We met online.
I had decided that from now on, I would only meet for coffee on the first date. As my best mate says, “It’s expensive being a gentleman.”
No more fancy bars and cocktails with fairy floss. A simple coffee and a chat to see if she has personality was my new game plan. She could be a perfect 10, a Rhodes scholar, a billionaire’s daughter: if we can’t communicate, she’s not for me.
So, Sunday afternoon we met at my favourite café in Darlo. As usual, I arrived early and had a double shot macchiato and a slanging match with the boys who run the joint.
Then she arrived.
Samantha was her name. She preferred Sammy.
We sat and talked. Sammy had the sweetest voice: innocent, almost juvenile. She was a primary school teacher, who lived with her parents.
As we got into the afternoon, she started to really open up. In fact, she reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling the ring off my index finger and admiring its design.
Sammy was into me.
I’ve always liked them tall. Anything over 5’8″ is tall in my book, and that she was.
We went for ice-cream and as she finished she asked, “Do I have any on my face?”
A less gutsy me of say, a decade ago, would have simply said no. Instead, I lent in and kissed it off her lips.
Sammy had a great big smile. She made a shy huff and I went in again.
This was nice. Thank you, ice-cream.
We decided to leave it there for the afternoon and get in touch the following week to arrange dinner and drinks.
Sammy lived up north and chose a quaint bar for Saturday at 8pm.
I made my way there and we drank, had some tapas and she got me to do something I rarely ever do: dance.
As I lived an hour away (and she lived with her parents), we decided to get a room at a nice nearby hotel.
What a night.
Intense. Rough. Mind-blowing.
Sammy went to sleep after three rounds but I was still charged so I turned on the TV. After about 20 minutes, I was dozing off.
I switched off the TV and put my head down.
Then it happened.
Sammy farted. She farted in her sleep.
It was so loud that it woke her up without her knowledge. She almost instantly went back to sleep. Thank God.
There I was lying there, thinking: How can such a sweet girl make such a noise?
Then came the smell. I had to cover my nose with the pillow.
I was disgusted.
I thought long and hard about it, I never told her.
“Women fart, get over it,” was what I tried to convince myself. But I couldn’t get over it.
I never saw Sammy again.
Was I being too harsh?