Before She's Thirty

1.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what do you like to do sexually?"

For the last few minutes, Susan had been studiously moving the last few pieces of tiramisu around her plate in an attempt to avoid answering a question about her taste in movies. Carl was great, but she was well aware that she was making a complete mess of this date. She'd been struggling badly enough with the small talk and then suddenly he dropped this bomb of a question like it was nothing.

"Oh, umm, well, I mean, normal stuff, you know, I mean, just, like, women tend to..." she trailed off.

Unfortunately, this did even make the top three of least coherent sentence she'd uttered this evening. What the hell was wrong with her? Well, that was an easy question. She was three weeks away from her thirtieth birthday and still a virgin. That birthday was a firm deadline in her mind. She simply could not reach her thirties and still have life passing her by. This date should have been an easy fix; they'd planned it like a military operation. Why was it all going wrong? Ok, so most military operations in history hadn't been planned at 2am over two bottles of Chardonnay and a shared tub of Haagen Dazs with Ms Mindy from grade 1, but props to Mindy, Napoleon himself couldn't have come up with a better battle plan.

They'd written it down and broken it into stages with pros and cons and strategies, contingencies, and (because drunken primary school teachers are still primary school teachers) glitter and pipe-cleaners. After they'd finished they'd pinned it to Susan's fridge and Mindy had even rearranged the magnet letter above it to read 'The Time is Now'. Except this 'now' was rapidly becoming not the time. It was unlikely that she'd another now before life forced her to start unwrapping presents.

Carl leaned forward, and there was a pause as if he was about to say something important, but still also weighing it up in his mind. He was still the perfect deflorist. Not perfect overall, of course; good enough was what made him perfect for this one specific job. It had been a central plank of Mindy's rambling and somewhat slurred argument that they didn't want anyone she was going to fall head-over-heels in love with. No pining away. Nobody could pine quite like Susan, so that had been rule number one on their chart. They needed someone to do the deed with enough class and grace to make it a positive experience, but not wonderful enough to start melting hearts ("Talking of melting is there still any of that ice-cream. Yeah, right there you see, that what we don't want happening to your heart.")

The dating apps had spat out Carl as one of the first choices. He was also a psychologist, which Mindy, for some reason found hilarious, and which prompted her to make an immediate swipe of approval on Susan's behalf. He also, crucially, been up late that night as well, which meant the deal had been sealed with remarkable speed.

He has ten-years older than her, divorced, and just starting to play the field again. He wasn't looking for anything too serious, but also wasn't too cavalier about dating. He wasn't ten out of ten in terms of appearance, but he'd looked after himself and presented himself well. In the planning stages, after some strenuous debate, Mindy and Susan had split the difference and agreed his picture was a seven, and, to Susan's great surprise, he'd remained a seven even after she'd sobered up the next morning. With a clearer head, she found she didn't hate the plan. She even took it back of the fridge to corrected some of the spelling.

He'd been a total gentleman all the way through the date; at least until that last question, which had started to show just a touch of frustration with her.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Carl said. He paused again. This sounded ominous.

"I'm a little confused, to be honest. I got the impression from the messages we'd exchanged, that you'd be a real party girl. I thought by this point in the date, you'd have downed a couple of shandies and be dancing on the tables. I was really expecting a simple, fun time. Look, don't get me wrong, you're an attractive lady. It's not that I don't like you. It just that tonight has been a lot of work and I'm not really ready yet for relationships that need work, not so soon."

She realized he was describing Mindy (except for the shandies which she was pretty sure she didn't drink anymore). She shouldn't be surprised really. Mindy had done most of the initial messaging with Susan looking over her shoulder and desperately trying to tone down some of the more colourful sentences. They'd fought over the keyboard at several stages. Mindy had usually won and so it was her personality that had shone through during the setup phase for the date. It might have been a little too much too soon. She had some very highly advanced ideas about what was appropriate flirty behaviour for the modern woman and what was not. The phrases 'gagging for it' and 'Mr Right Now' apparently were perfectly fine for courtship though she was coyer about talking what her version of Susan might actually want to do in bed, when prompted. It was all about 'mystique' apparently.

Maybe that was the issue: she wasn't drunk enough. She'd taken a couple of sips when the wine arrived, but alcohol had never made her relax, especially around men; it had always made her incredibly self-conscious that she was going to say or do something stupid. Luckily, she'd avoided that trap tonight, as always, by hardly saying anything at all.

"Um, sorry," she ventured.

Obviously, she'd need to say more to save this sinking ship, but that was all she had for the moment. She was expending most of her energy on not bursting into tears. She was on the verge of being turned down for casual sex. That surely was the ultimately slap in the face for a woman, to offer oneself freely and still be turned down. Counterpoint, she thought, you haven't actually offered much of anything all evening, not even good company.

Mindy had written, "If all else fails, tell the waiter the ladies is blocked, then jump him in the stall," on the back of the plan. At the time they'd have a good laugh about it. She hadn't considered it might actually become her last, best hope.

"No, look, it's okay," Carl said kindly.

She was pretty sure there were no actual tears on her face. She'd become pretty good at sucking up disappointment over the years, but, obviously, a gentleman would be treading carefully on his way out of the door.

To her surprise though, he suddenly went in a different direction.

"What I mean is, well, what I'm getting from you is, and tell me I'm wrong, is that it seems you quite like me, or let's say, we like each other, but it also seems like you are quite nervous, maybe terrified in fact, if that's not too strong a word. So, what I propose is that, instead of finishing this meal in silence, then going to a darkened cinema and sitting in silence for two hours, which let's face it, isn't going to reduce the tension any, and then me walking you home and you scurrying off like a frightened mouse before I can mention coffee, instead of all of that, why don't we take it back to basics?" Carl had delivered the speech carefully, choosing each word and trying to ensure it sounded reasonable, kind and comforting.

"Ok," she said. "So what...?"

Carl liked his pauses. He had gotten about halfway through dating minefield, and was now looking for exactly where to gently put his foot down.

"Let's keep this simple. I'm going to ask you a question and give you a yes or no choice. Once you answer that's the last choice you'll have to make this evening."

"Alright," she said.

"Do you want to have sex tonight?", he said directly.

"Yes," she said, instantly.

"Ok," he smiled. "Good, no more mixed signals. What I'm going to do is pay the bill here, then I'm going to call my friend and see if they want two movie tickets at short notice. As a gesture, if you really wanted to see that movie, I'll get tickets for mid-week for you and, what was your friend called? Mandy?"

"Mindy," Susan corrected.

"Right, right, Mindy. Then, I'll come back and we'll talk about how I think this evening could go." Carl got up, and walked over to the front of the restaurant, signalling a waiter for the check as he moved.

Susan pulled out her phone, which had vibrated and been ignored several times during the evening. There were messages from Mindy checking up on her. She quickly sent a reply, "I'm getting fucked tonight." In some ways she hoped typing it would make it more real.

The reply came back within seconds, "Slut!"

The phone was halfway back in her handbag when it shook again, "No srsly, have a great evening. Hope it is special. [heart] u babe."

Once she'd finished typing out another quick message of thanks, she looked around to see what Carl was doing. He'd paid the bill and was outside on the phone, presumably trying to offload the tickets. Fiscal responsibility, she thought to herself: a good trait in a potential life partner, but quite annoying in a one-night stand. She was dying for him to come back and tell her what the rest of the evening had in store -- apart from the hopefully obvious, of course.

She pulled out her little mirror from her bag and checked her hair and make-up. Maybe she hadn't spent enough time and effort on it. This check was making her more self-conscious rather than less, so she decided that she could risk another sip of the wine. Having taken one, she looked around again, made sure that Carl was looking the other way, then downed the rest of the glass. To hide the crime, she then signalled to the waiter that he could begin the clean-up operation.

One thing Susan and Mindy had agreed on, after a long discussion, was that she wasn't going to tell any suitors that she was a virgin. She felt weird being a thirty-year old virgin. They would feel weird with a thirty-year old virgin. Hassle, right? She had enough mental barriers and emotional blocks to getting it done that being treated with kid gloves wasn't going to make things any easier. So for them it would be ordinary hook-up with a shy girl who was coming out of a dry spell. That was all. For her, after thirty miserable years, it was finally going to be Susan Treybridge's night.

It seemed strange that it was finally happening. It shouldn't, she thought; it should be strange that it hadn't happened before. It wasn't that she was frigid or anything. She had a perfectly normal libido, as far as she was aware. In general, she'd always wanted to, and she'd always assumed she would, at an appropriate time, with an appropriate man. Sure, in her teens, she'd hadn't been in a rush. The boys had all seemed so immature and unworthy, and she was immature enough herself that she still thought it had to be perfect. Looking back, she had dodge a lot of bullets for sure, and she had no regrets there. Then in university the most valuable lesson she'd learned was that if your flatmate tells you very definitively that he's homosexual the first night of term, you don't need three years to realize that he's never going to be the one. After graduating she'd started her teaching career, not by choice, in a tiny primary school in the middle of the Yorkshire Dales, which had seemed quaint and a nice, gentle start to her career, but she should have realized sooner that a village which had only twenty school age-children would be unlikely to be brimming with eligible bachelors either. She'd taken the opportunity, after several semesters, to move back to London, but then, of course, the last few years had been tough with her mother's passing. With all that happening, she'd never really had any time for herself. Even afterwards, it had taken her a while to realize that, however hard things had been, she did actually have her own freedom back again, but might not have her youth for very much longer.

She was musing on this when Carl returned. "They didn't want the tickets in the end. Shame to waste it, but it is what it is," he explained. Susan didn't really care what happened, but she agreed it was a shame out of politeness.

"So, what are you going to do to me tonight?" She flicked her hair back as she spoke and the same movement unconsciously pushed her breasts forward. Mindy had helped her choose a dress to best show off her assets, but Susan, being Susan, had been slinking back in her seat thought the meal. Maybe, after all, the secret with wine was to drink it quickly. Or maybe the knowledge that a man actually wanted to sleep with her, and actually tonight, was boosting her confidence.

This tiny glimpse of her sexuality caused Carl to hesitate for a second. Perhaps if she'd been able to do this from the start, the date would have proceeded more naturally, but Carl obviously had been working out his next plan and didn't want to be derailed now. He sat down and leant forwards towards Susan.

"As a psychologist, I try to avoid analysing my own relationships too much, at least out loud. It usually doesn't help much, and people appreciate it a whole lot less than you'd expect. But in this case, I think it might be useful." Carl was the master of the pause. He gave Susan an opportunity to object. She passed on it.

"I think you genuinely want to experiment with a more casual relationship, but at the same time are very worried about it. That's normal. A lot of women are worried about how they will be perceived if they practice a certain kind of sexuality. After a period in a committed relationship and after a period on your own, you're probably trying to create a whole new self-image. Just trying to figure out who you are again which isn't always easy. Your approaching middle-age, and I'm guessing, I could be wrong, no need to tell me if I am, that maybe you're having difficulty reconciling young Susan with more mature Susan." Then again the pause.

Susan who wasn't sure where this was going. He was, she figured, wrong in a lot of the particulars, understandable since he'd been given bad information. but there was a certain underlying rightness to what he said. She did struggle to see herself as a 'Susan who has sex', or even the Susan in 'Carl and Susan' or whoever. She had always felt more like an 'Oh, you know, Susan'.

"Ok. Interesting. Continue." She found it was easier for her to communicate if she stuck to single words. At least now she was getting them out in some kind of logical order.

"So, with the right approach evening could be a real chance to help work on these issues. And have fun, of course. but, just recognize these issues exists and are preventing you being who you want to be. I've got two main suggestions, if you're willing to listen?" Again the pause. Susan nodded.

"Firstly, you cede a certain amount of the decision making process to me. We've established that we are mutually attracted to each other, but every choice you have to make is giving you a chance to doubt yourself and puts walls in the path to you genuinely enjoying yourself. So, I'll take on the responsibility of making sure we both have a good time tonight. Try to help knock down those walls"

Carl had clearly now gone into full psychologist mode. Susan understood that; your work often spilled over into your personality. As a primary school teacher, she often found herself accidently patronizing adults when she tried to explain something to them. She didn't need all this psychobabble though. She'd agreed with the basic idea several sentences and continuing on only meant that Carl was rapidly losing the sex appeal boost he'd gotten from taking control. The problem with only having a nod at her disposal was that it was quite difficult to move things along any more quickly. She nodded.

"Ok, so the second suggestion I had was about this idea of self-image and creating a new one. Even in a lot of non-sexual matters, psychologists often use role play to help people work through issues. One thing that can be helpful is trying to create a new persona. We can ask the patient...well I probably shouldn't be saying patient, that's not really what I...well, you might find it useful to take on a different name for the evening. Call yourself Vivien, for example. Then you don't have to worry what Susan would or wouldn't do in any situations. You ask what Vivien would do, and we don't necessarily know the answer to that, and we can be surprised by the answer."

Susan was again amused. She was already technically engaged in a play by the lies Mindy had already told on her dating profile. Now, she was being dragged into a play within a play. Very Shakespearean, she should use this date as an example the next time she had to teach drama. If only. But then maybe donning a mutually agreed or mutually shaped persona would be better than just hiding the truth from her partner. At best she could discard this half-baked semi-identity Mindy had cooked up for her and have another go at constructing something she felt more comfortable with.

Carl had obviously been busy analysing her through the course of the meal. She should, she thought, maybe try to analyse him back. Was he genuinely trying to help her, or was he just trying to arrange matters so that he got some tonight. What the hell, who knew? She was not very good at people. If she had to take a guess, well, both, probably. Wasn't that what men were like. Maybe she should start with smaller-scale mind-reading. Vivien, what did that represent? Leigh, perhaps. She wasn't sure that was a mantle she was ready to take on yet.

"Rachel," she said. A nicely bland name with no particular connotations, she thought. Was she being boring again?

It took Carl a moment to realize that she actually had an active contribution to make. "Ok, Rachel, nice," he replied. She had half been expecting him to insist on Vivien, but perhaps it had never had any real significance to him anyway. "If we're agreed then, I think it's time to move on."

2.

They'd originally arranged to eat early as they had movie tickets, so it was still light when they headed outside. Leaving the restaurant, Carl turned right.

"The Tube is in the other direction," Susan said.

"Ah, well, we're not in any rush. We have all evening and we have a couple of stops to make first," Carl said. "Preparation. Besides we can't peak too soon."

They walked along the back streets of Shepard's Market. The first stop they made was at a little Tesco Express supermarket. As the automatic doors slid apart, Carl said "I'd like you to buy the ingredients to make us breakfast tomorrow. There's a few things I need to get as well."

"Breakfast?" said Susan.

"Yeah, of course," said Carl. He seemed to sense that Susan wasn't exactly happy with his presumption. "Look, the act of buying the items for us for tomorrow helps cement in the mind the idea of there being an 'us' in the morning. Psychologically it makes it harder for you run away because there's something you've already committed to doing first," he explained. "Something which is simple and easy to do. Comforting, maybe"

Susan could help shake the feeling that she was being played again -- into the kitchen, women. But fine, he had paid for their meal just now, and it wasn't exactly a big ask. If they were starting an actual relationship, she'd have to nip it in the bud, but okay, one breakfast, why not? That said, she didn't see any point in getting too creative with it, a fry-up would do. Carl had disappeared off to the other end of the shop. She quickly went up and down the aisles picking up bacon, sausages, eggs and a sliced loaf.

Carl didn't take much longer and they met back at the counters. Not having bothered to pick up a basket herself, she dumped her items in his, noting, as she did so, that he'd picked up two bottles, one of rum and one of coke, and a packet of condoms. She already had a pack in her handbag, a present from Mindy. Originally they'd been wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper with a note that said 'Use in case of virginity', but she'd unwrapped them before setting off. Let him buy another pack. It didn't do for a girl to appear too keen.