I met him in line. I was starving.  My back was turned.  It didn’t matter.  He struck up conversation with the back of my head.  I finally turned.  He was tall.  Green eyes, sweet smile.  Swoon.  He was talking to me.  He was normal.  He was clothed.  All this at Harbin?  Who would have thought?

I was ordering breakfast.  He said we should sit together.  He didn’t ask, it was a statement. Not exactly an order, but something like a strong suggestion.  I smiled.  And accepted.  A man being a man.  Stepping up to the plate.  This was new.

It was beautiful outside.  Sunny but cold. He offered me his fleece: “Sweet, but I don’t even know your name.”  We sat inside. Even sitting he was tall. “I’m Jim,” he said.  “Snap into a Slim Jim,” I thought.

He was HOT.

We talked, and talked, and talked. Then we laughed and laughed some more.  He stole my bacon.  Swoon.  Not a vegetarian.  At Harbin, you never know.  And my French Toast.  Not a vegan.  This might be true love.  An hour passed, then maybe two.  I got up.  Said I had to leave.  Was up here to work, I said. Lovely meeting, but it was time to go.  I extended my hand.  He looked at it.  He said: “So we’re friends now?”  I smiled again.  This one, I think I like.

We hugged instead.

I left him standing there. I walked away. He stood and watched. I could tell.  Goosebumps. Walked up the stairs to Stonefront.  Favorite room at Harbin.  Peaceful, clean, beautiful, quiet.  Like heaven.  Picked one of the big comfortable chairs in the sun.  Arranged my books, sorted my papers. Prepped the laptop.  Tried to read.  Tried to write.  The words on the page seemed to blur.  I couldn’t stop smiling.

Twenty minutes later I settled down. Got to work.  He followed me.  Or at least, I’d like to think so.  But maybe it was just the room.  He entered, picked one of the long couches opposite.  At least 50 feet away seemed like.  He nodded, smiled, but didn’t speak.  Then went to sleep.  Swoon.  I buckled down, pretended he wasn’t there.  But I was aware.  He’d roll over, I’d look up.  Even lying down, he was tall.  His body seemed to become one with the couch.  Static electricity in his hair. He lost a sock.  Heavy breathing, not exactly a snore.  The man seemed to sleep for hours.  I went back to work.

He eventually sat up. We smiled at each other across the room.  Enter naked Brazilian girl. Seriously.  She left her top somewhere else.  And maybe got lost on the way to the pools.  Her breasts were freaking huge.  And beautiful.  Dark hair all the way down her back.  Not skinny, but not fat.  Kind of luscious actually.  We both followed her with our eyes across the room.

Sigh.

I will never be that girl.  I adjusted my glasses, pushed them back up my nose and went back to work.  She passed through a couple more times.  By the second time, she had found her top, but lost her pants.  Where pants should have been, we found pink lace tangas.

On her third trip, she paused in front of him: “Jim, isn’t it?”

Damn her.  Damn her to hell.  Her ass was stealing my man.

He left.  I figured it was over.  Probably couldn’t resist the call of the Brazilian version of Marilyn Monroe.  Who could blame him?  I was chicken.  She was steak. Now of course there’s nothing wrong with chicken.  But let’s be real, even I prefer steak.  They were probably f’ing in the pools by now.

But he came back.  He walked over, picked up my legs and squeezed himself into my chair, leaned down, looked into my eyes.  “Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi.”

I’m not sure there’s a sweeter word in the English language.  He hugged me. Kissed my cheek.  Planted a string of kisses behind my ear.  Didn’t let go.  My papers fell to the floor.  I let them.

He wanted to know what I was working on.  I told him.  Really fascinating stuff I can assure you.  Not.  He didn’t interrupt.  He listened, asked questions.  He interlaced his fingers with mine and held my hand.   Hours seemed to pass.  Marilyn walked through again.  Was this itch for real? This time, he didn’t even look up.

Snap into a Slim Jim.

Eventually, he kissed me.  Or maybe I kissed him.  On the lips this time.  We made out like teenagers.  On the couch, on the floor, standing up.  PG-13, clothes on of course, but still.  In public.  Still laughing, talking, holding hands.  Swoon.

It was time to go.  He wanted to stay.  I could tell.  I did too.  But our Harbin hall passes had expired.  We drove back to San Francisco.  Separately.  I thought I’d never see him again.  But that was ok.  What a memory.  It seemed unreal.  Like a dream.  A perfect dream.  I wanted it to stay that way.

But the next night he called.  That was Valentine’s Day by the way.  Said he was on his way out to meet friends.  He didn’t invite me out, but he didn’t get off the phone either.  I gave him opportunities.  Said, “Aren’t you supposed to meet your friends?”  He ignored me, kept talking.  I smiled, let him.  Hours passed.

Sense I’m in real danger here.  This one is legit.  Not a moron.  Not a creep.  He calls.  Hasn’t sent me one text message.  Except to say, “Hey there, your phone went straight to vm.  Give me a ring!”

This one.  This one, I like.

A week passed.  I didn’t hear from him.  Acting in self-preservation more than spite, I deleted his number.  Now fate is in charge.

To be continued.

I hope.