A man who listens?

This is a continuation of my previous blog post. Please read that one first! I don't know how to link, if you know please leave a comment and help me :) :)

Now that I know who he is, I am a little bit uncomfortable about all that I said to the bartender with him listening. But he is a good listener, something my friends are not. Even if he tells Paulo, maybe Paulo will make a change for the better. I have nothing to lose. I pull my chair up closer to him and let it all come out. Hours and hours and hours of me talking, him listening, barely saying anything in response and never interrupting me. We drink, I talk, he listens. His face is on my face and he never once checks me out. It is frustrating, but sexy. His face shows a sadness and an understanding that I don't get from anyone else, not even my mother.

I checked my phone that was sitting on the bar a few times but Paulo never even said he was safe or where he was. I trust him because I have my own set of spies who are always out and he has never strayed or even done anything I would get jealous over. He loves his guys and calls them his brothers. Before I know it the time has passed quickly and the bartender girl calls for last call, meaning the last round of drinks can be bought. It is almost 2 in the morning on a night before a workday. I should get home. Still no text or call from Paulo. Typical.

Mr. B as I will call him (he calls himself Chicagosane but I don't like it) says he is going to go home, but he helps me stand off the stool and even puts my jacket on me. Still he hasn't looked at me as anything other than a sister. I was sure he was gay at this point. Who else would be so interested in a sob story from a woman who shouldn't have one like this? We both walk outside together, and I bum a cigarette from him. I wait for the cab and he waits with me, saying he doesn't think it is smart for me to be out on the street alone. It's cold out being November, so I look for a cab since walking in heels in the snow is a stupid idea. We wait 25 minutes, still talking and me getting colder. Mr. B interrupts and offers a ride home. He has been drinking, but he is sober as can be. I finally get a text from Paulo who says he's going out and will probably stay at a friend's house.

He then questions why I want a cab if I live so close. I tell him I appreciate him listening to me and it is hard for me to find such good listeners. I figure we can talk more in his car. He walks me to a car that I can't remember, but it was nothing special. He helps me in and we drive off towards my place. He asks me if I am hungry (I was) or thirsty (I was) and if I wanted to stop some place before I went home. I could eat and I could drink, but I needed to finish airing my dirty laundry out. It's almost 3am, and the bars will be closing in less than an hour, so he offers to take me to a bar out of Chicago but still very close. I guess they're open later, as crazy as that sounds.

We drive, his firm hands on the wheels and his eyes focused on the road. We arrived just short of 3:30 in the morning and sit at a bar that looks very shady but is nice and friendly. I talk more, he listens more. He starts to ask me questions every time I feel like I've just about run out of things to say. He keeps helping me spill my guts out and is an amazing listener. I know I said that a lot but it is true. The way his eyes stare into mine is like he is not listening but reading me. It is a little scary but his eyes respond instead of his mouth. When I talk to Paulo he interrupts me all the time. When I talk to my girlfriends they laugh it all off. When I talk to my mother she brings up marriage.

Before I know it, the bar is closing. I was so engrossed in talking that I missed them call out last call. I don't even remember if I drank alcohol, but he had a few and stumbled a little bit when he stood up. It was cute, but I was worried because he was driving. He mentioned getting a cab for me and one for him, but I'm a good safe driver so I offered to drop him off at his place. He lives almost a straight shot from this bar, wherever it was. We get there in no time. He tells me he will pay for a cab ride home which is very gentlemanly of a man who isn't going to get any. I agree and feel safe plus I really had to pee!! Dirty bars aren't my thing.

I walk into his place and am surprised that his apartment is so small with almost no belongings. He has pictures of friends and family, lots and lots of books, a nice old cat and very little else. He's so professional that I think he's probably hiding his wealth but I never asked. I don't think I asked him anything actually. I ask him to use his bathroom, and when I go I find myself wetter than I think I ever have been. How can a woman get this turned on by a man who is not her type, who hasn't tried any moves or given compliments or touched me or said anything gross or funny? I was wretching my life out and now I'm horny? I think not. I wipe up as best as I can (I know that's gross, but true) and go back out. Mr. B is seated on a plain beige couch and there is a huge comfy chair to the side of it, brown. His design style is minimalistic (I do fashion) but I love how it all flows in an apartment that is smaller than my bathroom it seems.

I'm sober and like a little alcohol to loosen me up, plus I'm cabbing home and have almost nothing there. Paulo and his brothers and guys drink everything I have and never replace it. I ask if I can look at his wine selection and open a bottle, and he just smiles and nods. I can definitely feel my area down there get moist now at his mannerisms, but I still don't understand why. He is just not my type in any way! I look at his bottles and bottles of wine, most of them dusty and old. My grandfather worked wine country in Spain, and I know good wine having grown up on it. Mr. B has some unbelievable wines, many costing ten times what I usually buy at the Jewel near me. I pick one that I know is great, show it to him, and he just nods again.

I have problems opening the wine but Mr. B doesn't offer to help. Instead, he tells me to keep talking, not to focus on the bottle opener because that makes it harder. I start talking again and the cork pops out, spilling a little on his floor. I go to get a paper towel but he says to leave it, which I ignore and clean up anyway. I open his trash can and it is empty. This guy is a bachelor? He has to have a girlfriend. The place is clean but not compulsively clean. It is organized but not obsessively neat. I grab two wine glasses and sit down on his couch, forcing him to move over. I see his eyes go to the chair, but I say nothing.

The more I talk, the hornier I am getting. He doesn't say anything, he just listens, and focuses on my eyes like he knows more than I do about what I'm going to say. He licks his lips as if to reply, but never does, which really turns me on. I don't think he's seen my body yet, I know he hasn't looked at anything but my eyes. He doesn't look at the clock or his cell phone or anything else. It is unnerving. As I keep talking, I also want to touch him, just to see if that fills me enough to not desire him so much. My hand started on his elbow, and he didn't pull it away. As we drink, I move closer and my hand moves lower to his torso and his hip and finally his thigh. I get close enough that he puts his hand on my hip not with force but with enough pressure to keep me from getting closer.

It's almost 6 in the morning and my head was clearing up fast. Wine doesn't have a big effect on me. He was looking tired but still focused on my story. Before I knew it, I fell into his arms and kissed him. He is the first man I kissed other than Paulo in almost 7 years. His kiss was amazing, I could feel my thighs warm up with need and desire. Stupid Paulo never texted again, probably drunk and asleep on some guy's couch who knows where. I need Paulo so bad, but if I let him take me, it would be over in 5 minutes, 10 minutes at the most. I'd have to wait until he fell asleep, go to the bathroom and do my best to finish myself. Many times I don't even get that far, falling asleep frustrated.

So here I am kissing HIM. I never kiss a guy first, they have to be confident enough to kiss me. He knows Paulo well enough (they're not great friends, just bar people) so I think he is probably feeling a little guilt. I know he's drunk, and I am taking advantage of him, but I don't care. I don't feel any guilt. I don't care what happens, I want to feel someone inside of me that understands me. It is just sex, not love, not an affair, just a one time throw-away. I want to sleep with him not to thank him, but to see if he understands me enough that he won't be like the 40 other guys I've slept with in my life who all lasted about 15 minutes at the most. Mr. B doesn't look like much, maybe Al Pacino or Robert Dinero. He has a crooked face (is that spelled right?) and he stands taller than his height would tell you. He exudes confidence without being a douchery kind of bar guy.

We continue to kiss, me attacking him, his arms gently on my hips or on my back or arms. He never grabs my butt or my breasts. He holds me close and then pushes me away and then does it over and over at random. I am getting frustrated because I don't know his plan. We kiss for what feels like hours, so I grab him by the hand and lead him to his large bed. It smells great in his room and he has fresh cut flowers on the window sill, a picture of three older women (mom? aunt?) on his dresser and some younger girl (sister? cousin?) next to it. He sits on his bed and watches me as I lay down right next to him with him sitting looking over me. He looks huge, taller than Paulo, stronger than Nicholas the weight lifter I dated. If he only kisses me and sends me on my way, I don't know what I will do.

I will write more, I have to make a sandwich!