I’m a little pissed off at having to spend a long weekend by myself. Teacher Gal is away on a school trip and although we spoke a few times during the week, it still isn’t clear to me where I stand with her after our heavy petting session. She seems a little distant now. The loss of my two fuckbuddies still rankles. I was starting to think it’s a good setup having a lover while trying to find my soulmate, having my physical needs taken care of while pursuing my emotional need, the former reducing the pressure on the latter.
It’s the Monday morning of the public holiday in May of 2013 and I notice a new message on OKCupid which reads:
“Your pictures seem to indicate that you would share my love of travelling to interesting, historical places. What are you looking for on here? I’ve had enough of being single, I want someone to come home to, someone to share my life with…”
The profile of the writer floors me. Not only is she a pretty blonde, but it’s one of the best-written profiles I’ve ever read. It speaks of an intelligent, sophisticated and cultured lady; I’m intrigued. I have to meet her even though OKCupid’s algorithm only gives us a 73% match. She’s English, 35 and five foot four inches tall.
I send off a polite response and minutes later she writes back. Her emails are as articulate as her profile, so she’s genuine and hasn’t copied a profile from somewhere on the internet. I respond again, hinting at us meeting one day. She asks if I’m free later today, I say that I am and give her my phone number.
Could she be ‘The One’?
A whirlwind takes hold and a few hours later I’m standing outside Somerset House in central London, surrounded by tourists intent on seeing what this building has to offer inside. It finally feels like the first day of Spring and people are wearing sunglasses and girl’s skirts seem shorter. I’m wearing black jeans and a navy-blue shirt; no jacket required today.
After a few minutes I get that familiar feeling that someone is looking at me. I turn to my right and a vision is approaching me. One of the cutest petite blondes I’ve ever seen is looking at me with big eyes and then breaks into a smile as she nears me. It’s my date and she’s even prettier than her pictures…and very short.
On her profile she said that she was five foot four; well the four was the height of the heels she was wearing. Without her heels she might even be under five foot. I’m over six foot, so we are in serious danger of becoming the little and large show. Whenever I’ve seen guys as big as me with women as small as her, I’ve always thought it looked odd…and that she goes on top, cow-girly style. Hell, if she was supple enough I might make a propeller out of her; spread her legs, position her on my cock and spin her around. What other people call fantasies, I call plans! Once, just once…
I greet her with a polite kiss on each cheek and we both can’t stop smiling. It’s not just nervous first-date smiles, I think we like the look of each other. She’s dressed in a very cute navy-blue skirted outfit with carefully thought-out white stripes and motifs in just the right places, reminiscent of a little sailor’s uniform. The skirt stops just above the knee. She smells as good as she looks, just the right amount of something I can’t recognise but nevertheless like. (Can any man name more than five ladies’ perfumes?)
She is as sweet and delicate as a newly-bloomed flower. In my mind I dub her ‘Delicate Flower’.
We are at this venue because she wants to see a photographic exhibition. I think it’s a great way of meeting somebody and not being in a pressurised situation of having to make small-talk. We pretend to look at photos, but I can’t tell you a thing about them because I’m not really looking. I’m marvelling at the good fortune I’ve just had by way of her contacting me out of the blue. That profile of mine is working wonders, I tell myself.
I notice that Delicate Flower is constantly grinning or smiling. I am too, I think neither of us can help it. I just want to scoop her up in my arms, let her feet dangle free and kiss her like she’s never been kissed before. Patience, dammit!
Eventually we run out of photographs for us to pretend to look at. It’s a beautiful day and it’s now just after lunchtime. I notice a terrace wine bar overlooking the Thames and suggest that we have a drink. She politely accepts and we find a high table with two high chairs. Delicate Flower stops and looks at the chairs and I realize that she might have a problem getting onto the chair.
We both look around and see that this is the only free table. Do I offer to pick her up and put her on the chair? Oh, the indignity. Do we leave and find somewhere else? It’s lunchtime on a sunny public holiday, everywhere will be full.
I decide that discretion is the better part of valour and say, “I’ll go get us a bottle of wine and some glasses. How about you hold the table for us?”
Delicate Flower smiles and nods as I leave. She now has the chance to get on the chair without embarrassing herself in front of me. The devil in me wants to turn around and watch her clamber up on the chair, but I decide it isn’t worth it.
I introduce her to South African Chenin Blanc and she likes it. All the women I’ve dated do. It’s as if they can taste the sunshine, but to me it’s an elixir of truth. Enough of this wine in a woman and she’ll pretty much tell me anything I want to know.
We have a view over the Thames with a clear blue Spring sky above us. Pleasure boats are plying the river, tourist buses clog the roads as awe-struck tourists throng the streets below. It’s the perfect temperature, no hint of a breeze and I can feel the sun on my back. In front of me I have one of the prettiest women I’ve ever spoken to and she can’t stop smiling at me. For a few moments life feels perfect.
I snap out of it, catching myself before sleep-walking into another mis-matched relationship like I recently had with Krazy Girl. It was time to get down to business, to find out the salient facts about this woman, to discern if she is relationship material, to see if we want the same things from the future, to find out why she’s single. Let the games begin!
Delicate Flower tells me that she is a manager of a department in a private hospital.
“Do you enjoy it?” I ask, knowing that few people in management roles enjoy their jobs, myself included.
“Oh yes, very much. I get a kick out of making sure that patients get the best possible care in my area,” she says.
“Come off it, you get your kicks out of bossing people around,” I tease.
“Actually, no, I don’t,” she says with a frown. “I like helping people and if the best way for me to do that is by being a good manager, then so be it,” she says.
“That’s very noble of you,” I say with a smile, warding off a potential conflict situation. So, she’s a caring, giving person. Looking good.
We chat away, the bottle nears empty and eventually the alcohol and sunshine combine to heighten the feeling between us. Delicate Flower suddenly makes a surprise reference to something sexual, with a naughty grin to boot. This tells me that she’s thought about having sex with me. Game on.
“Has it been a while for you?” I ask brazenly.
“It’s been more than six months. It’s been a long, cold, lonely Winter,” she says with a sparkle in her eye.
Hmm, she’s just hinted that she’s horny and wouldn’t mind being fucked because it’s been a long time.
“What do you normally do when you get horny?” I ask, expecting to hear a reference to fingers, a favourite vibrator or the occasional shower head.
“Oh, I just go into a pub and sit and wait,” he says nonchalantly.
I was surprised. Was she teasing? Was she joking? The look in her eye told me that she was being serious.
“Have you done that often?” I ask.
“If I’m not in a relationship, then a couple of times a year,” she says honestly.
That Chenin Blanc is good shit.
Delicate Flower instantly went from being a possible ‘Good Girl’ to a definite ‘Good Time Girl’. A Good Girl would never go sit in a pub by herself with the intent of going home with a stranger and getting fucked.
Some people have a ‘Bucket List’ – a list of things they want to experience in life before they kick the bucket. I have recently come up with a ‘Fucket List’ – a list of sexual experiences that I want before my time is up.
Delicate Flower was now the perfect candidate for an item on my Fucket List.
To be continued…