Concert Guy and I met through the romantic efforts of swiping right. We texted for a bit and in doing so realized we were both headed to different concerts in the upcoming week. We also both had VIP tickets. He had a second ticket to the concert he was going to and his buddy that was slated to go with him was wavering on going. He was excited because he had backstage passes. He suggested that if his friend didn’t come through he could take me to the concert he was going to and then I could take him to the concert I was going to. I explained I only had one ticket so I couldn’t agree to that deal.
As his friend ended up backing out, we decided to meet up the day before the concert to make sure it wouldn’t be completely awkward if we went together to the concert the following day.
He suggested a Mexican restaurant that was near his work at a small airport where he worked as a pilot for private chartered planes. I met up with him around 7. We did the awkward introduction in the parking lot with the “nice to meet you” handshake and he opened the door to the restaurant and led me to a booth in the bar in the restaurant. He asked the server about the different tequilas they had, and ultimately decided on his margarita. I ordered a light beer. We chatted over tacos and our drinks, and when we finished he asked if I would like another. I declined with the objection that it was a work night. I excused myself to the ladies room and when I returned, he had paid the check and asked if he could give me a tour of the airport.
I hesitated. Having not been the location before, I shrugged and decided to go with it. “Uhm, sure.”
He put his arm around me as we walked out of the restaurant. Sly. It was approximately 8 pm and the sun had disappeared over the horizon awhile ago. The only illumination in the area came from the restaurant and the streetlights.
We hopped in his car and drove around the corner to the darkened airport gate with a single light above the security access box. He used his access card and the metal gate rolled open. He drove on to the dark property, dimly lit with the lights on the side of the hangars and the runway lights in the distance. There were no other cars or people around. As he was driving and chatting away about “his” planes, I discreetly moved my cell phone from my purse to my pocket as if that would be enough to help me if this tour went sour. He drove between the hangars and pulled up to a large locked door.
“Are we supposed to be here?” I asked while looking around.
“Yes, it’s fine,” he replied. “I come here all the time.”
He used a key to slide open a large hangar door to reveal two private passenger planes sitting in the dark. As I stood by the entrance, he ventured into the darkness stating “the light switch should be around here somewhere.”
At this point, I was confident we were trespassing. My heart was beating a little faster as I was waiting for some type of security personnel to show up. In anticipation of being confronted for trespassing, I was trying to formulate a reason why I was standing like a look out in front of an airplane hangar while Concert Guy was hidden somewhere in the vast dark space in front of me.
What seemed like several minutes later, he switched the light on and proceeded to provide a tour. He went over the features of the planes, why he liked flying one over the other, and when they were last serviced. He also gave a tour of the small office, the storage area where they kept their office supplies, and the tool area. He was a talker. I contributed the occasional “cool,” “that’s awesome,” and “mmm-hmms” to demonstrate that I was listening, but I’m sure I had a blank look on my face.
He finished the tour, turned off the lights, and locked the hangar door. We hopped back into his car. He looped near the darkened runway stating the runway closes at 9 pm. He looked down at the clock and said, “Ooops, it’s only 8:30” and veered back towards the hangars. Meanwhile, my heart rate picked up speed while I discreetly glanced out the windows searching for the lights of any advancing aircraft that may immediately land on us.
He drove by the “birds” (helicopters), describing which one he liked and circled by another plane that was his favorite to fly. We finally returned to the gate and exited the airport, allowing my heart rate to return to its resting rate.
He parked his car near mine and we discussed the details of meeting up the next day so we could carpool together to the concert. About mid-sentence, he suddenly dived in to kiss me.
He was so quick, I was delayed in leaning backwards against the passenger door behind me and he ended up planting a sloppy wet kiss on my upper cheek.
“Let’s make out a little,” he said, changing our topic of conversation and leaning over into my space of the passenger seat.
“I’m sorry. I just met you.” I wiped the moistness off my cheek.
“Come on, I’m horny. It’s been awhile.”
Seriously?!? I just stared at him. Without pausing, he asked “So do you want to have sex in the back of my car?”
My jaw dropped.
“There’s plenty of room back there,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Uhm, no.” No, I’m not going have sex with you in the back of your car next to your child’s car seat in the dark parking lot outside the restaurant.
“Come on,” he urged, “I’ve done it before.”
I deadpanned. How romantic.
“Here?!?” looking around the parking lot.
“Look, I’m not that kind of girl. If that is what you’re looking for, then I’m not the woman for you.”
He paused. “Okay, just a little kiss then?”
“You’re persistent,” I said with a fake laugh as I opened the car door and jumped out.
“We could make out just a little,” he pleaded.
“Not going to happen.”
“Okay, so I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Yes, there is actually a Part 2 to this story. I really wanted to go to the concert.