An Unfinished Symphony Chapter V - My Date With Phillip

. . . I discovered this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

"Yeah, right," I had muttered.

. . . but I gave them a little finger wave, and then, tossing my head back in the direction I was headed, I swiveled my way out of the room, my hair flowing behind my head

I thought I heard one guy almost choke as I left.

. . . Even after I had described it to Rebecca in excruciating detail over some hot tea, I still wasn't sure what it all meant. I did know, however, that I really wanted to go out again with Phillip. . .

Alright folks, whether you think this is femdom or not, try to accept at least this chapter just as it appears. It is what it is, Sara's first date with a guy. I hope you enjoy it!

And if you haven't been reading my blog, you might want to check it out. I reveal my deepest, darkest secrets and have an interesting conversation with readers.

Chapter V - My Date With Phillip

"Phillip! So nice to see you," I said as brightly and sincerely as I could despite the butterflies in my stomach. I had decided to call him Phillip because Michael called him Phil, and I wasn't Michael. I was Sara, and Sara hadn't met him before so being more formal was appropriate. Besides, I thought the use of his full name would make me sound more like his sister or his mother, rather than his girlfriend, which is what I was afraid he was thinking, or at least hoping, I would become.

Phillip and Rebecca had been standing next to each other watching as I descended the staircase, my long blonde hair hiding my face as I looked down and turned slightly sideways. I was holding my tight skirt up slightly so I could actually navigate the steps without falling, and I trailed a navy blue and silver chiffon scarf in my other hand. Walking down the stairs like this was first and foremost a safety measure, but the whole scene made me feel deliciously feminine, and, I thought, made for a boffo entrance. And now, as I closed the last few yards towards them, carefully placing one foot in front of the other so my hips would sway, they both shared a slightly stunned look. I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to be a reaction to my apparent confidence and assertiveness, or, how terrific I looked. Ronnie really was a genius with makeup, and they had curled the ends of my old blonde wig, the one from the picture that Phil had found, the one that he had requested that I wear, so it looked really romantic. I enjoyed the view for a moment, and then, shaking my head to throw the long blond hair off my face - even though I just loved to have it fall by my eyes - I held my hand out to Phil to shake his. I angled it slightly down, as many women do, with my arm fully extended, and waited for him to take it.

He hesitated for a second, and then broke into a big grin while his giant paw swallowed up my hand, with its lovely sparkly blue nails. Once he had me in his firm yet gentle grip, he said, "Sara, you look lovely. I'm so pleased to meet you at last!" And with that, he pulled my hand towards his face, dipped his head, and kissed the back of my hand, just like in my day dream.

He allowed his lips to linger just a bit longer than necessary, and then he continued to hold onto my hand. I have to admit it: the lingering touch of his lips and hand on my skin made me tingle and I think I might even have blushed a little. At the same time, I thought, *At last? How long has he known?* But even though I was somewhat surprised at his warm and familiar greeting, I could see he was flabbergasted. He had obviously gotten more than he had anticipated. *Score one for me.* I had spent my time since getting home from the salon really working on my attitude, and at least for now, it was paying off.

My encounter with Ronnie left me looking gorgeous, but in a piss-poor mood. In an attempt to chill out, I spent some time surfing the web before my bath. While scanning the site of a post-op transsexual who I had always admired for her simple, unadorned good looks and stick-it-in-your-face positive attitude about who she is, I discovered this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

"Yeah, right," I had muttered.

It wasn't until I was sitting in the tub, luxuriating in a deliciously aromatic lavender bath oil, that the import of that quote hit me. For the second time today, I felt like I had just been slapped across the face. *Of course!* I thought, *How could I have been so stupid? When I played racquetball with Phil, he almost always won, sometimes he creamed me. But I never felt embarrassed about it. Why not?* It only took a moment for the answer to become clear. *Because I knew that losing didn't make me any less of a person. I once even encountered someone who had been watching who sniggered at me as we left the court, shaking his head as if I should be taken out with the trash. What I wondered was, *What's his problem?* not, *What's wrong with me?*.

But I was afraid that if someone sniggered at me while I was out as Sara I would fall apart, feel absolutely humiliated and look for someplace to run. I wouldn't have to ask, "What's wrong with me?" The answer would be obvious: I was a trannie. But sitting in the tub after my little lesson from Ronnie, and some reinforcement from Mrs. Roosevelt, I had decided that it was stupid of me to buy into society's view of my transgendered self. If I couldn't be proud of who I was, I should at least not be ashamed of it.

I now understood that it had always been me who humiliated me. I was like the long-gone cartoon philosopher Pogo, who once said, "We have met the enemy and they are us." The only person I had to fear tonight was me. I vowed that tonight would be different. I was pretty sure Phil wasn't going to be a problem. In fact, he would protect me if I needed it. And, surrounded by the smell of lavender, and with water beading up on my brand new tits, I had decided that I was going to enjoy this evening, going all out to be my most feminine self. Tonight, Sara would have her first date, and just like the morning sun signaled the day lilies and morning glories to open their petals, this date was going to be my signal to blossom.

"You look absolutely beautiful," Phillip went on. "I'm a lucky man tonight."

"You are," I replied lightly, using the back of my index finger to flick the blonde hair of my wig off my face as I shook my head again. "What do you think of my dress?" And I gave a quick spin in my four-inch heels, letting my hair fly around my face. The dress, of course, went no where. There really wasn't anything soft or flirty about it, although it was gorgeous and did have a spectacularly smooth satiny lining.

He burst out laughing. At first I was appalled, thinking I had completely misjudged him and he was making fun of me. But before I could really react, he grabbed my hand, lifted it over my head, and spun me around again. "Stunning," he said, obviously admiring what he was seeing. "Absolutely stunning. Rebecca, you didn't tell me about this.”

"I didn't know. I just didn't know." Rebecca replied, looking at me like a proud parent. But then she broke into a big grin, and said to me, "Sara dear, you're amazing."

I looked at her for a second trying to see if she was putting me on or not, but the glint in her eye made it clear she was just enjoying the show. I couldn't help but give a small dig in return. "There's lots about me you don't know, darlin'."

As she turned to the closet, she admitted, "I guess so. Let me get your coat and you two can be on your way. I have plans tonight too, and I need to get moving."

So as Phillip and I stood there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do now that we were past our initial greeting, Rebecca disappeared for a couple of seconds before returning with my new fake fur. A few moments later, I had slipped the scarf around my neck, Phillip had helped me on with my coat, I had slung my bag on my shoulder, pulled on my new red gloves, and we were out the door.

Phillip gave me the full gentlemanly treatment, holding my arm as we made our way down the walk, opening the door of his 740i for me, and then helping me into my seat. He was full of good humor as we drove along the two lane country roads towards the inn where we were to have dinner. He praised my looks and my behavior, and really seemed thrilled to be out with me. I mostly kept quiet, except for the thank you's I had to offer because of all his compliments. I kept telling myself that there was no reason for me to be ashamed or embarrassed. I was a good man and a lovely woman. The world was lucky to have me in it. I almost had myself convinced.

When we got to the restaurant, Phillip helped me out of the car, easily pulling me up from my seat as soon as I had swiveled my legs onto the pavement and laid my hand in his. We left the car for the valet, and as we turned to walk up the few broad stone steps towards the well lit entrance of the large, white, Federal-style building, he surprised me by wrapping his arm around my waist. I froze for a moment, my feet locked to the ground as I looked up at him, alarmed. But he offered me a slightly crooked, sort of embarrassed-asking-permission grin that totally disarmed me. How could it not, coming from a big rugged face that jutted out from a cap of brown hair that was just long enough to show a little of the curl. I had no idea he could be so charming. So I thought, *Sure, why not,* and I threw a bright smile up at him to let him know it was okay. With his big arm around me, I couldn't help but lean into him slightly, and as we walked through the huge oak doors, which he easily pushed open with one arm, he put his hand in the small of my back to usher me inside. Phillip was so big, this was all really rather comforting, and I kinda liked it, even though he was a man.

The inn had been built in the early 19th century, though it had been extensively renovated since then. It was warm and woody, with built in cabinetry and antique-looking nick knacks on just about every surface except the tables. We followed the formally dressed maitre d' through a small warren of intimate dining rooms that each held six or eight tables. Each was decorated somewhat differently than the others, but in each, the diners checked us out as we passed by. I loved the admiring looks I was getting from the men, and better yet, some of the not so happy ones from the women. I couldn't help but put a little extra wiggle in my walk. I could just imagine what Rebecca would say if she saw me now, "You are such a tart!" And I loved the very idea of it.

At the back of the Inn we reached a wonderful round parlor that overlooked a small pond, which was surrounded by trees that were all hung with strings of glistening white lights, giving it a sort of fairyland look. Eight tables, each set with starched white table clothes, were evenly spaced along the windows. All but three already had diners seated at them. Despite the spectacular view, with the lights mirroring themselves off the glassy smooth surface of the pond, the highlight of the room was a huge fireplace, which dominated the wall opposite the windows, filling the room with that special light and warmth you simply can't get from any other source. The setting was totally romantic. Phillip had really set this up well. Michael was a little intimidated, but Sara was thrilled. "Oh Phillip," I said, as I turned to take in the whole scene, "this is just scrumptious."

Once we had reached our table, which was not right next to the windows, but instead in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace, where everyone could see us, the maitre d' first held my chair for me, and then pulled my napkin from the water glass with a big flourish, folding it into a neat rectangle before handing it me with a slight bow. "Madame," he said. I almost giggled. He then took our drink order. I was still really anxious, so despite the tenderness of my tummy, I decided that I just had to have one of my favorite Absolut Mandarin martinis, while Phillip asked for a BIG glass of Johnny Walker Black. The maitre d' took his leave with a, "Very well, sir."

As soon as he was gone, Phillip leaned forward over the table and looked at me earnestly. Without hesitating, he said, "Look Sara, I really want this to be fun for you. I'm not doing it to embarrass or humiliate you."

I was already pretty sure he wouldn't, but there was some old business to deal with. "Well then," I said frostily, "why did you go through Rebecca to set this up instead of just asking me?" I punctuated my question by tossing my head to throw my hair behind me, in what, I realized immediately after I had done it, could only be seen either as flirting, or a silly little feminine gesture of pointless defiance, which probably looked like flirting anyway.

Phillip looked absolutely delighted with my response, supporting my worst fears, and I almost cringed outwardly because I was sure he was enjoying the helplessness such a gesture suggested. I steeled myself, waiting for him to say something like, "You're so cute when you're angry." But thankfully, he didn't say anything. Instead, his face lost its smile, and he became impassive for a brief moment.

"I was afraid to ask you," he went on defensively, trying to look a little like a sad puppy, and, surprisingly, pulling it off despite his size. "What would have happened to our friendship if you had gotten angry and turned me down? He looked and sounded totally sincere, including the small embarrassed grin that flitted across his face as he finished.

Just then a neatly dressed busboy came to fill our water glasses, and he fell silent, although it was obvious he had more to say. I just sat there quietly, my hands in my lap, waiting for him to continue, and hoping that I wouldn't do anything else to embarrass myself. Phillip just looked at me and shook his head slightly. I wasn't sure what that meant, and in response, I reflexively looked down and tucked my hair behind my left ear. I was just too nervous to sit still. *Where IS my drink? * I fretted.

When we were alone again, he went on, his voice even lower than before. "Look, you now know that I'm bi, more gay really, but I work in a very conservative industry and both men and women look at me as some kind of super macho hero because I played pro ball for a few years. The men want to take me out drinking so I can tell football stories, and the women just want to get me into bed to see if my cock is as big as the rest of me."

It was. I had seen it when we showered at the gym.

"They both convince themselves that they are somehow better or more important by basking in my supposed celebrity. They're both using me," he went on sourly, crinkling his nose in disgust when he finished. He was either a really good actor, or he really did feel used.

"While my life may seem ideal to most guys," he said as if the way he lived was the heaviest burden in the world, "it's not for me." He looked up plaintively, and then lowering his voice even further said. "I'd rather be with a cute guy who was unabashedly after my body and could care less about football or all the rest of it," he finished up, waving his hand like a magician trying to make the world around him disappear. "But because of all that other stuff, I just can't be seen going out with cute guys. So over the years, I've sorta collected a few companions, some are female, but more recently they have more and more been convincing T-girls, who I can take to parties and stuff. I share something with even the most femmy transsexuals that I've just never found with a real woman."

He pursed his lips and thought for a second. Then he took a sip of water. "But you know what? I've never been able to find a T-girl who was bright, clever, and not running her own agenda. Just like the men and women who think my fame projects onto them when they're nearby, they're all looking for something from me; they're not really friends." And he stopped again.

I could see this was hard for him. "Yeeaaah?" I urged gently, pointlessly resetting behind my ear hair that was already there, and hoping he would continue.

He gave me a small smile and went on. "You and I have always gotten along; we share a lot of the same interests, and you're certainly not overwhelmed by my so-called football heroics..." He hesitated and I could see something going on in his eyes. "And when I discovered you were a really attractive cross dresser, I just couldn't resist asking you out."

"Ask me out?" I shot back at him in a hoarse whisper? "I hardly call what you did, 'asking me out! You had my wife do it."

"Well, would you have done this if I had simply asked?" he responded reasonably.

We both knew the answer to that, so I just shrugged.

He nodded knowingly. "I need a friend," he said quietly. “Someone I can talk to, someone I can do things with, someone who I know won't try to take advantage of me. We've been like that haven't we?"

"Sure, but..."

He held up his hand, to stop me. "I just wish I had a friend who I can take to fancy parties, and plays, and ball games as a date so the men think I'm straight and the women won't hit on me." And knowing that I loved steak, he went on, "We could go to Peter Luger's, or Smith and Wollensky or the Palm every time I'm in town and you'd never have to pay for it!"

I think my mouth fell slightly open, and I know my stomach lurched at what he was implying. "You mean this isn't a one time thing?" I started to hyperventilate a little, a sure sign I was anxious. Of course, with the stupid waist nipper on, I couldn't take a deep breath in any case, and my breathing was already a little rapid.

At that moment a lovely young woman with long, straight, shiny dark hair, and wearing a short black skirt, white blouse and starched white apron, approached with our drinks on a small round tray. I nodded for Phillip to shut up.

As she put our drinks in front of us, she gave us the usual kind of restaurant greeting, "Hi my name is Emily, and I'll be your yada, yada, yada. Oh you don't have any bread!" she exclaimed, seemingly as agitated as if she had just discovered a dead rat in the middle of the table. I guess that was a big no-no in this place. "I'll get it for you right away."

I immediately reached for my martini. My plan was to down it in one gulp, even though it was quite large. That way I could order another as soon as she got back.

Phillip put his hand on my wrist and said, "Hey, slow down there. Don't you think we should make a toast?"

“Phillip, if I don’t get at least two of these into me really quickly, I think I’m gonna totally freak out.”

And just at that moment, dear little Emily came back to place a basket of hot rolls on the table. The smell was heavenly. I again surprised myself when I gave Phillip an imploring, apologetic look while Emily worked to rearrange the table so the basket could go in what was apparently the only proper place for it.

"Would you like to hear the specials now?" she asked, nodding her head as if she was answering her own question. Seeing the look on my face, Phillip said, "Tell you what dear, why don't you go get each of us another drink, just like the ones we have now, and when you come back, we'll order."

"Okay?" she chirped, as if that was the best idea she had ever heard. And she turned prettily on her heel and left. I envied her unconscious grace.

I grabbed my drink and handed Phillip his. "I have a toast," I said, although I had no idea what to say. After a moment's hesitation, which seemed to me like an hour, I just blurted out. "Here's to the hunkiest guy in the restaurant," and I hesitated for a moment, gave him a half smile, which I hoped he would take as ironic, and went on, "from the cutest." And I quickly took a big gulp of my drink. *What had I just said? I must have shit my brains out at some point during the day because I was acting like a bimbo.*

But Phillip was obviously quite pleased. "You really think so?" he asked after taking a hit off his drink.

"That I'm the cutest guy here tonight?" I answered preciously, opening my eyes wide and nodding my head just like Emily. "No question." And I held my drink out to the side, my pinky out straight, and raised my other hand, palm up, as if I was taking a bow. Then I tilted my head slightly, deeply shrugged my shoulders, and threw my hair back with a quick flick of my head as I gathered all my body parts back in towards the table. I gave Phillip, who was looking at me with rapt attention, my biggest smile.

He had already started to take another hit as I went into this little act, and he almost spit it out as he started to laugh.

I was quite proud of myself, and took another hit from my own glass. It was totally yummy. And I was sooo clever!

But after he recovered, he replied. "You're not only cute," he said. "But you have a great ass and terrific legs." Now he was beaming at me.

"So that's why you spend so much time in the back court when we play racquetball,” I said, feeling quite playful all of a sudden. "So you can look at my ass?"

At that, he again burst out laughing, and I couldn't help it, I started to laugh too, looking down and hiding my mouth behind my fingertips, although I have no idea why.

That really broke the ice, and after that, it just seemed really easy to be with him.

"Do you really think I have a cute ass?"

"What I'd really like is to feel it," he replied lasciviously.

"In your dreams," I shot back. "I have a terrific woman in my life, and even though I can see that you really are quite endearing." He gave me that puppy dog look again. "I don't intend to have any men. They're just not my thing."

"But we can be friends? Me and Sara?"

"We'll see," I responded, trying to look thoughtful by wrinkling my brow and tucking my hair behind my left ear again. "Let's get through this evening first, and then we can take it a step at a time. I'm not the only one who has to make this decision."

"Oh, don't worry about Rebecca. She'll go along with anything you want to do," he said brightly.

"How do you know that?" I asked, suddenly suspicious, although the answer seemed obvious. They had discussed it. Still a shiver or paranoia ran through me. What was Rebecca up to?

Trying to recover from his apparent gaff he went on quickly. "I mean she loves you and everything, so I just... uhhh... I just figured she would do what ever you wanted."

"Uh huh," I replied noncommittally, still suspicious.

"No, really, I didn't.... I mean we didn't... we didn't talk about it all. Really."

"Phillip," I responded, as if I was talking to a child, "I think you better just shut up. You've done enough damage already." *On the other hand,* I thought, *If what he says about Rebecca is true, this could mark a real turning point in our relationship. Sara could become a much bigger player.* But I decided to ditch that line of thought as Emily came back, looking eager as a puppy. As she placed my second martini on the table, I dug into the menu. We had, after all, promised to order when she came back.

Dinner was exquisite, and totally fun. We had the classic caviar appetizer with blinis, chopped egg and capers. Phillip, of course, had steak, and I had a lobster. I didn't even have to go through the effort of getting it out of its shell. Oh no. This they did for me, and arranged it just so on top of some kind of exquisite polenta, with radicchio, and asparagus, seasoned in a way that made the lobster even more exquisite than I had ever imagined, although I had thought that melted butter was the only way to eat lobster.

Despite the second martini, we had a bottle of wine. By the time we were done with dinner, I was totally lit up, and Phillip was looking like some kind of minor god: he was handsome, charming and funny, and had me totally relaxed. Hell, he was so good, that by the time we got to dessert, he had me feeling almost like a minor goddess.

Unfortunately, this goddess was drunk. I discovered this when I decided it was time to pee. As I got up, I teetered a bit. He jumped up to help me, and I accepted his hand as I steadied myself. Then I focused carefully on the door to the women's room, which was just outside the parlor where we were seated, and started off. I don't know what I was thinking, but I somehow fell into my best I-wish-I-was-on-a-catwalk strut, and when I got to the door, I turned over my shoulder to see if he was looking.

He was! And he had the biggest grin on his face. Not only that, but each of the three guys in the room whose seats were facing the door were looking too. My face just lit up in a big smile. I don't know what I was thinking (actually, the next day, I decided I hadn't been thinking at all), but I gave them a little finger wave, and then, tossing my head back in the direction I was headed, I swiveled my way out of the room, my hair flowing behind my head

I thought I heard one guy almost choke as I left.

The women's room was just gorgeous, but I really didn't have time to appreciate it on the way in. Thankfully, the stalls were open, because I had really waited too long to go, and was on the verge of a disaster by the time I got my skirt up and pantyhose and panties down and let go. I sat there with my face in my hands, wondering what the hell I was doing, besides peeing that is. I knew I was doing that.

As I sat there, I started to think about the other women in the room. One of them was really tan, but wore a shade of coral pink lipstick that looked just horrible next to her skin. Thinking of it made me wrinkle my nose. Maybe I should recommend that she see Ronnie. Her husband was also quite tan, but he had a rather obvious and totally unattractive pot belly. Thinking of it made me wrinkle my nose again. Then there was the woman who must have been nearly 60, judging by the crow's feet around her eyes, but her ultra blonde hair was exquisitely coiffed, making me feel like a dorky teenager with my simple style. Her husband also looked gorgeous: tall, trim and perfectly groomed. If I was into older men. . . . And the woman at the table next to them was rather plain, but she had diamond studs in her ears that were as big as Phillip's BMW. And come to think of it, a shiny deep blue jersey dress that swept around her body in an enviable way. She had curves I could only dream of. And here I was stuck in my well constructed suit. I was really envious. But I didn't much like her date. He was dressed rather too casually for this place and couldn't sit still. He would have driven me crazy in ten minutes if I had to go with him. And when I had looked back into the room while strutting out, he was leering at me in a creepy way.

I took my time fixing my makeup, being especially careful with my lipstick, which had totally worn off by now. The pencil line was still there, so I filled it in with a brush, and then, just as Rebecca had taught me the other night, I added a touch of lip gloss right in the middle of my bottom lip so it would stand out a little. I studied myself in the mirror for a moment, and quickly reached into my purse for a comb. Patting my hair into place, I had a stunning revelation. I had studied the other women, but not as a man. I was interested in their hair and clothes and their dates, who I had evaluated as potential dates! Sara really was the one on this date, Michael, apparently was no where to be found. So, after taking a big breath, and promising myself I wouldn't do anything else to embarrass myself, I headed back to our table.

As I entered the parlor where we were sitting, I adopted a slightly more modest version of the catwalk strut I had used on the way out. But no one was looking. They were either around our table, or watching the action as Phillip signed autographs and chatted comfortably. It suddenly struck me that perhaps no one had noticed me on the way in - maybe they were all looking at Phillip, the football star! One of the people at the table was a very curvy brunette showing lots of cleavage, and she was in my chair! That just wouldn’t do.

"Hi Phillip, I chirped as I got back to the table. The girl who was in my seat stared at me blankly, perhaps thinking I was another fan, but she didn't move. "Would you mind," I asked archly, planting a hip next to her face and staring down at her.

"Uh…, uh," she stuttered, before finally deciding to get up.

"Thank you so much," I said sarcastically as I pulled the seat out to get into it without ever looking at her, but instead turning a big smile towards Phillip who was still writing.

The others had melted away by now, but the brunette was still waiting. After a moment Phillip handed her a piece of paper, and said, "Here you go, Courtney. Thanks for stopping by." She gave him a full smile, turned to me, shot me a dirty look, and left.

"Don't tell me you were jealous," Phillip said with a big smile. "Were you afraid my dear friend Courtney was going to steal me away from you?"

Yes, I was, for a moment anyway. But I wasn't going to admit that to him. So, laying my napkin back on my lap with an exaggerated pat of both hands, I said, "I think I'm drunk. Perhaps you better take me home before I try to take advantage of you."

He laughed briefly, and asked, somewhat snidely, "Don't you have that backwards?"

"No," I exclaimed as quietly as I could, while I reached my foot up and rubbed his leg with the pointy toe of my shoe. His eyes went wide and I quickly pulled my leg back under my chair. Then, I started giggling.

"Damn, you are drunk. I had better get you home before you make me do something to break my word to Rebecca."

So we skipped dessert, and headed home. The cold air in the parking lot must have sobered me up some, because when we got into the car, I felt really embarrassed, but I still couldn't keep my mouth shut. "Phillip, I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't embarrass you in there. I don't know what came over me. I've never behaved like that before," I babbled.

After a few minutes of more of the same, Phillip almost shouted, "Sara. Shut up."

Stunned, I clamped my hands over my mouth.

He burst out laughing.

"Phillip! Don't make fun of me! I must have humiliated both of us. I was so anxious I just lost control. I've never been like that. Really! Usually when I drink, I just get quiet."

"Sara," he soothed. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. Really." He nodded his head at me, just like TV anchors do, although for some reason, when he did it, he didn't look quite as stupid as when they do it.

"Are you sure?" I asked, really needing to be reassured.

"Yes. I'm sure." And he patted my thigh. Because my skirt was pulled up a little, his hand landed on skin protected only by nylon. I was so startled by the feeling that I felt almost as if I had been branded.

I looked down, aghast, my heart accelerating, and my mouth going dry. That was way too familiar! But his hand was already back on the steering wheel, and his eyes focused on the road, like nothing had happened. I myself really wasn't sure what had happened, but he had either just treated my like a woman friend he was familiar with, and who needed a little reassurance, or he had just come on to me, just a little. I had no idea what to do. But I had to ask.

"Phillip?"

"Yeah," he replied, slowing down to take a curve, and sounding like nothing was amiss.

"What did you just do?"

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, turning his head quickly to glance at me. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean anything by that. Really." He turned to me again. "It was just a reflex. You were so uptight and I wanted to help you calm down. Really. I won't do it again I promise!" And he almost missed the next curve, forcing him to break hard.

"Really," he exclaimed again after we had passed through the turn. "I was just so comfortable with you I forgot. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Okay," I replied, now much more relaxed. "Don't worry about it. I won't break if you touch me."

He looked at me quickly to see what I was talking about. Once he had turned back to the road, I patted his hand. "Really, I'm okay. I was just surprised. I don't think anyone has ever patted my thigh before."

"Did you like it?" He asked, his voice betraying a certain nervousness that kept the question from being offensive.

"Phillip, don't get your hopes up."

"Hmmph," he replied. We were both silent for the rest of the ride.

When we got home, he helped me out of the car, and escorted me to the door. As I fished in my purse for my keys, he asked, "You want to play racquetball tomorrow?"

"Huh?" I replied as I pulled them out.

"You know, hitting balls off walls with a racquet?" he replied, as if talking to an alien. "I need a partner for doubles."

"Well, maybe, what time? I need to ask Rebecca."

"Uh, we have a court at two, my new club. You haven't been there yet."

I nodded as we entered the house. I could hear the TV going in the den.

"Well, she's still up, let's ask her." I said as I turned I started to take my coat off.

"Here, let me get that," he said, helping me to take it off and then reaching into our closet to put it on a hanger. Then he took my arm and escorted me into the den.

"Rebecca, we're home," I shouted, to alert her.

"Sara," she squealed as she jumped up off the couch to greet us. "How did it go? Oh. Hi, Phil. You're here too?"

"Philip wants to play racquetball tomorrow at 2:00. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, I want to play doubles with Sara," he added evenly, causing me to choke.

"Whaa..." I started to say at the same moment Rebecca said, "You're going to play racquetball as Sara? That's so totally awesome."

"No, wait! I didn't say that!"

"We can go out shopping for an outfit for you in the morning!" Rebecca went on. That will be so much fun!"

"But I never..."

"Sara!" Rebecca interrupted. “It'll be perfect — a great experience for you. You've just got to..."

I looked back and forth at the two of them. Had they set me up again? I couldn't tell. Rebecca was excited and Phillip simply smiled. Did I want to do this? "Call me in the morning Phillip," I said clearly. "Let me see how I feel?"

"Sure, I’ll call around 11:00. I have no intention of getting up any earlier than that anyway."

"Well, that's something we can both agree on. Why don't you leave me alone with Rebecca, so I can try to figure out what happened tonight."

"Sure Sara, you're the greatest," he agreed. Then with a big goofy grin on his face he turned to Rebecca and said, “She’s quite the young lady.”

“Who knew?” Rebecca giggled, leaving Phillip and me just standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

Finally, but in a rather haughty tone of voice, Rebecca said “Sara. Haven’t you learned anything yet? The polite thing for a young lady to do is to show her date to the door. If you're lucky, maybe he'll give you a goodnight kiss." Then she laughed outright, apparently quite impressed with her own sense of humor.

Giving her a rather sour look, I turned to Phillip and said, "Don't you dare.” He just gave me a don't-be-silly grin, so I took his arm, which somehow seemed safer than his hand, and led him to the door. When we got there, I turned to face him and said, "Phillip, thank you for an amazing evening. I really had fun. Maybe we can do something like it again, but even if we don't, I want you to know it's been one of the highlights of Sara's life."

Then, I thought about what Rebecca had told me about how women might end an evening like this, and closing my eyes, I leaned up and gave Phillip a quick peck on the cheek. Thankfully, he accepted it gracefully, saying, "Sara, I really want to see you again. You're terrific." And he turned and opened the door, stepped out and headed down the walk without looking back.

"Shit," I sighed to myself as I closed the door. "What the fuck happened tonight?"

Even after I had described it to Rebecca in excruciating detail over some hot tea, I still wasn't sure what it all meant. I did know, however, that I really wanted to go out again with Phillip.