Eyes a la Al Pacino

"We're both from Pianopoli. I have the documents at home, I'll show you!! "

If a cleverer trick has ever existed to get a woman to come home with you, I've never heard it. Not that he needed a trick by then. A few beers, a rainy electric night, and what amounted to nothing short of fate had me smitten. Documents that proved our common ancestral origins were gravy.

Perched atop a couple of bar stools we laughed and flirted with our eyes and hands. we brushed against each other playfully. He reached over and put is hand on my leg and I instinctively reached out and met his grasp - leaning in closer, my fingers sliding along the inside of his wrist. Our eyes locked until I shyly looked away. The chemistry was thick and the attraction was obvious. And then our eyes met again. His eyes had that deep, serious, slightly sunken look a la Al Pacino. There were little wrinkles around them, that didn't make him look old - just slightly wise and distinguished. He wore those eyes the way some men wear salt and pepper hair. It just makes them look good.

I thought I noticed the little blue vein below his left eye twitching ever so slightly. I could almost see the anticipation on his face of what was coming next, and if my enthusiasm hadn't mirrored his own, I might have laughed at the transparency of our courtship dance. And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me, and I reciprocated fully.

The kiss is always the big test. I'm a big fan of kissing. Long, slow, sensual, knee-weakening kisses. Drive you mad kisses. Forget where you are kisses. A man needs to know how to kiss you the way you need to be kissed. If the kissing is in sync, then the chances are good everything else will be in line too.

And let's face it. There are a lot of bad kissers out there. You know how it goes ladies- you go right, he goes left. you bump teeth. Too much tongue. There's the aggressive kisser who just cant read your reaction and is putting way too much passion into it before you've even gotten warmed up, or the one who slobbers all over your face. No gentleman. A proper kiss is lips first. slightly open mouth. hand behind the head and run your fingers through her hair, lips exploring lips, slowly, carefully, and then a *little* tongue . Gently. A tongue that explores her tongue with some trepidation. It does not move wildly or frantically inside her mouth. She does not want you to ram it down her throat. It caresses her lips. It invites. A good kiss starts slow and ends slow, with a build up somewhere in the middle.

Berlin knew how to kiss me just right. And so when it was time to go, I followed him to his place.

His place was a crooked little house set back from the street about 5 minutes from the bar . The house was quirky in a way that seemed perfectly suited to him - a little worn, but in decent shape. Loved, but well lived in. Broken-in, but not too broken down. It had a mix of nice touches that were obviously do-it-yourself jobs, but not so much so that it looked bad. This was an eclectic place, and I liked it. It was set amongst some older wooden Victorians. The house next door was imposing in its size, but vacant and a little run down. The neighborhood was what you would call up-and-coming. It was inexpensive and had charm, if you didn't mind the occasional Jerry Springer worthy domestic skirmish, or the prostitutes down the block.

One of the most amazing things his house contained was an enormous salt-water coral reef tank. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Including the base it was probably 5 feet tall and three feet square. And inside it was filled with the most beautiful living coral and tropical fish. The circulating water caused the coral to rock back and forth like a stand of wheat in a summer breeze.

Under the glow of this tank he drew me close, then took my hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom.

Needless to say, the kissing was not the only skill he had mastered.