You hit it off.

Futzing around in the front yard your mind clearly isn't on your lawn work. It doesn't help that Sam comes running by about every four minutes or so. Returning her wave each time you try not to blatantly stare at the exquisite feminine form in motion before your eyes. After eight laps the comely conservative stops her jog. Checking her heart rate she gives you one final nod, “see you in about an hour.”

Now that the show is over, you head into your house to get ready. After a shower, and putting on some sunscreen, you throw on your swimming trunks, a nice polo shirt and your Timberland sandals. Taking your sunglasses and a towel you also grab one of the better bottles of blueberry wine you have from a local vineyard, thinking it might be wise to bring a present.

Walking over to Samantha's house you are genuinely excited, though you still have a slight concern the rumors that she is a heartless cutthroat corporate raider might be true. Heading up her driveway you detour away from the front door when you hear music coming from her backyard. Going around her garage you see a large fenced in inground pool with a volleyball next stretched across its middle. Connecting the pool and the house is a sizable wood deck with Sam standing behind a gas grill. “Come on in.” She waves you to enter.

Going through the fence's gate you give the attractive cook a look over. She is wearing a matching tropic patterned front tied halter top with an above the knee beach skirt that is tied with a knot on her right side. From the exposed neck straps you note she is wearing a dark green bikini underneath. You certainly hope she enjoys swimming.

“What is that playing.” You gesture to the portable stereo on the deck table. “It sounds like a demonic dog chanting to an electric guitar played by a monk.

“Close.” Sam smiles. “It is a Finnish band called 'Ensiferum.'” Looking at your less then thrilled expression she adds, “Not into melodic folk **** metal I take it? Well Hometown this might be more your speed.” Picking up the remote control to her stereo Sam switches to Bob Dylan's “The Times They Are A Changin'.”

“Cute.” You complain with a smile, appreciating Sam's sarcastic wit.

“Okay, okay, how about a compromise.” Changing the mp3 again you here Leonard Cohen's “Hallelujah,” but sung by a beautiful female voice.

“It's not you singing?” You ask surprised.

“Pfft!” Sam laughs, “I have as much musical talent as Nicki Minaj with laryngitis. The singer is Kate Voegele. So John, what do you like on your pizza?” Sam inquires, “Let me guess, vegetarian? You're a vegan, right?”

“Typical Republican,” you quip back, “always profiling. No, I am not a vegan.”

“So steak, on the rare side for your pie?” Sam raises her eye brow challenging you.

“No,” You concede to her intuition, “just the roast vegetables, please.”

After pouring the wine you brought, the two of you sit down an enjoy the grilled flat bread pizzas and a fruit compote salad Sam has made. She may not be able to sing, but her grilling skills are pretty good, with the grill roasted vegetables being particularly tasty.

Over lunch, and for over an hour afterward, you chat away greatly enjoying each others company. Only once do you begin to have a heated political discussion, when the issue about the state allowing casinos comes up. You are vehemently against gambling, since it encourages organized crime and the suffering caused by gambling addiction, especially among the poor. As a libertarian, and someone who enjoys casino gaming, Sam is for legalizing all forms of gambling, arguing for freedom and personal responsibility. Before it becomes too heated, you agree to disagree and move on. As the conversation calms down you quickly find out you have a lot in common. Besides sports and politics, you both are very well read, enjoy old movies, being outdoors and have a passing interest in martial arts.

Surprisingly, you end up spending most of your time pleasantly chatting about politics. Not ideological issues, but all the things that go with one's first political campaigns. You joke, complain and commiserate over campaign bureaucracy, the complexity of state and federal election laws and the pressure of being one of the party's “future stars.” In this area, Sam and yourself are perfectly matched, and it is relieving to chat with someone experiencing the same journey.

“My biggest problem.” You lean back in your lawn chair, “Is that those evil Republicans have brought in a ringer; Sharp, intelligent, charming and with a very quick wit. It is going to be a tough fight.”

“I know the feeling.” Sam grins, “my opponent has all those hometown connections, and is a smooth operator. Besides, I heard he is rather handsome, and that is worth at least five percentage points in the polls.”

A flirtatious silence descends over you both. After a few seconds you ask, “care for a swim?”

“Sure.” Samantha stands while untying her beach skirt in one fluid motion, leaving the garment on her chair and revealing a dark green bikini bottom with gold trim that greatly complements her hair and eyes.

Loosing the front knot on her halter top she inquires, “Should I take the volleyball net down for a swim, or are you up for match?” Stripping the top off and casting it on the chair Sam exposes the matching green bikini top underneath and all the glorious cleavage it highlights. “I would normally suggest we put a little wager on a game, but I wouldn't want to go against your principles.”