Dating or not dating.

[NikF]

...given your boxing experience, try to do no more than block it. Don't launch a retaliatory strike, whether violent or balletic 


Sarge

Balletic? Bobbing, weaving and slipping, Sarge. Bobbing, weaving and slipping. That's my bag.   

A dearth of women? But since you'd be with a woman, I guess the type of bar wouldn't matter.

Yeah, I'd be with a woman anyway - one who based on a couple of photos still appears to have a nice figure.   
Also: pro tip for finding (female) fashion models (or any women, for that matter) when they're on a night out or just wanting to enjoy a drink relatively undisturbed - gay bars/clubs. 

[NikF]

I've no plans to post another dating story after this one. And I'm only posting this one because Sarge was kind enough to say kind words about the last. I shouldn't be encouraged so.


Dating the girl with Louise Brooks hair.

My diary doesn't have room to tell me why I first met Sophie. It only notes that she was 16 and a middle-class after school drama club actress who dressed like a middle-aged housewife - all mousy curls, tweed, pearls and goody sensible two shoes.

A couple of years later we met again just as she was starting at drama school. I failed to recognise her because she had painted her lips red and dyed her hair black. She'd been at a party with someone I knew and they stopped me in the street to say hello. I got her number and she asked to keep in touch. When a girl says that it usually means she'll keep in touch too if she's truly interested. Sophie kept in touch.

Dates. We had lunch. Mostly coffee. The first one brief, but before leaving she found and took her time over an empty cup to sit looking into a pink shelled compact, reflecting, examining, picking with her pinky finger at the edge of her lips to flick away invisible faults and so maintain the red line. A few days later another lunch, her grooming habits more familiar now and further augmented; she removed a thumb ring and held it like a target, then asked for my hand and wordlessly started testing to see how far and which of my own fingers would fit inside, and when we found a close fit she started to ever-so-slowly slide the ring back and forth, over my finger, starting at the tip then lowering it as close to my boxer's knuckle as she could, then back up to pause by the nail bed, repeat, over and over. Repeat. Still, while we could frequently find time for lunches there was never enough for more than that, but we saved it all up.

One of her drama tutors had early on advised her class to go to any audition they can for every role they could, just for experience and the hell of it. Sophie did this, beat the long, long odds and got a call back. She rolled again and found herself in London for about a week of filming a small part in a TV show. Despite her excitement she promised unprompted that as soon as she got back we'd really make real love - her exact words, not mine.

She called near the end of the week. Some family were down there and she was spending a couple of days with them. And oh, they cut her hair for the part and she had styled it further into a Louise Brooks bob. I was assured I would find it sexy. I assured her I would do so. Near the end of the second week a second call. Can I book a taxi to meet her at the train station? And can we go out on the following (Saturday) night? Finally, do I have two (male) friends suitable to go out with her two roommates at the same time?

Sorry, sorry, no journal sourced insight about why my friends and I arrived so early at her flat. But it was the afternoon and warm and sunny. The house was split into separate apartments with ground left and first floor left belonging to Sophie and her roommates. We rang the bell and it was one of the roommates who answered and let us in. She told us to hang up our jackets on a hook next to the door. I placed mine there along with my silk scarf. We were ushered into the living room where the three of us took a seat on the sofa. This room was dim, cosy and fashionably Bohemian but mostly dim.


(Part two to follow)

[NikF]

We were joined by the second roommate who placed an ashtray on top of a lovely Deco tiled but long extinguished fireplace and informed us they were all running late at getting ready. She offered a joint or a drink. One of my friends - a sound engineer by trade - indicated he would smoke, The other friend? I now have no idea who the dude was. I can't even remember his name. Anyway, he too accepted the joint. Yes, I'd like a whisky, please. The roommate disappeared for a few minutes then returned and slowly, carefully handed me a water glass filled to the brim with whisky. I've got it. Then she went over to a cassette deck, pressed play, and after only a few bars of loud, loud intro the sound engineer almost shouted to be heard "Jones. Sadkin. Compass Point". The roommate indicated ten minutes and left.

The ten and more minutes passed and the joint was smoked and another skinned up. I had been drinking my whisky and finally managed to put a dent in it. The room was increasingly stuffy with fumes due to the blinds being pulled down over the open windows and resulted in me feeling pleasantly high. One of the roommates came in and turned the music down to say they wouldn't be long now and that Sophie was taking a bath. She then asked if we wanted to go into the next room and watch some pron on VHS with her and the other roommate while we waited. I was okay (aka feeling too lightheaded to move) the sound engineer also declined, but unknown dude followed her with a greedy grin. He returned about five minutes later. Had he changed his mind? Did he feel uncomfortable watching it with two strange girls? He told us why - "Gay pron".

Right here, right now as I write, I still never sit with my back to a door. However there are always exceptions. And back then a door opened and I looked over my shoulder. The girl with Louise Brooks hair.

(Part three to follow)

[NikF]

The dimness of the room, the effects of the whisky, the second hand smoke, the heat, my relocation to pseudo Bohemia, all of it combined to turn the micro contrast down on my senses. That is, unless I was looking at Sophie, Sophie in almost sprayed on tight red leggings and a short cropped halter top that left her stomach and whole back naked and exposed. And the red lips and the Louise Brooks hair. I watched her walk bare footed towards the tape deck. She squatted down in front of it and looked through a box of cassettes.

Sophie finds a tape. Puts it in the player. And this song begins to play -

http://www.youtube.com/v/9GZGyBZ65Ro

(John Martyn - Please Fall in Love with Me)

She stayed there motionless for a moment then stood and walked over behind the end of the sofa where unknown dude was sitting. I watched her slowly start to move, her feet remaining fixed on the spot, one hip slightly swaying forward then back, followed by the mirrored movement of the other side, then repeat. She reached over and took the joint from his hand, smoked, and returned it.

This soft dance joined by a smile continued around the sofa and in front of unknown dude who by this time was almost distracting me because his body language had changed. He was still sitting back, but for someone stoned he appeared kind of uptight. From a distance the movement of Sophie's hips was almost imperceptible, but they pulled me in. Then she moved on a little and stopped in front of the sound engineer, looking at him with the same smile, performing the same nearly dance. He had a huge grin on his face. I looked back at her just as it was my turn. Finally, my turn. She moved over in front of me. Her hips at my eye level. And I saw.

The red leggings were actually red sheer tights/pantyhose and clearly showed that underneath was nothing more than bare skin. And the halter top hadn't existed, because before entering the room she had simply taken my silk scarf and draped it around her neck, letting the ends fall wherever. And if you're trying to picture little Sophie's lithe smooth body in that room at that very moment, I suggest Tri-X pushed to 800, f/2.8, 1/80 sec.

Throughout my dance she smiled, then more serious she slightly parted the red lips and finally bent over and while still dancing put her mouth next to my right ear. I waited for a whisper but there was none. Just her breath and fresh from bathing scent. Eventually she kissed my cheek, stood and left the room.

(Fourth and final part to follow)

[NikF]

Six of us can't fit in one taxi cab and even if it wasn't illegal it would be uncomfortable. So we called two. Four in the first, Sophie and I in the second, sitting close enough for one. Taken into town where we stopped at a too busy bar and had a drink. She looked great in a young drama school actress kind of way; little ankle boots, red stockings, skirt, striped Bardot top (her bare shoulders) and a bandsman's jacket in black with matching brocade, red lips now familiar old friends, the still new Louise Brooks hair. She also looked hot as hell, which was illustrated by the tall and successful suit zooming in on her when she was on her way back from fixing her makeup in the ladies room. She stood and spoke and smiled with him but continually looked over to me. Yeah, I'm fine.

All of us moved to another place, this time a little more quiet. The quartet had decided to go clubbing and were discussing which to visit. I suggested to Sophie that when they find somewhere we should go home and to bed. She replied yes we could but instead should and in fact would wait because she wanted to see the city at night with me. We walked the others to a club and kept them company in the queue for a little while, then exchanged goodnight wishes and headed off on our own trail.

We found somewhere to have a drink. We bought donuts. We watched street puppet theatre. We went to an arcade and played one of those video games where you sit inside the cabinet but not usually both of you at the same time. Then we played pinball, Sophie in front of me on tiptoe, sometimes leaning over the table, her excited little hops and squeals, pert, all pert, fingers under mine on the flippers, and then finally, at her request I punched a leather bag to try and make the pointer on a dial go all the way past 'Rookie' to 'Contender' then 'Heavyweight World Champ', although from the outset I had already secretly settled for 'The Knockout.'

Finally I took her to a bar I knew. It had a late licence and so was a favoured haunt of such as late shift workers, taxi drivers, nightclub ejectees, dope dealers, press photographers, hookers, and anyone else really, anyone wishing an early hours drink with an optional side of stranger's stories. We both ordered house whiskies and went upstairs where there was a balcony and pool table and bikers already playing, but they could tell I had been around and they thought Sophie cute, so it was all cool and good.

"Time, ladies and gentlemen! Time, please!" There's a long straight road that begins in the city centre and heads West continuing as far as you might need. We planned to start walking in that direction and hail a cab somewhere along the way.
In the meantime, this is what's known as the financial district and it's quiet and empty now on the weekend, barely a lit window in brutalist buildings grey even in the dark. Not a soul outside. Only us. No sign of a taxi yet, no one waiting in the bus shelters. We lazily walked joined together at the hip, my arm around her and paused only for a minute or two in a dim doorway or lit shelter for a quick laugh and kiss.

This next shelter stood lonely. It had a broken light which left one side in darkness. We walked in there. No words. The light went on, flickered, then went off. We looked up at it. It went on and off, stayed on. Off. Repeat. We looked back to each other, kissed long, my hands on her hips and I remember them earlier swaying, kissing deep, finally broke to breathe, and I picked her up lifted and held her up against the corner wall of the shelter, and gratefully heard her gentle whisper of "Do me".

We got a taxi, I fielded the driver's friendly but annoying questions about did we have a good night?/where did we go?/did we have a long wait for a taxi? (We did, thanks/a few places/Yeah, but it was okay) Sophie was almost asleep with her head on my shoulder, tightly gripping my scarf and moaning a little whenever we hit a bump on the road.

In my flat she was more awake and wanted a repeat of the shelter. Then we slept and when we woke it was a replay of the repeat. Finally we broke the cycle, showered and had an early breakfast in a cheap cafe. Coffee. Milk. Egg, bright yellow yolk dripping from the bread roll, her finger catching, wiping, transferring it to fresh red lips. Louise Brooks hair. Jesus Christ, I remember you Sophie, even now, Jesus f---ing Christ. And how we didn't talk much but were reticent to look away from each other. When we left we shivered and so I wrapped my scarf around her and braved the long way home, through the park, along the path to where it split and we stopped and hugged and looked and kissed. We admitted we hadn't expected this and didn't know what to do but agreed to do something good. Back home and we really made real love - her words, and mine. Afterwards we had a serious conversation of all the pros and cons, then decided she would move in on Monday. She did. Our first place together.

A couple of weeks later she came home and told me she had met someone else and was sorry.

[NikF]

Question: is it commonplace when someone is giving you her phone number that she takes your phone and enters the number herself? 

e: more exactly, is it a Young People™ thing done as a matter of course?

[Sergeant Rock]

A couple of weeks later she came home and told me she had met someone else and was sorry.

Story of my life...well, the first third of my life anyway 

For the young dudes here who don't know who Louise Brooks is:




Sarge

[greg]

Question: is it commonplace when someone is giving you her phone number that she takes your phone and enters the number herself? 

e: more exactly, is it a Young People™ thing done as a matter of course?

Yes

[Mirror Image]

Why dating sites are frustrating and a complete waste of time: I ran across a woman's profile and she had written in her profile that the man she chooses to date must like/love country music. Ummm...yeah. That's like me going out with a woman and during our date I ask "So do you like classical music?" And if she replies "No," I get up and leave. I mean some women's logic just don't make any sense.

[NikF]

Yes

Thanks.

Why dating sites are frustrating and a complete waste of time: I ran across a woman's profile and she had written in her profile that the man she chooses to date must like/love country music. Ummm...yeah. That's like me going out with a woman and during our date I ask "So do you like classical music?" And if she replies "No," I get up and leave. I mean some women's logic just don't make any sense.

Aw, come on. I can just see you sitting there...cowboy hat, Marty Robbins box set, spinning your six gun controller and yee hawin' very time you get a kill in Zelda

[NikF]

The reason for my question about entering a phone number -
In the supermarket, the wine and spirits aisle, a nice office kind of lady was looking back and forth between two bottles of wine. She put one back on the shelf and the other in the basket, shrugging at me as if to say she didn't know which to choose. I said "I hope you bought that for yourself, because if it's for someone else you must really hate them". Anyway I got her number. She insisted on entering the digits herself.

[Mirror Image]

Aw, come on. I can just see you sitting there...cowboy hat, Marty Robbins box set, spinning your six gun controller and yee hawin' very time you get a kill in Zelda

Hah!

[NikF]

Hah!

But yeah, those kinds of deal breakers can be something else. I can more easily understand the whole "Must be over six ft tall" (that's the one that most often disqualifies me) stuff, but the "must like woody plants and herbaceous perennials" that have nothing to do with anything are kind of ridiculous.

[NikF]

Story of my life...well, the first third of my life anyway 

For the young dudes here who don't know who Louise Brooks is:




Sarge

Sophie? 

(From a 1920s magazine)

[greg]

But yeah, those kinds of deal breakers can be something else. I can more easily understand the whole "Must be over six ft tall" (that's the one that most often disqualifies me) stuff

I can totally understand... if the woman is on the tall side. Like anything above 5'9". Otherwise, that would be the equivalent of me saying anyone over 5' is a dealbreaker. I think the more level-headed women don't think like this, though. For example, my mom dated a guy that was 6'5" (when she was young, probably high school) and hated it (she's 5'2"). My dad was my height (5'10") and my step dad is a little shorter, so makes much more sense. 

Nothing wrong with the height difference thing at all, just making it a deal breaker would make me question how out of control their fetish is that maybe there is something wrong with them?

[NikF]

I can totally understand... if the woman is on the tall side. Like anything above 5'9". Otherwise, that would be the equivalent of me saying anyone over 5' is a dealbreaker. I think the more level-headed women don't think like this, though. For example, my mom dated a guy that was 6'5" (when she was young, probably high school) and hated it (she's 5'2"). My dad was my height (5'10") and my step dad is a little shorter, so makes much more sense. 

Nothing wrong with the height difference thing at all, just making it a deal breaker would make me question how out of control their fetish is that maybe there is something wrong with them?

Yeah, like I said, it's understandable. My ex was almost 6' 1" in three inch heels, whereas I'm 5' 8" (not in three inch heels )  But I'm not going down the route of saying someone has something wrong with them. And neither is this thread. 

[NikF]

Ok, I've been feeling some deep feelings towards music lately so I've decided to ask her out. See how it goes 

Careful, she's got a rep for being exactly the way every guy wants her to...

[NikF]

You know her??? No way!!! 

Yeah. 
Sorry, man. I guess I should have broke it to you more gently. 

[Sergeant Rock]

Sophie? 

Apparently Guido Crepax knows her too.



Sarge

[NikF]

Apparently Guido Crepax knows her too.



Sarge

Why am I always the last to know?