a smile. I remember how much our earlier hug had helped her to relax, so I pull her closer to me. She doesn't resist it, but she squints a little, perhaps questioning my motives. I put my hands on her waist and lead a slight swaying to the music. She fights a smile and moves her hands up to my shoulders. Halfway into the song, she is obviously holding back something she finds funny, snorting under her breath. "What are you smiling about?"

"I was just thinking that I haven't danced like this since prom. Then I thought you are a little underdressed for that." I look down at myself, remembering my ridiculously tight gym shirt and ridiculously baggy shorts.

"Oh yeah. I hope it isn't ruining the moment."

"No, it's fine... You look great." She can't quite hold back another snort of laughter. I look to the side and nod, I deserve that. I can tell by her raised eyebrows and tightly pinched lips she is holding back more.

"No, no, keep laughing. I can take it." She snorts again, patting my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Warren. I shouldn't be laughing," she says with a mouth contorting itself to look serious, her eyes watering trying to control herself.

"Pfft! Well stop looking at my outfit then." I move my arm around her back and pull her closer so she can't look at my clothes anymore. She stiffens a little and first, then I take pleasure in feeling her adjust to the closeness. Her harms cross behind my neck. Her pelvis and mine, pressed together, begin to find a rhythm as we sway, our bare feet occasionally touching. And just like in the garage, I feel her relax into me. She takes an easy sigh and leans her face into my neck.

"Mmmm.... This is nice," she whispers.

"Mm-hmm," I agree. The music smoothly transitions into the next song, slightly slower. We adjust our swaying a little, pulling each other a little closer. I feel her lips resting in the crook of my neck. It isn't a kiss, but my heart throbs at the awareness of it. I flex my neck subtly, making it brush gently across their soft curves. One of my hands slips down a couple inches. I hear her inhale a little more sharply, then I wonder if the heart-pounding I feel is coming from me or her. I feel her thigh bump against stiff my cock, realizing at that moment that I had gotten pretty hard already. Her fingertips dig in slightly on my back. There is no way she didn't feel that bump with these thin shorts. I had better back out of this situation gently. The song is coming to and end so I lean back and look at her. "Feeling more relaxed now?" I ask quietly. She nods, not looking directly at me. "Okay. Now you are ready..."

"Ready...for what?" She asks just as quietly through an uneven breath. She is looking more at my shoulder than at me.

"For your photos."

"Oh, yeah." A small smile flashes across her face.

“Lets start over here.” I direct her through various poses. She is relaxed enough to go with the flow as I keep feeding her instructions, gaining confidence as we go. She leans back against the wall. She stands in the doorway with her arms on the jamb. She leans across the back of the couch with a leg out. She sits with crossed legs, holding her wine glass like a self-assured socialite. She blows a kiss. Every now and then I notice her glancing at my shorts. I swear she sticks her ass and breasts out just a little more when she does, like she is also performing for my nonverbal feedback. I see the bowl of popcorn and decide distract her from what she is doing to me.

"Catch it in your mouth," I challenge, tossing popcorn at her face. She instinctively dodges. "Try again." She nips at the next one and smiles. After a few more she really goes for it, trying in earnest while trying not to spill her drink. We laugh at the clip I make of her looking cross-eyed as kernel bounces off her nose. She forces me to try to catch some in ****, her throws getting more wild as she laughs so hard she can barely stand up. When she finally has her breath back, we finish off the second bottle as we look through the photos, discarding the blurry ones and any that she thinks is unflattering. We are left with about ten nice photos, four of which we select for her profile. I send them to her.

"You should brag about your popcorn-catching skills to your profile,” I suggest.

"What skill? I didn't catch any!" She laughs some more.

"Your amazing popcorn-throwing skills then."

"You couldn't catch any!" She struggles to hold her laughing back long enough to finish. "I couldn't even get...it near your face!" She doubles over again, heaving in silent laughter. The sight is infectious, sending me into laughing fits of my own. When she stands up, tears are streaming down her face. She puts a hand on my shoulder to stabilize herself. "Oh..... that hurts..... I haven't laughed that hard...in years."

When we have finally have our breaths back, we look at each other, deciding what to do next. "We could watch some more episodes. Are you up for that?" I ask.

"Yeah. I can do a few more I think. Is more champagne a terrible idea?"

I wonder to myself the same thing. "I'll get another bottle in here, but let's get some water in us first. And I'm cutting us off at three bottles."

"Wow, three bottles... I don't remember the last time I've drank this much." Her smile weakened a little, perhaps thinking about Lewis' drinking, or about some memory from her younger days. But she didn't say anything more, instead started popping more popcorn and filling some water glasses.

We watch a few more episodes into the night, really enjoying the show, and feeling completely comfortable snuggling up to each other. I absentmindedly rub her back after she releases the squealing ****-clutches she gives me through all the scary moments. At some point in episode seven she is snuggled tightly, but doesn't respond to what is happening on the screen. She has fallen asleep against me. She did say that she had trouble sleeping the night before, so she probably needs the rest. I stretch my free arm to get the remote from her lap and lower the volume. The storm has quieted down to almost nothing. I lean back a little to let her lay against me more horizontally. Mindy looks so peaceful. I smile and try to get comfortable without disturbing her.