Dream Date with Adonis

by Molly Undercover on August 19, 2017

A date so good that I’m not even sure it really happened. 

It’s the opposite of  dating horror stories. While I want to recount dates like this to each of my friends and family, they don’t want to hear it. But I want to tell about it, if you’re interested.

James Dean + a satyr + a Greek god = ‘Adonis’ 

This dream date story involves ‘Adonis’ (at least that’s what I’ll call him). Adonis is a motorcycle-riding, vintage-car restoring pilot. He’s an artist, poet and musician with a confident swagger, broad shoulders, and green-blue-brown eyes.

He’s not looking for anything committed or serious. When we are not together, we don’t talk or text much (I have my friends for that!) and there are no promises. Just the present moment, which is, for me and for now, perfect.

It was to be our second date. The afternoon of the planned date, he texted to say that he really felt like flying in his meticulously restored vintage plane, and would I like to join? Terrifying, but come on! Who says no to an offer like that? Plus, he’d been a legitimate pilot for twenty years. I trusted he’d keep us alive, and if we did crash and die, at least I’d be having an amazing time with a hot guy in the process. There are worse ways to go.

Getting ready for a good date is approximately 55% of the fun.

I called just before we were to meet, to ask if there were any clothing requirements for flying. He said no, and I decided on something timeless, and not too restrictive, that I hoped would match the old Cessna: dark, flared, high-waisted jeans, a bright colored sleeveless top with a cute peter pan collar, and strappy red sandals. He asked me to hold off for a few more minutes because he was busy preening. “Even if someone beautiful wasn’t about to come over I’d [want to look good]. . . ” he joked.

Maybe overly smooth, but Adonis has got game, I’ll give him that.

His apartment is an old victorian place full of patina. His artwork, books, musical instruments, and antique furniture filled the high-ceilinged rooms. We chatted about the possibility of our death by airplane crash over sparkling water. Driving to the small airport, we conversed about passionate living and friendship. He quoted Kerouac. It was truly an inspired exchange. I LOVE a good conversation. If that conversation had been the whole date, it would have been a dream in itself! But that wasn’t the end at all. . . . 

The airport was bathed in dusk. First, he performed what appeared to be a quite serious safety inspection of the very sexy airplane he’d restored to mint condition over a decade with his dad and best friends. As he nerded out over the aged Cessna, I could sense his relationship with it. I was touched that he’d share this part of his life with me. He took some time to give me a tour and explain the science behind how tough it would be to crash the thing.  

We rolled her out to the open field beside the runway. He snapped about a hundred pictures of me on my phone with the airplane against an orange-pink sky. I basked in the attention. I now have the souvenirs of this experience, great photos that he later that evening, spent some time cropping and filtering to just how he liked them. His favorite, he edited “for your grandchildren” he said. (I’d show the pics to you, but then I’d have to kill you :-))

We took off and he showed off his skills for a while. Then I flew the plane! As I observed him in his element, I felt enchanted. He decided he wanted to try landing on grass, and warned that it could feel bumpy but would be fine. As it turned out, the landing was one of the most graceful things I’ve experienced. I hopped out, full of adrenaline and blissed out and started dancing. 

 

It continued to unfold. . . 

Back at his apartment, there was just enough red wine and good lighting. We sang folk songs. He played guitar; he sang songs I didn’t know, too, with gusto. At a few points, he’d thrust a harmonica or a violin at me to solo (both of which I happened to used to love to play a million years ago but suck at now.) We danced together and he lifted me in the air, spinning me around. We went outside and played in the pouring rain like toddlers. We ordered food in. We had incredible conversations about philosophy, work, jealousy, and more. He serenaded me in candlelight, a song he’d written on his guitar. 

By the time the date ended, I was pretty convinced that I am a captivating princess witch who can fly, and who should expect nothing less than this level of sensuality and romance. I am basically ruined for average dates now.

Up your game, dudes!!

I love the way, during this single phase in my life, I am collecting so many experiences and memories as I date different men. 

If you got this far without barfing, thank you. And tell me your dream date story!

XO,

Molly Undercover

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