I met T at a bar while out with the girls one night. He was a sight for sore eyes in a casual navy V-neck and chinos amidst sea of young, suited executives. We were at a 'laundry' - something my girlfriend P calls these places where we 'come to pick up suits'. It's not my scene, but I always have a good night with the girls. T had salt and pepper hair and hazel eyes that crinkled whenever he laughed. I wasn't really in the right frame of mind to make small talk that night but with T it felt like we've known each other forever.
Except, I was about to find out he was a whole lot older than I. I'd have guessed he was about 40, but I was only ten years off the mark. "You don't look anywhere near 50!" I exclaim. And I meant it. He would certainly be the most gorgeous 50-year old I know. "Are you sure?" I laugh, half expecting him to tell me he's just pulling my leg. With a boyish grin, he pulls out his ID. And there it was. 1960. I'm half his age. My father was 7 when he was born. This won't sink in for another couple of days. I tell him he looks amazing, and he crinkles his eyes at me and returns the compliment.
He offered me his number when we were leaving but this time instead of saying "I'll call you tomorrow", I gave him mine instead. I didn't think he would call but three days later I got a text from him...Squee!
We arranged to meet up for a drink. He took me to his favourite wine bar - a quaint little corner in the city that I must have walked past a million times but never paid any attention to. We say hello to his friend who runs the place, and find ourselves a little seat in the corner. It was cozy: pre-war architecture, cigar lounges and iron beams; the walls flickering amber by candlelight.
"The walls open," he says, observing me observing my surrounds. I smile and listen attentively as he tells me about the history of the building. I am transfixed by the sound of his deep, gravelly voice. Between cigarette breaks we talk about our childhood, ourselves, our loves. I was surprised how easy the conversation flowed despite our age differences. The generational gap only rears its head when he marvels at how frequently my BB goes off. It was P, checking in on me. Two bottles of wine later, I made up my mind about two things: a; I definitely like this man and b; we should leave. I feign fatigue, and refreshed my lipstick as he went to get the check. Outside, he closes in on me with his arms outstretched. I grin as he looks down to kiss me, and instead whispered "Why don't I walk you home?" into his lips.
I think we took a cab.
I think we overturned his couch.
I think he definitely knew his way around a woman.
I know it was the most physically demanding, exciting sex I've had this year.
I watch him lazily run his hands over me and slowly drifted off to sleep. This man was beautiful. I look at him for a while, slowly letting it all sink in, trying to convince myself this man is twice my age but it was hard - he had a better physique than most 30-somethings I know. I kiss his cheek and he opens one eye lazily and looks at me.
"You're quite vulnerable, aren't you?" I raise an eyebrow. "Right now. You're two different people at the same time. There's this other side I'm seeing."
I mumbled something incoherent into his shoulder and he held me closer. We stayed like that for a while. There are a million things going through my mind, not least of all how he could possibly figure me out in 5 hours. I hear him start to snore. It was 4am. I took one last look at him and decided I cannot stay.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The one with too much, too early
"Hows your day been?"
I look up from my drink. There was a tall man in a dark gray pinstripe suit in front of me. His hair was dark and unkempt and he was dangerously good looking and he knew it.
"Not too bad," I smile politely. I wasn't really in the mood to talk.
"I'm K," he says. "And this is B. What's your name?" I didn't notice the guy next to him.
And so it starts, the process of satisfying both our curiosities. Much as I wasn't up for it tonight, I am always a good sport when it comes to strangers. The story always fascinates me to some degree. We talk for about the time it takes for me to finish the rest of my drink before I make my move to leave. I find out that both men are Greek, from the same small town and that they have both been here for over a decade. In a place like Sydney, you can never tell if they are coming or going. He offers to buy me another drink but I decline. I was waiting for a friend who was late, I lied, but he insists.
The waitress brings over a round of drinks. We talk about Europe and the places we've been. He invites me to spend the summer holidays with him in Greece on his boat. I laugh. Some men will say just about anything. B orders another round. By this time I find out that B is a plumber by trade. K makes a joke about fixing up some pipes, and we all laugh. The light banter goes on for a while and I was actually starting to enjoy myself. B disappears, leaving me alone with K and I pull out another cigarette. We sank into more serious topics: the economy and the market. Familiar ground. I relax. Another round of drinks appear. When I finish the last one, I thanked K for the lovely company and excused myself. He didn't let me leave until we exchanged numbers and invited me out the next night. I said I would call him. If I were to have some sort of sign-off, that would be it... "I'll call you tomorrow"
To be honest I was actually a little interested in this one. He was smart, sexy, intelligent. A little shorter than I would have prefered, but everyone's a critic eh? I went home wondering if I was actually going to call him. Figured I'd sleep on it. Take things one day at a time. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?
I was just about to jump in bed when my phone went off. It was midnight. K's sent me a picture message... of his torso, right up to where his treasure trail ended, with just the base of his cock peeking up the bottom of the picture. He looked pretty damn good naked for his age. The accompanying text said: I had a great night, thanks for the company.
For one whole minute I stared at my phone, unsure of how to respond. This was new - no one has ever sent me a naked picture before! Especially not a stranger. Is that how things work here? Thanks for the company, here's a naked picture of me? How many copies of this picture has he sent out? I may be pretty adventurous but I have my limits...
I finally decided to reply: What was that about?!
He shoots back an apology. Said he was drunk. Blamed the drinks we had.. And another apology came. I woke up to a third apology, at 6am on a Saturday, saying he hoped him being naughty will not affect our future alcohol consumption.
Oh, the cheek. Too bad he couldn't wait just one more night. I might have gone out with him.
So I never did call him back. He never tried calling either. His picture, however, was a subject of much amusement to my friends for some time.
I look up from my drink. There was a tall man in a dark gray pinstripe suit in front of me. His hair was dark and unkempt and he was dangerously good looking and he knew it.
"Not too bad," I smile politely. I wasn't really in the mood to talk.
"I'm K," he says. "And this is B. What's your name?" I didn't notice the guy next to him.
And so it starts, the process of satisfying both our curiosities. Much as I wasn't up for it tonight, I am always a good sport when it comes to strangers. The story always fascinates me to some degree. We talk for about the time it takes for me to finish the rest of my drink before I make my move to leave. I find out that both men are Greek, from the same small town and that they have both been here for over a decade. In a place like Sydney, you can never tell if they are coming or going. He offers to buy me another drink but I decline. I was waiting for a friend who was late, I lied, but he insists.
The waitress brings over a round of drinks. We talk about Europe and the places we've been. He invites me to spend the summer holidays with him in Greece on his boat. I laugh. Some men will say just about anything. B orders another round. By this time I find out that B is a plumber by trade. K makes a joke about fixing up some pipes, and we all laugh. The light banter goes on for a while and I was actually starting to enjoy myself. B disappears, leaving me alone with K and I pull out another cigarette. We sank into more serious topics: the economy and the market. Familiar ground. I relax. Another round of drinks appear. When I finish the last one, I thanked K for the lovely company and excused myself. He didn't let me leave until we exchanged numbers and invited me out the next night. I said I would call him. If I were to have some sort of sign-off, that would be it... "I'll call you tomorrow"
To be honest I was actually a little interested in this one. He was smart, sexy, intelligent. A little shorter than I would have prefered, but everyone's a critic eh? I went home wondering if I was actually going to call him. Figured I'd sleep on it. Take things one day at a time. Who knows what tomorrow might bring?
I was just about to jump in bed when my phone went off. It was midnight. K's sent me a picture message... of his torso, right up to where his treasure trail ended, with just the base of his cock peeking up the bottom of the picture. He looked pretty damn good naked for his age. The accompanying text said: I had a great night, thanks for the company.
For one whole minute I stared at my phone, unsure of how to respond. This was new - no one has ever sent me a naked picture before! Especially not a stranger. Is that how things work here? Thanks for the company, here's a naked picture of me? How many copies of this picture has he sent out? I may be pretty adventurous but I have my limits...
I finally decided to reply: What was that about?!
He shoots back an apology. Said he was drunk. Blamed the drinks we had.. And another apology came. I woke up to a third apology, at 6am on a Saturday, saying he hoped him being naughty will not affect our future alcohol consumption.
Oh, the cheek. Too bad he couldn't wait just one more night. I might have gone out with him.
So I never did call him back. He never tried calling either. His picture, however, was a subject of much amusement to my friends for some time.
Monday, March 30, 2009
The one with the glint in his eye
I walk up to to him. "So, I made this bet that I would get your number..."
"Just a sec"
I watched in part amusement as he scrambled for a pen and wrote his name and number on the back of a coaster. He had that jackpot combination of lush lips and mischievous eyes – the ones I usually go for. Damn.
"So, I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Was that part of the bet?"
I smile and walk away.
I really should have left it there. I would not have called him anyway. It could have been one of many 'How I met..." stories I've started to collect. But I didn't.
---
I was in this bar, feeling completely fabulous and out with my gay friends and plenty of free drinks. I was wearing the shortest black dress I owned, thinking it was a safe bet going to a gay party. Since we spent a lot of time planted firmly in front of the bar, I started to notice the people around me. J looked up the very moment I glanced at him and our eyes lock. I pointed him out to my friends. "Very cute! Go for it, girl!" R says. "Whoa there," I laugh. He did have really nice eyes.
---
Half an hour later I head back in to get more drinks. I see him in a corner talking to someone. I walk over and before I say anything he pulls me aside. "So do you come here often?" I ask. He laughs at the irony of my question. "So, tell me more," he implores, half pinning me against the wall. The conversation was a brief, concise exchange of words:
What do you do? Photographer, I say. Why are u here? Gay friends, free drinks, why not? So about that bet, it was just a bet? Maybe, maybe not. How old are you? I'm old enough to get into this bar. Your turn, he says.
How old are you? He grins. Single? Yes. Gay? No. What do you like doing? Sex. I like having sex. Lots of it. [Fuck. He plays the pocket aces I was holding on for later. I was hard to refrain from expressing my surprise but I manage, barely] That's cool.. sex is good, I nod, deciding what to do next but he makes that decision for me, heading off to get us more drinks.
I glance over at my friends, who seemed to be having a good enough time without me. R makes a seemingly vague gesture at me, I know he means it's time for me to hook in. I wink back at R. When did all this become a game? When did I decide that I was such a cynic? J came across as pretty cynical himself. I have to be on my toes for this one, I remember thinking. The G&Ts were kicking in so I switch to cocky and funny mode, the one that comes easiest. Put yourself down a little, it lowers defenses. Put the other person down a little, it makes them work harder. J comes back with another G&T for me, and we flirt for another half hour. I think he was impatient to leave. With me. So he sorts of tows me along while we talk, and soon we were out on the street. We walk for about a block and stop in front of a church.
"So are you going to give me your number?" His face was right in front of mine. He was even better looking up close. "I'm supposed to call you tomorrow," I replied. He slides his left hand down the small of my back and pulls me to him. He looked incredibly gorgeous under the street lights. And then I took a deep breath.. it was now or never. I lean in for a kiss. He moves away. I pull back a little, raising one eyebrow. "OK," I grin, "That wasn't exactly part of the plan." I search for something to say but the G&Ts were really kicking in. It was hard to think on my feet. This up close. He stares at me for a moment. "Are you really going to call me tomorrow, or would you wake up and conveniently forget you had my number?" "I said I would," I whisper back. "Promise me you will, and I will kiss you."
Sigh. If there is one thing I dislike more than being told what to do, it's being given a kind of ultimatum. I pull away. The moment was gone. "I'll call you tomorrow." I blow him a kiss and walk off, back to my friends who were just about to leave the bar. It was late. I was tired.
"So what happened with J there?" R asks when I return. I give him a brief rundown. "Straight men. Hopeless. Honey, you got game. He just doesn't know the rules." He rolls his eyes. "I enjoyed the flirting so much more! I should have left it at that." I sigh.
I really should have left it at the bar.
What are the rules anyway? Who makes these rules? I have no idea. People write books about these things. People trawl forums, dedicate hours writing and reading field reports on this subject. Some do it as a profession. But I really have no idea.
On the way back, I felt a little bad walking off. I really did. This is why I would never call myself a PUA; I had a conscience. And many good friends who don't do too well with women. So I sent him a text: I am apparently going to call you tomorrow. When is your day off? He replies, at 2AM: So why didn't you take me home again?
I gave the most honest answer I could think of: Taking you home just because I think you're cute would be completely shallow of me.
It sounds kind of lame. I know. Problem was, I wasn't new to this whole pick up thing. I have no problems with my approach. I have, over time, perfected my opening. My cold reading has never failed me and I'm good at improvisation. My only flaw is closing. I can never close. I have never closed.
But just because I can't doesn't make these encounters any less fun, right?
"Just a sec"
I watched in part amusement as he scrambled for a pen and wrote his name and number on the back of a coaster. He had that jackpot combination of lush lips and mischievous eyes – the ones I usually go for. Damn.
"So, I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Was that part of the bet?"
I smile and walk away.
I really should have left it there. I would not have called him anyway. It could have been one of many 'How I met..." stories I've started to collect. But I didn't.
---
I was in this bar, feeling completely fabulous and out with my gay friends and plenty of free drinks. I was wearing the shortest black dress I owned, thinking it was a safe bet going to a gay party. Since we spent a lot of time planted firmly in front of the bar, I started to notice the people around me. J looked up the very moment I glanced at him and our eyes lock. I pointed him out to my friends. "Very cute! Go for it, girl!" R says. "Whoa there," I laugh. He did have really nice eyes.
---
Half an hour later I head back in to get more drinks. I see him in a corner talking to someone. I walk over and before I say anything he pulls me aside. "So do you come here often?" I ask. He laughs at the irony of my question. "So, tell me more," he implores, half pinning me against the wall. The conversation was a brief, concise exchange of words:
What do you do? Photographer, I say. Why are u here? Gay friends, free drinks, why not? So about that bet, it was just a bet? Maybe, maybe not. How old are you? I'm old enough to get into this bar. Your turn, he says.
How old are you? He grins. Single? Yes. Gay? No. What do you like doing? Sex. I like having sex. Lots of it. [Fuck. He plays the pocket aces I was holding on for later. I was hard to refrain from expressing my surprise but I manage, barely] That's cool.. sex is good, I nod, deciding what to do next but he makes that decision for me, heading off to get us more drinks.
I glance over at my friends, who seemed to be having a good enough time without me. R makes a seemingly vague gesture at me, I know he means it's time for me to hook in. I wink back at R. When did all this become a game? When did I decide that I was such a cynic? J came across as pretty cynical himself. I have to be on my toes for this one, I remember thinking. The G&Ts were kicking in so I switch to cocky and funny mode, the one that comes easiest. Put yourself down a little, it lowers defenses. Put the other person down a little, it makes them work harder. J comes back with another G&T for me, and we flirt for another half hour. I think he was impatient to leave. With me. So he sorts of tows me along while we talk, and soon we were out on the street. We walk for about a block and stop in front of a church.
"So are you going to give me your number?" His face was right in front of mine. He was even better looking up close. "I'm supposed to call you tomorrow," I replied. He slides his left hand down the small of my back and pulls me to him. He looked incredibly gorgeous under the street lights. And then I took a deep breath.. it was now or never. I lean in for a kiss. He moves away. I pull back a little, raising one eyebrow. "OK," I grin, "That wasn't exactly part of the plan." I search for something to say but the G&Ts were really kicking in. It was hard to think on my feet. This up close. He stares at me for a moment. "Are you really going to call me tomorrow, or would you wake up and conveniently forget you had my number?" "I said I would," I whisper back. "Promise me you will, and I will kiss you."
Sigh. If there is one thing I dislike more than being told what to do, it's being given a kind of ultimatum. I pull away. The moment was gone. "I'll call you tomorrow." I blow him a kiss and walk off, back to my friends who were just about to leave the bar. It was late. I was tired.
"So what happened with J there?" R asks when I return. I give him a brief rundown. "Straight men. Hopeless. Honey, you got game. He just doesn't know the rules." He rolls his eyes. "I enjoyed the flirting so much more! I should have left it at that." I sigh.
I really should have left it at the bar.
What are the rules anyway? Who makes these rules? I have no idea. People write books about these things. People trawl forums, dedicate hours writing and reading field reports on this subject. Some do it as a profession. But I really have no idea.
On the way back, I felt a little bad walking off. I really did. This is why I would never call myself a PUA; I had a conscience. And many good friends who don't do too well with women. So I sent him a text: I am apparently going to call you tomorrow. When is your day off? He replies, at 2AM: So why didn't you take me home again?
I gave the most honest answer I could think of: Taking you home just because I think you're cute would be completely shallow of me.
It sounds kind of lame. I know. Problem was, I wasn't new to this whole pick up thing. I have no problems with my approach. I have, over time, perfected my opening. My cold reading has never failed me and I'm good at improvisation. My only flaw is closing. I can never close. I have never closed.
But just because I can't doesn't make these encounters any less fun, right?
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