96% Match

Leslie and I chatted online very little before we met in meatspace. Her photo was adorable and I was charmed at her prowess in answering the perfunctory OkCupid survey questions. It was a cold night six months ago as I waited for her to arrive at the semi-upscale tavern for our first in-person encounter. Apparently neither of us looked much like our online photographs so when she finally walked through the door there was a bit of awkward guessing to do, but this was quickly and happily resolved.

As we peered through our cocktail menus, a loud group of younger-somethings stumbled in the bar and plunked themselves down at the table directly behind our round wooden barstools. Leslie and I shared a reactive glance. Our drinks arrived in tiny cold tin cups and we exchanged tales about our respective days.

The brash group in back of us placed their orders and the well-inked bartender set out two tall thin cylinders of champagne at the server’s station. “Look!” I observed, “The Twin Towers.” Leslie slapped her hand on my thigh. A spunky waitress snaked around the bar to retrieve the champagne and deliver it to the rowdy table.

Leslie and I swapped stories about the projects we were working on. She, a sculpture and I, a new series of watercolors. The sound of shattering glass blasted from the table behind us. “Tower One,” Leslie commented.

It was at that moment I knew action had to be taken.

My new mate and I whipped out our devices and using GPS pinpointed the exact half-way mark between our two apartments: a small bungalow-style house on Meridian Avenue just north of Sunnyside. By the time we closed out our tab and arrived at our new home, the sky was a dark blue velour comforter. A small golden porch light confirmed our address and hand in hand we sauntered up the seven concrete steps.

It took about 25 minutes to subdue the young couple inside. With her knee burrowed deep in his shoulder blades, Leslie gagged and hog-tied the gentleman as I worked away in a similar fashion on the lady of the house. After the soft ground in the backyard had been dug up, satisfied, and refilled, Leslie and I ambled through the back door and into the kitchen where we rubbed our hands with pink dish soap under the sink’s warm flow. We then made our way to the upstairs bedroom where we slipped underneath the cool sheets of our new bed, slowly together ensconced in the dominion of dream.