Dr. Hot Stuff

A med-school resident friend set me up with a man he deemed perfect for me.

We met at Starbucks. He got there first and was waiting outside. As I walked up, I could feel his eyes scanning my person from behind his sunglasses.

He stood up to give me a hug and smelled my hair.

No one had smelled my hair in ages. Not since Nick. It gave me the creeps.

"You are much more gorgeous than I expected," he said. "And your vehicle- how Texan of you, for a non-native."

I muttered some pleasantry and then he pointed to his car, a beautiful new Porsche. His car was definitely more gorgeous than he was. Not that he was bad looking- rippled body, tall, dark, olive skin. A hot, rich doctor should most certainly was my type. But I had this gut feeling telling me to go home.

We ended up going to dinner. Conversation mostly centered on him: his travels, his interests, his work.

We went out a second time. He was more attentive. I assumed that perhaps on our first meeting, he was nervous or felt like he needed to put on a show. I was starting to think there could be something.

We went out a third time. I could start to see that this had the possibility of going somewhere.

We went out a fourth time. And a fifth. And then two to three times a week for a a month and a half.

One night after dinner and a show downtown, we went back to his place for drinks.

"I'm a true man," he said.

"I'm not going to sleep with you, if that's what you're getting at."

He pulled me on his lap and started massaging my feet.

"I mean, I want to take care of you. All this could be yours." He made a sweeping gesture to highlight his 6,000 square foot, architecturally stunning home on 50 acres.

I pulled back. "I have a feeling this comes with a catch."

"Well, in my line of work..."

"Plastics. I know. Plastic surgery. I'm not having any."

"I know, my flower, I know. You don't need any surgery. You are most exquisite."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Well, the men of my family, and the women... it's just that... we're the... we don't necessarily..."

"Spit it out."

"I can't stop loving women."

"So you're telling me that I would have to put up with you sleeping around?"

"But I'd always come back to you. You would have my heart."

I put up my hand to signal 'wait' and turned around. Deep breath in to the count of 4, hold for a count of 7, release to a count of 8. I turned back to him.

"Maybe I haven't made it clear," I said. "I'm a monogamous person. And I expect the same."

"But you'd have me, all of me, and my entire heart."

"How many other girls are you seeing right now? How many lovers do you have? Am I the only one not sleeping with you?"

He looked taken aback.

"There are others, aren't there. And how many have you given this same spiel to?"

He just looked at me. No answer.

So I gathered my belongings and left, shoes in hand, the 6,000 square foot prison that could have been all mine.