Wet

Her eyes light up when she talks about how much she loves children and that she can’t wait to be a mom.

I note that’s a big check on the future mate list of requirements. I really want to have my own family one day.

As the night progresses I discover that there are surprising things with Lourdes though. For one thing she ordered her steak bloody—that’s just disgusting. She also makes a big point of closing her eyes and tipping her head down before she starts eating, and I’ve already dug in when I realize she’s praying. I awkwardly drop my fork and pretend to join her. I mean I knew she was religious but she must be really religious to do that in a restaurant. We get an impatient stare from the waitress since she has to wait until we’re done to grind the Parmesan cheese over my side of spaghetti.

At the end of the evening I drive Lourdes home and walk her to the door, where she thanks me and kisses me on the cheek. She doesn’t even invite me in. It’s not like I really wanted to go in, but I’ve always gotten some kind of offer from other women. I don’t even know what to make of that. I feel like I’ve entered an altered universe where at the end of the evening you get dry, precursory kisses on the cheek instead of wild-monkey sex.

The whole drive home I try to make sense of it. She’s certainly the most proper and nice girl I’ve ever gone out with. She’s smart and pretty. But hell, I didn’t think about screwing her once all night. I’m not sure how that will work.

Maybe I’m mixed up in the head. This is probably a good issue to bring up with Jim and the guys in my group meeting Tuesday.

Lourdes and my second date is just as surreal because we go to see a movie and after several failed attempts where she pulls away from me, she finally lets me hold her hand. I feel like I’m back in junior high.

When she calls me a couple of days later to invite me to di

Saturday I take a shower and shave before changing into clean clothes, then stop at the florist and buy a bouquet of flowers.

Lourdes answers the door wearing a black dress that has lace ru

I squint as I enter her living room. The walls are dark red and there are candles lit everywhere. There’s even some heavy-duty classical music playing. It certainly isn’t what I would have expected from Lourdes. I have a fleeting thought that maybe she’s a witch and she’s going to cast a spell on me. I half expect bats to start flying out of the fireplace.

She goes to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase and I realize that the brightly colored bouquet I got couldn’t have been more wrong. A bunch of dead red roses would have fit in this room better. Am I in a Tim Burton movie?

I step farther inside to study the paintings all hung in fancy gilded frames.

Every single one is with a crucifix painting or Mado

What the hell? I lean into the doorway to the kitchen and wonder if I can make a break for it but she sees me.

She returns to my side with two tiny looking wine glasses.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Absinthe.”

I sniff it. “Is this some weird booze or wine?”

“Sort of.” She gives me a demure look and takes a tiny sip.

I take a larger sip and almost spit it out. Damn! My throat is on fire.

“Too strong?” she asks.

I nod my head while I try to stop coughing. Meanwhile she keeps taking small sips and the fumes don’t seem to bother her at all. For a tiny thing she’s pretty tough.

The weirdness continues through di

I find myself absentmindedly taking sips of the absinthe. Maybe subconsciously I’m hoping to numb my mind and after a while it’s working. We move to the living room for dessert. I’m halfway done with my dark chocolate mousse when I get the guts to confront her.

I sweep my arm across the interior view. “So what’s this all about? Are you a goth or something?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t expecting this. At all.”

She licks the chocolate off her spoon and sets it down.

“Really? What were you expecting?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. White wicker furniture and pale yellow walls. English landscape paintings. Like you see on TV shows.”

She laughs softly. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I don’t know if I’d say disappointed, just surprised.” I take a sip of the weird wine and realize I’ve almost finished my second glass.

She refills it.

“Are you really into Phantom of the Opera or something?”

Her eyes grow wide. “No. Actually my home is a reflection of my spirituality. It’s my refuge here, akin to a place of worship. I hope you know how rare it is for me to invite a man here, but I feel a really strong co

“You do?” I can’t help but be surprised. She may have been attentive during our di

“Definitely, I had to pray on it before I understood His will where you’re concerned.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

She slides off the couch and down to the floor. I’m wondering if she dropped something, but suddenly she pops up, kneeling right in front of me. Just the sight of her kneeling is making my palms sweat. There’s no way I’m letting her give me a blowjob. It’s not just that I don’t want dark red lipstick all over my cock, but this is all wrong and not just because I’m abstaining until I meet the right girl. As much as I love a good blowie, even I have my limits and she’s freaking me out.

I grasp her shoulders. “Please, Lourdes, get up.”

She gazes up at me, as she rests her hands on my knees. “Paul, I want to offer myself to you.”

Suddenly a quick blowie sounds preferable to getting naked between the sheets with goth girl. I will my cock to behave despite the sex offerings, and clear my head as best I can in order to reply coherently.

“Offer yourself? But we haven’t even gotten to second base yet. Hell, we haven’t even kissed!”

“Yes, although I knew you were the one when I met you, I was waiting for a sign.”

“A sign? What sign was that?” ’Cause right now all I’m seeing is a big fat stop sign . . . the same dark red as her walls.

“I was waiting for a spiritual sign. I want to be frank and speak from the heart. I want to offer you my virginity, and I hope you understand how sacred that is.”

I don’t know if it’s the heat from the fireplace, or this screwy wine but for a few seconds the room goes black. When my vision clears she’s patiently waiting for my response. Damn this isn’t just one of those freaky dreams you have when you mix too many different kinds of booze.

“You’re a virgin?” I whisper.

“Spiritually I am.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“When the Lord gives me the sign that I’m supposed to give myself to a man, I say a prayer to resurrect my spiritual virginity.”

Oh, that’s rich. And I thought Elle was way out there. “I didn’t know there were virginity do-overs,” I mumble.