The Power of the Second Date

One of the worst things about having a successful first date is the pressure of having to match that energy on the second date; like when an artist makes it big with their first album and an anxious audience awaits their next project ready with judging ears–except in this case you–alone–are judge, jury and the parking meter-maid. Santiago and I decided to meet three days after our first date and planned a simple yet fun evening that revolved around getting to know one another. Despite already having our first date–we still managed not to text, call or communicate with each other and the sexy build up was driving me crazy.

We spoke Thursday night to confirm our plans and then a gigantic snowstorm hit the east coast that night. I was basically trapped in my building the next morning when I had a failed attempt to head out to the gym at 7 am. The snow reached my knees. (That doesn’t really say much expect that I’m short) But the snow would be gone by the evening right? Didn’t the building’s super know that I had a second date planned and needed the sidewalk shoveled? But, I decided not to panic; I still had several hours before my first date so instead I focused on work. Then my phone rang; it was Santiago.

Santiago: Nando, I took a snow day. Wanna come over and snow day with me?
Nando: I’ll be right over.

Then I remembered, I still had to do all the second date preparations: pluck, blend, gel, mousse, trim, dye, color, fill-in, bleach, mask, remove, shave, buff, puff, straighten, and the almighty Nairing of the back. Oy, I’ll be glad when the natural look is finally over. So I told him I had a morning writing deadline and I’d call him when I was done with my “article”. He fell for it and I now was running around the apartment like a Mexican chicken with its feathers drenched in everything imaginable. On the first date, you can get away with just having the outside parts looking good, but on the second date–it’s all about the hidden parts that need to look shiny and new–like a Texas prom queen with her virginity intact–do they still exist?

The beautiful anxiety I felt kept me in a make-over rush that allowed me to do all the necessary procedures with as much grace as a starving elephant. By 10 am, I was in a cab on my way to Santiago’s and in less than 6 minutes I was there. As I climbed the stairs to his apartment, I heard a door open, and there he stood–in tiny blue shorts, a black Armani Exchange tank top and flip flops that exposed his smooth cinnamon-colored skin and biceps–but it was his killer smile that made me loose my breath–okay, it was the five flights of stairs, but still, I was out of breath.

He led me inside his apartment, greeted me with another smile and then a kiss. As he took my coat and wet scarf; I saw that my snow boots had tracked a nasty trail of dirty snow water all over his floor. He saw my panic-stricken face, smiled at me and in his sexy Mexican voice said, “Es solamente agua, Nando.” (It’s only water, Nando.) He then took me in his arms and gave me a tight squeeze and whispered, “Thank you for seeing me again.” And in that moment, with all the magic, the chemistry, the amazing rush of emotions–all I could think was, “I hope he doesn’t notice my erection.”

Before I knew it, he was showing me his most prized possession and it was huge! I’m talking about his HD TV. His selection of DVDs didn’t match any of mine–but variety is the spice of life right? We decided to watch something romantic, something that would ignite the flames of our Mexican passion that were obviously being fanned by the Latin heat between us–yes, we watched X-Men. And that’s when my life changed. The power of HD had me mezmorized. As he reached over for my hand I yanked it away and pointed to the screen, “Look, I can see Hugh Jackman’s wrinkles.” He leaned in closer to me and brushed up against my cheek and I jumped forward, “Oh my; I thought Halle Berry was perfect but look, I see a tiny blotch on her left eye right above her cheek.” He was fascinated with my child-like behavior. I was like a child with A.D.D. trapped inside a candy store who had just discovered the jelly beans.

As the afternoon came and went, we ordered food and fed something other than our attraction for one another. And that’s when it happened. The one thing I wasn’t expecting.

Nando: Santiago, I think the food is here, should I open?
Santiago: Yes, please, “chiquilín“.

And just like that–Santiago had given me a pet name, “chiquilín.” I froze in my tracks and let the beauty of the name take me away into a heaven made of Mexican tacos and cherry Kool-aid–don’t judge. I texted Cris immediately; I had no idea what it meant.

Nando: Cris, he just called me chiquilín, is that good or bad?
Cris:It’ good, it’s good. It’s what a mama hen calls her babies, it’s like little chick or little duckling; childlike qualities.
Nando: He’s calling me his little chick?
Cris: He’s Mexican, it’s a good thing–Child, embrace it cause you’re old!”

As I brought the food into the kitchen, Santiago appeared, kissed me on the cheek and said, “Chiquilín“, thanks for making this the best snow day ever.” As I took it all in, his gentle nature, his affectionate disposition and his innocent demeanor, all I could think was, “I hope he doesn’t notice my erection.”

I spent Friday night at his place and didn’t leave until Sunday morning. In between our talks, the laughter and our sharing; I learned that I wanted to explore things with Santiago and he with me. And despite us not having sex, because we weren’t ready yet, it didn’t matter because he was my little 25-year-old hottie and I was his “Chiquilín“.