She wanted to meet me. I agreed. We arranged it for a Saturday afternoon. It was daylight saving. By about 5:30pm I had made my way to Newtown. I got a text that she was running late. Standard. I sat on a bench across from the police station. I buried my head into some app.
The sun was hitting me over my right shoulder and of course, that is where she would appear. Like all of my online dates, they could be anyone. This one was someone. She had long strawberry blonde hair and red lipstick, wearing a teal jacket with a black skirt. She was tall, about 5’10”.
I got up to greet her and it felt right. She had an aura. If she was nervous (which she was), I was fooled.
We walked to the bottle shop and grabbed a red then headed off to a gourmet pizza joint. There was one table free out by the courtyard. Perfect.
We ordered. We drank. We ate.
All of her chat were questions for me, as if to prolong my inevitable inquisition. Nevertheless, I humoured her and tried to be as honest and charming as I could. Who the fuck knows what to say anyway? She had this sweetness to her, a kind of boho beauty. Her high cheekbones and inviting blue eyes had me hooked.
I still can’t explain how or why, but I kissed her. We’d known each other for all of an hour. It felt right. I was pleased to hear her say, “Um, can you do that again?”
I paid for dinner and she had decided to buy me a drink at a bar up the road. I accepted. We walked to the end of King Street and across to Enmore. Apparently, this bar was popular but it was hardly packed. In fact, the courtyard was almost empty, all but a few cougars finishing their cheap wine.
We ordered some sangria. By now, she was past tipsy and we were alone. She said that she didn’t normally do “public affection” but I had brought it out in her. Like I hadn’t heard that before. Who knows, right? She kissed me some more. I pushed the boundaries and grabbed her hand. She knew what was coming. She grabbed hold and was suitably impressed. We got up to pay and made our way back to my car.
While walking down the street she reached for my hand and snuggled into my chest. Always a nice feeling. A little fast but nice.
Then, by complete coincidence, her friend and friend’s boyfriend walked by (a few sneaky texts to arrange said coincidence would not have surprised me). I was introduced and as usual, appeared nice and polite but lacked interest. I don’t do friends. I’m all about quality time.
We headed across to another bar and she whispered in my ear, “One drink, okay?”
“Sure, lady. It’s fine,” I replied.
While sitting and shooting-the-shit with her girlfriend’s deadweight of a boyfriend – who rambled on about how he was going to some superhero party the following evening – she started to talk about her next trip away, announcing that if I was “still in her life” that she’d like me to come. It was a month away.
I just smiled and nodded.
She kept good on her promise and grabbed my hand, we said goodbye and walked out holding hands. One drink. Nice.
As we headed back, she put her hand in my back pocket and snuggled as we walked. This all seemed a bit full-on but I went with it. She was beautiful, bubbly and into me.
It was getting quite late and we had to walk through the park to get to my car.
Suddenly, she turned to me and said, “I need to pee.”
“Well, the Courty is back there. Can’t you wait till you get home? It’s not far,” I said.
“Wait here,” she replied, as she walked over to bushes.
I’m thinking, no fucking way. Not on the first date. She isn’t.
She proceeded to squat and pee. By this stage I had walked as far away as possible, out of sheer disgust.
Much to her contempt, two homeless men were sitting on the park bench adjacent and saw the whole thing.
I drove her home and all she could say was how embarrassing it was that two homeless people had seen her pee.
Was I lowering myself or being too judgemental?
I fucked her anyway.