a first date - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
His focus was scattered, so filled with nervous anticipation was he, so excited, even giddy. He couldn't hold a conversation or sit still while his thoughts danced in infinite directions. Yet he had to get through the day in one piece. He met Mairead last Tuesday at a wedding and this, he hoped, was their first date. He could picture it already - holding hands, a tingling feeling spreading throughout his entire body. He would take her for a walk through the park and count the ducks; it seemed the most natural thing in all the world. And she, his special girl.
Their first date had been cracking sidewalks and watery sunshine that struggled past the clouds. They had made several loops of their block, how many neither of them can recall. On the first few circuits the talk had been shy, almost becoming familiar and then each of them backing away. Another few circuits and they knew more about one another than many members of their own family, their fingers entwined in a loose grip. On the final loop around Raj had pulled Amy close into a kiss that stopped all her anxious thoughts dead in their tracks. They both knew in that instant they had found their other half and that fate had dealt them a dangerous hand...
Jean sat on the wall, one hand clasping the toe of her worn sneaker. She looked down at her top; in the summer light it was kinda see through except the worn stars and stripes on the front. With the nail of her thumb in her mouth she scanned the square, biting down harder than she had intended and swallowing the fragment. A pigeon was coming closer, rotating between pecking at the ground and observing her with its head cocked. She let out a laugh, releasing some of the tension. Dating was crappy. She was sick of telling people about herself only for them to decide she wasn't what they were looking for, if she had to hear “It's not you, it's me” again she thought she'd puke. Then through the crowds came a guy in old shoes and a fading Metallica t-shirt. His face matched the profile picture for once. He stopped and took a bow. He was down-low, hammed up idiot into bands he should never have heard of. He had to be the one, he just had to be.
The man that enters can't be more than thirty-five or so, but walks with a cane. His right leg has the fluidity of youth but the other is jagged like he can't control it. I've seen eighty year olds walk better than that. From his complexion I can't help but imagine him in Greece donning a fresh white shirt and sable shorts, but in this Canadian winter he's layered up for the minus figures outside. His eyes scan the coffee shop and I wave in recognition. He raises his eyebrows in what I hope is a signal of pleasant surprise and I scurry to remove my clutter from the seat next to me. He sits with heavy awkwardness. As I take in his cheekbones, full lips and caramel skin I just want to eat him up. There's something so sexy in that vulnerable look of his. His voice is warm and rich; my heart beats faster than it's design specs should allow. Then it's silent for a moment- he's waiting for a response but I wasn't focusing on his words. As I blush his look of bafflement becomes a shy smile...
Carey checked his profile picture a fourth time. This "Greg" must be about twenty-two judging by his university jock build and thatching of sandy hair. The waiter came returned with a menu, "Just a glass of house white for now, thank you." From her seat she had a view of the entrance, only couples came and left. She fidgeted, adjusting the strap of her dress and applying another coat to her already red lips. With nothing else to do she perused the menu, regardless of what was there she'd be ordering butter chicken and pilau rice. She let herself soak in the ambient music for a few moments, wondering what the words were and drinking in the fragranced air. Carey almost jumped. From the corner of her eye she realized a portly man stood beside the table; she glanced up at his face. With his receding blonde and deep set crows feet he had be be almost fifty.
He raised his greying eyebrows and grinned like a school boy, "Carey?"
Amelia rocked on her heals, peering into the crowd. Internet dating was a minefield and she wasn't getting used to it. If anything it was getting harder to fight of the cynicism. Young partners just wanted one thing, or so it seemed, older ones were jaded and bitter. Most of the time she wondered if their profile picture was them at all and if any of these "dates" were worth the make-up and hair prep time. Then from almost behind her came a tentative voice, "Amy?" She turned. He was right there and she hadn't realized.He looked just like his picture, a sort of early Tom Cruise, only taller than she'd expected. "I'm Gary." He held out his hand and began to lead her to the cafe. As first date starts went, it wasn't bad, not bad at all.
Penny curled her fingers into the palm of her hand, not even feeling them dig in. If she didn't fancy this guy she'd be funny and flirtatious, since she did her mouth was full of sawdust and her brain was malfunctioning as much as if she were drunk.
Danny filled every pause and breath with more chatter. If George so much as paused to take a bite he'd start rambling off in a new direction entirely. Should his date get a word in edgeways he'd begin nodding before it was clear which way the comment was going. He laughed before punchlines and for things that just weren't that funny. George refilled the wine glasses in the hope that more alcohol would slow him down, calm him. No such luck. The booze exaggerated rather than mitigated his verbal diarrhea and George looked set to leave with an ever worsening headache.