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