Kiristin wrote me, "So how’s Jason?" I wrote back, "He’s like the last breath of summer air in my life – fresh, clean and real."

I started to write about you a while back but nothing flowed. I suspected the necessary ingredients were missing, or was it just my lack of inspiration?

You lived on Telegragh Hill, in a typical San Francisco flat, a couple of houses down where they shot the film Basic Instinct and half block away from the flat where an old lover of mine used to live. You were about medium size, slim built – oh so boyish figure. You had short blonde hair, green eyes, and very sexy lips. Like my best girl pal was telling me, "I knew Jason was your type when I first met him."

I didn’t meet you until much later. It all started with emails through a mutual friend of ours. We both belonged to this exclusive group of email exchanges. You questioned me one day when I made a comment about men being boys until they turn forty.
 
It was a simple sentence, "how many forty year olds do you know?" I wrote back, "many."
 
Our conversation since then carried on, via emails, week after week, though the emails I sent to you were mostly mindless, or I thought. It was more of a flow of subconsciousness, screaming for a way of being released without being judged. These emails became a bridge, linking me from the world of emotionless information technology to the world of pure intellectual sentimentalism.
 

One day after about one month of conversation, you wrote me a long reply and at the end of the email you asked, "So when do we actually meet?" I told you about my upcoming Europe trip and you wrote back, "What a coincidence. I’m going to Europe too. We should meet up." So I wrote, "Great, how about a smoke in Amsterdam’s coffee shop." You wrote again, "I think our first meeting would be sooner, aren’t you stopping by the French alley on Friday night? I will be there." It was one of our friends’ happy hour gatherings. You showed up just so that you could meet me.
 
A week later. You asked me out for brunch. I was with a girlfriend of mine, you had befriended some other diners and invited them along for brunch. It was a truly international group, with my girlfriend from France, a couple from Germany, you, me and two people from New York. Among other things we talked about, I found out that you had moved to San Francisco two and half years ago from New York. Prior to New York, you had gone to college in MIT and worked in Boston for a while. You had joined a startup computer consulting company in San Francisco and finally moved back to the West Coast where your grandparents lived. "What a coincidence!" I remembered this one guy I dated briefly a few months ago who shared surprisingly similar path as you had. To my comfort, you said that you were not aware of his name.
 
The next day we went to Santa Cruz, there we hung out and continued our mindless conversations. I was never good at picking up hints, nor would I ever assume anything or actively pursue a guy. It was until the sunset when you all of sudden held me by my shoulders and demanded me to kiss you did I realize that you had every intention to make me more than just your friend. It had been so long since I kissed anyone, and I was nervous about this because I had no idea how it once felt to me. Your kisses were small and sweet, you lingered around my neck and touched my face with your soft hands. I felt awkward to surrende to the pleasure you brought to me, with your lips, your tongue and your touches.
 
How could it be? You were so young yet so experienced. I ran my hand through your soft curly blonde hair, it was so easy to fall for you, but you wouldn’t know that yet.
 

My romance life has been the same manuscript, with a few minor alterations in every chapter, but the overall theme for each scene has remained the same. It all starts with some tall dark handsome men or cute blonde boyish guys. They have all moved from the East Coast (New Jersey/New York/Boston) to San Francisco Bay, they will be successful, Ivy League educated, well groomed and well mannered. They will fall for me for one reason or another, they will make me feel ultra special. They will take my breath away and I’d fall for them hopelessly. But in the end they’d leave me, for one reason or another. They have moved on and I have stubbornly lingered over those days when their attention belonged to me. Meanwhile, I’d have to collect my thoughts as well as my dignity and pride, and try to move on without letting the outside world know that I’ve been hurt and my heart has been broken.
 
But you won’t know that, not until the day you crack my URL and read this story.
 

I had previously put a towel on the sand, you gradually lay me down and loosened my hair. I’ve always tied my hair to a bun, you were surprised by the length of my hair. You grabbed hold of them and spread kisses around my face and neck. I slowly let my guard down and responded to your kisses. The sweetness reminded me of the ice cream we just had at Marianne of Santa Cruz. The sunset was taking place. You whispered to my ears, "watch, watch the sun. Isn’t this pretty?" I felt your breath next to my ears, your arms around me. The beach was clearing up, pretty soon it was just you and me, welcoming the rise of the moon. I could hear my heart beat, it was as if I had all of sudden felt an energy which I’ve not felt for a long time, and I wondered, for a split second, whether fate had handed me another chance, to make things all right this time around?
 
I left town the next day, headed to Portland, where your best friend lived. After work, I brought the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times to the river bank, read the paper, watched the sunset and thought of you. The irony of all that, was the parallelism you shared with him. Not only you both graduated from the same fine institution, you both worked for startup computer companies in San Francisco, you both lived in Boston before coming to SF, you both were blondes and green eyed, but also both of your best friends lived in Portland Oregon. Even your voice on the phone sounded alike. I wondered if all of this was just a sign of fate, and if so, what would I do if you turned out to be just like him, nothing but a compulsive liar?
 
I came back to the hotel to receive your call, you said, "Hey I’m in a really good mood because of you." I smiled. It was unusual to get a personal phone call during the weekdays. I had hoped, however that you would have called. For I would not have called you. You asked me out again on Saturday night.
  

Dating is a tricky business. I dislike dating because it adds unnecessary stress into my life, especially in San Francisco. If you are straight, female, think twice before moving to the city. I have about a dozen single girlfriends who I hang out with on a regular basis, we do girls night out, we go eat pizza, watch movies and yes, share dating stories. Each one of us seems to have our share of horror stories. Though I have tried to remain quiet about you, they have heard from others that I had a date with you. "So what’s the story?" They’d ask. "Oh nothing, I don’t know yet." Perhaps experiences have taught me not to be so enthusiastic with someone new. Only time can tell whether he is worth it or not. For the most part, I’ve kept my mouth shut about you.
 

Saturday afternoon, you had left me a message. I phoned you back to let you know that I was on my way. The whiny Telegraph Hill district was a familiar path – two and half years ago I had done a sleep over with then my lover, who had since moved away. It was probably the last time I had slept over at someone’s place. Though two and half years ago I was a completely different person, someone I wasn’t proud of, and I was glad that I’ve moved beyond that phase of my life.
 
You had come downstairs to open the door before I had a chance to ring your door bell, in a neat chocolate color sweater and Dockers pants, you looked well dressed for the night. As soon as I walked into your room you lifted me up and kissed me. It almost felt intoxicatingly delicious. I had no idea that dating could be fun, and yes it had been a while since I met someone who’s reasonably normal in this town.

Your place was a typical Telegraph Hill apartment, it was long and narrow yet deep. It had the view of the bay bridge and the premium sunlight of the city. North Beach was only two blocks away, we sat by the couch and cuddled like two teenagers. Or could it just be me who had been out of the dating game for too long to remember what it was like to become first attracted to someone?
 

I have not been able to break free of the past shadow, when most of my previous experiences with men had been anything but pleasant. It was then did I realize perhaps the one and only mission in life for me was to perfect the fine arts of living single and not to love another man again. It was then did I become the source of comfort for my friends – when they needed consultation on their relationships, their boyfriends or girlfriends, and their problems, they turned to me. Perhaps in the process of becoming strong, I’d forgotten how to show my own vulnerabilities, and I had denied my own fair share of happiness, the type of happiness one can only achieve when they had a quality companion in their lives.
 
You held me later on that night, while the stereo played random music from an eclectic selection of CD’s. You told me, "Perhaps all you want is to be strong, to be there for someone, and you forget that you too need someone strong." I told you it hurt too much. You agreed, - "Yes I know, I too have fallen in love before."
 

North Beach. You took me out for a nice dinner. At the restaurant, you extended your arms, reaching across the table and kissed my hands. You had such a gentle touch, it surprised me. You stared at me, and I became rather shy. It was such a familiar stare, I had seen that look before, it scared and excited me, for I could never escape those deep green eyes, I had never been able to.
 
We walked on Columbus, passing numerous neon lights and fancy Italian restaurants, you were heading to the Gelato shop. You had such a sharp memory about what I said, what I did and what I liked. I couldn’t believe those things you remembered, such as my weakness of Vanilla Bean Gelato. Just as we passed yet another busy restaurant, you said, "hold on, I think I saw some of my friends." We stepped into the restaurant and you introduced me to your college friends. They wrote their cell phone number on my palm pilot in case that we had decided to join them later for a night club action. You held my hands and continued walking. I was happy to see that you didn’t make a big fuss about you being seen with me by your friends.
 
"MIT graduates either live in Boston or San Francisco." You commented. "Ah, yes, 75% are nerds, 20% are weird, and 5% are liars." I said.
 
You laughed. You had heard of some stories of mine. I wrote about them on some of my emails to you.
 
You had the habit of pulling a stop in the middle of street, you would kiss me like we were the only two people in the whole world, you kissed me so passionately so purposely I had to try really hard to not be so touched by its genuine intentions. I was the more self conscious one. How could it be happening? In the back of my mind I was asking myself. One day I was minding my own business, living a simple life, tipping other girlfriends on how to live life happily without a boyfriend, and then you showed up in my life, and determined to show me that not all men are liars, players or sex crazed. Your pure sense of what love meant to you was surprisingly similar to mine, and your affection was so real that I started to wonder if all of it was simply the cards dealt by fate. Perhaps, perhaps you were for real, and just maybe, maybe I would learn to trust again.
  

It was a rather warm summer night. The street was quiet and the moon was bright. I stopped thinking and started to enjoy your company. You lay down on the couch, your head on my stomach. I ran my figures through your soft hair. The room became quiet, there was no other sound left other than a few random street cars as well as the mellow music. You invited me to stay over for the night and to my own surprise, I said yes.
 
Gradually the music ended and so was our conversation. It was 2 am and we both felt asleep, with clothes on, and the bay windows open, in each others arms.
 
The next morning, I woke you up around 9 am. It was a sunny day, I could see from your bedroom windows. We lingered in bed, talked and kissed, and explored each other’s body carefully. We flirted with the idea of getting further involved, yet I knew and you knew that the time had not come yet.
 
"Perhaps in Florence or Venice?" You half jokingly suggested.
 
I smiled. It was a very tempting idea. You had decided to route your Euro trip to Italy to meet me in Florence, where I would be traveling alone to.
   

I won’t know when I would be comfortable enough to make love to a man, maybe not for a long time. It was just that I needed time to get to know someone first before I could commit myself to something as special as making love. And no I couldn’t even believe that I just said that. It was such a simple concept, yet it took me 25 years of age to learn this one.
 
But as far as my emotions go, perhaps I was finally ready to let someone new into my life. Perhaps the shadow once prevented me to love again had be lifted, or perhaps I had found peace within myself, and it was finally time again to care for someone new, someone worthy and deserving.
 
Perhaps it was time.
 
Who could know? Maybe on my next email to Kiristin, I would sort out more of this dating business with her. After all, she had been dating Jason’s best friend and had been curious all along about Jason and me.