I was pleased that it was just Beth and I going out for my first night as a newly single woman. Beth had a steady boyfriend, and had got together with him only a couple of months earlier than me and my cheating ex, aka the Evil Cockbag. Beth has never really done the whole meeting men in bars thing, and as it was just me and her and a bottle of wine I figured that the night would involve no men, no drama and absolutely nothing to write home about.
Wrong.
We were standing by the bar we were on our second bottle of el cheapo plonk, chatting away about anything and everything other than the Evil Cockbag. A group of lads came in, and I refer to them as lads as that is exactly what they were. Young, late teens and early twenties, all good looking and most of them knew it. They ended up standing not so far away from us in the bar, and as they were a good bit of eye candy we attempted to focus our inebriated eyes in their general direction and started to talk about which one was the fittest.
I have to be honest with you; Mark was one of the most beautiful young men I had ever seen. When I say beautiful I mean it in exactly that way if that doesn’t sound too strange. He was 6ft tall, had broad shoulders which tapered to a slim (but not too slim) waist, and you could tell that under his pale blue polo shirt he had a very toned upper body. His skin was slightly honey in colour and he had the most amazing wide blue eyes with just that hint of cheekiness, but also the innocence of a man who’s still a bit of a boy. His hair was short and light brown and was slightly ruffled at the front. In short, he was well fit.
“He’s really fit,” I said to Beth. (Well, I slurred… probably).
“Right then, I’m going to tell him," Beth replied.
And off she went, not even giving me chance to feebly attempt to try and stop her. The cow.
Beth was talking to him for what seemed like absolutely ages, until she sashayed back over to me, grinning ridiculously, with Mark and one of his mates in tow.
Anyway, Mark and I swapped mobile numbers and went our separate ways at the end of the night, with Beth getting a gold star for not only being the best wingman ever but also spending a couple of hours chatting to Mark’s tedious friend who thought he stood a chance with her, the loser.
Mark and I sent each other a lot of text messages the following week. I’d just started a new job and was working away from home and I found it all a bit of a thrill to be flirting with a guy I didn’t even know. Every time I received a text message I got a bit of a tingle, and I have to admit the texts did get a little bit steamy. Whilst I did consider that he’d be showing what I’d written to all his mates I didn’t care as I found the whole experience quite liberating.
Through these texts I found out that he was only 20 (eek, very young), played football (mmm, wears shorts: good), lived down the road from me (with his parents: not so great) and worked as a packer (again, not great but hey he’s my rebound guy). This young, sexy man who purely based on looks was totally out of my league was interested in me, some slightly messed up woman who was six years his senior.
The next weekend I was out in town on Saturday night again, when Mark sent me a text message:
Hey, are you in town tonight? Wanna met up? M x
Looking back I realise that he must have thought that his luck would be in and who can blame him as I suppose I’d led him on a bit during the course of the week like some wannabe dirty slapper. I managed to convince my friends to go to the cheesiest club in the world so I could meet up with him, and once in there Mark and I found each other and had a brief snog before I had to leave him to go and powder my nose.
The guilt of dragging my friends in there was so strong, and when I re-emerged from the loo I couldn't see Mark so I excitedly rejoined my friends at the bar and ended up having a few drinks with them. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm not going to start scouring a club for a bloke as that just smacks of desperation, doesn't it? I must have stayed with my friends for about three quarters of an hour, and I was starting to wonder where the hell Mark had got to when I glanced across the dance floor and spotted him kissing a younger, slimmer, (and I think) prettier girl. I could have kicked myself for being so stupid, and for even thinking that he might have been interested in more than a quick feel up and a shag (if I was lucky). I left him to it and didn’t go over.
At about 2am my phone vibrated to life with an incoming text message as I was waiting in the queue for a taxi. It was from Mark.
Hi, are you still in the club? I lost you! Do you wanna drag me back to your cave then or what? Mxx
Charming. He had obviously been blown off by his earlier conquest and was ever so kindly offering me his sloppy seconds.
Funnily enough, I didn't reply.
A few weeks later I bumped into him again when I was out in town. I smiled and said hello, but Mark completely blanked me, either not remembering me at all or pointedly choosing not to.
Still, I took a lot from this brief interlude...
• I can pull fit men (with a little help if I’m too scared!)
• Young men are likely to only be after a bit of fun, and if I’m looking for anything more serious then I should probably avoid them in the future.
• I shouldn’t set my expectations too high as to what might happen as a result of meeting someone in a club.
As dating disasters go that one wasn't too bad. It's time to bring out the big (and more embarassing) guns...
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