Dear Ann Landers…

What is the protocol here?  You have dressed in one of your best femme outfits and headed to a bar like the Queen Mary in Los Angeles or Cleo’s in Montreal. Naturally you are looking and feeling ‘hot’. You attract a lot of attention from the men present. After checking out a few interesting specimens you decide to accept the company of a nice-looking gentleman. To meet your standards he must be clean, good looking and bright. He must also show signs of being interested in you for more than your mind. Later in the evening you agree to spend the night together and you go to his hotel. You make love and it is beautiful for both of you. During the course of the evening you realize that the two of you are going to be in the same place the next day but you will not be ‘en femme’. Do you tell him you will see him? Do you plan to surprise him? Do you wait to find out if he will be happy to see you?

A few years ago I visited a nightclub in Montreal. I was dressed in a short, neatly cut blue skirt and a white sheer blouse with a neckline that plunged to suggest an ample breast cleavage. When I danced my long hair bounced lightly across my face.

Happily, I attracted the attention of a nice looking gentleman. He offered me a drink; I accepted. We started to talk. Both of us were visitors to Montreal, me from Ontario, he from the eastern part of Canada, known as the Maritimes. He told me about his life and work in the Maritimes, he told me he was in Montreal to watch Tiger Woods at the Canadian Open golf tournament.  I told him little; I did not tell him I too was in town to attend the golf tournament.

We got along great. He was impressed that I knew about golf, about his home province (I’d gone to university there) and I could speak French. We danced together and he freely bought drinks. At his suggestion, we left Cleo’s to spend the night in his hotel room. It was a gorgeous two-room suite, provided courtesy of one of the tournament’s major corporate sponsors.

Shortly after we arrived he left me alone in the room while he visited one of his friends to get a bottle of liquor. I could have left right then and there with his laptop computer and other belongings but I am not like that. He was very trusting. ‘Maritimers’ are like that.

On his return he poured me a nice strong Rum and Coke. We settled in to watch some late night television and do a little cuddling on the couch. Our embraces soon became very passionate. He was not tall but he had a very large, thick…chest and shoulders. It was nice to run my hands over his body and feel its firmness, to run my fingers through his hair, to run my tongue across his neck. I loved the feeling of his strong hands squeezing my behind as I leaned over him, the warmth of his mouth kissing my neck, my ears and my lips.

We made love for a long time. He had stamina; I had stamina. A single orgasm wasn’t enough for him; it had no effect on his ardor. For a while I thought I had found my perfect mate but as morning approached our lovemaking finished. I knew it was time for me to leave. We both had to be up in a few hours. Although he didn’t know it we both had a golf tournament to watch.

I also was on the edge of time where I would need to shave. We made plans to get together for dinner the next evening. I asked for and he gave me $40 for the ‘cab ride’ home.

The next day I made my way out to the Royal Montreal Golf Club to watch the tournament. Almost all the big names in golf were there and I saw some brilliant shot making. But that is another story. I was certainly dressed more ‘boyishly’ than the night before — slacks, golf shirt, sneakers, no breasts, no make-up and no wig. On my head was a golf cap with the logo of my home course.

There were 35,000 spectators at the Royal Montreal and I didn’t expect to see my Nova Scotia friend but suddenly, late in the afternoon, directly across the 12th tee, there he was. He wore an open shirt and baggy shorts. There was no mistaking that broad chest. He was looking right at me. Or was he looking at the golfers standing just in front of me as they waited their time to play the Par 3? I couldn’t tell.

Now, Ann, what is the protocol here? Should I have gone over to him and said, “Hi, I’m sometimes known as Linda. We made love last night. Would you like to nip into the bushes for a quickie?” Should I have gone over and asked if we were still on for dinner?

Would it have destroyed his illusion if he realized the Cinderella he was with the night before was today just another a balding sweaty golf fan?

As the golfers moved on from the tee I was going to follow my ‘lover’ but just then he was joined by a few of his buddies. I walked away. But I determined that later I would ask him ‘what would have happened if. . .?’

However, I never saw him again. The dinner never materialized; we were both too tired. The next day he returned to the Maritimes and I went home to Ontario.

So, readers what should I have done?  Should I have made an approach? Was I right to let the moment pass?

Linda

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