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One hot New York minute
[Ed's note: #TinderTales is a weekly column that attempts to look at online dating. This week, our Tinderella tells us about matching in the Big Apple. Have a story to share? Email us at submissions@gmanews.tv]
We were crossing the very busy street in the Meatpacking District of Manhattan, two travelers who only knew they wanted to get as far away from the very trendy bar as possible, when suddenly he kissed me.
Of course, it caught me by surprise. Phillip and I had just met less than five minutes ago.
But it was good — he was a good kisser — and that famous New York City rush collided with the anxiety of meeting a Tinderello for the very first time, giving birth to fireworks and butterflies and ton load of kilig.
Allow me a few clichés: time stopped. I felt like we were right in the middle of a photograph, or a film scene, with car headlights illuminating two lovers — us! — into a happy ever after.
I was in New York for a short 10-day vacation. Phillip was packing up a three-month school stint. We matched one Saturday morning, and quickly transferred the conversation to Whatsapp.
“Top of the morning!” I replied to his coy hello; he would later tell me my greeting amused him so much he had to see me as soon as possible. I felt so sorry I didn’t have anybody with me to joke around: Ang haba ng hair ko.
He suggested a bar at the Meatpacking District, a place I was familiar with thanks to "Sex and the City". As soon as I got there, I thought it was a little too trendy for my taste but whatever. He was friendly and cheerful and quickly flashed a huge smile when he saw me.
“Let’s get out of here,” he made a face telling me it was a little too trendy for him, too: Well-dressed men drinking their expensive whiskies, flirting with well-dressed ladies comfortable in their tight dresses and high heels. Everybody looked polished for a banging Saturday night. We were the two grubby outsiders there, dirty jeans, sneakers, and awkward.
Phillip took my hand, rushed for the green light, and upon getting caught in the middle island, kissed me tenderly. One hot New York minute.
Too stunned to say or do anything — so soon and also, so good! — I let him take me by the hand, cross the avenue, and head down to the subway.
In there, between smiling sheepishly at each other, we continued kissing; small cute ones that had I been a spectator, would have me smiling too, giddy with joy, wondering if taking the couple’s photo would be intrusive. I’d take it away.
We ended up across town, in the Lower East Side, at a taco place that sold cheap beer. Phillip and I talked about a lot of things I now forget, but by the time we emerged from the dark environs of the Mexican joint, I was comfortable, laughing, and drunk.
He was too — laughing and drunk — but most importantly, Phillip was playing a solid A game in making me laugh.
“I want to laugh some more,” he said, inviting me back to his place.
“But I’m not having sex with you,” I countered.
“I promise I don’t want to sex with you,” he deadpanned, before kissing me again, hailing a cab and laughing.
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There was hardly any cab that a busy Saturday night. We kept walking, going around blocks, trying our luck in one corner and then in another, going in another direction, him first, me next.
“Go flash your legs,” I jokingly ordered.
“But I didn’t shave,” he pleaded as if on cue, his face contorting into an exaggerated aburrido expression.
I swear, he’s such a hoot.
Phillip lived in a basement apartment in the Upper West. He was sharing the space with someone from school, a girl who needed a roommate and who was not there that weekend.
We hung out in the living room, sound tripping and kissing and spooning, comfortable on the couch. His music was incredible, and with every joke uttered, I felt myself falling a bit more for him.
Phillip kept making advances, but I was firm in my no. “You’re too fun. I wanna keep seeing you while I’m here,” I told him, hinting I knew how charmers like him operated.
He alternated between being a gentleman and being a mischief, and all the while maintaining being irresistibly adorable. I showed him how attracted I was to him, and how difficult it was for me to say no, and he worked with that. I wanted him to — to keep trying to be cute, to keep flirting with me. I basked in it all.
It became a joke, so when Lou Reed’s “A Perfect Day” came on, he stopped everything and said a triumphant “yes!”
And then we laughed and we laughed until I fell on top of him. There was a lot of kissing, a lot of grabbing — a total hot hot heat.
When we got tired, I let my head fall on his chest. He slowly caressed my hair, until we both stayed silent and fell asleep, like two children, exhausted from a day’s worth of play.
We woke up at daybreak. He called me an uber, and when it arrived, opened the door for me, gave the driver instructions to my place, and kissed me farewell. I kept awake through the short drive, across Central Park, looking out at a sleepy Manhattan. There was hardly anybody in the road, the sun slowly cracking the city awake. I was ready to fall back asleep and dream of that hot New York minute. I basked in it all. — LA, GMA News
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