When I asked out the world’s tallest model on a date — via a blog post, — I never expected to her to actually say yes. Nor did I expect to find myself arm-wrestling her in a bar, playing truth or dare with her or talking about the nature of beauty, but, yeah, all of that happened.

I first heard about Amazon Eve back in February, when she enjoyed a brief stint as the top trending Google search. I snooped around the information superhighway a bit and discovered that Eve’s resume includes “dominatrix” and “personal trainer” — and that, at 6’8”, she is currently the tallest model in the world, according to Guinness World Records.

Curious as to what it’d be like to go on a date with her, I asked her out, indirectly, over the Internet. It was kind of a message in a bottle that I threw out into cyberspace — “If you know Amazon Eve or anyone who knows her, you gotta make this intro for me. Just tell Eve to email me at scott at HowHookup dot com and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Three months later, I had a message in my inbox from her: she was game to meet me. There would be a bit of publicity around it, sure, but she was game to meet me.

Two months after that I was knocking on the door of Eve’s hotel room with a particular species of butterflies in my stomach that I never knew existed previously. We had arranged to have our date — a picnic in Central Park followed by a water gun fight — filmed for local television. I was about to go on the single most contrived and potentially awkward date of my life.

Date #1: Not Quite As Planned

6’8”, as it turns out, is really tall. Eve was a full head above me when she answered the door wearing a sleek dress and thoughtfully applied make-up. She bent down to kiss me on the cheek and I could tell that she was nervous, too; she succumbed to an endearing fit of babbling as we waited for the cameras to arrive.

“Do you box?” she asked, out of nowhere.

“Um… why?”

She opened up a window on her laptop. “This is unreleased,” she said and played a video of herself in full boxing gear, bludgeoning the hell out of some poor sap with her fists. I would have been pretty intimidated if her manner hadn’t been so girlish. I felt, for maybe the first time ever in my life, that I should have shown up with flowers.

A reporter and a cameraman showed up minutes later, miked us up and proceeded to get the scoop on how we met, our first impressions of each other, our dating habits, etc. — the majority of which would end up on the cutting room floor.

Then the reporter threw me for a loop: “So, I thought I would take Eve on sort of a practice date, for your real date later. We’ll go to the park and film me doing various activities with her, ‘warming her up.’ Was that not communicated to you?”

My televised date with the tallest model in the world had been hijacked. As I watched Eve with the reporter, pushing him on the swings, slow-dancing and other goofball date-type activities, I recognized that my face wasn’t just hot with embarrassment for what I had become involved with, but another feeling: jealousy.

Luckily, Eve and I were able to figure out a time when we could meet up for drinks before she left New York. This time, however, it was… a real date.

Date #2: Truth or Dare

We met at The Staghorn, an Italian steakhouse with a bar. Eve was wearing a see-through caftan that I learned had been custom designed for her. She wore a black bikini underneath. I had nearly forgotten that I was going out with a model. I asked what she was drinking – “I call it an ‘Electric Lemonade.’ But they didn’t have lemonade, so this is some other kind of juice.”

“So, she makes up her own drinks,” I thought, “Fancy.”

I ordered a beer.

Less than ten minutes into the date, she suggested a game of Truth or Dare.

“Really? On the first date?”

Eve explained that she found that this middle school game was a good way to break the ice and get right down to the nitty gritty. Nothing about this was normal anyway, so I jumped in and chose “truth.”

“What color are your underwear?” Jeez. This really was like middle school. In fact, despite her stature and poise, Eve was remarkably girlish. Her answer to my first question gave me some insight into why.

“When was the first time you really felt beautiful?” I asked.

Eve told me that she grew 9 inches at age 14 and started turning heads for all the wrong reasons. I got the impression that, from then on, she tried to hide — as much as a girl of her height could hide. She was working as a paralegal when she had her picture taken professionally for the first time. The photographer told her to think of a “happy place” (Eve’s was an ice cream parlor from her youth) and to let the thought blossom into a genuine smile. Seeing those pictures was a big moment for Eve.

“That’s when I got it,” she reached over and tapped me on the temple, “Beauty. It’s up here.”

Now, it was Eve’s turn to ask a question. “Boxers or briefs?”

“Why do you only ask questions about my underwear?” I replied, “Briefs. Obviously.”

In spite of the inherent awkwardness of a date set up via blog post, we were starting to have fun. Eve was a cyclone of “firsts” for me — first date with a model, a boxer, a dominatrix, a wrestler (Eve told me she was in the process of auditioning for the WWE), or a woman taller than me. The effect was kind of dizzying. I couldn’t help thinking that, if we hooked up, I would never win another game of “never have I ever” as long as I lived.

Next, she chose “dare.” Oh boy.

We were the only two people in the joint besides the staff, but I still wasn’t ready to disrupt the vibe by daring her to, say, make a dolphin noise. Besides that, I was getting the feeling that there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to embarrass this woman. Eve had an almost wacky manner, in contrast to her put-together, exotic look. She was loud, brash, and her sense of personal space was a little different than mine. I wondered if this was the result of her relatively sudden transformation from wallflower to jet-setting bikini model. Was she making up for lost time?

“I dare you to arm wrestle me,” I blurted out.

We had to move to a table to even out the leverage as much as possible. Not that it helped. She stood almost 7 feet in her size 14 heels, and she was fit. I was about to get crushed.

The match was over almost as soon as it began. She toyed with me for a few seconds, then slammed my hand down on the table. Done.

It seemed that now that we had gotten all that out of the way, we could actually talk. Eve told me that my picture hadn’t done me justice. She told me about important foreign men that she had been involved with, that she “wasn’t supposed to tell me about.” She said I had “calming eyes.” She told me about her charity work — her real passion.

Before I knew it, it was time for me to catch my bus (I was traveling that weekend and we had squeezed the date in). As Eve and I walked arm in arm in the light evening drizzle, passersby couldn’t help but stare. We kissed goodnight at the bus stop and agreed that it would be good to do this again, when she was in town next.

On the bus, I received the following text from Eve: “It was very special to get to know you. You are an inimitable spirit.”

A 6’8” international model/wrestler in a see-through caftan had just told me that I was inimitable. I’ll say this for Eve. She sure knows how to make a guy feel special.

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