Most of my readers are women. I intend it that way. But some new readers are male and they tell
me they prefer funny themes to deep and meaningful ones; what women commonly
call D&Ms. So with Tortoise Sex and posts like this I’m
hoping to humour them.
The title doesn’t quote Don McLean, though I like the
opening bars of Vincent.
I’m recalling the episode I mentioned in the blog Paros to Sifnos, which due to popular
request I’m going to elaborate upon.
……………................……..
The next day there was a message on my answering
machine. And the next. And the next.
Each time his message was humorous - teasing me into considering ringing
him back. The fourth time he called I
was home so I picked up, and we laughed about the fact that he was as quick
with numbers as he was pursuing something he wanted. We set a dinner date.
He picked me up in a fancy car (actually every time he
picked me up he was in a fancy but different car). We went to a restaurant on the waterfront
which I had admired but never dined in, and the evening began well. He was smart, funny, entertaining. He was handsome and tastefully dressed,
confident and ambitious, and sometimes refreshingly self-effacing when
discussing various career and business topics.
The wine was good, the waiters attentive and I was thoroughly enjoying
myself. I knew I was out with a player,
but as he was being perfectly charming that was all manageable. Though I was amused when he seemed surprised
on occasion that an actress (a ‘soap actress’ no less) might also be educated
or intelligent.
What kind of women did this guy usually date?
Somewhere between mains and dessert, he lent over the table
to whisper something tender. The tables
were fashionably large and the restaurant buzzing so I could hardly hear him. He repeated himself, adding a little louder a
phrase of sweet flattery.
Before the thought “oh, he’s good” could fully form in my
mind… a blonde lady on the next table (until then with her back toward us)
turned sharply around and eye-balling him said “oh, I’ve heard that one
before”. He froze. I giggled.
And the other man looked from one to the other like a Wimbledon
Referee.
If it had been a cartoon we’d all have had frozen thought
bubbles above our heads, and the hilarity of the moment is forever
impressed on my mind. Even more
ludicrous, however, was that when my date finally found his tongue he
introduced me to none other than his ex-wife!
His ex-wife! Go
figure, what were the odds of that?!
Well, talk about laugh.
I had a spoonful of something in my mouth at the time and it’s a
wonder I didn’t choke.
It emerged they were on fairly friendly terms, and she
assured me he’d be good company and she was sorry to interrupt. However when her date (a wealthy real estate
agent from Toorak) asked us to join them and began to put the tables together…
I didn’t know whether to hug ‘my guy’ for looking so forlorn or laugh again.
For the next hour through dessert, cheese plate, indulgent
digestive wines and spirits, the four of us bantered about all and sundry,
until we found ourselves back in the Porsche following the other couple to a
Toorak mansion for port. It was the
funniest of nights. And then not only
was the house a modern design masterpiece, it was packed floor to ceiling with
incredible works of art – seriously as good as some public-funded
galleries. I was having a ball.
God knows how Mr Smooth followed up on that date but somehow
he managed it. Once we drove around the
Bay for the afternoon with the top down on his car. Another time had lunch in a chic ‘celebrity
spotting’ café in South Yarra (not far from
where I lived). And each time I would
kiss him goodbye on the doorstep.
He clearly liked a challenge, but was disappointed when some
Melbourne
Then came the date to top all dates: when after a nice meal we
ended up back at his place. His home was
beautifully designed, cosy, with a clever blend of old and new. After admiring the Italian garden, complete
with rich-orange terracotta tiles and sculptured pot plants, hedges and marble
figures, we moved to the largest and most comfortable white sofa you have ever
seen. It swept around the circumference
of the enormous fire place, and when you sat down on it the little dress
cushions fell around you like a flock of soft puppies. He sat down beside me and we started to
kiss. Every so often a cushion would go
flying this way and that, and we’d sink deeper into the fabric. Shoes were lost, jackets, belts, we were
approaching a precipice and I was nicely snuggled, sanguine. Snap, my bra was undone. Snap, crackle, pop, the fire blazed.
Then after a particularly delicious nibble on my ear he
whispered: “would you like to see the stars?”. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move from the
fire to go out to the terrace… but started to get up. He pulled me back to him: “no, no, not out
there, right here”. And with that he
swivelled up and forward to push a button on the side of the huge stone fireplace,
before falling back down and pulling me into an embrace. After a slight theatrical pause I heard
clicking noises, sensed movement, and looked up to see the roof literally
opening. Shutters were moving, lifting
and locking into place until a large semi-circle of sky was revealed directly
above the sofa. A reflection of the
flames flickered in the glass sky-light and above that hundreds and hundreds of
stars; a perfect starry, starry night.
Reclining on sumptuous cushions, warmed by the fire, with Mr
Smooth running his fingers through my hair, and my lips, neck and ears still
tingling from his kisses, I couldn’t believe the situation I’d found myself
in. It was the most romantic and
beautiful setting imaginable.
But too much.
I started to giggle. Soon he
looked crest-fallen so I started to kiss him. I tried to calm myself,
enjoy the moment, but before long I was giggling again. “Oh come on” he said
“what’s so funny?”.
“Well I’m sorry Mr Bond, it’s beautiful, really beautiful,
but I feel like I’m in that final scene from the Spy Who Loved Me… you know, the one with the round bed when Bond
uses a remote to shut all the blinds.”
“No, I don’t know that movie” he lied. And then I giggled again.
I tried reassuring him with “you were actually doing rather
well without that you know”… but the moment was gone. The heat, ironically, had escaped out the
sky-light. And he didn’t ask me out
again after that.
I learnt something about myself though – I may be dramatic
in many respects but I prefer less dramatic, more unique, tender, heartfelt
seduction.
I understand the guy's got himself into all sorts of trouble since, and perhaps isn't the man he might have been, but it was fun while it lasted.
