I decided to give her another chance. The first date didn’t go so well, but things had changed. Despite me practically running in the opposite direction from her the last time.
She had now sorted things out, got the locks changed. She had bought a new flat, the police had dealt with Crazy Ex Caveman. He was no longer tracking her around the Dorset Coast like a Smart Price hitman.
She had got back on the straight and narrow, things were looking up.
A few months since our last ‘date.’ We arranged to meet at McDonalds.
I know – no the most romantic cuisine. This is probably why I was single for a long time. It was her idea – not that you believe me!
My previous visits to a similar establishment weren’t the greatest. As you can see, the other customers were a little too friendly…
Things were okay during our saturated fat feast. Well, despite the neighbourhood chavs fighting in the background and then trying to to snort foreign objects in the toilets. I attempted to eat a Fillet-o-Fish from the McDonald’s menu. It was vile.
We spoke about her family life overseas, her sister and her dancing. She admitted since leaving her work and getting a new flat, she felt lonely.
She spoke about her love for Fawlty Towers. I admitted I hadn’t seen an episode in ages. Netflix was still an unheard of concept at this point. She asked if I wanted to check out her new flat and we could watch the DVD box set.
I thought why the hell not. It’s the afternoon. It’s Boscombe. Everything will be fine.
There’s nothing like seeing psychotic hotel owner, Basil Fawlty, pretending to be a Nazi. Whilst watching this with a Polish person.
We arrived at at her home, which was literally a room with a sink inside it. It was dank, the walls were crumbling slightly and it felt cold. It made student accommodation give off a star quality vibe.
Her laptop screen was broken, and you could only see half of it at a time. Presumably Caveman had a hand in this unwanted Windows upgrade?
As I sat down, I pondered this classic old school Rupert situation I’d stumbled into. There were some awkward silences and I wasn’t sure what to talk about with her. “Nice room.”
She made no effort to dig out the Fawlty Towers DVD. She probably didn’t even have one. Let alone a DVD player.
I began to feel like coming here was maybe a mistake, but I didn’t want to leave so abruptly. It would be rude to go I felt, as I just got here.
I thought of things to talk about. I remembered our mutual interest, dance. I mentioned I still didn’t feel brave enough to go to Salsa Night yet and dance with random strangers. She offered to dance with me now to help my confidence. Her eyes lit up like a kid spotting a leftover cookie.
She then took my hand, my waist – and my breath away, and whisked me onto the carpet. There was no co-ordination, nor style from her, but she pressed against me as hard as she could.
Her head completely lulled back as if in a trance.
Bathing in glory, she felt ecstatic. She began to grind down on me.
“I have a thirst for you!” She declared, tightening her grip.
“I just want to drink you all up.
When we met, it was like a high school moment for me.
I saw you standing there, our eyes met that day.
I knew you were the one!”
She suddenly started kissing me. Her exceptionally dry lips melted against mine in a feverish embrace. I’d not kissed sandpaper before, but I imagined it would have been similar.
Except I didn’t feel what she was feeling. I struggled a little to get out of her grasp. I wanted to get out of there.
I said ‘I’ll catch her around.’
I realised then it was my turn to sort my life out. No more dates at McDonalds with people who date crazy guys. Don’t get lured back to people’s house with the bribe of Fawlty Towers.
I darted out the door and never looked back.
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