That one time I dated the CKB=Best Date Ever (inside, my report)

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When: Last summer

Location: San Francisco, California

Report: I wore a black stretch skirt that evening, almost to the knee, a cute off-the-shoulder black top that shows off just enough tummy, cleavage and back, silver earrings. Simple but very nice black pumps. It was a classic New York look.

Key Boi showed up in a VERY nice charcoal suit, brilliant white silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down (nice contrast with his golden sun-tanned skin, plus it showed off his hairy chest, very sexy). He was wearing shades, and they definitely looked expensive. When I answered the door, he scored some serious points by not drooling or yammering about how "great" or "sexy" I looked. He just eyed me up and down for several seconds, without shame, as if sizing me up. He then gave a very cool nod of approval, and said, "Ready to go?" It came out sounding more like a casual order than a question, but I didn't mind at all, I liked his voice.

We got in his Mercedes (silver, late-model I'm pretty sure, quite nice) and drove around SF a bit. We exchanged small talk, chatted about the weather, politics, the feminist Naomi Wolf (I couldn't help laughing when Key Boi said that he didn't think any man would ever touch that "bitter, unappealling sow" other than to give her a "well-deserved slap in the face".) We then pulled up in front of a club on Minna Street that I've been dying to see. Key Boi wordlessly tossed his keys to a bouncer - not a valet, but some huge, Polynesian-looking guy, who promptly drove off to park Key Boi's ride. We walked right past the line at the door - Key Boi gave a knowing nod to the doorman - and he hustled me inside, past the crowds, past the bar, to a door in the back. "VIP," Key Boi said as the only explanation. We went up a spiral staircase to an amazingly cool, very laid-back lounge, with a live jazz trio playing. I didn't even know this place had a VIP lounge, and when I told Key Boi that, he just said, "That's right, you didn't."

I have to admit, I felt a bit intimidated: these with pretty beautiful and probably powerful people, and I wondered if I was a little out of place. But all that time, Key Boi kept one strong, warm hand on the small of my back, which made me feel more at home.

We sat on one of the deep leather sofas scattered around the lounge, alternately sipping Ketel One and opium tea (which I'd never had before). Every few minutes, people would come up to Key Boi, and he'd do some business, whipping out a tiny black leather notebook and silver pen to make note or write out some dollar figures. All the while, the opium tea and Key Boi's remarkably large hand draped possessively on my thigh were both getting me more than a little damp.

That's all for now: Tomorrow (maybe) I'll tell you about our dinner (at Aqua) and what happened when we went back to his place, and, why he later dumped me for ThatChickFromTNT :rolleyes:
 
I wonder if CKB has ever dated ThatChickFromKeyBiscaine - yes 13's SISTER!!! lol
 
when is it due out in paperback...LOL..."Exploits of a 21st Century Don Juan" or in this case Don CBK...loses something in the translation don't you think
 
ThatChickFromNYC said:
I didn't even know this place had a VIP lounge, and when I told Key Boi that, he just said, "That's right, you didn't."

NEXT TIME, ACT LIKE YUO KNOW

O W NED!
 
ThatChickFromNYC said:
Key Boi showed up in a VERY nice charcoal suit, brilliant white silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down (nice contrast with his golden sun-tanned skin,


Now, I could have got this all wrong and apologies all round if I have, but, I thought CKB was most definitely a bro' - in which case - 'golden sun-tanned skin' doesn't quite fit the picture.
 
Options,

Mrs Car Key Boi, might? :LOL:

Na.. he's hung up his boots! :cheesy:

Cheers

Mayfly

PS - CKB gets my vote!
 
Re: Re: That one time I dated the CKB=Best Date Ever (inside, my report)

TheBramble said:


Now, I could have got this all wrong and apologies all round if I have, but, I thought CKB was most definitely a bro' - in which case - 'golden sun-tanned skin' doesn't quite fit the picture.

CKB=WHITE OPIE WHO'S MARRIED TO HOT 2 DAMN CARIBBEAN CHICK

HOW MANY MISS WORLD'S HAVE THE UK WON?

DIDN'T THINK SO
 
ChartMan said:
This is better than Posh and Becks!!!!

Thanks. If you know any tabloid journalists, I'd be interested in selling my story. Here's some more (but not too much).

After hanging a while in the lounge, Key Boi and I got up (I was extrememly dizzy for a second, but regained composure), and Key Boi shot a look at the bartender/bouncer, who picked up a walkie-talkie and said something. Key Boi guided me down the staircase, through the throngs in the club (it was getting really packed at this point) and out the door, where his car was waiting. I expected him to hand some cash to the Polynesian guy, but instead Key Boi handed him an envelope - and the Polynesian guy gave him a hug and said something to him in a language that I didn't recognize.

We then drove out to Aqua, and after we parked, Key Boi took me by the hand (which started getting me damp all over again) and took me into the restaurant. The maitre d' greeted Key Boi, who handed her a few bills, and Key Boi and I strode past. We walked past all the tables, straight into the kitchen (Key Boi was met by a chorus of greetings from the kitchen staff), and back into an unlit smaller restaurant kitchen.

Key Boi turned on some of the lights, and started talking about some of his culinary skills that he'd picked up overseas during numerous trips to Italy (I didn't know that Italians consider it bad form to boil pasta using olive oil). Key Boi started making dinner, helping himself to ingredients and equipment. He then fired up the grill and a couple burners, started throwing some spices and oils together, scored some scallops and prawns from the walk-in fridge. He borrowed a few knives from the master chef - apparently, truly fine kitchen knives don't just sit around the kitchen, real chefs have their own set, custom made for them, that they bring to work every day, and for the master chef to let Key Boi borrow them was considered a huge favor/honor.

Key Boi got to work on the scallops and prawns, cleaning and preparing them - the handiwork with the knives was utterly amazing, too fast to watch, a blur. Key Boi even showed me a few knife tricks - standing behind me, the knife in my hand and my hand in his, he gave me a fun (though useless) lesson in technique. Feeling his firm chest against my back and his thighs agains my ass was almost too much to bear, I was really ready to say "Screw dinner" and spin around and give myself up right there and then. Yes, he's that sexy. And I don't know what kind of cologne he wears, but it was exotic, amazing, intoxicating, something you'd never come across in the States.

So, I sat at a small table the restaurant's owner - yes, owner - had brought into the kitchen for us, and sipped a very nice Cabernet while Key Boi talked about business, about his travels (the guy must have a pretty damned full passport by now), about life. I was just content to drink wine and listen to him - he's really amazing to talk to, once he gets going and gets past the gangsta-cool near-silence he wears on the street.

Finally, he finished up the risotto, arranged the fruits de mer, dropped some asparagus on the plates, and sat down with me. After lighting the candle at our table, he offered a toast in Spanish... I don't speak Spanish, and when I asked what it meant, he staerd into his wine, swirling it silently for a few seconds, and finally said, "You'll find out." GOD this man knows how to ratchet up the sexual tension.

Now, the meal - UNBELIEVABLE. Seriously. The risotto was delicate, complex, smooth as silk, the scallops and prawns the best I've ever had. I was a little pissed at myself for not watching him cook more closely, not that I could have possibly pulled off anythign like it. Usually, I leave a few bites on the plate when I'm on a date - you know, just to play it cool - but no goddamned way was I going to let a single morsel of that masterpiece get away.

There's more, but it will have to be another day. Perhaps tomorrow.
 
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