Carpe dame

I walked into the Sun Hotel and glanced at a tall, blue-eyed blonde. She was wearing silver flatties and a blue shift dress that stopped a few inches short of her knees. I ignored her, thinking "it won't be her." She waved and called me over, and immediately offered to buy me a drink. All night she was even-handed about buying drinks. This is Correct Female Behaviour, and it reminded me--as a pleasant contrast--of the Senior Lecturer in Naughty Boys Studies at Ribble Polytechnic who let me buy every single drink on our first and last date. She was on, what, 40K. Of course I buy all the drinks!

Danniella kept tugging at her skirt. Don't, it's OK, you've judged your skirt length perfectly. It doesn't matter if it rides up a bit. I remember us talking about how much life changes after you've had children, and her daughter who finished a degree a few years ago and now lives a contented hand-to-mouth existence on a houseboat.

She had to go to get her last bus to her village up the valley. We stood up together. We went out the door and I set myself to accompany her. "Are you walking me to the bus station?" she said. "Of course I am!" Oh no, we're not shaking hands and saying a polite goodbye yet.

I put my arm through hers, as New Road is a bit steep. On our way to her bus stop we passed the Head of Flipcharts of our local Council, out on the lash as usual at this time of night with his taciturn friend. Both of them saw us and stared. Everyone notices every acquaintances's social changes here. I have come to like it; it gives you broader scope for telling stories.

Her bus arrived and we quickly had to solve the saying goodbye problem. I advance my lips towards hers; an inch away, I am still waiting for a signal. I turned mine conservatively towards her cheek, but she turned her lips towards mine, and I made a correction, to snog her. Her mouth and body were gorgeous. She's taller than me and it was exciting having to tilt my head up to meet her lips.

I walked through town full of it, and diverted myself into a new pub which serves good beer at high prices and which has the atmosphere of a cardboard box. I wanted to sit down and drink her in, to feel the evening with her as a recent memory on my skin. I had just got to my table and met a young barmaid from a pub I frequent, who was there with a man she seemed to be very pleased to be marrying. What a waste, at your age. In the way that one can sometimes talk more openly to people like taxi drivers, whom one doesn't know, I recounted a version of my evening.

At home, there was a text on my phone. "Blimey, that was nice, can we start at the moment where we ended next time?" After several flirty texts, some of which discussed the zip down the back of her dress, we have agreed that I'm going up to hers on Tuesday. She warns "If I meet you in a FROCK the whole village will talk. I'll meet you in jeans and a T-shirt." "Well," I reply, "you could always change into something more comfortable when we're in your house."