I have to admit that I was kind of excited prior to the event. Why? I'm not entirely sure. I'm usually pretty cool about guys, take 'em and leave 'em is how I tend to operate.
I mean, it's not like my aim in life is to get married and settle in the 'burbs with a lifetime of B&Q Sundays stretched out before me. I don't believe in 'the one', nor am I obsessed with the search for a soul mate, quite simply because I don't believe in all that shit. And from seeing my friends go through the relationship mill and get sucked into all the inevitable heartbreak, I know it's not for me. I'm a realist, and I'm lazy, so my view is why bother to put yourself through all that emotional excess when it's a cast-iron guarantee that it'll get nasty at some point -which is the point that it becomes too much of a fuck up for me to want to have to deal with.
Mind you, it is possible that I'm an emotional coward. Whatever. Who cares? I'm having a whole load of fun so I'm not about to change things.
Anyway, I meet James in Notting Hill - it turns out that's where he lives, the swanky bastard - and he takes me to the Electric on Portobello Road. Nice meal, lots of lovely wine, great conversation, lots of flirting. I'm sitting there enjoying the view and the aural foreplay, thinking that he's obviously planning to get into my pants or why else would he have booked a table at a restaurant around the corner from his place? Seems fairly obvious, right?
Wrong.
We finish our meal, he pays the bill (I did offer to pay my half but he refused, please note that I am not some kind of pathetic gold-digger) and, while I was hoping to have James for dessert, it turns out he's got other ideas.
We're walking along Portobello, talking shit, laughing about stuff, and suddenly he has his arms around me and we're kissing. Oh my God, he's a master kisser. None of that tongue-rammed-down-the-throat horror, just teasing and sensual and extremely sexy; I could have had him then and there, without a care in the world. Then he takes a step back, far too soon for me, looks me straight in the eye and goes, God, you're fucking gorgeous.
And then he hails me a taxi, bundles me into it, gives the driver enough cash to cover my fare home, and tells me he'll call me soon.
?????
What the fuck is going on with him?
I mean, here's the usual (heterosexual) story: boy meets girl, boy and girl like each other, boy and girl have sex, then maybe boy and girl have more sex, and so on, and so on, until one or the other gets bored and walks off into the sunset on their own.
So, why is James withholding? Beats the fuck out of me.
Anyway, I found out all kinds of stuff, most of it interesting (to me at least), some of it not. Here are the highlights:
- He's an older man. Not by that much though, only by five years, so no prospect of playing at Sugar Daddies (damn)
- He works in the City. Argghhh. A proper, respectable job. In that respect, so not my type. I bet he jerks off over the Financial Times.
- He was a model in his early twenties. Hmmm. Not sure what I think about that.
- He's separated, soon to be divorced. Not sure what I think about that, either.
- He likes a lot of my favorite authors, artists and musicians. Which is weird because otherwise we are so different.
- He's into weird shit such as going to the gym. Euwww.
- He has a pension and a stock portfolio. And he's proud of the fact. Double euwww.
- His friends sound like a bunch of total arseholes.
- He's extremely good looking.
- He's so fucking clever it hurts.
- He's funny. Wry funny. I like wry funny.
- Did I mention that he's extremely good looking? Oh yes, so I did. Yeah, I'm shallow.
That's it for now. Anyone who wants to play agony aunt, please feel free. I just can't figure this one out.
