Was that supposed to be a date?

Forget about the bull in a china shop of love; I am more like a frightened colt.

I'm not sure what to make of these two very different experiences with these two ... well, I was gonna say "somewhat similar men" but that's not quite right. They're very different. Here's what's the same. Both are long term bachelors, 47 and 52 and neither's been married. I know the 47-year-old's never had a terribly long-term relationship, and I don't know about the 52 year old.

47 busts a move on the first date, he's all over me, I'm worried he's gonna be too into me. He fades off into the sunset. 52 has a track record of eager in print, not so much in person. He writes these emails that make me think, oh yeah, he's into me. But in person he's been completely platonic.

So 52 asks me out on a date finally, I mean, it's unmistakable. Or is it? Dinner and a movie on a Saturday night. That's a...but wait. I've been doing platonic Saturday night dinner and a movie almost since I arrived...

But he's such a gentleman throughout, opening doors, slipping my coat on (properly! damn you cotillion, but I know, and I care)...but then, the end comes and he stops dead in the street, "I'm going this way."

I was so shocked I didn't even thank him. We're splitting here in the middle of the street? Even Andy would walk me to the subway.

So I'm back to thinking how similar New York and Doha are. The construction, the shopping, the lack of private space.

I can remember wanting desperately to slip away from parties with my lover in Doha but not having any idea where we might go. I imagined his fingers grazing the hem of my skirt, inner thighs, inside. Never happened, not even close, you just didn't touch members of the opposite sex in public. Everywhere was public.

47 drew me into his courtyard, kissed me beneath the stars. Lovely. But what if you don't have a courtyard? Are you supposed to make out on the subway? A street corner? The other factor that made that work was proximity. 47 was on the way home, of course I wanted to see his place. I'm a New Yorker, I want to look inside everybody else's house. In the absence of geographic desirability, stopping by to check out someone's apartment is not incidental. Sure, let me hop a bus, transfer to the train, see you in about 45! We'll make out a bit, tongues maybe even, then I'm off.

52 asked me to come to his hood, which leaves only his place for the "stopping by." He didn't ask, but even if he had, I wouldn't have said yes. At least I hope, god, I can't be sure. That overwrought imagination is still at it, imagining fingers, mouths and impossible angles. This is what draws us inexorably together, and it is what matters least. But without it...let's just say I hope the stagehand strike continues. I've decided against "45" (who i don't believe for a MINUTE is 45) and this is the perfect out. Though I do wanna see that play. Ah, the rigors of city life on the colt.