Striking Southern gentleman invited me onto his friend's boat for the 4th of July. Lake Ponctchartrain with view of multiple firework shows around the rim, from Zephyr Stadium to Chalmette. I could see the "Dueling Barges" on the Mississippi River, which fired up synchronized explosions of identical colors and identical special effects. I like fireworks. I'm partial to "saturn" explosions, the sphere-within-a-sphere, and long golden tendrils. Plus I like the zig-zaggy spermatazoas.
Striking Southern gentleman's friends are very gracious, the owners of a famous landmark cafe in the French Quarter and a corner apartment in the Almonaster-Pontalba house on Jackson Square. They are not at all snooty. Not at all. The women offered me 7-layer dip and hot dogs to go with the 3rd degree. "How did ya'll meet? How long have you lived in New Orleans? Where did you go to high school? What do you do?"
Striking Southern gentleman took me to his French Quarter condo afterwards. We talked, and kissed, and had wine, but that's all. He asked if he was going too slow. "Are you used to having sex on the second date?"
What second date?
We have a third date set for next Tuesday, dinner at my date restaurant, Adolpho's on Frenchmen Street. But will probably see each other sooner, over the weekend at Le Petit Theatre, where we met. We've talked every day since. I don't think we're going too slow at all.
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