Time for Stupid Boy to crash and burn

I felt like the King of the World! I was close to having my way with The Model and I had closure with Baltic Babe. It was a great day, but something was bothering me. On the walk back to her offices, I had mentioned to Baltic Babe that I was going on a date with an ex-model that night. I wanted to see her reaction. Her response was, “You’re going on a date dressed like that?!” We parted ways before I could ask her what she meant by her comment as I thought I was adequately attired. I sent her a text message while I was waiting for The Model.

3.27pm
After that typically intense & stimulating encounter…there is something I just have to know… What’s wrong with how I’m dressed for my date tonight?

3.42pm
Baltic Babe: So madly busy now. I will tell you later if I survive. You cannot change anything about it anyway. Have fun tonight!

9.51pm
Baltic Babe: Just got into a cab. It was not a very nice evening :-( but the job needed to be done. How was your date? I hope enjoyable with the model? :-) so your clothes..I just did not feel that you looked presentable enough for a date! Night

I left it there. I was too busy fantasizing about how Saturday with The Model was going to turn out. First I would impress The Model with culinary skills, then the clowns at the circus would make us laugh, then when the time was right, I’d impress her with my cunnilingual skills. When would be the right time to make my move?

The following morning while sitting in the reception area waiting to start my new job, Baltic Babe sent me a text message:

Have a nice first day at work! Send me your new work email address as I will be sending you dirty jokes :-)))

I ignored her. She had her chance with me and blew it. I was also too busy with my first day on my new job. She must have seen things differently because the next day she texted me again.

17th October – 8:55am
Baltic Babe: “So what is this silence? Did you not get an email address at work? How was your first day?

I was a little surprised to hear from her again. From our lunchtime encounter I got the distinct impression that she had no interest in me.

I responded with this text message:

After all that has happened… NOW you want to send me dirty jokes?! Now. :)

Just what kind of a nutcase are you?

Fine.

Send me your dirty jokes.

I’ll send you dirty pictures…

Of me.

:)

Your non-friend.

The next day I sent her the following email from my new work email address:

Little Terrorist,

As demanded, herewith my new work email address.

I think there is a system-generated footer attached to all outbound emails. It should have the main switchboard number included. My extension is 5236 or you could ask for me by name.

This is a very tightly controlled environment, so I would prefer it if you only used this email for emergencies only.

Being management, I have to lead by example.

But you being you, you probably would prefer it if I sent pictures of me in my new work environment. Or…even more paranoid and diabolical…I use video on my phone and showed you everything and everyone over my shoulder. Tsk tsk. I know you.

Phil

PS. If I get a mystery phonecall to my extension, with light heavy breathing, before the phone is politely put down on me without a word being said… I know it’s you. :)

She didn’t reply. Was she just wanting proof that I was working where I said I was? Probably. Her trust issues ran deep.

On the Thursday night I phoned The Model to make final arrangements for our date at my place on the Saturday. The call went amicably enough and we shared a few laughs. I thought it had went fine and the way was clear to have some (hopefully naughty) fun on Saturday night. I don’t think you can imagine my surprise, horror and disappointment when an hour later she sends me the following text message:

Hi you! Really sorry but I can’t do Saturday…Or any day. I’m not OK with any of this. It all feels a bit awkward. Sure you will understand x

Fuckit!

I felt crestfallen.

What the hell happened? Our chat was good, the previous date was at least okay (her kisses told me so) – what was I missing? I racked my brain for hours trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I grew frustrated and angry at what had happened, but I’ll never truly know the reason. Whatever it was, it remained in her head and heart. The last sentence in her message must have alluded to her knowing that I suspected her of being badly on the rebound. Who knows?

Smarting from The Model’s shock and abrupt dismissal of me on the Thursday night, on the Friday morning I texted Baltic Babe the following:

8.54am
OK, let’s try the friends thing. The Circus is in town. I have 2 tickets. I can also provide lunch and a tour of my town. Can you make it? :-)

9.14am
Baltic Babe: When is it on? My weekends are so full now…Have been working until almost midnight as well. Very tired.

Later that Friday night at 10.04pm
Baltic Babe: Just leaving the office. I don’t think I can escape tomorrow as I have not been able to do anything during the week. Enjoy the circus and thanks for the invite

Fuckit!…again!

Being snubbed by two women in 24 hours was more than my ego could take. In a moment of anger and despair I wrote to Tech Titan on the Friday night. Her and I had been swapping the occasional email over the previous three months. I answered her emails out of my misguided pledge that “of course we can be friends”.

She was coming across as desperate to keep in touch with me, I suspect all in a hope to rekindle a relationship, which I really wasn’t interested in.

I invited her to join me for the circus the next night, but she answered saying that she was in San Francisco for work and would be returning in a week’s time. She suggested us getting together on the Sunday. I agreed to this. Idiot. Stupid Boy strikes again!

Never in my life had I had a romantic moment with a woman and then moved the relationship on to the basis of a friendship. I didn’t think it could be done, largely because I didn’t know how. I was curious about whether or not I could be friends with a woman, knowing full well that the woman in question had hopes of her own about me. Okay, that’s all largely true and partially bullshit too.

There is something I must confess to you. I was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with me after having been spurned by two women in such short order. A part of me was craving validation about being attractive to the opposite sex. Being around a woman who fancies me, is not just happy but excited about being with me would make me feel a whole lot better about myself.

Thus the stage was set…

How I felt is encapsulated in this song:

Queen- Somebody To Love

Can anybody find me somebody to love
Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little
Can barely stand on my feet
(Take a look at yourself) Take a look in the mirror and cry (and cry)
Lord what you’re doing to me (yeah yeah)
I have spent all my years in believing you
But I just can’t get no relief, Lord!
Somebody (somebody) ooh somebody (somebody)
Can anybody find me somebody to love ?

Yeah
I work hard (he works hard) every day of my life
I work till I ache in my bones
At the end (at the end of the day)
I take home my hard earned pay all on my own
I get down (down) on my knees (knees)
And I start to pray
Till the tears run down from my eyes
Lord somebody (somebody), ooh somebody
(Please) Can anybody find me somebody to love ?

(He works hard)
Everyday (everyday) – I try and I try and I try
But everybody wants to put me down
They say I’m going crazy
They say I got a lot of water in my brain
Ah, got no common sense
I got nobody left to believe in
Yeah yeah yeah yeah

Oh Lord
Ooh somebody – ooh somebody
Can anybody find me somebody to love ?
(Can anybody find me someone to love)

Got no feel, I got no rhythm
I just keep losing my beat (You just keep losing and losing)
I’m OK, I’m alright (he’s alright – he’s alright)
I ain’t gonna face no defeat (yeah yeah)
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
One day (someday) I’m gonna be free, Lord!

Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love love love
Find me somebody to love
Find me somebody to love somebody somebody somebody somebody
Somebody find me
Somebody find me somebody to love
Can anybody find me somebody to love ?
(Find me somebody to love)
Ooh
(Find me somebody to love)
Find me somebody, somebody (find me somebody to love) somebody, somebody to love
(Find me somebody to love)
Find me, find me, find me, find me, find me
Ooh – somebody to love
(Find me somebody to love)
Ooh
(Find me somebody to love)
Find me, find me, find me somebody to love
(Find me somebody to love)
Anybody, anywhere, anybody find me somebody to love love love!
Wooo somebody find me, find me love.

The Model gives the green light – Monday evening

I got to Gloucester Road early and scouted out the area for somewhere classy to eat and found a place that I would take The Model to. What I really wanted was to take her to bed and eat her, but I had to play it cool and be patient. We had swapped a few emails and a phone-call during the week. She seemed more upbeat than our last disastrous date so I was looking forward to this encounter, not just because I wanted to see her and get to know her better, but also because there was something I wanted to put to her.

We met punctually outside the Tube station and The Model was smiley. I kissed her ‘hello’ on the lips which made her smile more. She wasn’t hungry, so we went for a walk around the area, passing the famous museums that millions of tourists from all over the planet come to visit. Nothing in them were as attractive to me as The Model.

We held hands as we walked and talked. Amongst other things, I asked about her friend’s break-up situation and about her weekend with her mother, but details were a little sketchy.

Having walked up an appetite I led her to the restaurant that I had chosen. It was called “The Green Door Steakhouse” and offered a varied menu promising high quality food. Naturally it was pricey, but I was starting my new job the next day. I don’t mind wining and dining a woman as I think it’s romantic.

It didn’t take too long before conversation between us reverted to its familiar stale format. She kept talking about her previous boyfriend. I didn’t pre-empt it, she let her mind wander over to it. Once she had latched on to that, it seemed as if nothing I said or did was good enough. Sitting at the table I realised that once her head was filled with thoughts of ‘him’ that she entered a very dark, lonely place in her psyche…and that the rest of the date was fucked. Lesson learnt.

“I have something to suggest to you,” I began, trying to distract her, get her back to reality, back to me.

“Yes?” she said cautiously.

“A circus is coming to a nearby town this coming Saturday. Would you like to join me?”

“That could be fun, darling.”

“Great. It’s in the late afternoon, so if you get to me by lunch, I’ll cook for us,” I said, trying to hide my excitement.

“I’d love that. I like it when a man cooks for me,” she beamed. Distraction successful.

After the meal and some positive conversation, I walked her to her car and we stood alongside it and kissed for ages. She felt so good to hold and her lips were exquisitely soft. Our kisses grew more intense and passionate. Our tongues touched and teased each other. Unsurprisingly after several minutes of this I got a hard-on. If one of us lived nearby, we would have gone to bed that night.

The Model broke contact and said with a smile and sparkling eyes, “Okay mister, I’ll see you Saturday lunchtime. Have a good first week back at work,” and like that she got in her car and drove off into the night.

I felt that I now had a green light to get intimate with her. Perhaps if we connected physically then a proper relationship would follow? Who knows, with a little bit of time, love even? The love I wanted and deserved?

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough…

Baltic Babe and the brief encounter at lunch – Monday

I just couldn’t get her out of my head. I was in central London on Monday 15th October 2012 and my business there concluded earlier than I had anticipated. Lunchtime was approaching and I phoned a few friends to see if any of them were able to meet up at such short notice, but none could. In a moment of irrational emotion I texted Baltic Babe. To my surprise she was amenable to meeting up.

I stood on the stairs at the Bishopsgate exit to Liverpool Street station, that old familiar station that her and I seemed to gravitate towards. Office workers in coats and jackets were hurriedly scurrying about in their lunch-hour while a cold Autumn wind buffeted us all. The seasons seemed to change in sync with my love life.

I had no idea about what to expect from Baltic Babe. It was a spur of the moment idea to try and see her again because I felt I needed closure. I didn’t like the way that things had ended between us.

I got the feeling that someone was looking at me from my right, so I turned and saw Baltic Babe walking towards me in the middle of a crowd. Our eyes locked like they did the very first time we saw each other. We both couldn’t help but smile. My heart was in my throat. The wind had ruffled her white-blonde hair and it was her early morning dandelion look, whether she liked it or not. She was wearing a new, smart black knee-length coat and clutching a handbag over her shoulder. Her face was pock-marked; it must have been that time of the month. Good, it meant that she wasn’t pregnant.

We greeted without touching. Kissing her, even on the cheek, seemed inappropriate.

“Hello. How are you?” I asked demurely, as the rest of the world seemed to evaporate around us, all noise ceasing and the wind disappearing.

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?” she said coyly.

I could see in her darting eyes and bemused smile that she wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but her curiosity had brought her to find out. I wondered if her ego was hoping that I was going to declare my undying love for her and beg her that we try again. If so, she was in for a disappointment. While I was waiting for her I had decided on a course of action.

“Shall we go have a quick lunch somewhere?” I suggested.

Baltic Babe nodded in agreement and I led us to an arcade of eateries a block away. We both liked the idea of what a Japanese takeaway was offering, so we stepped inside and chose what we wanted. When we were at the counter to pay, she turned to me with a knowing look. Her bottom lip was suppressing a smile and her eyes had a naughty glint.

“Shall I pay for lunch?” I said sarcastically, not really minding because my new job was starting the next day. Her cheeks swelled and her eyes laughed, but she still suppressed the smile. I didn’t smother my smile. We could still know what the other was thinking without either saying a word and have fun at the same time.

We found a free table outside and sat, eating our lunch, not saying a word, just looking at each other.

“How’s work?” I opened.

“Shit as usual, but at least my bitch-boss isn’t in today. That’s why I was able to come out for lunch.”

“Any idea what’s going to happen?”

“No idea. Nobody talks to me.”

We fell silent again, feeding ourselves sushi from plastic containers. Our eyes would lock and I could see that she was really curious about what I had to say, why I had asked her out for lunch. We finished our food in silence. It was time for me to say my piece.

“I’ve come to accept that we’re not right for each other,” I began. Her face and body-language was unchanged. I continued after a moment of checking her reaction to my initial words.

“Nevertheless I can’t help but think of you every day. I can’t get you out of my head.” Her ego liked that. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

“I want you to do me a favour.”

“What?” she said.

“I want you to hurt me so that I can forget about you. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you felt nothing for me.”

Baltic Babe’s face became serious as she thought about what to say or do. After a few seconds she spoke.

“No, I can’t do that. I don’t deliberately hurt people.” she said confidently, obviously pleased with her clever reply.

“So you won’t give me what I want? Okay, that hurts. Thanks.” I grinned.

She blinked hard and smiled at the realization that she had been outsmarted. Silence returned.

I hadn’t got the silver spike through my heart that I was hoping for. Nor had a red-hot poker singed my soul to leave a permanent scar. However, her words and demeanour told me once and for all that she was no longer interested in me. That was good enough for me.

“I have to go back to the office now” she said, her curiosity about my intentions now obviously satisfied.

I insisted on accompanying her to her offices as I had nothing better to do and, to be honest, I was perversely enjoying the encounter. We walked the few blocks to her place of work, making polite superficial small-talk. I made her laugh once and I took in the sound as best I could, knowing it might be the last time I would hear it.

We rounded a corner and Baltic Babe stopped in her tracks and looked me in the eye.

“We have to say goodbye now,” she said without any emotion. “I don’t want my colleagues seeing us.”

I stepped towards her, wanting to give her a farewell kiss on the cheek, but she lowered her head in an avoidance move and I kissed her forehead instead. She kept her head down and I couldn’t resist the urge to give her one last hug. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. She fitted me perfectly. After a few seconds of savouring the sensation, I let her go. She raised her head and I saw that there was an imprint on her forehead from the zip on my jacket.

Without another word or meeting of eyes she turned away and walked down the pavement towards the entrance to her offices. I stood and watched her walk away. Slowly a variety of feelings engulfed me. I was sad that things hadn’t worked out between us. I was pleased that I now had the sense of closure that was lacking.

I watched her approach her entrance and thought to myself, “If she turns around to look at me, then she still wants me.”

She didn’t turn around.

The Model & Baltic Babe drive me crazy

My date with The Model was lacklustre. It just didn’t feel as good as when I was with Baltic Babe, not for a moment at any point. I don’t know why, but I sent Baltic Babe the following email:

Hello & Goodbye‏

It’s a cool Sunday morning and I would so much have preferred to have woken up to the sight of your pretty face, angelic smile, bushy hair…and the sound of your unforgettable laugh. How I miss your laugh.

I never ever thought I could or even would fall for someone as quickly and as deeply as I did with you.

My heart says I must fight for you. I must do whatever it takes to prove to you that you are wrong about me. Show you just how much of me you have misunderstood. Show you how good we could be together.

But, my brain says “No, don’t.” It says this for various reasons.

In recent years I have learned (at great expense) to trust my brain. My heart has got me in to trouble in the past.

Your past is not your future – and that applies to me too. What I want now from life has changed from how I have lived before. After 2 weeks of interviews, this week I landed a permanent position as a manager in the IT department of Famous Company. I have 22 staff to look after. In February we will be delivering a new website. Whenever you use it, you can think to yourself “He did that.”

If things in the coming years do not work out how you hope, then remember this: if your priorities change to simply wanting to be with someone who loves you – really loves you – and if you think you could grow to love me, and if I am still available, then you have this email address.

Don’t feel obliged to be polite and answer this. For once, let me have the final word. :)

XX

I hoped that Baltic Babe wouldn’t answer and would just leave matters there.

Later that same Sunday night I phoned The Model, but she didn’t answer so I left a message. She sent an email the next day saying that she had fallen asleep watching a dvd with her heart-broken friend.

Also on the Monday morning I get a text message from Baltic Babe. It read:

Congrats on your job! Yes, that site needs a refurb :-) I will send you some pics from sunny beach soon.

Me: How do you do that? I’m sitting here looking at our photos from Sunny Beach…

I knew she would answer, that was typically her cheeky sense of humour. However, I wasn’t expecting any photos from her. Was she just angling for attention, or had she had a change of heart? I let matters with Baltic Babe rest there. I had a prettier fish to fry…

The Model had to go travelling around England for work the following week, so we couldn’t get together then. I phoned her one night during the week, we had a chat and she told me that she had her mother coming to visit for the weekend.

On the Sunday morning I emailed the following to The Model:

Hi Gorgeous!

What a lovely morning. I don’t mind this time of year – falling leaves, a nip in the air, the anticipation of Xmas speeding towards us… It’s the depth of Winter I don’t like, especially having to get up and go to work when you’d rather be snug under the duvet keeping somebody else warm.

Anyhooo… my start day has been moved to Tuesday and I’m going in to London on Monday to the South African embassy to run the gauntlet of bureaucracy gone mad. I expect I’ll be there over lunch. As I’m in town and will be free in the evening, I’m wondering if you’re free too because I’d like to buy you dinner. OK, I’ll admit it. I also want to partake of the loveliness that is you, even if just for a few hours.

Any chance?

Her response came very late on the Sunday night:

Hello lovely one!
Thank you for your email… It would be lovely to catch up tomorrow. Im training some clients in Gloucester rd at 3 then finished about 4pm so lets catch up! Had a heavy weekend so was planning an early night tucked in with cocoa- so I can alter that but can you be gentle with me please!?!!?
A x

Heavy weekend with her mother? Hmm…

Visiting a proctologist is more fun than some dates

The Model was into astrology and we had discussed it on our first date. On the Monday morning I had sent her an email with a link to do with the compatibility of our star signs.

Her reply:

Hiya,

Mmmm, good to read! I kind of knew a lot of that and I can already see it a little….

Critical & nagging…. All too early to see but im afraid you may have to accept the critical, im sure you are?!?!

For me, It is largely accurate, Independent, need to be loved and made safe. Im sure thats a good thing for you but I am just happy to do dating for now and see what happens… As I am sure you are too!

(FYI-I have more bruises than I care to mention if I’m honest and I am struggling so hope you can bear with me xxx)

Here’s to our next date! You still up for it?
Night night xxx

My response:

Gorgeous, I can sense the bruises and I am a gentle soul – so I can promise you this now: I will NEVER intentionally hurt you physically or emotionally. Never.

There is no rush, is there? So let’s take it slow. Just dating, as you put it.

Let’s take the time to get to know each other.

I can’t wait for our next date – it’s going to be a laugh!

Hug and kisses.

XXX

It was interesting and disappointing to me that she latched on to the negative characteristics in our star-sign compatibility, despite there being so many more positives.

On the Wednesday morning my phone informed me of an entry in my diary from what seemed like a lifetime ago. Baltic Babe was returning to the UK and I saw it as an opportunity to end things on a better note with her. I was planning on driving to the airport where she was landing and surprising her with a lift home, using the time in the car to get better closure. However, fate intervened…

My text message to Baltic Babe:

Me at 8.28am: I was planning on surprising you and be waiting at the airport. I have had a job interview for this am be rescheduled to 4pm so now I can’t drive you home. I wanted to do this because I don’t like how things have ended between us. A more positive feeling would have been preferable.

11.41am Baltic Babe: No worries. I am having a lift from a friend anyway. Good luck for the interview!

I was becoming painfully aware that I couldn’t remember what a good shag felt like. The Model had spent the week at a sales conference in Ireland, so we couldn’t see each other, but swapped a few emails. I couldn’t wait to see her…and I mean ‘see her’. I loved the look of her. A little bit more of an emotional connection and I would be entirely comfortable with getting physical with her. If we could get a relationship going, then she would be perfect in every sense.

We met on the Friday night under the big bright neon lights at Piccadilly Circus as bewildered tourists gawked in awe at their surroundings. The Model seemed a little tired but claimed to be ready for whatever I had planned for the evening.

I took her hand and led her up Shaftesbury Avenue towards Soho. I had booked us a table at what was the highest rated Thai restaurant on TripAdvisor. It was starting to rain just as we found the restaurant. The romance of a great date at a superb restaurant on a rainy night in London was not lost on me. There was also a cause for celebration as I had got the job that I was interviewed for.

The Model and I shared polite conversation over our excellent dinner. It appeared that we had very similar taste in food and drink. However, there was no spark, no chemistry between us. I put it down to her being tired.

After dinner we moved on to a comedy club that I had arranged tickets for. It was still drizzling, so I held an umbrella and we coupled arms, taking shelter under the brolly. I could feel a boob heaving against my arm again, which was nice.

At the comedy club there was just enough time to buy us each a drink. I was hoping the alcohol would help loosen her up. We found our seats and were entertained by a succession of surprisingly good stand-up comedians. At about half way through the evening The Model put a hand on my leg and then shortly afterwards rested her head against my shoulder. That felt good. It felt better than a breast bouncing off my bicep because it came with a touch of emotional closeness.

The last of the clowns delivered his closing lines and people flooded out into the bar area. The night was still young and to be totally honest, the date wasn’t going well at all. She seemed distant and pre-occupied. Conversation was becoming difficult. I wanted to rescue the date and offered to buy her another drink, which she accepted.

We stood in the crowded bar, sipping our drinks, trying to make conversation, but it just wasn’t happening. Whatever I said was met with blunt, curt responses. Her face hardly changed. She even started to avoid making eye contact with me. No, she didn’t start looking around the room, but she might as well have.

I could have stood in the middle of the floor of people, dropped my trousers, got down oddly on my haunches, toppled on to my back and fellated myself – her expression would have remained the same. Had she had her entire face botoxed that day?

It started to feel very awkward between us. As far as I was concerned my behaviour had been exactly the same as on our other dates. I was interested and interesting. I was positive, affable and engaging. In my mind I started making excuses for her. “Oh, she’s tired”, “Oh, she’s had a bad week”, yada yada. Fool.

I had to accept that this night was just not going to turn out how I had expected. There was a looming disaster scenario whereby the harder I tried to entertain her, the worse things would become. I didn’t know what to do.

I decided to play safe and said, “Sweetie, you’re obviously tired. How about we call it a night?”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry that I’m so tired,” she replied with an apologetic look in her eyes.

I escorted her to the Tube station at Leicester Square, holding the umbrella again, but this time not bothering to make small talk. I was learning that sometimes the best thing to say is nothing.

Waiting on the platform, I asked, “So what are you doing this weekend?” I was wondering if there was any prospect of having another date, hopefully a better one.

“Oh, my best friend has been dumped by her partner. She’s a mess, so I’m spending the weekend with her,” came the reply.

We kissed briefly as her train arrived. She ran on board and found a seat, not bothering to look back at me.

That date was no fun at all. A visit to a proctologist would have been more fun…

The Model and I walk…and walk – Friday 28th September

I arrived at Clapham Junction, the busiest train station in the UK, on the Friday afternoon as the manic London rush-hour was in full swing. I could feel eyes watching me through the crowds as I exited the turnstiles. I looked up to see the perfect face of The Model.

Her bright blue eyes, shoulder-length wavy natural blonde hair, sparkling white smile, cute dimples…sigh. I can’t resist a good-looking woman and my normally steely character softens around one, but I’m aware of this and battle against it within myself. I was in for one helluva battle with her.

I kissed her politely on the cheek, trying to hide my awe of her beauty, but I guess she was used to men fawning over her and probably thought that’s how life was for everybody. Our reservation was at 6pm at a local rodizio. (If you don’t know what a rodizio is, it is a Brazilian steak-house where you sit at a table and the waiting staff come around endlessly with skewers of fifteen different types of meat.)

We had an hour to kill, so we walked around the area for a while and ended up in a coffee shop, sitting side by side on a sofa, talking about all sorts of stuff. She liked the sound of her own voice and I was happy to just nod occasionally and make approving sounds. She may as well have been talking a foreign language because I couldn’t help but slip into a trance-like state and just marvel at her beauty. A little bit of saliva might have dribbled down my chin and I wouldn’t have noticed it.

At the restaurant she revealed a hearty appetite and could almost keep up with me. She must have had a fast metabolism like mine to keep her body as trim as it was. I think most women experience the phenomenon whereby their weight gain goes to their hips. With the The Model it seemed to go to her breasts. On our first date and this date she was wearing a black shawl, but it didn’t really disguise the fact that she was smuggling midgets under there.

She bemoaned the fact that the venue for her conference during the week had bad air conditioning and it had given her chapped lips. I had to resist the urge to offer to moisturise them with my lips and tongue. By now I was wondering what it would be like to kiss her; really kiss her. When and where? I had to be alive to the opportunity. Before this night was out I just had to kiss her.

Then she told me something that I found surprising and that didn’t sit too well with me. That afternoon she had had some botox injections in her forehead. She was very self-conscious about them and I wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t pointed them out. I prefer a natural beauty, but it seemed that The Model had got to a point in life where she feared that her looks were starting to fade.

After dinner we went for a walk along the Thames. I took the opportunity to hold her hand and she smiled when I did so. We found ourselves sitting on a bench next to the river, admiring the stars in the inky cloudless sky. A cold wind started coming off the river, so I sat closer and put my arm around her. She relaxed and leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. It felt good.

It felt physically good. Our bodies were a good match. However, on the emotional side, things weren’t as good. I was very aware and uncomfortable at times with her calling me all sorts of pet names and acting as if we had been together forever. It felt like she was behaving how she had been used to with her previous boyfriend. She kept bringing up the topic of “him” and what had happened between them. I was starting to feel like a substitute for what she had lost and her words and actions that were familiar to her made it all feel normal to her. It didn’t feel normal to me. It felt very unnatural and awkward at times. I concluded that she was badly on the rebound. Any minute now she was going to call me by another guy’s name.

I put those reservations aside and saw the opportunity that I had been waiting for. Sitting next to the Thames, starry sky above, arm around her…perfect.

I lifted her chin, looked her in the eye and casually leaned forward to kiss her. I went in as slowly and gently as I could, to make it memorable for both of us and un-scary for her. Our lips touched gently and she took a deep breath. I could feel her body rise against mine. She let out a breath through her nose as we kissed and she kept her eyes closed.

We kissed for only a few seconds, no rapier-like tongue assaulted me and we parted lips. The Model made a “hmm” sound and smiled. We said nothing and she put her head back against my shoulder, her body slouching against mine. She seemed content in that moment. I didn’t know what to do next.

The Model had been fidgeting with her black leather trousers because she had come out to play without a belt for it, thinking it would have been fine. It wasn’t fine, so I took my belt off and before she could say a word, I was running my belt through the hoops on her trousers. At one point we were standing with our hips touching and I imagined what it would feel like to have my arms behind her back and her legs wrapped around my waist. I think she sensed something similar too because she smiled naughtily.

I took it as a chance to hug her. She fitted snugly, with the top of her head resting just under my nose. She felt wonderful. Her boobicles rested nicely against my chest. Sigh.

It was getting late and The Model started to yawn and she excused it by saying that it had been a long, tiring week. I suggested that we call it a night and continue back to the station, homeward bound.

We walked past a television studio building near the south bank of the Thames. The Model said, “I used to work in there once.”

“Oh yeah? What were you doing?” I asked, expecting to hear her talk about some back-office job.

“I presented one of their morning shows. It was good fun,” she said.

“You mean you were on millions of people’s television screens?”

“That’s one way of looking at it. It didn’t feel that way. It was just me, usually a guest and half a dozen crew in a studio, is how it felt.”

“When did you do this?”

“Oh, it was about ten years ago when I was better looking.”

“That’s impossible. You couldn’t have been better looking,” I replied with what was on my mind. She smiled and squeezed my hand.

I realised that the distance back to the station was greater then my tired date (and ex-television celebrity) could bare, so I hailed a black cab. Back at the station she suggested a nightcap so we stopped in at a pub nearby. I took this as a good sign that she wanted to spend more time with me.

Would she invite me to go home with her? I wouldn’t have said ‘no’. I had never felt the urge to get physical with a woman as quickly as I had with her. It went against my better judgement and moral code, but I was prepared to make an exception for her.

We stood drinking and chatting. She liked to talk, especially about her last relationship. She was totally hung up on her ex-boyfriend. I stood there like a smiling idiot, knowing that the prospect of the relationship I was wanted was diminishing as the hours went by. She just wasn’t emotionally healthy, which was a great shame. Was she The One? Doubts were growing. I did want to have my way with her in bed though, but I kept that desire well hidden.

Our goodbye kiss for the evening happened in the busy tunnels under Clapham Junction station. We kissed sufficiently well, I thought. Our last trains were approaching as we stood on separate platforms. For some reason she chose not to face me, which struck me as a little odd. She knew that I was there. The Model made for a lonely, sad figure on her platform. I felt a little sorry for her because she was so emotionally mixed up. I wasn’t sure that even if she was relationship-ready that we were right for each other. My train arrived and whisked me away from her.

At 11.06pm she sent me the following text message while she was on her train speeding away from the capital:
Thank you my darling! Scabby lips, dodgy forehead and tired…will anything put you off??? Lol. Wonderful evening again…Your a true gent and I really like your company! Xxxxx ps, I still have ur belt tut!! Xxx

Date #4 – The Model that couldn’t wait

I met my dream woman late in the afternoon outside Marble Arch Tube station. Amy was as good looking as her photos, but taller than I expected. I’m six foot two inches tall and she must have been at least five foot nine. I instantly liked the look of her, just like I thought I would. She was exactly the sort of woman that I look at twice (or more) when I’m out in public. She smiled broadly when she saw me and it seemed a genuine smile because her eyes were smiling too. Tall, blonde and beautiful. I couldn’t believe my luck.

It was rush hour and people were scurrying furiously about Oxford Street, so not wanting to be part of the maddened crowd, I suggested that we pop in to a pub that I spotted. Amy was happy to go along with anything I suggested it seemed. We chatted happily and positively over a drink in the pub. She told me that in her teens she had been a model and it didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was that she had been an underwear and lingerie model. Something in my groin stirred. From then on I thought of her as “The Model”.

I had booked us a table at a new restaurant at Piccadilly Circus and after our drink we decided to walk there as it was a warm, dry evening. As we left the pub I noticed a multi-coloured striped flag hanging near the door. Had somebody put that there after we walked in? Joining the pedestrian traffic on Oxford Street, I turned to her and said, “Do you like chicken?”

“Yes. Why?” she replied.

“Take a wing,” I said with a smile and offered her my bent arm. It was a ruse my mother had taught me. It worked.

The Model gave off a little laugh, smiled impishly at me and coupled her arm with mine. Like that we walked and talked our way through the crowds for the mile to the restaurant. I took it as a good sign that she was so quickly comfortable to accept my arm. What struck me more as we walked was the apparent size of her breast that I could feel brushing against my arm. My ex-girlfriend was a double-d and I could tell that The Model was even bigger. Something stirred in my groin.

The restaurant exceeded my expectations in that it was far bigger, more modern, better staffed and had better quality food than its website let on. The atmosphere was lively, but not too noisy and most of the well-dressed patrons seemed to be having pre-theatre dinner before heading off to their show. We were in London’s theatre district that had over a hundred theatres in a mile’s radius of us. The vibe was good. I could tell that my date was suitably impressed. I don’t think she’d have been as impressed if she knew that I had a GroupOn voucher in my pocket.

The Model and I had no difficulty in making conversation. We both lost track of time as we chatted away – and it didn’t matter; we were both enjoying ourselves. We were intellectual equals and made each other think about things. We challenged each other mentally when we strayed in to serious topics. Several times over the course of the evening I thought to myself, “I can’t believe my luck”. I also felt the urge to want to take her to bed and make her scream with pleasure…but that just had to wait.

Eventually the conversation turned to previous relationships. Her history seemed characterised by her propping up unworkable, dysfunctional relationships with weak men until eventually she had to let go and move on. She had only had three relationships and was 37 years old. I found that comforting because I was 41 and had only two relationships behind me.

Perhaps it was the alcohol kicking in, but after a while she started to refer to me as “my darling”, “dearest”, “love” and other such terms of endearment. However, that coupled with her constantly drawing the conversation back to her last boyfriend gave me the distinct impression that she was on the rebound.

I know that I can’t talk, having a lump in my throat every time I thought of Baltic Babe. The difference was that I was forward-looking, while The Model was backward-looking. I was wanting to move on, but she was still in her heart stuck on the previous relationship. That was my outlook at the time on where I was emotionally and I was sticking to it.

“You’re in good shape,” she said, breaking away from her favourite topic.

“Thanks. I go to a gym at least three times a week. How about you?” I asked.

“Me too, but I have to go either very early or very late,” The Model said.

“Why at those times?”

“Well, I don’t want guys staring at me when I’m on a running machine.”

“Because?…”

“Because of these things,” she said, cupping her breasts and jiggling them up and down.

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said, lying through my teeth. (With my eyes open, even after all this time, I can still see her jiggling her chesticles.)

It was late, the restaurant had emptied and the staff looked weary as we finished our second bottle of South African chenin blanc. The Model broached the sexual zone of conversation by telling me a story about an incident when she had locked herself out of a hotel room whilst naked. The thought of her naked…hmm…something stirred again. It was naughty of me perhaps, but I couldn’t help myself, she was just too damn sexy.

I said to her, “Do you have any South African in you?”

“No. Why?” she asked, looking at where the wine was from.

“Would you like some?” I asked coyly, wondering if she would get it.

She got it. She knew I was South African.

The Model smiled, looked around, looked me in the eye and confidently asked,“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that if all these people weren’t around that I’d push everything off the table and take you right here,” I responded, telling her exactly what I had on my mind.

“Hmm, I’d like that,” she said slyly.

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. First, I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth. I had never in my life spoken to a woman like that before. It was totally inappropriate for a first date. It was the drink talking, I swear. Secondly, I couldn’t believe that she wasn’t offended and had actually liked what I said. I was slightly stunned. I decided to recover what I thought was a bad situation.

“I have a no-sex rule for a certain amount of time when it comes to relationships,” I said, thinking quickly, meaning what I was saying. I don’t jump in to bed quickly with someone I don’t have feelings for.

“What? How long are you going to make me wait?!” she blurted out.

My being stunned turned to being shocked.

“Oh, I’ll decide that,” I said as coolly as I knew how. The Model had a look of consternation on her face that I just couldn’t make sense of.

Before the situation got out of hand I suggested that we call it a night. (Me today would play that situation very differently.) She went to the ladies while I took the opportunity to deal with the bill and the Groupon voucher so that she couldn’t see.

We walked arm in arm back to Marble Arch. I offered to get a cab, but she was insistent on walking. I got the impression that she didn’t want the night to end. I was happy to feel her boob bouncing off my arm. She had parked her car in a side-street and I insisted on accompanying her to it. Anybody (or thing) could have been waiting for her. She was very attractive and a weirdo who might have seen her parking would want to lie in wait.

She was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever spoken to. I cannot stress that enough.

Then the problem struck me. How do I say goodbye? A handshake would be so lame. A kiss was in order, but what kind of kiss? A tonsil-tickler would be over the top, but a polite little soft meeting of the lips might be in order. I decided to play safe and pecked her on the cheek. She smiled at that and, in hindsight, seemed a little surprised.

Sitting on the train home I realized that she didn’t once say ‘thank you’ for anything. Hmm. Manners don’t cost anything, but they are worth a lot. Fuck that. I wanted her. Sure, there wasn’t that strange warm feeling at the back of my head after my first date with Baltic Babe, but so what.

At 11.42pm The Model sent me the following text message:
Hello lovely one! Where do I begin? I loved every minute of your company…Amazing, handsome guy (now Mr…do not let that go to your head ok?!). Meal, wine, venue, all wonderful. Sorry if I seemed a little ungrateful that was naughty of me! You must forgive me! I would be delighted to see you again!!! I know its not cool to confess this but I don’t do cool…Friday is free for me if you are, I was going to mention but thought not to put you on the spot…incase u wanted out after a strong dose of my dippyness??? XX