I should state up front that this post may be offensive to some. It deals with matters of a sexual nature in frank language. If this kind of thing bothers you, you should stop reading immediately after the paragraph that ends with “Luckily, she loved the pizza place. Everybody does.”

You’ve been warned.

I was caught off-guard by B.’s assumption that I was in charge of what we’d be doing on Friday night. Since she had decided other times we’ve been out of what we’d do and where we’d eat, I expected I would be along for the ride this time, too.

I was wrong on that score. She picked me up around 6 and said, “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want, I guess,” must have been what I said, because she made a point of saying something like “I want to do whatever you have planned for us. And what do you mean by ‘I guess?’”

To me, it seemed like she was spoiling for a fight, though in retrospect I think maybe she was just looking to see if I would take charge, which I’ve made a mental note to do. Anyway, with no time to plan and not a lot of money to spend, I made a brave decision. I told her what I really wanted to do. Which is, I wanted to go see No Country for Old Men (it’s still playing at a second-run theatre nearby, I’d seen it three times already), have a big tub of popcorn and a Coke while I watch it, and then go to a place I know of that makes the best pizza in the city. They bake inside a hardwood-fired oven, which gives the barbecue chicken pizza a smokey flavor that I could eat every day of the month.

A moment ago, I wrote the name of the pizza place, but then I Googled it and found out they have a website and that it’s strictly local (there’s one here, and one in an adjoining city), so I had to remove the name of the place. Which is too bad, because I would give these guys free advertising if I could.

To my surprise, B. had never been to the movie or to this pizza place, so while she teased me a little bit on my originality (”Movie and a pizza? Is there a more whitebread date in the whole world?”), she didn’t give me too much shit, because I had the courage of my convictions this time.

“No, not a movie and a pizza,” I said. “An extraordinary movie by the second best filmmakers of our generation, and the first best pizza in the whole world.”

“Oh, you really did put some thought into it!” she said. Which isn’t true, but I do stand by that claim. I really do wish I could tell you the name of this pizza place.

I’m not going to get into the movie experience except to say that it was like we went to different films. At the beginning, I was uncomfortable because we were holding hands, which seemed incredibly erotic to me: a woman, in a public place, unashamed to be showing me affection. I admit it gave me an erection.

But as any of you who have seen this movie know, as soon as you watch the first scene, you get sucked in. I can’t point to a moment, but before long I was carried away by the movie and forgot that anything else even exists. At some point we stopped holding hands, though I don’t know when, because I didn’t notice until the film was over.

As we were walking out, B. said, “Well, that was interesting.” And she put that little tweak on the word “interesting” that lets you know she’s being ironic.

I honestly didn’t know what to say. It’s a crushing moment to share something you love and find out someone doesn’t get it or like it.

All I could think of, as she drove us to the pizza place and talking about the movie with her wildly off-the-mark observations was, “I can never watch Lord of the Rings with you, because I would tear your eyes out if you snarked at that movie the way you are this one.”

Luckily, she loved the pizza place. Everybody does.

She drove me back to my home, where we made out. I honestly don’t know how far she was planning to go, but I started wondering whether this was it, and the thought made me ejaculate, even though I was still fully clothed.

I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. No, that’s not true. It’s more accurate for me to say that I have not been so embarrassed in at least a month.

I excused myself, ran to the restroom, cleaned myself up, and returned. She wanted to go back to kissing, but my interest had waned. I am not sure whether this is due to the refractionary period, or to my lingering question, which must remain unasked, as to whether she had noticed what had occurred.

What if she had? Or (almost) worse, what if she had not?

Eventually she went home. At the time, I couldn’t have cared less whether she stayed or went. We haven’t talked at all today (Sunday), though, and I find myself missing her.