Tag Archives: Career Girl

Protected: Adventure of a lifetime

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Date #49 – The Cockaholic

I’m going to fuck her on our first date then I’ll never see her again! That’s what I’m thinking, that’s what this experience with The Saffa has made me feel entitled to do. Women just use men as playthings, outlets for their issues, solutions for their problems, items on their agenda. They abuse men, not caring for the consequences of their actions, not stopping for an instant to think of the damage they might be doing. That can work both ways.

My date for tonight, a match off Tinder, initiated our text conversation with “Your profile really caught my attention! :)”. It’s always a good sign when a woman initiates communication because it’s a giveaway that she is keen, almost desperate to meet. Of course she might be saying that to all the boys.

Her profile has no words and four pictures, one of them used twice. In one of her pictures there is a hint of decent breastage. Her hair is a light brown and not the typical blonde that I go for; I thought it time for some variety. She’s adequately pretty and in one of her photos she’s the tallest of a group of women. I’ve never fucked a tall chick; it’s been on my Fuckit List for a while.

I responded courteously and asked where she was. To my great relief she was in the next town over; nice and convenient if anything were to come of us. I suggested that we meet up and she quickly replied accepting this and offering to come over to my town. I suggested a good pub and cheekily offered to let her park at my apartment complex; the latter touch being a practical convenience for me as it would be easier to lure her back to my shag-pad.

She made a comment about being nervous, which I allayed. My experience tells me that she’s recently out of a long-term relationship, still a little cut up about it, has decided to go dating driven by her friends nagging her to “get out there”. No doubt someone said to her, “the best way to get over someone is to get onto someone else”. My gut tells me that she’s this type. I’m expecting her to be skittish in the beginning, therefore I must play it cool and let her warm to me.

First we’ll go to the pub, I’ll ply her with alcohol then I’ll get her back to my place on the pretext of watching Californication. After the second episode I’ll make my move and kiss her…then see what happens.

I have no real idea what to expect her to be like as her profile is blank. She could be everything that I don’t want. However, I feel that if she is attractive enough to me, I’ll try to fuck her tonight. She’s taken up my offer of parking out in front of my apartment block which also makes things so much easier seeing her off in the morning. For all I know she’s just out to get laid. Given her eager interactions so far I’m expecting this might be the case.

She reminds me of Wild Child of last year: lots of energy, chasing her tail in her own little bubble, but not relationship material. When it gets down to being physical is when she is likely to withdraw. Another woman she reminds me of so far is Krazy Girl – very keen to meet me. If she’s more like the latter then we’ll fuck on the first date, which would be new territory for me.

All that from just a few text messages? I’m probably wrong, but we’ll see.

She arrives on time just as it’s getting dark and I meet her in my car park, approaching her from the side. Her luxury German sports car looks out of place here. She doesn’t spot me approaching as I eye her up and down. Not as attractive as I would like, but good enough to fuck. I startle her with my “hello” and she backs away from me, but a few laughs later and we are smiling at each other. She is tall with the top of her head being in line with my chin, but she is wearing high heels.

From the speed and tone of her speech it’s clear that she is nervous, so I decide to calm her down by doing the talking initially. As we walk I get a good, positive vibe off her and we maintain eye contact for very healthy amounts of time. In the past, when dates have been uninterested in me they have usually avoided eye contact.

We walk into the pub where I had lunch with my Exgf yesterday. (More about that another time.) I lead her to a comfy leather sofa in a quiet corner away from the noisy crowd who are jostling for attention, like peacocks fluffing out their feathers hoping to attract a mate. I’ve got mine for the night, now it’s just a matter of slowly seducing her.

I lean back on my side of the sofa, our knees are almost touching. My adopting the passive-disinterested attitude from the outset leads to her sitting erect in her seat, paying rapt attention to my every word. She smiles continuously and I start to think of her as ‘The Smiler’. She laughs heartily at my weakest of jokes and I’m not sure whether this is out of nervousness or genuine appreciation. I don’t think it really matters because we have, after all, matched on Tinder where physical attraction is everything.

“So what exactly about my profile caught your attention?” I ask, doing a bit of research and also reminding her what she likes about me, ramping up the sexual tension.

“Your height. I like tall men,” she answers, her hands laced over each other, resting in her lap on new blue jeans.

Yes, she looks quite submissive. I can just imagine her naked in my lounge, squatting with her hands like that over her bare knees, her nipples erect, her eyes pleading as she opens her mouth and I feed her my cock.

“What else do you like about tall men?” I ask, flirting dangerously.

“Oh, you know,” she replies with a naughty smile and twinkle in her eye.

“No, I don’t . How about you tell me,” I coax, knowing full-well the effect of my words.

“I can’t do that here,” she answers, feigning indignation, her eyes darting towards the crowd.

“Where do you want to tell me?” I tease.

In her head I can just hear her brain saying “somewhere private”. I want her thinking about being private with me. First seed planted.

She’s silent and blinking at me while smiling. Good, she isn’t offended. I think her nipples must be hardening.

“Would you like a drink?” I offer.

“Yes, a cider is my favourite” she says.

“Mine too,” I say and I go get us our drinks.

The Smiler must be thirsty because she finishes half of her pint in two quick gulps. I’ve just had a sip, but it’s deliberate. As part of my plan for tonight I’ll get her slightly drunk which will lower her barriers and increase the likelihood of her spreading her legs for me.

We talk some more, I direct the topics making sure that they’re positive ones so as to set her at ease. By the time she’s finished her pint she’s also sitting back in her seat more relaxed, so much so that she has let her knees come forward and they’re resting against the side of my thigh. I don’t know if it’s deliberate or inadvertent but that all-important physical barrier has been breached. Getting a woman to be touch me first is a massive step towards the bedroom or lounge floor or back seat of a car.

Like so many of my dates she is a high-powered business professional. What I’ve learned is that such women use sex as a release from the stresses of their working life. Making decisions all day, every day leads to them wanting a man to take charge, to tell them what to do and they will gratefully, willingly comply. What’s a woman like her who can afford the most expensive of dating sites, a proper match-making service even, doing on Tinder? It just has to be for the sex. This date gets better by the minute.

Smiler is now becoming quite chatty and tells me that this is her first foray into dating in over two years. In my hands she is like a lamb to the slaughter. Inside my head I laugh to myself because this is almost too easy while at the same time I squirm out of guilt because of my intent. The bonus is likely to be that she is ravenous for cock. To quote one of my favourite comedians, “Her pussy is so disused it might be haunted.”

As time slips away and her laughter becomes more dirty and it dawns on me that I am now the smooth operator that I spied on a date more than a year ago with The Matron.

Back then I would never countenance doing what I am planning to tonight. Have I grown or degraded through online dating? Right now I think it’s the latter, but I don’t care. Love seems like a fool’s errand and the best that is on offer for me is the slippery, warm comfort of a new lover’s body under me.

Smiler finishes another cider while I’m still nursing mine which is now room temperature, almost as warm as the pub. The air is clammy with restrained excitement, testosterone and oestrogen as around us lonely, horny people find their target for the night and subtly makes their desire known. I watch as people with wedding rings make their illicit bargains with strangers and then leave. There are going to be several cars left overnight in the car park. The devil in me wants to come back in the morning and let the air out their tyres, but I reckon I’ll be pre-occupied then.

It’s time to close my own deal.

“What colour are your eyes?” I ask, remembering this ruse from my first date with Career Girl.

“They’re blue,” she says, as if I hadn’t noticed.

“I can’t see. Come closer,” I respond.

Smiler sits upright and leans slightly forward. I can see clearly, like I have been able to all night.

“I still can’t see, come closer,” I say, not moving in my seat.

She comes closer and our noses are almost touching, she’s struggling to keep her balance without falling onto me.

“Closer…” I whisper.

She smiles just before our lips touch. We kiss lightly, then tenderly, then more firmly. Yes, it’s good kiss, so she’s going to be a good lay. Second seed planted and it’s time to escalate.

I pull my head back and, as I expect, she has her eyes closed. They flicker to life, telling me that she wants more. Oh, I’ll give you more, more than you’re perhaps expecting. She smiles, leans slightly back and looks satisfied with herself. I wonder who’s playing who here? No, I’m in charge. This is my one-night stand.

“It’s getting late. How about we call it a night?” I say, spotting a look of confusion on her face as her latest smile disappears.

“Oh, okay,” is all she says as she gropes the sofa for her handbag, keeping her eyes on me.

My seemingly abruptly ending the encounter I know catches her by surprise. It’s deliberate because I want to knock her out any sense of safety that she is now feeling with me. I want her to feel suddenly off-balance and unsure as to what is going on, then I’ll lead her along the path I want her to follow. Third seed in place.

“Do you like chicken?” I ask as we leave the pub and get hit by cool, fresh air.

“Yes, why?” she counters.

“Better take a wing then,” I say, offering her my arm.

Smiler first guffaws, then bends over slightly as she laughs, laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard before coupling up with me.

So easy, it’s all so easy.

Now for the acid-test moment, that instant when it’s make-or-break for my plan. It’s time to harvest the seeds.

As we approach the car park outside my apartment complex, I stop, we uncouple arms, she stops and turns to me.

“You know that show, Californication, I was telling you about earlier? Fancy watching the first two episodes with me?” I ask and swallow hard, biting my lower lip.

Smiler thinks about it, she’s no fool, she knows what can happen. She looks at her car.

“Your car will be okay,” I say and then take a step away from her towards my home, my sofa, my footstool that is waiting for her.

She hesitates, smiles impishly and then steps towards me.

To be continued…

Monday morning blues & why Love?

It strikes me as odd the coincidences that have befallen my dating/love life of late. On Monday morning I sat down and wrote about the weekend with Musician Gal. As I was sitting reading what I had written I was filled with a sense of anger and disappointment. Then I realised that the way forward for me was now clear: I could explore where things could lead with Career Girl. Just then a text message arrived from Career Girl.

Was doing some soul searching while I was away – something you asked last week got me thinking….about if I have time for a relationship right now? I think maybe it’s not the right time. I’m sorry.

My heavy heart plumbed new depths. I had forgotten having put this question to her and now it had backfired on me. I had asked her this because she seemed to have a busy work and social life. I took some time to digest this latest blow before I answered as follows:

Having taken the morning to digest your message…I understand…I appreciate your candour. I do like you and I like how I feel when we’re together. I would have liked to see where things could have led with you. I’m in no hurry to be in a relationship, so if at some point down the road… X

Career Girl responded swiftly with:

Thank you. I just felt I wasn’t being fair to you at the moment. I will get in touch if things change. Look after yourself x

Her comment about “she’s not being fair to me” made no sense in it’s context. It bothered me for several days, but I took a long hard look at that and am pretty sure that there was someone else on the scene who she preferred to me. Nevertheless, her having a brain aneurysm will have put the brakes on my ability to truly develop feelings for her. How things turned out was probably for the best.

I felt deflated for several days, but managed to laugh at how quickly the tables had been turned on me. In the space of twelve hours two prospects became none, for the second time in less than six months. At times it has felt like I’m on the verge of finding and being with Her, only for it to be snatched away from in front of my face.

Moments of reflection began in which I tried to understand why such a promising start with Musician Gal turned out like it did. I came to the conclusion that Musician Gal was out to catch a man with money to make her dream lifestyle become a reality. On our weekend together she had started to play her dangerous game of using sex as a weapon, a lever to exact power over a man. It seemed her modus operandi was to create a connection with a man in the early dates then switched to trying to play him. She was trying to use me. I have no time for a woman like that.

I started to wonder just what percentage of women regard men as an adversary. Just how many women see a relationship as an exercise in balance of power? A mechanism to get what they want. When a little girl is told that boys are physically stronger, what percentage then begin to crave power over boys?

I don’t want to be with someone whose motives I’m constantly wondering about. The woman for me has only one motive: love.

I got thinking about love.

Why do we pursue love? Why do almost all of us want it?

I blame your mother.

I blame my mother too.

In fact, I contend that all mothers are to blame.

We grow up feeling loved by our mothers and most of us by our fathers too. That love is part and parcel of everyday life and we take it for granted. As teenagers we start to wean ourselves off it and, without realizing it, we start to to look to others to provide it…and that’s when the custard hits the fan and it all goes wrong from then on.

Our parents’ love is unconditional and nothing like what the fruits of another couple’s drunken quickie at Xmas can provide. (I wonder what percentage of the populace are Virgos? Wait, I checked and it’s the second-most prevalent. Yes, I’m a Virgo too.)

As we evolve into adults we develop our own notions of what love is. Ask any room full of teenagers, hell, adults even, what love is and you’ll struggle to find an universally held idea. Each person has their own outlook on love.

No wonder we can’t find it!

What we have in our heads and hearts is unique to us and finding an exact match is almost impossible.

One of my favourite definitions of love is: “Love is seeing an imperfect person perfectly and then choosing as well allowing yourself to feel affection for them.”

I’ve never been one for compromising. I’ve always thought that compromise is for people who don’t know how to get what they want. However, when it comes to love, pragmatism is called for. The German Shrink’s words of “people don’t know what’s good enough” is still in my head and changing in significance.

As young adults we are far removed from the above definition and invariably stumble from one pointless fumble in the dark to another, all in an effort to find what we think we are missing, unknowingly all the time acquiring the life skills and experiences that, if we are lucky, delivers us eventually at the above outcome.

How unfortunate it is that, once we are in the adult world, we feel that something is missing or lacking. It is that feeling from our parent’s homes that we took for granted. Unthinkingly we are compelled to replace what we feel has been lost; to fill that void. We go in search of it, not entirely sure what it is, but we’ll know it when we find it. Is it not surprising then that it takes so long for most people to find someone that they have a relationship with? Some people are so desperate that they become involved with anybody. Witness people you know who have become embroiled in a patently doomed relationship with someone totally unsuitable.

It doesn’t shock me at all to hear people moan about how hard online dating is. The reality is that it’s not the mechanism to blame, but that society is seeing itself in a clearer light and it doesn’t sit well. In my experience it is especially women who complain about online dating. I think women are handicapped more than men when it comes to love and how it comes about.

In my experience women are brainwashed into the fantasy of being rescued by a knight in shining armour who will sweep down from the hills, pull her onto his steed and together escape her unsatisfying life and head due West to the setting sun where never-ending happiness awaits them. Most women cling to the fantasy over the best years of their lives and when going dating are hoping, expecting even, that elements of this much-cherished fantasy play out in the correct sequence with them being the stars of their own soap opera with a happy ending.

Men don’t have this debilitating baggage that they drag around with them. Nope, we have something entirely different to deal with. I believe that the vast majority of men are looking for a mother figure. They want a feeling that makes them feel secure and it’s that insecurity that drives some men to become control freaks and even worse, wife-beaters and stalkers.

Men and women are insecure and all that differs is the degree. This gets mixed up with love and complicates the relationship between a man and woman. In my experience a woman will deal with insecurity by providing sex, in the belief that giving a man that will lead to him making her feeling more secure. It doesn’t, but the irony is that sex is what makes most men feel secure.

I put forth then that we want love because it makes us feel secure. On the back of that sense of security we find a strength that enables us to deal with everything else that life throws at us. It is not unusual to find a highly-educated, intelligent, capable young man or woman whose life is malfunctioning and they will tell you that it is because nobody loves them.

Yes, there are the old cliches about having someone who understands us, that love makes us happy, yes love comes with physical intimacy, yes there is the thought of children that can stem from love and of course you’ve heard that it’s a basic need. However, those platitudes mask something far more profound.

Love helps make us the best person we can be and deep down we know this.

For me, love is what makes life worthwhile. One of my greatest character flaws is that I am not a selfish person; I’m a very giving person. That doesn’t mean that I’m weak, grovelling and co-dependent. It means I derive pleasure from giving what I can to someone else whom I value; keeping everything for myself is empty and pointless. It’s one of life’s best feelings to give something to somebody who really needs it and especially appreciates it. To be in a relationship in which you both give your all to each other, without hesitation and reservation because that’s how you both are…god, that must be heaven on earth.

For the record, I believe in love. I think it’s the best thing that life has to offer.

‘To love someone is nothing. To have someone love you is something. To love someone who loves you is everything.’

I know that She exists, the woman I am meant to spend my life with. I know that one day I will find Her. I don’t care how many more woman I have to date until I find Her. I don’t care how many more pretenders, manipulators, oddballs, misfits or deranged women I have to meet until I find Her.

She will be worth it.

Kodaline – All I Want (with lyrics)

Interesting second date with Musician Gal

It was drizzling while I stood waiting outside the building where Musician Gal worked. It was 6pm and people were scurrying home, either carrying umbrellas or being fleet-footed, all with shoulders haunched, as if that would make any difference. I was excited about seeing Musician Gal again. Over the course of the day we had swapped text messages and had agreed to play the evening by ear, wandering where we felt like and doing what we felt like as the moment took us and the soggy weather allowed. I was looking forward to seeing how well we played together, having to suggest and then agree on something.

I’m also imbued with a sense of relief that Scots Lass, whom I’d met only hours earlier, was not The One. I had been curious about her, but now that she is as good as forgotten, I can focus on tonight’s date with Musician Gal. My thoughts are plagued though by Career Girl; what am I going to do about her? One woman at a time, I keep telling myself.

Musician Gal eventually came out of her building at 6.15, smartly dressed in a grey suit with colourful scarf. She was smiling and seemed pleased to see me. Once her frilly umbrella was opened, we huddled under it and she leaned on my arm. We walked towards the National Theatre on the Southbank, slowly carving our way through the rush-hour hordes – ‘the sheeple’ – as she called them. She had a bar in mind that she wanted to show me. It was part of the National Theatre building, but it was not obvious to find as only a nondescript office-door entrance led to it. Once inside it was a pleasant, modern venue, the atmosphere happily buzzing with theatre-goers having a meal and a drink before their show. We found a booth and waiter service promptly appeared. We ordered a cocktail for her and a cider for me. We sat side by side in the booth and settled in to making small talk. Our conversation was positive and upbeat. She was quite an excitable person and that was before our drinks arrived. I guess it was her ADHD on show.

A couple of elderly men came over to us and asked if they could share the booth with us as the place was full. I was enjoying having the booth to ourselves so that we could hear each other. I wanted to keep it that way and in an instant decided to dismiss their request politely but firmly. Before I could say a word Musician Gal took charge of the situation and shooed them away with little ceremony, which they did not appreciate, given their mutterings. Musician Gal was an alpha female, but this didn’t bother me. Being with women who are timid and weak gets to be a drag very quickly if I’m having to initiate, organise, say and do every little thing.

We were both getting hungry and the drinks had gone down easily. As we were leaving, it was obvious to me what the path to the exit was and I went that way. Musician Gal was convinced it was another way and she separated from me. I knew I was right and kept going the correct route and through a dividing glass panel I could see her reach a dead-end in the restaurant. I waited for her to catch up to me, musing over her being headstrong, wondering if this was a sign of trouble ahead. I knew that she had not seen enough of me to trust my judgement, so I thought nothing of it. Musician Gal caught up to me, making a pithy excuse about what had happened. I said nothing and we made our way out on to the Southbank with her leaning heavily on my arm, hobbling more than earlier.

Intent on finding somewhere good to eat, we investigated a few of the dining options available to us. The rush-hour crowds had disappeared and the rain had abated. It was getting dark and I was getting hungry. The obvious choice of restaurants to my mind was a prominent pizzeria. Someone (probably another date) had told me that they did good pizzas in there, so I was curious to find out. Musician Gal wasn’t satisfied with this and we milled about looking at other places, which annoyed my hunger pangs a bit. Eventually she agreed that the pizzeria was the best option so we ended up back there.

She went off to the ladies, I ordered us drinks and when she returned we chose and ordered our pizzas. After some small talk about food and wine (one of her favourite topics) we got down to some serious talking. She described to me how she wanted her future to be. In great detail she told me how she wanted to be married and living in a house in the countryside somewhere, anywhere, as long as it had a good sized garden, preferably with a stream as one of it’s boundaries. There would be a dog and a cat involved.

“I would like to spend my days baking, cooking, sewing, making hats and jewellery. In the evenings we would sit in a hammock and drink wine. I wouldn’t go off to work unless I wanted to,” she says to me.

This last stipulation made me wonder if she was looking for a man with money. Musician Gal was obviously in the mood for some brutal honesty and started telling me about her previous relationships. This involved no prompting on my part and I was pleased by this unsolicited display of honesty. I took it to mean that she was taking me seriously and was wanting to lay her cards on the table.

She recounted a plethora of relationships and flings, all of which seemed very short-lived, but I made no comment on this for fear of seeming judgemental, so I just listened. Her longest relationship had lasted 5 years, which seems to be the norm nowadays. My last relationship had lasted that long too.

Of all the details she provided, the following story typifies what she told me. She met a colonel in the army. They saw each other for 6 months, but did not have sex in that time. He was posted to Afghanistan for a brief period in that time, after which he took her away on holiday twice. Once was to Australia and Singapore, with the second being South Africa. They stayed in hotels together, slept in the same bed and did not once make love. She says that towards the end of their time together, he proposed to her, but she was not inclined to say yes. This wasn’t the only story she told me that involved “seeing” someone for many months, but never actually made love.

What the fuck? Who does that?! What was she playing at? I didn’t ask her to elaborate, largely because I was mildly stunned and confused by this behaviour trait. I couldn’t help but wonder if she would do that with me.

The conversation moved on to more mundane topics and we’re having fun again. Banter flows like a wild river and we make each other laugh. Before we knew it we were the last patrons in the restaurant and staff were loudly closing up. We left and entered a darkened London, the Thames air cool and few people about. I walked her to London Bridge Station and in it’s cavernous concourse we found a quiet corner where we kissed like teenagers. She made negative comments about my light stubble giving her a rash, but I laughed this off. We bade our farewells and went to our respective platforms.

On the train home I mulled over the events, confessions rather, of the evening. Her relationship style and history didn’t sit too well with me, but given my shenanigans of the past year, I couldn’t get judgemental. I appreciated her honesty. She seemed quite headstrong and I could see us having blazing fights. Nevertheless I still wanted to see more of her and get to know her. There was a serious prospect of a relationship with her and I was excited about that. Yes, I wanted to fuck her, dodgy knee and all. So doggy-style was out of the question. No big deal, lots of positions in my repertoire. There is no way that a normal man, let alone a man like me, would want to have a relationship with a woman that he did not find attractive. That lust factor just has to be there and with Musician Gal it’s there, along with that elusive electric chemistry.

When I got home she had sent me a text message which read:

Fabulous evening, handsome man. Hope you didn’t have too much of a trek home? I would love to be lying on your chest right now xxx

During the date we had made a plan to get together on the coming weekend. It was my town’s farmer’s market on the Sunday and I wanted to do my usual cooking-for-a-woman thing. Career Girl was away for work the coming weekend so I decided to speed things up and my text message read:

The market is only on on the Sunday. Naughty idea: I come and fetch you Saturday, saving your knee for a stroll. That night I make you a risotto. I introduce you to Californication, which you will want to watch all night. When tired you slump against me, my cue to carry you to bed. I wrap my arms around you to keep you safe and warm. We do not make love. In the morning we get to the market early and then I or we prepare what we bought. The weekend ends with me driving you home in my sports car…what you reckon? How does that sound?

Her response: “Super!!!! Xxx

I was totally sincere about not making love on our first night together. I can and have done that. I did, however, want to make love to her and was thinking it would be on the Sunday at some point. On the Thursday I sent her my “converter message”, the one that ramps up the sexual tension to breaking point for a woman, the one that ends “…I reckon you taste sweeter than you realize...”

I was blown away by her response which arrived 23 minutes later.

I’m looking forward to the hugs, lying in your strong embrace and feeling the power of your body which essentially does it for me; I love the power of man. Get it right and I’ll be putty in your hands. Ps warning: I am not a morning person. Meow! X

Snow Patrol – In My Arms

Choosing between two women & a present from Career Girl

I have to choose between two women…again. Last time it was between Tech Titan and Baltic Babe. Today each woman involved is remarkable and in different ways. I can see myself having a very enjoyable relationship with either but again in very different ways. Career Girl is calm and thoughtful, a deep passion, while Musician Gal is fiery and lively, wearing her heart on her sleeve. Which suits me better? I really don’t know.

It’s a dreary Monday morning in September. Sweet, blessed rain is drifting down, nourishing thirsty flora. My soul feels rejuvenated because I have found not one, but two people that I sense I can have many good years with. I feel excited and guilty at the same time. I’m also surprised and annoyed at the sudden and simultaneous wealth of prospects before me. It’s almost unfair that I have to choose.

What makes it worse is that tomorrow I am meeting a third woman that I have been wanting to meet. Am I being greedy? Am I deluding myself that any of these women are suitable? Am I seeing what is actually before me instead of possibly being carried away on a self-induced tidal wave of emotion? How does one know?

Yesterday was my birthday. I was 21 for a second time. I haven’t had much time to reflect on all that has happened between that first 21st and the latest one. I do know without a shadow of a doubt that it has been one helluva roller-coaster ride, this unpredictable life of mine. It looks set to continue in that fashion while I yearn for a stable, loving relationship that will last the rest of my life.

My birthday was marked by spending it with my ex-girlfriend. We have become the best of friends with benefits in my mind, but I know that she wants more – she wants we had before. It all comes out when she asks me questions about other women that I have dated in the past year. I give totally truthful answers, as is my way, but it always leads to her having a tear in each eye…once even with my cock in her mouth. She seems to get some kind of perverse kick out of asking me for intimate details of my sexual encounters with other women whilst we are enjoying each other. It’s like emotional self-flagellation for her, but she did always have a pleasure-pain thing going on. Nowadays it seems to include her emotions too.

Is my shenanigans with my Exgf muddying my mind? Should I cut her loose, for her sake and mine? I don’t want to hurt her, but until I find someone that I want to commit to, it’s hard to ignore the fantastic sex. The bizarre thing is that, since we have started seeing each other again, our sexual escapades are better than when we were living together. It’s not lovemaking, it’s pure, unadulterated lust that comes with a strange sense of freedom to it, unencumbered by emotion, devoid of meaning.

I know that the soundtrack in her mind is playing Elton John’s “Sorry seems to be the hardest word”, while in my mind I hear Stevie Wonder’s “For once in my life”. Not once has she apologised for the things that she did, so it makes it easier for me to do the things I’ve done with her. All good things come to an end and I know that the time to downgrade our relationship to non-fucking friends is approaching fast. I suspect that she senses it too.

I really don’t want to hurt anybody. I perhaps should be more selfish and just unthinkingly have the time of my life, with a seemingly endless supply of interested women at my disposal. My conscience will not permit that. Doing the right thing and doing it right is the legacy that I will carry forward with me. I have to tread carefully with all these women.

Career Girl and I have kept in touch via WhatsApp while she’s been away, swapping several messages each night and a few short ones in the morning. She seemed to want to get to know me via a phone, asking countless questions but I wasn’t too keen on this and only went along with it to a degree. I want to answer her probing questions in person as I feel that’s more fun. I tried to keep the topics light, asking about her day and more about her family, but she wanted to know more about my past relationships. Career Girl is obviously taking me seriously as a potential suitor. I think she might have found it easy to ask the things she did while feeling secure behind a device.

So much of communication is non-verbal, but I did enjoy swapping messages with her. She obviously did too because we would “chat” until well past midnight; one night it was 2.30 AM her time when we said good night. Only once did I try to turn the conversation sexual, an attempt on my part to test her mores and her response was frosty. I wasn’t disappointed but admired her strength of character. I got a warm fuzzy feeling over the top of my brain a few times while texting with her. We definitely have a chemistry of sorts.

When Career Girl got back, I phoned her and we had a pleasant chat. I felt good after speaking to her, but tinged with guilt because I know that here is someone else in the picture. However, for all I know, she has a small following of admirers too.

Musician Gal and I have been swapping WhatsApp messages while she’s been in New York. It’s been a very different exchange with her; upbeat, energetic, positive and more fun. Her words have given me the impression that I’m on her mind often each day. Every couple of hours she sends me a message or a photo. I’m not entirely sure if it’s just her ADHD on show. I need more dates with her to know her better.

It’s a rainy Monday night as I drive up to Career Girl’s apartment; we’re going out for dinner. I alert her to my presence, expecting her to invite me into her place but instead she comes out to meet me. She’s smartly dressed and smiles broadly at me as we kiss each other hello. I’m struck by her shimmering hair; silky fine and light in weight as I cup her face to kiss her mouth.

“Tonight’s on me, it’s a belated birthday present,” she says with her eyes wide.

“Okay, what’s the plan?”

“Can we go in your car because I don’t think you’ll fit in mine?”

“Sure, no problem,” I answer relieved at not having to look like a gorilla in a small car being driven by a smallish woman. I look around the car park and spot a tiny Fiat 500 in which my knees would have touched my chin.

We drive into the town centre and Career Girl won’t tell me where we’re going. She directs me to park in a central public car park and we start walking…and walking…in the rain. The wind is constantly catching my umbrella that I’m trying to hold over her while I get wet. I try and make light of the situation but inwardly I’m becoming annoyed at having parked so far away from wherever the hell we’re going. Eventually we arrive at a pub on the outskirts of the town. The pub’s car park is almost empty; I’m annoyed. I take this as an indication that she’s not the most practical person, which in itself is not a show-stopper because few people are more practical than me. If we are to have a relationship then that’s what I’ll contribute.

We sit down to a surprisingly good pub meal; Career Girl certainly has good taste in eateries. Conversation is initially light and centres on her trip with her family which she paid for. I can see that she’s a generous person and tonight some of that generosity is coming my way. I still struggle to let a woman buy me a meal and I think it’s largely because all my life I have seen myself as the provider in a relationship. It’s novel to let a woman treat me but I’m still not totally comfortable with it.

As I expected she turns the conversation serious and starts asking me about my ex-wife and ex-girlfriend. I can see that she wants to know why these relationships came to an end, so I tell her. Career Girl is particularly shocked at my Exgf’s spying on me.

Sitting talking with her is a pleasant experience. She’s calm, measured, intelligent and ladylike. I draw some kind of comfort from that and it also appeals to my naughty side as I do like to seduce a classy woman; it makes me feel powerful as a man.

Without my asking Career Girl reciprocates by telling me about her past relationships. They seem to be characterised by older men having a problem with her status in the workplace and her earning power. I’m not sure if these guys were immature or egotistical but it makes me wonder if it might turn out like that for me too. I’d like to think not but I’ve never even met a woman who earns as much as she does.

As she talks I sit wondering if she can handle me physically. Could sex with me kill her? I can get rough and she does have a brain aneurysm, so it’s not impossible. I have to know and when she’s finished talking about the guy who walked out on her when she was diagnosed, I seize the opportunity.

“Tell me something, do you think that sex could be fatal given your condition?”

“It’s as dangerous as anything else I do. I certainly hope not. I do enjoy sex, a lot in fact,” she says with a naughty smile and a twinkle in her eye.

Was she just hinting that she’d like to have sex with me soon? Tonight even? I wasn’t expecting that, but if she’s horny then I might have to. If I spurn her then she’ll get upset. I know, if she invites me into her place later then I’ll see how far she wants to take matters. Game on!

When we get back to her place she does indeed invite me in. Her home is spacious, modern, elegant and very expensively furnished. The centrepiece is the cream and white lounge with a very large sofa in the middle of the room. I can just imagine us fucking on it. Hmm, there is a bit of electricity between us.

“Can I make you a coffee? Milk and one sugar, right?” she says.

I’m impressed that she’s been paying that kind of attention. I go seat myself on the sofa, positioning myself for what might be coming in a little while. Should we make love tonight? I’m not sure, but if she wants then I’m up for it. If she just wants to fool around a little then have me leave, then that’s okay with me too. I’m in no hurry; I had good sex yesterday. That’s the benefit of having a fuckbuddy, I’m not spoiling matters with a prospect because I’m horny.

Career Girl returns with a coffee, looks at where I’m sitting and smiles to herself. It’s an enigmatic smile that makes me wonder if she remembering the men who used to sit here or it’s her seat or she’s thinking what I’m thinking. She sits down next to me and starts showing me pictures on her phone from her trip last week. I can’t see much but am getting excited by the feeling of her against me. As the minutes go by she lets herself slump against me and it feels good. She’s like a cat curled up against me, seeking warmth and succour. Career Girl is slender and toned, the top of her head barely touches my chin. I can easily pick her up and manhandle her. I think she’ll like that, but I must remember to be gentle with her because of her condition. Will I remember to do that in the midst of passion? I have my doubts; occasionally I’ll forget.

We start kissing, slowly, tenderly and it feels good. She closes her eyes and revels in it. I’m still not sure why women love kissing so much. It probably goes back to caveman times but I don’t know what’s behind it. All I know is that women expect it and if done properly makes them juicy. It’s not my favourite thing but I do it as much as a woman needs to get her turned on.

It isn’t long before I’ve taken her top and bra off. I don’t look at her breasts but steadfastly maintain eye-contact with her. Career Girl lies with her back on my lap and I start kissing her body. She has perfect, unblemished white skin that I lightly run my fingertips over. She closes her eyes and drops her head down. That can’t be good for her brain I think to myself as I start kissing her body. Her one arm slumps down toward the ground resulting in her a-cup breasts pointing more upward.

Her nipples are hard and erect, the areola small and tight as I lick around them. She lets off sounds of approval as I gently suck a very pink nipple into my mouth. I suck the the rest of the breast into my mouth and run my tongue around the nipple. It’s very easy to suck the other breast into my mouth as I pleasure her. I’m learning that smaller-breasted women feel more with their breasts. It’s as if there is a limited amount of sensors allocated to each woman and as her breasts grow her ability to derive pleasure diminishes. My Exgf has g-cup breasts and she can’t feel much, but that might also be from all the mouths that have sucked on them and all the cocks that have fucked them.

In the moment it occurs to me that last night I was watching a woman fucking herself with a champagne bottle and tonight I’m sucking on another woman’s breasts. Is this really my life?

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight,” Career Girl says, abruptly raising herself off me and reaching for her blouse.

I say nothing, somewhat relieved that we’re only going this far tonight. She checks my face for signs of disappointment, but I’m not feeling anything like that so she’s puzzled by my poker-face. Secretly I’m impressed by her self-control.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Oh, by the way, I have a company away weekend this weekend, so I’ll only be able to see you next week again,” she says.

Now that I’m disappointed to hear and I think my face shows it. I want to see her again and soon, but I say nothing because there’s no use in complaining, besides that comes across as needy which is something that puts women off. I thank her for my birthday present that was the dinner in the pub. We hug and it feels good; she fits me perfectly. A final kiss good night leads to her giving me a wonderful smile.

I drive home feeling pleased and befuddled. I really like her but her brain condition is a factor in almost everything we do. Being with her feels so good, it’s a shame that she isn’t perfectly healthy. I need more time to think about this.

Tomorrow lunchtime I’m meeting someone entirely new and then in the evening it’s Musician Gal.

I don’t know which is the stronger emotion: guilt or excitement.

How am I going to choose?!

Ballyhoo – Man On The Moon

Date #32 – The Kiwi

The day after Career Girl’s bombshell I decide to create options for myself while deciding what to do about her. A national newspaper has a dating section on their website, so I set up my usual well-tested profile which allows me to trawl through their database of eager, innocent faces. It proves to be a treasure trove of new women whom I’ve not seen on any of the other dating sites that I’ve used in the past year. There are more than a dozen women whom I’d like to meet, but I need to be a subscriber to make contact. I decide to see who contacts me first because it might be a stale database; you only see when last someone was active if you are a subscriber.

The next morning I see that I had 1200 views and 42 emails overnight! Holy shit, I’ve hit a gold mine! I don’t know where to start. A quick review of who has written to me reveals that the usual majority of messages are from chain-smoking single mothers who are recently separated, dependent on state benefits and who live nowhere near me. I have better things to do with my time than to answer their messages; if I answer one it’s only fair that I answer all, so I answer none.

I’m seeing that there’s a Rule of Fours at play when it comes to online dating. One in four emails that I send off get a response. One in four of responses leads to a date. One in four dates leads to sex. So far none have lead to love. Maybe I’ve been using the wrong dating sites and now I’ve stumbled into a Nirvana of smooth pussies and golden hearts? I subscribe so quickly that my credit card feels dizzy.

An almost 6 foot tall blonde New Zealander stands out because of her looks and words. Her witty narrative is one of a cultured, well-travelled woman who knows what she wants and has to offer. I like decisiveness in a woman; it’s a remnant of my ex-wife’s inability to decide over the smallest of things. The Kiwi’s three photos are all of an enigmatic toothless smile, but there is a mischievous sparkle to her eyes.

The only thing that grates a little is that The Kiwi is three years older than me, but that’s not a deal-breaker for me. As I’ve grown older the notion of being with a woman slightly older than me has become less of an issue. As a younger man I steadfastly believed that ‘my woman’ just has to be younger than me. It seemed the natural order, but my Exgf was a year older and the age gap – a perception more than a reality – was never a problem of any kind. What I’m not sure of is at what point does an age-gap become a problem?

The Kiwi and I quickly engage in positive email ping-pong and agree to meet up on the coming Saturday. I’ve spent too many nights swapping emails with women who never really want to meet up. If a woman wants to meet me, she’ll agree to this sooner rather than later. Any hesitation or excuses and I move on. I’m learning that there are women who enjoy the attention of men, like to feel pursued, want to feel like the centre of the dating world, but ultimately are not ready for a relationship. Well, at least not the kind of relationship that I want, i.e. long-term, loving, caring, sharing, supportive…and the best sex I’ve ever had.

Could The Kiwi be the One?

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m making my way into London to meet The Kiwi. My blood feels electric because of all that has happened in the last few days. On Tuesday I had a pleasant date with Career Girl until she hit me with her bombshell, so I’m still not sure what to do about her. To gain a sense of perspective joining another dating site has led to a deluge of potential matches for me. I’ve been swapping messages with several women and the first date from all this is about to happen.

I get to King’s Cross Station to find that the Northern Line is closed all weekend for repairs so I have to jump in a cab to get me to Highgate where The Kiwi has suggested we meet. I hate being late and a bus would have taken forever; I don’t want to start the date badly. My eyes grow bigger as I watch the meter in the taxi rocket out of control. To make matters worse I discover that I have almost no cash on me. I pay the cabbie with a credit card and reflect on the fact that this date has not started well for me. It was about to get worse.

I’m a few minutes late as I stroll around the beer garden of a famous pub, looking for The Kiwi. It’s a beautiful sunny day, perfect for an al fresco date; I’m looking forward to this. By process of elimination I figure out that a woman sitting under an awning by herself reading a paperback must be her.

Oh fuck! Not again! Just how old were those photos?! Why do women insist on doing this?!

Her facial features and frame are her, but The Kiwi looks a lot older than her photos let on. Her wrinkles are pronounced and her salt-n-pepper hair colour – not the lustrous blonde of her pictures – is perhaps a lame attempt to camouflage her grey hairs. She is dressed smartly in new blue jeans, a silky white blouse and dark blue cardigan, so she’s made an effort there. Nevertheless I once again feel deflated because her deceit is a sour note to begin things on before a word has even been spoken.

I take a deep breath and walk up to her, secretly hoping that it isn’t her and that the woman I was expecting to meet is about to appear out of nowhere. Saying her name leads to her looking up and her eyes go wide for a split second. It is the Kiwi and at least she likes what she’s seeing. She stands and I kiss her politely on each cheek as we make the customary polite noises. Suddenly this afternoon feels like it’s going to be a long one.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask.

“Oh, yes please. Could I have a gin and tonic please,” she answers with a smile.

I go off to the bar, letting out a deep breath that I realise I’ve been holding in all day. Even nowadays, after so many dates, a little bit of nerves creeps in. Perhaps it’s a necessary part of the dating experience? After all, I know that one day I shall meet The One and I will need to be on top form. Today is not that day; I know that already. I’m also overcome by a sense of shame and guilt because I feel that I’m cheating on Career Girl, even though we’ve only had two dates and not promised each other anything. How would I feel if I knew that she was on a date with another guy? I wouldn’t be impressed, that’s for sure.

The Kiwi is playing safe with a gin and tonic, giving me the impression that she’s a seasoned dater, but at least she’s keeping her wits about her and controlling her alcohol intake; I respect her self-control. Returning to her I take a seat in the sun opposite her while she sits in the shade; sitting next her would seem inappropriate. Is she trying to protect her skin from the sun? It’s a bit late for that.

We engage in the usual opening small-talk about our jobs. She tells me of her days working for an advertising agency, but secretly harbouring a desire to be a housewife, but without the hassle of children to look after. I start to wonder if she’s a Taker.

“So what would you do every day if you were a housewife?” I ask, fishing for incriminating evidence.

“Whatever I feel like doing that day. If it’s Summer I’d do a spot of gardening. If it’s Winter I’d read a good book all day. I can easily do that. Perhaps meet up with my girl friends once a week for a bit of gossip,” she says with a smile.

Taker!

“If you don’t mind me asking, whereabouts in London do you work at the moment?” I ask, sensing a lack of the London vibe in her, that focussed attitude tinged with stress.

“I’m a lady of leisure at the moment. I’m on gardening leave having just been made redundant by my agency,” she says with a smile that tells me not to ask any more questions about her working life.

“As it happens, I’m on gardening leave too,” I tell her, partly wanting to make her feel better if hers is more negative than she’s letting on and partly because I want to check her reaction.

“Oh, well then, you know what it’s like. This is the fourth time I’ve been made redundant. I love the gardening leave,” she says cheerily with a little snigger.

I’ve never heard of anyone being made redundant so many times. Hmm, is there an attitude problem in the workplace or is she as lazy as she’s starting to appear? She must be a masterful resume writer.

“How come you chose this pub? Does it have some kind of significance for you?” I ask, trying to sound innocent, knowing full-well it’s reputation for celebrity-spotting.

“I live down the road, over there,” she says, pointing to a row of terraced houses.

How convenient for you, I think to myself. How much did it cost me to get here? I don’t want to think about it.

“Have you lived here long?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going. I’m getting bored of her now. She’s not The One.

“I only moved here three months ago when my boyfriend and I split up. Then I got the news at work. Change all round for me at the moment,” she answers trying to sound as positive as she can.

Oh great, she’s even on the rebound. A real prize catch. Do I fancy her? No. Do I want to have sex with her? No. Do we share any kind of chemistry? No. I make a mental note to analyse on the train home what I could have done to have averted this date. What should I have asked or thought of before suggesting that we meet?

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry,” The Kiwi suddenly says.

We order lunch and I end up paying. She makes no offer to pay for even her half and it seems that she is expecting me to pay. I don’t mind paying, but her presumptuousness rankles. She’s a Taker, a greedy, self-centred person. A primadonna.

As we sit and indulge in more mindless small-talk, after an hour it occurs to me that not once has she asked a question about me. I take that as a sign that she’s not interested in me, which actually suits me fine. I can’t help wonder if she actually looked like her photos that my behaviour and the nature of the date would be entirely different. I inclined to say so.

After lunch she suggests going for a walk and that surprises me. I think that the date is a disaster but perhaps she’s enjoying herself? I don’t care, but agree to the stroll because I don’t know the area that well and it might be useful for a future date…with someone else.

We wonder around lush Highgate Cemetery, making fun of lost tourists who are trying to find Karl Marx’s grave. As we walk and talk the conversation turns to past relationships. She’s had more than her fair share and in passing she mentions committing my sexual foible. I say nothing and my demeanour doesn’t change, but inwardly I’m seething. I’ve spent all this time and money on someone totally unsuitable. I decide to end the encounter.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you, but I need to get going now,” I say politely. Yeah, I need to go change my belly-button fluff; that’s more fun than being with you.

The Kiwi stands with me waiting for a bus to take me back to King’s Cross. The bus can’t come soon enough for my liking. I start telling her about my idea for writing a blog about my dating experiences; she seems uncomfortable with the idea and conversation dies. The bus is slow in coming and eventually The Kiwi runs out of patience and makes her excuses and leaves. I’m relieved.

Later in the evening she sends me a text message that reads, “Thank you for a lovely lunch. Sorry, I should have waited with you at the bus stop. Hope the journey home wasn’t too arduous. X

The next day I respond with my standard polite brush-off text message. The Kiwi responds with a flimsy message that I instantly forget.

This date left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, but it doesn’t matter because by Sunday lunchtime I almost have another date lined up for the coming week; this time it’s with a musician…who plays a wind instrument! She has oral skills.

I still need to clarify my thoughts and feelings about Career Girl though. My Exgf is making noises about wanting to get together for my birthday.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Perhaps as woman age they are more inclined to lie about their age and photos. 2) I should be more prescriptive about where to meet 3) I should be more choosy about how much I spend on a date.

Marina and the Diamonds – Primadonna Girl

Career Girl drops her bomb

The next morning Career Girl sends me a text message asking if we can meet that night. We only met yesterday and I haven’t even had a chance to think about where to meet for our second date nor send her another text message of any kind. She is very keen, which I’m somewhat suspicious of, but it feels novel to be pursued by a woman, so I don’t dwell on it. I want to meet her again because I’m learning that first dates can be deceptive, it’s the subsequent dates that matter. Career Girl suggests meeting at an Indian restaurant in her town straight after work.

At 7pm I’m standing outside her preferred Indian restaurant, having just arrived, looking back at my red sports car to check that it’s parked safely when a taxi pulls up next to me. Career Girl gets out and she’s still in her office attire; she looks the archetypical high-powered female boss that people would be scared of at work. I’m not fazed because I know what hides behind the public mask. I like the navy blue suit that she’s wearing; it’s my favourite colour. Is it another sign of some sorts?

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long?” she asks while straightening her skirt.

I kiss her hello on a cheek, rather than going for her soft lips, then I say, “No, I’ve just got here. You look lovely.”

Career Girl almost blushes as I hold the restaurant door open for her. I was being sincere in my compliment; her beautiful blonde hair, milky white skin and that colour of suit is striking. Often the first time you meet a person what they are wearing then is etched in your memory of them, but for me with Career Girl it’s what she’s wearing tonight that is the lasting memory.

We sit down to the best Indian meal I’ve ever had, of which I’ve had quite a few. Conversation between us is positive and easy, we expand on some topics of the previous day and share a few laughs. I enjoy her company very much as there’s an easiness between us, a lack of insecure barriers. Most importantly she’s someone I can trust. Nevertheless she seems more serious than yesterday, distracted even and I put it down to her having had a day in the office. Over dessert she hits me with it.

“There’s something I need to tell you about,” she says in a way that makes me freeze.

“I’m listening,” is all I can say.

“I have a brain aneurysm. I can drop dead any minute. The doctors say that I might live to an old age or today could be my last,” she says bluntly.

I go icy cold inside. I feel sorry for her but can’t help feel disappointed for me. I feel ashamed of my selfishness but try not to let it show.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” is the best I can do.

Career Girl looks at me, her beautiful eyes are searching for more from me, but for a guy with usually a lot of words I’m at a loss in this instant. I’m crap at saying the right things when it comes to the shit side of life. I tend to say something inappropriate because I’m still coming to terms with what I’ve been told and under pressure have been known to say something stupid. I’ve learned to rather keep quiet and offend slightly in that way, rather than blurt something out and hurt someone’s feelings.

I latch onto something safe.

“How did this all come about?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“I was getting bad headaches regularly last year so I went to the doctor’s and before I knew it I was in hospital. They found the aneurysm and they can’t operate. I just have to manage it and hope for the best. I can never have alcohol or coffee again,” she says with an emotionless face.

“How do you feel nowadays?” I ask.

“I take all sorts of meds, so I feel fine. It’s kind of given me a focus to my life that was lacking before,” she says.

“Is that why you’ve gone internet dating?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well, kinda. My boyfriend of five years left me shortly after I was diagnosed. He couldn’t handle the situation,” she says softly, making an odd movement with her mouth at the end of her sentence.

My little brain hadn’t yet got around to thinking about the implications that this medical issue has on a relationship. It must be a strain to be with your significant other knowing that each time you part might be your last. However, isn’t that true for all of us though? Don’t we all just assume that the other person will always be there? When we go off to work in the mornings we do so in a rush, driven by higher priorities, relegating the person it’s all for to a mere afterthought. Shouldn’t we take a moment, look each other in the eye, appreciate each other, kiss gently and say something that matters? No we don’t, we mindlessly assume our roles as slaves to the system. Perhaps having someone with a medical condition shocks us out of that sleep-walking life. I need to think about this.

Career Girl’s apparent keenness about me is now revealed to be something altogether different than an attraction. That in itself might still be part of what she is feeling but I realise that her primary focus now is that of getting her cards on the table. Her looking at me with searching eyes across the immaculate cotton tablecloth adorned with sparkling silverware surrounded by exotic aromas is her looking for a negative reaction, her wanting an answer of some kind; of what exactly I’m not sure.

I need time to think about this, so I decide to say nothing. I resume our conversation on a more positive topic and try to make like nothing has happened. I know that I like how I feel when I’m with her, I know that we have the same morals and aspire to the same things from the future, but we now have a hurdle that I have to overcome. I don’t want to be rash and dismiss her out of hand; I’m not that cruel. I don’t want to say that I see no problem because it is a factor, but I need to think it over.

Dessert ends and I settle the bill.

“Did you come by car?” Career Girl asks.

“Yes, I did. Would you like a lift?” I answer, happy to spend more time with her.

“Yes, please,” she responds with a sincere smile; her eyes smile too.

She seems surprised by my red sports car as I pull off with a roar down the long road that she says she lives on. Her home is in a very smart apartment complex and I pull into a visitors parking bay in the leafy grounds. We sit in my car and kiss softly, gently for a few minutes. I restrain myself and don’t let my hands wander. I’m not expecting to be invited in so it doesn’t surprise me with how the evening ends.

“I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I shan’t be inviting you in this time,” she says with an apologetic look which makes me think she’s telling the truth and it isn’t just an excuse to brush me off.

“It’s not a problem,” I say.

“By the way, I’m going away to Italy this Saturday for a week. I’d like to keep in touch while I’m away,” she says, catching me by surprise.

“I’d like that,” I say. An enforced absence is not a bad thing as it will give me chance to think things over.

We kiss once more and then she gets out of my car, disappearing into her building. As I watch her walk away, I’m feeling conflicted within myself and also wondering what she’s feeling. There’s an undeniable magic between us, but the brain aneurysm is something I wasn’t expecting. I appreciate her being so honest with me. As I drive home I wonder about her agenda, but realise that it’s a simple one.

Like anyone else, all she wants is somebody…same as me.

Depeche Mode – Somebody