Steven.

I was pressured by my friend Ms. Davis into giving her my opinions on Steven, even though I told her I didn't want to overthink things after one not-quite-a-date.

Her reasoning was that I was just presenting her with opinions that I surely had, so it was OK to tell her about him. So I did.

I wrote this to her.

Fine, I'll talk about Steven. I just want to handle it well. I tend to overthink.

He's nice. I like him. I hope he's not too nice, though, because I'm edgy and sarcastic - and I wouldn't want to have to cushion that.

He's 29 - but he tells people he's 30, just so that he can get used to the idea of saying it. I told him he looked like he was 27, which was a lie because, from far away, he looked like he was 24.

He used "looking at my cerebral palsy" - checking the dexterity in my left hand - as an excuse to hold my hand.

He doesn't like his own nose. I thought that it was a good nose.

He doesn't like it when people call him cute. He says he doesn't see it.

He's got dark brown, spiky hair and great eyebrows. I think he sculpts them, but I couldn't really tell. His eyes are either blue or green, the more I looked at them ... the less I could be sure.

He's 5'11, and he weighs 145 pounds, he said.

He's religious, apparently, and I'm not - though I understand the comfort that thoughts of God and faith can bring. I was able to talk about that with him.

He's sex-positive and HIV-negative, which is good. He's not interested in having a boyfriend, I don't think, but he's not against dating, which is neat.

He's a clean person. And his apartment is cool and in a great location.

He's got a decent selection of books on his shelves - including one by an author I once interviewed, and his music collection was decent and revelatory, like he likes good, quirky music and yet can indulge in the likes of Josh Groban. When I mentioned Rufus Wainwright and he knew who that was, that was a definite plus.

There wasn't a DVD player in sight, though his computer could double as one. The art selection on his walls was interesting, particularly one great black-and-white photo.

He had a marble chess set on his coffee table, but, when I moved a pawn, he told me that he himself didn't know how to play. He just told me it was there to be pretty.

When he talked on the phone with friends while I was there, because he was upset over his parents' impending divorce, I rubbed his shoulders and then got him a glass of water from his kitchen - because he got choked up talking about his parents to his friends.

We kissed goodbye seven to nine times.