Greater Expectations (8 page)

As she returned, I pretended to ignore her by watching one of the many televisions dotted around the place. In reality, I saw every step that she took and conceded that she was most attractive. I would guess she was around the 5’8” mark, size
10 or so–not that I am in any way an expert on women’s sizes–and wearing black trousers that look to be tailored to her figure rather than off the peg. She took her seat opposite me, raised her glass to mine and said “cheers”, then took a drink.

I have no idea what happened next. Maybe it was the pressure from the realisation that this was an actual date, and not a windup, that somehow reinvigorated my nervousness. Maybe I was simply intimidated by her. Whatever the reason, I just could not stop talking nonsense. Rambling, babbling, prattling nonsense. Over the course of those following few hours, my really bad jokes were interspersed between even worse stories.

It was first date suicide.

“Do you know that I can prove God is a woman?” I asked, deluding myself into thinking this would be a joke that a woman would appreciate. After a seconds thought, I quickly realised that this was a joke that I had only ever told to men who, more understandably, had found it funny. It was sexist and crude, and certainly not first date material. Inside my head,
my better angel was begging me–
“Please stop talking”
–but there seemed to be no way to shut myself up.

“You can prove God is a woman?” It was obvious that she was taking this rather seriously. Now she had me wondering if she is in the God Squad? “Okay, how is God a woman?” As she sat back and folded her arms, I recognised that this is a defensive posture and so she is preparing for my attack. I’m going to be wearing her drink in a minute. If I am really unlucky, it’ll be my drink she throws.

“Three reasons.” There was no way back now.
Keep smiling Z, just keep smiling. Let her see it’s a joke.
“One, women are either pre, post or actually menstrual. They have the perfect excuse at all times for being cranky and miserable. They inevitably blame men at these times for not being understanding, and for all the other evils in the world. As such, any one of these stages provides women with the ideal excuse for not having sex. Only a female God would be so calculating.” She was dead faced. No reaction, nothing. Not even the hint of a smile. My smile was fixed and I pushed on rather sharpish.

“Reason two? Multiple orgasms. Women can have multiple orgasms whereby men only have one. Normally followed by a complaint in my own experience.” This reason found a faint smile although not one that showed teeth. Good enough for me, maybe not such a bad joke after all.

“Reason three? No self respecting male God would put a man’s G-spot up his
arse
!” I sat back in triumph and laughed at my own joke. Not cool. She rolled her eyes and looked around as if trying to see if anyone else had heard me. Thankfully nobody had. A smile was definitely there though, however much she thought she fought it, it was there and that was good enough for me.

Yet this proved a small victory in a battle I had long since conceded.

It was as if I was trying to subconsciously sabotage the date and I had no idea why. Here was a perfectly nice girl, who I now knew not to be a hooker, simply looking for some decent company and I cannot control myself. I spoke about Gemma and I even told her the full and intimate details of the email. Sian sat and politely laughed where needed but contributed very little of anything else to the conversation. Not that she had much of an opportunity.

If it were possible, her silence in my rare lulls seemed to spur me on even more. She never took the initiative to take the conversation forward, or in any direction for that matter. Fuelled by even more alcohol, I was still desperately begging myself to shut up. I was now discussing how many children I would like. What the a
ctual fuck was I talking about?

Just
shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!

I had no idea who or what had taken over me but I just could not make it stop. This poor girl. This was obviously a nightmare date for her and it was all my fault. Then, miraculously, I managed to regain some semblance of control.

“Look, I am really sorry. I have absolutely no idea what I am going on about. Even worse, I have no idea why I am going on. This was supposed to be just a few drinks but obviously it has turned into the worst date ever for you.
Please
believe me, I am truly embarrassed. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous and this is my first date in years. You would think I haven’t ever spoken to a woman before the way I am going on here.”

A vain attempt at humour.

Her response shocked me. “I’ve had worse.” She said, stated as a matter of fact. “Do you want to go home?” Her question sent relief to every fibre of my being.

“I really do think that might be for the best, if you don’t mind?” In my intoxicated state I had been all too presumptuous that there was still the offer to drive me home. “Although I would fully understand if you would rather I take a taxi?”

“Not at all, let’s go.” She grabbed her purse and stood with a speed and agility that surprised me. I clumsily slid along the bench seat and extracted myself from under the table. Upon reaching my full height I looked to see the back of her head weave through the recently assembled crowd of new patrons, she was almost at the door. Her deft manoeuvres were impressive although it suddenly hit me that she might have thought better of her offer and she would be gone by the time I made it to the parking spot. It would be completely understandable given my nights performance. Still, I made my way to her car anyway, I owed her that much.

For the second time this evening, she was sat alone in the darkness with the engine running.

The journey back to mine was short but seemed to take forever. It wasn’t even yet 10pm but the night was ruined, a new record for me. I just wanted out from the confines of her car with its deafening silence and into the relative safety and comfort of my own home. She pulled up into the same spot where I had entered this farce less than three hours ago.

There is scant consolation in the knowledge that my disastrous prediction was accurate.

I squirmed in my seat as I replayed in my head all that had transpired this evening, although here I was still living it. Hopefully she will want to forget this “date” as much as I do but there is no doubt that this will haunt me forever. I mumbled “thanks” and “goodnight” and got out the car, seeing my home and wishing I had never left it.

Then it happened.

The engine died, then the unmistakable tinny sound of a car door closing, followed by the all too familiar noise of a central locking system engaging. Confused, I turned around to see her walking towards me. Now I am completely baffled.
What is she doing? Where is she going?
Logic took over my addled brain and I surmised that she must know someone else that lives here. We walk in silence as my brain refuses to produce any words for me.
Where was that restraint for the last three hours fuck nut?
We are now side by side although rather than move on, she is keeping in step with me.
What is happening here?
I have absolutely no idea what to do so just kept walking. It does not help that the crisp winter air is now coursing through me and blending with the alcohol in my system.

I am no longer tipsy but drunk.

It would seem that I have exhausted my word allocation for the day as my brain still refuses to give me anything to say.
Now? When I actually need it?
I have spouted nothing but utter nonsense all night and yet this is the moment my brain decides to abandon me?
Say something. Anything! PLEASE!
Now I am completely lost, what should I do? What can I do? Each step is taking us closer to my home. To my sanctuary. I do not like this, not at all. Drunk and confused is not a great combination. I am ambling along, shuffling as slowly as I can, but cannot bring myself to ask Sian what is going on for fear of being…of being….of being what?

Then it occurs to me that I am actually in fear of being
rude
.

Sian follows as I turn into the entrance of my building so there is no longer any doubt that she is coming up to my place.
But why?
Even I don’t want to spend another minute with me this evening. It must just be for a coffee. She just wants a coffee and she certainly deserves one. I could certainly use a coffee and try sobering up to get a grip on this situation. It’s only now, whilst fumbling for my keys at the front door, that I realise that still neither of us has uttered a word since the pub. I was nervous before but undoubtedly more so now. My mind is racing trying to make sense of all this. She has hardly said anything all night. Then again, that was mainly my own fault. Whilst they were admittedly limited, she did have some opportunities to speak. Maybe, just maybe, she is so shy that she needs the seclusion of a one on one situation to actually open up. Am I now going to get her life story when all I want to do is curl up in bed and, in a sadistic twist of irony, actually end this living nightmare that I am solely responsible for?

It was as I unlocked and opened the door that I felt a soft but firm hand on my back, pushing me inside from behind.
What the fu…?
It is a “fight or flight” moment and so I attempt to turn in an effort of availing myself of the situation. Instinctively my hands come up to help defend myself. Yet it is another hand that has found the back of my head and pulls me somewhat aggressively downward where there is a tongue waiting to be plunged deep into my throat.

Why is Sian is kissing me?

Never in my life have I experienced such a bizarre situation. I find myself reciprocating the “kiss” even although I am not entirely certain that this is the best description for it. On my side, it felt like I was being given some sort of medical treatment. She could very well be a paramedic as this is close to mouth-to-mouth and I feel like I’m breathing through my asshole. I move my head back for air and try, for what feels like the hundredth time in the last four minutes, to take stock of the situation. My first thought is to clear us from the door so I can at least close it. Nobody, and I mean nobody, would want nor need to witness such an
assault
. Mind you, witnesses might help me for what is all but certain to be a police enquiry by the time
this
, whatever this is, by the time it’s over.

I manage to close the door by falling back against it. Sian relents from the kissing so I tilt my head up and take what seems to be my first breath of clean in minutes. I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my mouth and taste the heady mixture of whisky and lipstick. It’s as I exhale that I realise that she has unzipped me and actually has my cock in her mouth.

How did that happen? My head and body are now at war with one another as I can sense myself getting hard in her mouth but yet I also actually feel that I am being seriously violated.

Then the question hits me. Do men ever say “no” to sex? We are naturally programmed to search for sex and here it is, quite literally, on my doorstep. She stands up and takes my cock in her hand, as she starts to walk she says “Come on baby, let’s take this to the bedroom.” I wasn’t entirely certain what she meant by “this”, but what I do know is that SHE is leading ME to my own bedroom and all I can do is follow.

Her actions certainly speak louder than her grammatically incorrect words.

What happened thereafter shall forever be etched on my soul. What made it worse, if that were indeed possible, was the mixture of my own embarrassment at the evenings events, blended with my drunkenness to ensure that I actually gave the performance of my life. Try as I might, I just could not climax. She could. Oh, and how she could. My night of misery was completed by the fact that merely touching her brought her to orgasm and she didn’t just squirt, she actually left puddles all over my previously lush memory foam mattress.

This was a memory both the mattress and I quickly wanted to forget and so it was replaced within 24 hours.

12

Penny For My Thoughts

Sunday 25th January

It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that I noticed the all too familiar icon of an unopened envelope on my phone. In my hungover state, and in my haste to get to IKEA, I hadn’t noticed the text. Actually, truth be told, I had been ignoring my phone. So much so that I had deliberately left it at home when I went shopping in the irrational fear that it could, in some insane way, convey to either Sian or Richie that I was mobile and ready to talk to them. Crazy but true. So it was with a mixture of fear and trepidation that I opened the message.

“Hi Z, how are you? I hope you are settling back into the wild and heady ways of London. Just a quick text to let you know that I found your ‘Super Z’ T-shirt. It was under the bed. Would you like me to send it down?”

I really do wonder about myself sometimes. I found that I was delighted, not with the fact that Penny had texted nor even that she had found my T-shirt, but more so with the fact that her text was grammatically perfect. It is an unnerving realisation knowing that I really am quite so strange. In reading it again I noticed that the text had been sent at 11.18pm. What an odd time to text on a Saturday night, especially when she has had my T-shirt for over a week. Then my thoughts turned to what I was doing at that precise moment. More accurately, who was doing me. Withou
t giving it a seconds thought–do I ever?–I selected the “call” option and heard Penny answer on the second ring.

“Hi Z. Well you certainly know how to keep a girl hanging. How are you?” she seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me.

“I’m fine, thanks” I lied. “Thanks for your text. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner but last night was a little mental. Actually, a big bit mental. Anyway, it would be great if you could send back my T-shirt and I am so sorry to have caused you the bother. I shall, of course, be happy to pay you for the cost of postage.”

“Mental? How so?” she blatantly ignored everything else I had said to fo
cus completely on the one word.

“You really do
not
want to know” and I certainly didn’t want to tell her. I took the opportunity to try and turn the conversation around, “So, what works best for you, cash or money transfer?” No matter what her preference was, I had already decided that cash in a nice “Thank You” card would work perfectly.

My attempts were always destined to fail, curiosity being one of the most fundamental instincts in human nature. “Of course I want to know, this is most intriguing although one would not wish to appear rude. That would never do. I had rather been hoping that we could have had another nice chat last night but, alas, it was not to be. If I am to be ignored for something that
you
describe as ‘mental’ then I can only admit that my curiosity is most definitely piqued, as they say.”

As who say?
Certainly nobody that I knew.

Clearly she wasn’t going to let this drop. How do I get myself into these situations? Mine had been a lifelong endeavour trying to learn how to engage brain before using mouth. I was still wrestling with the basics. Yet she did say
“another nice chat”
and there seemed to be no haste in her tone for this conversation to be over. Actually, thinking about it, I could do with getting last nights events off my chest. A female perspective would certainly help too. However, I knew better than to wade in. I needed to let Penny think she was teasing this information from me rather than my unloading it voluntarily. That would allow me to retain some element of dignity rather than compound my own embarrassment.

“Okay, I shall tell you but only because you have insisted and so on your own head be it. You have been well warned and, believe me, my obvious lack of good judgment in telling you may well be the result of the residual trauma that I am experiencing. The whittled down and well censored version goes like this...” I was in mid flow when she interrupted.

“Oh for goodness sake Z,
just get on with it.
” Her exasperation betrayed her fascination and had me second guessing myself again, wondering if this really was a good idea to tell her. She was a proper “Lady” after all. Oh fuck it, what did I care? I hardly expected this call so it doesn’t really matter if I never hear from her again.

“Okay, here goes. After our ‘bonding’ there in Auchtershinnan, Richie took it upon himself to set me up on a blind date.” I let this hang in the air for a minute as I gathered my thoughts on how best to proceed.

She failed to supress her laughter. “Richie? Richie organised a blind date for
YOU
?” She was laughing harder with each word, struggling to actually say it.

“Yes, he did. What’s so funny about that?” I said, somewhat defensively.

The laughter stopped and she was suddenly quite serious. “Z, the last thing you need is someone like Richie setting you up on a blind date. I am sorry but it is impossible to imagine you and Richie mixing in the same social circles. Indeed you all but admitted as much when you were here, he being the unwelcome companion who took the liberty of inviting himself.

In any event, even if I am mistaken, ‘Attraction’ is such a fickle mistress that she demands stimulation and satisfaction on many different levels. Physically, mentally, aesthetically, socially, the list is endless. The idea of you finding your soul mate through a blind date organised by young Richie is ridiculous in the extreme. One could say, quite
mental
. Tell me I am wrong?” The joke was aimed at me but the question was stated more as a demand of approval for her assertions, completely confident that she was correct. Although there was a compliment hiding in there somewhere, I chose to ignore it.

“That comes dangerously close to being another stereotypical observation my good Lady?”

“Oh come now Z, there is no need for that. I intend no offence, merely an observation. Look at Richie’s uncouth and unbecoming comments regarding lavatory graffiti. It was obvious that you were as uncomfortable as I was myself. I would go further and guess that you had not spent much time with Richie either before or since your visit here, with no plans to do so anytime soon? So, please, play fair.”

“I didn’t realise we were playing at all,” a rather pitiful and pathetic response to her gentle scolding. I didn’t want to upset her any further so quickly moved on. “He has a good heart young Richard and all he was trying to do was, in his own way, look after my best interests and, for that, I am grateful. Actually, the reason that I describe the night as ‘mental’ was all through my own doing rather than the fault being attributable to anyone else.” It was said in all sincerity although I have no idea why I am still defending both Richie and Sian whilst exposing myself.

“So why do you describe the evening as ‘mental’?” She had relaxed again and seemed genuinely interested. At least I think it’s genuine. It may not have been but how would I know any different? All I knew was that she was on the other end of my phone and we had yet to talk about my T-shirt and she was determined that we have this conversation before any other. Admittedly, I was rather enjoying myself and it was great to hear from her again.

Still, she persisted and prompted me further, “Did everything not go as planned?”

The smooth calmness of her voice is so seductive, and with such a soothing tone that is so comforting, that it elicits my trust in a way that I am helpless to comprehend. I only intended to only disclose the pertinent details of the evening but to my surprise, found that once I started, I just couldn’t stop. Every last excruciating detail of my own shameful behaviour poured forth and included the full blown events at home thereafter, culminating with the explanation of my failure to respond to her text until now. She maintained her silence for much too long after I had finished. “Hello? You still there?” I asked, immediately hoping we had been cut off nearer the beginning than the end of my confession.

“Yes, I am still here. How fascinating.”

That was all she had to say?

“Fascinating? Really?” It certainly wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Where was the sense of judgment?

“Definitely.” She took a second as if to gather her thoughts, then continued, “If you can forgive me Z but this is as close as I will ever get to a blind date and so I have thoroughly enjoyed living the experience vicariously through you. I do hope you don’t mind?” she said it as if this was now our secret.

“Of course I don’t mind. Why would I mind? If anything, I am hoping that you can help me to understand what the hell happened. It seemed like my brain had melted and someone else was talking for me.” I was peering through my fingers as my hand now covered my face, trying to contain yet another fresh flush of embarrassment.

“Well it is quite obvious to me that your performance was perfectly understandable.”
My performance? What an odd use of words.
Ignorant to my thought, she continued, “Considering your relatively recent separation, combined with the fact that you had no sincere intention of seeing Sian again even before you met her, then you were being cruel to be kind. That much is obvious. You were pushing her away for both your sakes. Women, intuitively, can see this. It is what makes you men even more enchanting and endearing to us ladies. You see, we covet most what we do not understand, and you men are wonderfully enigmatic.”

Now I was even more confused. She had provided me with more questions than answers. “
Really?
I had never thought of it that way. Why, then, do I feel so… so… so
dirty?
” I had taken two showers today and also thrown away the soiled bed linen. New bedding had also been acquired in my IKEA excursion.

Yet I still felt dirty.

Penny responded without hesitation. “Another easy question. I really would have thought you would have been able to determine this for yourself but it is understandable that you cannot, given that the memory is still fresh and the experience all too real. Being an outsider, it’s altogether easier for me to see. As a man, you are expected to pursue sex, the proverbial ‘sexual predator’ if you will. You obviously did everything, albeit on a subconscious level, to subvert this from happening. Sian obviously had higher hopes from the date than you and so your actions took the sex decision away from her. It was no longer her decision as to whether she should have sex with you as you obviously did not want sex with her.

This is quite understandable when it is considered that you are still in a marital mind set. As such, you are feeling ‘dirty’ as it were, for many reasons.  Firstly, you consider yourself to still be married and so you feel
dirty, as you were ‘unfaithful’ to this relationship. Warped, I know, but nonetheless true. Secondly, from your description of events, you were an unwilling partner and, as such, Sian technically
raped
you. You feel dirty for this but yet have to fight your own nature as you are designed to pursue sex and, by your own admission, she was a very attractive girl. Ergo, you feel dirty.”

I was completely stunned. What she said made far too much sense. “I would hardly think I was raped. I mean, I did enjoy it and it certainly made me realise what I have been missing. Also, she was incredible. Far better than I have been used to, sexually, and she left when I was asleep and never stole anything. That’s got to be a bonus?” I tried to change the tone with a small joke as I was deeply uncomfortable with the idea that I had been raped. Granted, I had never thought of it that way but this was Penny’s description.

“So are you seeing Sian again?” I was relieved at the change of subject although was certain I could detect an element of judgment in her question.

“No, I really don’t think so. Of course, I never say never but I think that my embarrassment far outweighs any benefit from having guaranteed sex; no matter how good, bad, or indifferent it was.”

“Good, I do not think that would be such a good idea.” The gentry really do confuse the crap out of me. Why was she so bothered anyway?

“So you have never had a blind date?” I was definitely intrigued and happy to shift the focus of the conversation away from me for a change.

“Where could I have a blind date? Everyone in the UK aristocracy knows who the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes are and so there is no mystery for a blind date. Indeed, it is only in the most recent of times that they have been left to find their own partners. Arranged marriages, whether stated so publicly or not, have been very much the norm. I was most fortunate in that I am an only child and my parents rigidly agreed that my happiness was of paramount importance and that no such burdensome social restrictions should hinder me.” It was stated as a matter of fact but yet there was no hiding her pride of her parents.

And rightly so,
thought I to myself. It struck me just how little I knew of her world and yet she had revolutionised my opinion and instilled in me a new found respect for her and her ilk. “It would seem that your parents were both thoughtful and loving. Given the peer pressures you describe, one could almost say visionary.”

“Indeed. Although I would have preferred to have had an altogether more normal life. It is difficult to shake that feeling of responsibility that one feels when holding such an auspicious title as ‘The Lady Penelope of Auchtershinnan’. I always strive to hold myself to such a standard as to make my parents proud of me. That would include all those sundry considerations in my choice of husband whilst also being true to oneself in my selection. This in no way allows for blind dates in a pub as such a discovery would be fodder for the media whilst also bringing shame onto the family. One must keep up appearances even though one understands the folly in such actions. Forgive me being so blunt and sounding undoubtedly judgmental but please do not, even for a second, think that I would not enjoy such an endeavour. I can guarantee that I would. It would be nice to be ‘normal’, if even jus
t for the littlest while.