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
MeAndDating - A Grey Knight's tale 