Sunday, 8 April 2012

Beautiful girl

I am not into girls. Loud and clear. I love looking at them, I appreciate the aesthetics but I am just not that into them. I know my male readers will sigh in disappointment. Could not give a fuck, quite frankly.

But she was different. I chanced upon her in a gay nightclub. We connected inconsequentially over a need of a lighter and because, unusually for a woman, I am incredibly friendly to other females, even if, and especially if, in fact, they are attractive.

And she was. Under the layers of awful make-up, under the long bleached blonde hair, beyond the Geordie accent lay a classic beauty. Full lips, strong nose, beautiful eyes. Very Rita Hayworth, bar the baby chicken hair.

I was transfixed. I got chatting to her and all I did was listened. And she was interesting, you know. If you only listened to her gentlemen. An air stewardess with a soul. She talked passionately and constantly. I probed gently. She talked more. The tedious arsehole boyfriend, the agony over being too fat, too thin, or really, as it translates, inadequate.

'Wow, you are amazing', she said, childlike in amazement. 

And for the record. I was not callous. I seriously and genuinely listened to her.

Then, in the club I simply said:

'Come with me'

In the ladies, I undid her hair, swept it all to one side. Applied heavy eye make up, some serious blush on these sculpted cheekbones and lipstick.

From a suburban stewardess into Jerry Hall at her prime in 3 minutes. Fuck me, she was gorgeous.

She followed me like a puppy for the rest of the night.

'You are the nicest person I have ever met'

One look at her and I knew. In her world men were danger and women were sniping enemies.

And my dark heart melted. I was very nice with her because she deserved it.

There was a part of me that almost wanted to fuck her (and again, I am not into girls), and I could have done. She was putty in my hands.

A guy came up to us in the club.

"I just wanted to say that you look beautiful together"

We did. My short haired quirky edginess, next to her straight gorgeousness. Any man's fantasy.

But I got a cab and dropped her off home with promises of seeing her again.

As she walked, I saw her profile, the hair still framing it, looking like something out of Helmut Newton. She was walking tall and proud and yet shy at the same time, turning at the crossing to shout out to me:

'Call me!'

I will.

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