Recollections Ch. 02

"Oh yes Alan, I was going to ask whether you were married, but I don't think I will," I replied, rather lyrically I thought.

"Why not?" You asked.

"Because I don't need or really want to know, do I? I mean we are only having a drink aren't we?"

"Yes I suppose we are," you said looking slightly crestfallen.

I had felt a big buzz walking through the pub to the loo and back. I loved the sense of incongruity, if that's the correct expression, I felt from all the young bucks showing out to me, as I then walked towards you, a man old enough to be to most of them their father. 'What the fuck is she with him for, must be out with her dad,' they were probably thinking as they watched me sit down across from you.

"Hi, I'm back," I said perching myself on the edge of the chair, letting my skirt ride up almost to panty level and leaning forward, straining the thin cotton of my blouse, suggesting strongly to the assembled young bucks that you were far from being a relative!

"See I did come back didn't I?" I said sitting down and looking you right in the eye. "Pleased?"

"Yes of course I am, thanks."

Under the table I felt your leg touch mine. My first reaction was to move, but my second one was to leave it where it was. I went with the second one.

"Not at all, thanks to you for the drinks."

"I wondered if you thought I was trying to get you drunk," you said, flashing that nice smile that I found quite appealing.

"Now why on earth would I think that, and why would you want to get me drunk?" I smiled, actually enjoying the slight pressure of your leg on mine. 'Accidental' I wondered

"Well you know," you replied, maybe regretting saying it.

"Do I?" I smiled looking over your shoulder and nodding.

You saw that and turned your head just in time so see one of the bar staff arriving at our table with a second bottle of wine.

I leaned forward, quite forgetting the cut of the blouse and my lack of a bra, and placed my fingertips on the back of your hand, my red painted, almost square cut nails contrasting with your tanned skin.

"I hope you don't think I'm trying to get you drunk," I smiled as the barman filled our glasses. I looked up at him smiling. "Thanks."

Smiling even broader than me, his eyes reluctantly it seemed moving up to meet mine, the young Aussie said. "Thanks ma'am."

"And to think I only bought a bottle of wine."

"Yes but he thanked you for letting him pour it," you smiled.

"Oh shit," I said sincerely, worried that my top was gaping so much. "I shouldn't have worn this blouse like this."

"Not at all, I think it looks lovely as it is."

"Men," I snorted, feigning disgust and mild annoyance.

"We just can't help it can we?"

"So it seems," I replied reaching out and clicking my glass on yours "Bless 'em, we often hate them, but couldn't do without them."

Smiling, you replied. "Thank God for that."

We both laughed.

"Tell me more about your job Sammi?" You asked quite out of the blue as you leaned forward resting your chin on your hands.

I rabbitted on for ten minutes or so about writing copy for ads, posters and brochures mainly for small companies on a freelance basis.

"It's bloody hard at the moment getting work."

"I bet it is, I used be in marketing and we used freelance staff like you. Well, not exactly like you Sammi, I mean writers."

"What you mean not young birds like me."

"Where are they mainly published?" You went on slightly changing ther subject.

"Oh the press, radio, billboards, some on TV, local and regional papers and trade magazines."

You asked a few more sensible questions and then said. "How do you get the business?"

"That's the awkward bit."

"How do you mean?"

Well I have a few contacts and some regular clients, mainly ad agencies, but when they change or new agencies ask to see me it's difficult."

"How?"

"Well supply exceeds demand with copywriters."

"You mean there's more of you than there is copy to write?"

"Yes Alan, that is what supply exceeding demand means," I said rather unnecessarily cuttingly.

"So that pushes the price down does it?"

"Yes and makes persuading copy chiefs to appoint you rather traumatic?"

"How?"

"Some expect more than just a low fee, get me?" I said wondering why the bloody hell I was going down this road.

"Oh I see," you said tentatively, your leg again touching mine under the table.

"And especially when the copywriter is a young bird like me," I replied, not moving my knee away.

"What's that got to do with it?" You asked, increasing the pressure on my leg.

I took a slightly too large swig of my wine. "Men tend to think women like that, like me, are simply gagging for it." I smiled, looking into your eyes and thinking, 'I'm being pulled' as we both left our legs pressed together.

Beaming a big smile you said. "And aren't you? Oh bugger."

I laughed. "You know what I mean. In fact, in a couple of agencies they call me the ice mistress, and think I'm lesbian, because I don't put out for them."

We drifted away from my old hate, the way I am almost expected, but don't, to prostitute myself to get work, and discussed the job you had retired from a year or so ago. It had been in banking, one of my pet hates, so I changed the subject quickly.

I knew I would have to leave soon for it was almost three-thirty and I had things to do, but I really didn't want to. I was enjoying myself. And doing that with a man who really, I had just met, was a rarity. I almost never met new men, other than at work and that didn't really count, and it had been ages since I'd had a spontaneous drink like this.

You had told me you were in London for a meeting, but I couldn't recall how long you would be staying

We finished the bottle, both visited the loos and left the pub, the afternoon air immediately going to my head.

"I think you succeeded," I said as I had the nice feeling of your hand on my elbow as we made our way through the crowd standing outside the pub.

"At what?" You asked.

"Getting me drunk."

"You laughed, yes two bottles of decent wine on an empty stomach, isnt' too good an idea, unless you can simply lay down and nod off."

We made our way towards Leicester Square tube station.

"Perhaps we could remedy that?" You said.

"What me being tipsy?" I joked.

"No, not having anything to eat."

"How?"

"Well maybe you would join me for lunch."

"Lunch Alan? It's after four."

"Early dinner then, maybe?" You replied quickly not missing a beat and squeezing my arm a little.

I laughed. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Er, yes, I suppose I am, aren't I?"

"Let me just ask you that question now?"

"What question?"

"The one I was going to ask in the oub before I went on the phone."

"Oh THAT question?"

"Yes the one a topic which hasn't been broached, ok?"

"Yes sure, ask away."

"Are you married?"

+++++

Was that a good or bad sign I wondered, asking if I am married.

"Was," I replied with a smile. "Got divorced over ten years ago. Two relationships since then, neither of which worked out. So now, I'm on my own. Still waiting for love to strike."

The laugh you gave was delicious. "Oh, sorry," you said, those mischievous Sammi eyes peering right through me again. "Didn't mean to make fun of that." Then you gave another laugh, throwing your head back this time.

"Very funny," I mumbled, with a wide grin. I liked to hear you laugh. Your eyes twinkled even more brightly.

"It's..." you began, linking my arm. "It's just that you're a romantic at heart, aren't you? A rare breed."

I nodded, enjoying the feel of your body against mine as we wandered along. "Yes, that may well be the problem," I said.

"Problem?"

"Why I haven't found Missus Right, yet."

There was that laugh again. And another twinkling of those blue eyes. "What? You think the age of romanticism is dead?"

"Seems like it could be," I laughed. "But there's another reason."

You stopped walking and pulled me around to face you. "Oh, now we're getting down to it," you murmured. "Something I need to know, I presume?"

I nodded. No point in withholding information at this stage. "Yep, a story of another woman," I confessed.

"Hmmm. Do tell."

"It's horrible, Sammi . Like being followed all the time. I mean, if things don't change, the only option may be a restraining order."

"A stalker? That's what you're telling me?"

"Sort of. But not just stalking. I mean, the letters, two every day. And the photos! Included with every letter. And the words -- madly in love, offers of marriage, can we just meet and discuss things... it's never ending."

"Fuck," you said, those beautiful eyes as big as saucers.

"Fuck indeed," I agreed. "There've been a couple of requests for that too."

"It can't go on," I said, pulling a face. "It's ridiculous. I can only imagine how horrible it must be to be on the receiving end."

I nodded my head. "Me too, that's why I'm putting an end to it. Once and for all!"

"But how?"

"Simple," I replied, biting my lower lip. "If Demi Moore isn't going to reply, I'm going to stop writing to her!"

Your wide eyes narrowed and you slowly shook your head. "It's not being romantic that's your problem," you told me. "It's the sense of humour."

I laughed at your expression, giving a soft 'gotcha' push on your shoulder. "You're not the first person to tell me that. Jonathon Ross once said the same thing."

"The Jonathan Ross?"

I nodded, smiling at the sceptical look on your beautiful face. "The very same. And that one's a true story. But maybe we should save that for another day?"

"Maybe," you said, linking your arm through mine again as we resumed our journey. The doubtful look in your eyes told me you were unsure if I was kidding again.

"Honestly," I said, crossing one hand over my heart. "It's true. But tell me, what about you, Samantha? It's inconceivable that someone like you isn't in a relationship."

"Someone like me?" you said, wheeling to a halt again.

"Absolutely," I responded, not letting the sharpness in your tone put me off.

"And tell me, what exactly is 'someone like me?'"

"

"Well just dinner then, perhaps?"

"Let's do a deal, let's do late lunch, or did you have other plans?"

"No none at all, I have finished my business."

"You wouldn't prefer a poker game or visit to a casino?"

You laughed. "What instead of the late lunch? No contest, unless of course you play?"

I cocked my head to one side. And knowing I was being unnecessarily saucy said.

"Play?"

"Poker, I mean."

I raised my eyebrows as I contemplated trying to make some smartarse remark linked to strip poker, but thought better of it.

"No too cut throat for me, I'm a bit like an open book."

"Really?"

"Yes people often say they know what I am thinking," I said as we strolled along.

"And what are you thinking now Sammi?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes of course."

"Ok two things."

"Go on, two's pretty good for a blonde."

"Better than a granddad can do most of the time I bet."

We both laughed. "Come on then one at a time."

"Yes that's the best way."

"Ok first, I was thinking, "Are you asking me on a date?""

"And second?"

"That I need a pee."

"Pop in the pub there," you said pointing down to a pub.

"Good idea."

"Well that's the second point, blondie and so you can take the time you need to think things through whilst you have a pee, the answer to the first is yes."

I laughed back over my shoulder as I skipped through the doorway. When I came out I realised that we had walked miles and were now near Holborn Station.

"Let me show you something," I said taking your hand and pulling you into a side road off Kingsway that leads into Lincolns Inn Field.

"Did you have long enough to think?" You asked.

"No not really, us blondes need ages to mull over such a thought as that," I said pulling you across the road into the centre of the square.

"When do you think you might finish mulling then?"

"Oh I don't know, I sometimes mull all evening and then find I still need to mull more the next morning."

"What all night mulls? You're a one night mull then are you?"

"As opposed to being a one night stand you mean?" I laughed.

"Well not exactly, but may I be with you as you mull?"

"Yes I think that would help my mulling."

"And maybe we could have a late lunch as you mull?"

"Perfect, anyway what I was going to show was this," I said pointing to the centre of the square.

"What?" You asked.

"I have flashed my knickers quite often here."

"Really?" You asked clearly having no idea what the hell I was on about. "Very nice."

"Yes flashed them to lots of onlookers."

"You exhibitionist you?" You said seeing the netball court and realising what I meant. "You used to play here?" You asked as we walked towards the netball court.

"Yes at lunchtime, we got large crowds." I replied opening the gate and walking onto the court, which was surrounded by that wire which is made in triangles. I saw that ivy was now growing up two sides of it and that the netball net and post was damaged. "Looks as though it's not used anymore.

"I bet the guys loved it. Pity we don't have a ball?"

"Why?"

"Well you could then practice flashing your knickers again couldn't you?"

For some reason that got to me. We both stopped talking. We looked at each other. Neither spoke for a moment or two. For a fleeting second, for a ridiculous moment, for a short totally outrageous time I actually contemplated saying "Would you like me to?"

Hearing some people walking past laughing broke the spell.

"I've mulled," I said sort of bringing us out of the semi-trance.

"And?"

"Let's do that late lunch date then daddy o, before I change my mind and flash my knickers instead."

"You could always do both, I am quite into multi tasking."

"Don't tempt, come on let's hit Covent Garden."

+++

One of the curious things about meeting such an interesting young woman was that I'd done so in Covent Garden, perhaps my favourite place in all of London. Though, not having been to the City since I had lunch with business contacts over a year ago, I was a little out of touch.

That meant finding a spot for our late lunch could be a bit of a problem. I mean, I'm the man (or was it grandad?) and I'm expected to know these things, aren't I? But I did have one place in mind...

Where the hell was it, though? It had been a while.

"Er, you do know where you're going?" you mischievously asked after we'd been walking for a few minutes. "I mean... at your age... is the 'old' memory still functioning just as well?"

I laughed to myself. The more time I spent with this girl, the more I enjoyed her company. I like sassy birds, women with attitude. That quirky sense of humour never fails to turn me on.

Well, turn me on in an intellectual sense, I mean, not the other. Hell, the way she was dressed, carried herself, and those fucking 'come to bed' type eyes were enough to arouse me physically. But the cheeky, unpredictable, flirty, humorous approach - that was extra. Yes, it added to the sexual ambience, but it was so much more than that.

I just loved that this attractive young, blonde beauty had the quality I admired more than any other in a women.

Turning a corner into Wellington Street, I stumbled across what I'd been searching for. "There you are," I confidently said, grateful for such a slice of good fortune, "And you thought I didn't know what I was doing!"

Your laugh as you glanced across at the Côte Bistro sent a delightful little shiver through me, and the way you said, "Oh, no, Alan, I'm quite sure you always know what you're doing," made that feeling circle around my loins.

No, no, no, I told myself as my pride and joy reared once more. Stop that! God, I'd been semi hard ever since you'd mentioned old chestnuts rearing their heads and then glanced down beneath my belt. Now I was back to full 'power' again. Stop it, I repeated, only too well aware that my body was arrogantly ignoring the instruction.

No, you'd refused my offer for an evening together, so that vastly reduced my chances of, well, you know what. Or had you refused? I still wasn't completely sure about that. Either way, I was determined to enjoy my sassy young blonde's company for as long as it lasted.

And in some ways, pushing sex out of the equation was a good thing. A bit like England being knocked out of the World Cup. You can relax and enjoy the rest of the competition without the tension and worry as to how it will all work out. Yes, I told myself, good comparison!

Even my erection was listening to those thoughts, gently easing back from full throttle to a more acceptable state. Yes, this was much better. Enjoy Sammi 's company for what this was going to be. A fun time with a beautiful young woman. That made much more sense, didn't it? And in any case beautiful young women don't fuck granddads do they?

Who needed sex anyway?

"Okay, granddad chops," I heard you say as I opened the door to the small, uncomplicated bistro-style French restaurant. "I always get extra hungry when I think about flashing my knickers, how about you?"

With that Sammi-like giggle, you pressed your body against mine as you squeezed through the door. Accidentally? Surely not on purpose? I could feel your tits against my chest as you paused for a brief second, those twinkling eyes looking into mine. What about that, then, you seemed to be saying.

Oh, God! Oh, fuck, how do I handle this? I was out of my depth I knew that as well as I knew that I had to soldier on and see this through to its natural end, whatever that may be. The sexual thoughts I'd expunged from my mind surged back again and 'rock hard' instantly returned.

As I followed you as we were shown to a table, I just couldn't help myself. My eyes instantly fell to the sway of your hips and that perfect bum.

For some reason, the tightish, denim micro skirt was gone, replaced by a gymslip of all things, and the flash of knickers as you bounced the netball across the restaurant floor.

Geez, the ache in my groin told me I was in trouble! Big trouble.

"So," you said, as you watched the cute French waiter make his way back to the bar after taking our drink order. "You had this place in mind all along?"

"But of course," I suavely lied. "I love theatreland and this restaurant reminds me so much of you."

"Of me?"

"Certainly," I responded with a huge grin. "Can't you think why?"

"Hmm," you said, glancing around the surroundings.

"Mulling again," I asked. "That's okay, take your time. My granddad memory may be faltering, but I know you blonde's need a few seconds more than the rest of us."

"Is that right?" you said, pulling a face but giving me a smirk. "Well try and concentrate on something while I work it out."

The suggestion was bad enough, given the thought of flashing knickers that wouldn't leave my mind. But when you arched your back as you sat upright in your chair, the magnificent view of the outline of your breasts pushing against your white blouse, crowned by the twin bullets, was, I swear, almost like studying the Mona Lisa.

Perfection!

"That's a good boy," you cheekily added, as if you were putting on some entertainment to keep me occupied while you worked out what I meant.

As much as I tried to keep my eyes on your face, it was a task impossible to any red-blooded male. Though I think I did manage to keep my tongue inside my mouth, if only just.

"Okay, daddy-o," you eventually said. "It reminds you of me because it's so chic?"

I laughed, and you did, too. "Er... strangely... no!"

"Hmm," you said, your eyes darting around again. "Because it's a little bit Bohemian?"