15) Santa

(Who came twice that Xmas)

Sit down and let me tell you a story. It's a Christmas story, which is appropriate. And, appropriately enough, it's called Santa

It was the last week of December, 2005. I was recently divorced and I had no-one to play with as everyone was away, and I was a bit down, to be blunt, and a bit bored

So I went to see Santa, which was nice

I found Santa in the local paper. But not in the Personal Column. She was in the classified section. Under Personal Services

Santa was a 'lovely Asian girl available locally. Call 0208 1234 567'

Santa was a masseur

Well, Santa was also a prostitute

She sounded lovely on the phone

So I went to see her

Now, I must admit, I felt a bit odd in the back of the cab. I'd never been with a prostitute. Indeed, despite the fact that I had worked in Soho for years, in the heart of the red light district, and despite the fact that I had stayed in hotels all round the world, I had never knowingly been approached by anyone offering anything remotely tempting

Which had always struck me as a bit surprising

The sex industry, it seemed to me, was badly managed, badly positioned and badly marketed

Especially the most basic sex industry - having sex with someone for money

Why? Because, frankly, I should have sex with a prostitute before. It would have done me a lot of good on occassion, and probably taught me a few things when I was young, and been better than watching porn or drinking alone in late night bars

But I hadn't. Because it was so badly positioned and marketed that the 'product' had never been 'positioned' in  a way that that was attractive, timely or readily available

And what sort of service industry does not want to attract the high income, professional classes. Especially ones staying ibn hotels, on expenses?

Bad marketing

Whereas Santa was attractive, a very attractive Korean girl as it turned out, well positioned, in  a nice flat in Chiswick, and well marketed, as my presence proved

And before you say, 'A Prostitute, Peter! How tacky' (as I know some of you will) let me tell you something

I had been married for 20 years

But hadn't had any marital sex for the last 12 of those long, long years (her call, don't ask)

And yet, despite working in the totally totty stuffed advertising industry, I hadn't had any affairs, one-nighters or knee tremblers with the many very sexy girl or women I worked with. None

And while all my peers ended up trading in their wives for younger models, or PAs more usually, I hadn't

I'd sat opposite gorgeous girls in Blues and they'd lean forward and look into my eyes and say, coyly.

"So, have you had many affairs, Peter?"

Which means, would you like one with me?

& "So, what sort of girl do you loke, Peter?"

Which means, do you want to fuck me?

& "So, what's you favourite position, Peter?"

Which means how do you want to fuck me?

And I hadn't

Because of my boys

And because I didn't want to mess with these lovely girl's heads

And because I was their boss, usually, so it wasn't fair

Not even when they then deep tongue kissed me at the table (Ali)

Or opened their shirts and asked me to suck their breasts (Wang)

Or just put their hand on my crotch under the tablecloth, and squeezed (Debbie)

Or just shoved their hand down my trousers, and squeezed (Sarah)

Or sat on my lap and said they wanted to fuck me right there, and then, in my office (Flip)

Admirable self restraint wouldn't you agree?

But helped by my libido being buried so deep that it was hard to get it to the suface at short notice, even with the help of a girl's warm hand

But now, divorced, I had my libido back. With 12 years of reserves in stock

Which perhaps explains something about Peterhero

And why I came to Santa's and sat sipping the wine I had thoughtfully provided with a beautiful Korean girl, having a Happy Xmas, and almost a Chinese New Year

And, after a while, there was a short, amicable negotiation and we go to the bedroom

And she unwraps her present to me

And I like what I see

And then she unwraps my present to her

And she like what she sees, a lot

(Editor's note: I have read that Korean men, on average, have the smallest penises in the world. So when a Brit man fucks a Korean girl it is like a Brit girl being fucked by a Jamaican or Congolese man (They vie for the other end of the league table). IE A Very Attractive Prospect. And when a Korean girl sees a well endowed Brit man, which I have been reliably informed I am, well....Lipsmacking it would seem)

So Santa starts doing something very pleasant to me

And then I start to doing something to her which she certainly seems to find very pleasant indeed

And lovely Santa is quite happy to go on long after the allotted time

Exceeding customer expectations, good marketing again

But eventually I say, 'I have to go' (football was starting, you understand)

And Santa says, 'Don't go, Peter, keep fucking me good'

Which did my ego no harm at all

And then, 'And stick your finger up my bumhole, please'

Which was an unexpected Xmas bonus

And Santa came again

Down her warm, wet, chimney

And I came too

We came

Together

Which is always nice

Holding her tight warm body

With her lush black hair on my face

And her tongue in my ear

And her small, perfect breasts on my chest

And my cock moving in her tight little pussy

And vice versa

And with one finger gently moving in her tight little arse

Which was lovely, if new territory for me

And I lost a lot of my sexual frustration

Ans little of my loneliness

Which is a good thing, as is the whole sex industry in some ways (I stress some ways)

A social service really, as Tessa Jowell pointed out

It costs the State less than the NHS

And it's not free at the point of delivery

But one always had the option of going private

And then I do go home, havbing missed the first half (0:0, so worth it) and I was feeling quite a lot better. No a LOT better

For I had given

And I had received

And it is better to give than to receive

And I had given even better than I had got

Which is what Christmas is all about

Isn't it?

Merry Christmas

peterhero x

UPDATE

With thanks to you, the blog will have 4,000 hits well before Xmas

Including readers from Chile to China to Cameroon to Canada

The only thing it lack is Comments

Please, if you read a story

And love it or hate it, please leave a comment

It's lonely in cyberspace and feedback is much appreciated

Especially if it's like ABJ's on Honey...

peterhero x

75) A Tale of Two Sisters




One was the best of girls, one was the worst of girls

But which was the witch?

But first...

We need to talk about...

Spearmint Rhino

(there goes half my readership)

Even Penny, who is VERY broad minded, when I said I was on my way to the Club, said "How Tacky!"

Which I disputed

And "Be careful", which it is hard to dispute, but which is too imprecise to be of much help

Beacause SR can be tacky. But then so can The Slug & Lettuce, The Pitcher & Piano, most of Newcastle on a Saturday night and, indeed, the bars of the best 5 star hotels in the world

It just depends on who meets whom, how one treats the other, and why

My Spearmint Rhino wasn't tacky

Firstly, I didn't go in the evening, or worse, the night

At night 'lads' and 'bankers' are chasing 'slags' and 'slappers' and 'slags' and 'slappers' are chasing 'mugs' and 'punters'

While big bouncers eye them all, suspiciously

It's all cold eyed & bleary eyed & hard skinned & hard cash & as sexy as a hard core porn film (which is not a lot, for me)

But in the afternoon it's different

The men are fewer

The girls are nicer

And the atmosphere is, and the bouncers are, more relaxed

It's soft core

To me, very sexy

And actually, not tacky at all

I've taken several girls to SR in the afternoon

They all found the girls lovely to talk to

And very interesting

The atmosphere comfortable

And, if they so chose, the dances VERY arousing

Indeed, one girl (she was gorgeous, can't remember her name) was so aroused she started dancing with me herself (very impressively I might say) until management intervened


So. Let me explain how SR works (and, let's be clear, until I was 50, and after I had divorced, I had NO idea how it worked)

But now I think I can work it fairly well

You don't have to pay at the door in the daytime

Then you sit at the bar in the cavernous basement and buy a drink (West End prices, not a bottle of over-priced champagne, this is not a clip-joint)

And the girls can't approach you until you've bought a drink

So, take your time

And decide who you want the most, not who wants you the most

So, maybe not the overeager English girls, gathering, rather aggressively, at the end of the bar

Maybe the cool Eastern European girl, haughtily walking past, knowing you'll notice

Or one of the hot Brazilian babes (all Brazilians babes are hot)

Or maybe the stunning Oriental girl (Chinese, Korean? Never Japanese)

Or one of the black beauties of uncertain origin, but unbelievable sexiness

Why not try something a little different?

And find out what the difference is

And remember, in this bar you are really quite likely to pull

Which is nice

Or, even better, if you've been before, you see one of your friends, who is SO pleased to see you they are grinning fit to bust

Like Talulah, the Irish coleen with the Riverdance legs, actress (Hollyoaks for a while) and cheeky delight

Or Kizzee, the English girl from Guilford who is JUST sex on legs

Or, if you're very, very lucky, Mona

Oh Mona

The beauty from Bologna ("Do you know what the girls in Bologna are famous for, Pita?" well, I didn't, but I soon found out) the elegant, sophisticated ex rock chic (can't remember which boy in which band) who can discuss Opera with very little on her STUNNING body and put her hand on your thigh just SO. And smile just soooo sweetly...

And who, incidentally, got  me a birthday card that year

How nice is that?

And how tacky? Not at all. IMHO

And then, after 20 minutes of friendly, funny, flirty conversation, you go off for a dance. Which is not bad with any of them. But which is UNBELIEVABLY sexy with one of your friends

When Mona wiggles her beautiful arse at you

Or Talaulah looks up from between your legs and winks

Or when Kizzee arches her naked back over your thighs while one hand wanders between her own

None of which, at £20, are bad value at all. IMHO

And then you go out and chat and flirt once more

Not a bad way to spend a couple of hours on a wet afternoon

And all for less than a lunch for two in Soho

And I did have lunch with two in Soho

Just lunch

Because they liked me and wanted to chat some more

Kafka, the English student, who wanted to write her story

And Nepal, the Indian student, who told me why Indian girls were different

Because ALWAYS remember this

Working girls are just girls that work

Just girls that work a little harder than most girls

And have better bodies

And are naturally confident in their sensuality

And happy to be paid to be admired

But still just girls

Students, teachers, single mums, actresses

And my point is this. These girls are Lapdancers. So they are supposed to be Bad Girls. And all they want to do is TAKE

But in fact, a lot are Good Girls and they GIVE a lot in return

And I've met a lot of GOOD girls who are in fact BAD and all they want to do is TAKE (let's say, oh, my ex, for example; GOOD mother, BAD wife, or my loving PA Paula,"I'm not that sort of girl Peter", who was exactly that sort of girl, just an amateur one)

Now don't get me wrong

There are GOOD girls who are GOOD, lots of them

And BAD girls who are BAD. A lot of them too

But life is never that simple

So don't prejudge

And don't judge a girl by the amount of cover she wears at work

Or how she earns a crust

So, to my story of two sisters

One was called Viv, and she was a Sugarbabe, my sugarbabe du jour, who I'd met on Sugardaddie.com (which is another story)

We'd met a few times and it had been lovely

And she was lovely

And a model, catwalk and lingerie

Which is nice

And Zim

And all Zim girls are lovely

But this time, when we met for lunch, she was with her sister

Kate

Who wasn't that sort of girl

She had a job, a proper job, somewhere

So by any normal, moral criteria

Viv, the Sugarbabe was a Bad Girl

And Kate, the sister, was a Good Girl

Well, let's see...

We had lunch

And Kate fancied me, a lot

So, she suggested we get a room, the three of us

Which surprised, and rather excited Viv, who was pleased her sister found me SO attractive

So we did

But first Viv had to pick up her son and drop him off for the night with a friend

So that left me in the hotel with Good sister Kate

Who suddenly said I could go to bed with her for £100

Which was something of a surprise, coming from such a good girl

So I said "No"

Which she didn't like at all

And told me so

She said "But you've been generous to Viv"

And I didn't say, yes, but she's 10,000 times more attractive than you

That would be churlish

I said "Sorry, I didn't agree this, not part of the plan"

Which did not go down well

And then I get a text from Viv saying, "bit held up, start without me"

So I thought, fuck it

Offered £50

And went straight to bed with good sister Kate, who started fucking her sister's man with great enthusiasm

GREAT enthusiasm

And in every possible position

But little skill

But, while she was doing that, Viv found out (long story, and this is a short story), that Good sister Kate had stolen £2,000 from Viv's best friend

Therefore betraying Viv's love, loyalty and trust

So Viv came back and confronted Kate, calmly, gently but firmly

And Kate went into the guiltiest hissy fit I've ever seen

(I do have some interesting dates)

And so Good Sister Kate was revealed to be very, very, bad. And on the Take

And Bad Sister Viv showed she was very, very good. And could give and give and give

And even forgive, if Kate had but admitted her guilt

Which she couldn't

Being a witch

So, all I'm saying, and the moral of this little story, is don't be prejudiced

There is good and bad in all of us

And the potential to be good and be loved, in all of us

And in all places

And all boy/girl relationships are about give-and-take, in one way or another

In my day, the nice girl-next-door (Oh Barbara, oh Kate, haven't thought of you for a while) would expect you to buy the drinks, and buy her dinner. And after the first dinner you'd get a kiss. And after the second dinner you'd get "upstairs outside". And after the third she let's you go all the way

So, you 'take' her out, until she 'gives' in

How tacky is that?

And don't get me started on the marriage ceremony...

So I'm not being cynical, or bitter, or mysoginistic

Just making an observation

And a point

In defence of lapdancers, and working girls, and sugarbabes

You can find friendship, fun and honesty in Spearmint Rhino

And love with working girls

And lovely, lovely girls on Sugardaddie.com

Even if some of them do have ugly, ugly sisters

peterhero 2012

Girls, Not Allowed (2)

...and sometimes there isn't even a Boyfriend

And the disappearance isn't just metaphorical, it's literal

They just vanish (like Angel) into the night

Take Francoise (I nearly did, in the gents)

I am at a table for 2 at Kettners, alone

She is at the next table, for 4, alone, waiting for friends

And as she sat down the eye contact was immediate, and unmistakeable

Then the foot messaging (dancing under the table, if she taps I tap and soon we are tap dancing in sync), the hair flicking, the ear revealing and the leg crossing all combine (thanks Desmond Morris) to confirm that foot massaging, and other things, are all on the menu tonight, a la carte

Then her friends arrive

And it turns out they are mutual friends, a couple

This is going well

So I was invited to join their table, a welcome 4th

And she was no longer a gooseberry

But a French (sounding) Golden Delicious

Ripe for plucking

And Le Crunch was fast approaching

And now the footsie went physical

And thighs came into play

And a gentle stroke of the arm

And, of course, deep, deep, come-to-bed eye contact

And two cheeky, knowing, smiles

And little 'moues'

And sidelong, longing for it, glances and sloooow upward glances, et all those girly, 'fuck me' devices, et al

(Historical Note: Kettners is housed on the site of a famous C18th brothel. It remembers it still. Building's don't forget. The magic, the history lives on.

Another Historical Note: I have been RAVAGED in Kettners before, thanks for the memory Tracy)

And so the chemistry, and the biology, is, I'm sure, almost embaressing to sit next to (or quite a turn on, depending on your POV)

But they don't mind

Because instead of a careworn, forlorn, love-lost gooseberry they've got a chick hot to trot with a boy ready to rumble

And they like me

And they're pleased she's found a sexy, sassy, man like me

(Even if they, like so many, hadn't seen me in action before (having only seen me when married) and are a LITTLe surprised)

Because it is JUST what she needs

And then Francoise just cannot control herself any longer

And the Gents would be indelicate, in company

So she ONLY asks me to take her home NOW, before dessert or coffee

And she is not to be argued with

She wants it, me, now

And, frankly, who am I to argue

I want her too

More than ice-cream, more than cappa

More than I can say, at that precise moment

And, anyway, I have learnt never to argue with a hot, horny girl

But, just to lie back, and go with the flow

So we left. together, to get a cab to her flat

And I had her number

And an address

And a very, very, warm cuddle and kiss

Ans a look that said a lot more besides...

(and a look from our mutual male friend, as we left, that said "Lucky you"

And a look from our mutual female friend that said "Lucky her")

And then

Have you ever tried to get a cab on Shaftesbury Avenue as the Theatres are emptying?!?

Especially when you have a hot, slightly drunk and INCREDIBLY horny girl on your arm

Talk about pressure

So, I ask her to wait on a corner while i jumped the junctions

And I found an orange light
And bought it back

And....

Well, take a wild running guess

She'd gone

Vanished

Into the cold, thin, London night air

And, GUESS WHAT??????

She never answered a call again

And not even mutual, mutually incomprehending friends, could help

Sometimes, well, quite often actually, I feel I'm Jack Daniel's in a world of Spritzers

Just too strong, just too much to take

You like it, but the next morning you realise you can't handle it


Your problem babe, except that night it was my problem as well

But

It's interesting to think

I think

That one day Emma, or Linda, or Francoise, or even Pepsi (particularly Pepsi) will read these stories

Or the girl's I haven't written about

(because their stories never happened, because of the boys)

Kate & Nuala & Ali & Sylvia to name but four

and another Emma, and another Linda and another Tracy (there's always another Tracy, right guys)

They might read this

It's possible

There are a lot of readers now

Guys and Girls

And, one day, one of the Lost Girls will read their story

And recognise themselves

And/or me

And wonder if the spark still glows

Well, it does

Some bright, beautiful sparks are hard to extinguish

Call me

peterhero x

2012

9) Girls, not allowed

These are perhaps the strangest girls - for me at any rate, other girls might understand, if so PLEASE explain

I can understand girls not wanting to date (Ruth)

Girls not wanting to date me again (Christine)

Girls going home if they think I've stood up our date (Mandy)

Girls standing me up (how long have you got)

I can even understand girls I cannot understand (Randy)

But what I can't understand are the girls who get 'lost', and are never seen again

Or girls who aren't allowed to see me

With all these girls there is the same problem

That give me their mobile phone number

Which I never ask for on first meeting, it's a bit presumptious

And a girl, especially an attractive girl, has to be careful with strangers

Not they GIVE me their mobile number, often with considerable enthusiasm, the first time we meet

And I never hear from them again

And, when you think about it, IF a girl gives a guy their personal number doesn't it something?

Doesn't it mean - say - I quite like you, you're quite interesting and I'd quite like to see you again?

I'm just asking...?

And if it doesn't mean that, what does it mean?

Go figure

There was Linda. She was management consultant, so not short of confidence. And she was absolutely stunning

And we met in "The Dove", in Old Chiswick, by the river, where magical things happen to me. And she was just having lunch, with her drip of a boyfriend

So, of course, I talked to him

Because if you start off talking to her you're in trouble with both of them

But if you talk to him that's respect (even if you don't) and she feels left out and rather overlooked (even if you fancy her rotten)

And no girl likes that

So I talk to him but then I, casually, include her

And she likes that

And soon he's forgotten

And she's talking to me about India, and scuba diving, and Goa

And he goes to the bar and she quickly, but very carefully writes down her full name, her work number and her mobile number on a brochure for Goa and gives it to me

And I think she's gorgeous, and probably a bit of a goer as well (management consultants have something of a reputation in that arena, if increasingly little in the arena of consulting management)

This is going well

So I text her, after a polite gap, and she says she's very busy until January but she'd love to have lunch then (consultants actually say stuff like that) which I say is fair enough

And is not "no"

So I text her in January and she says...

Her boyfriend wouldn't like it

...

Well, he might not, but:

1) I wasn't asking him

2) He can come too, if he pays

3) It's only a lunch, for God's sake

4) I bet he wouldn't like her giving men her number in pubs when she's with him. But she had

But, she was gone

Lost

Or not allowed

Then there was Emma

And I met her in The Dove too

And she was bright and beautiful and funny and cheeky and took to me like an arsonist

(Like a house on fire)

And she not only gave me her mobile but a note to help me remember her by

And it was quite a memorable note

Emma Name

07777 777 777

TV Presenter

& her friend

(who looks like Kate Moss)

request the pleasure

Emma xxxx

(who can light a cigar properly)

Call Emma asap

Which looked pretty inviting to me

And, I think you'll agree, was pretty memorable

Doubly so with the unforeseen, but not unwelcome, inclusion of a Kate lookalike (ah, Kate)

And Emma left, but left her cardigan behind, accidentally on purpose

So I ticked to tell he

And she tocked an address to send it to

And we discussed meeting for lunch halfway (she was in Southampton) and we almost did but she had a work crisis to sort out and was then off to Canada for a trip. But definitely when she got back

So I left it 3 weeks

And ticked "Are you back?"

And I got a reply

"This is Emma's boyfriend. I appreciate it if you didn't send any more messages"

Well I bet you would

But nobody asked you

And stop reading your girlfriend's messages

It's not allowed

And nor, it seemed, was Emma

That's another thing I'd like to understand better

Girls with Magically Appearing Boyfriends

You talk to a girl, she gives you her number

You call

You chat, cheerfully, flirtatiously

You almost agree to meet for lunch

Then you call again

And she says "I do have a boyfriend you know"

Well, actually, NO I DIDN'T KNOW

How was I supposed to know?

When you had neglected to mention that small detail?

And, anyway, SO WHAT?

It's only a drink, which you've already done

Or lunch, which is just a drink with food

Aren't you allowed food or drink or to talk when you have a Boyfriend?

Some girls, the lost girls, aren't

(to be continued...there are a LOT of lost girls)

peterhero 2006



71) Honey


A bright, beautiful, sexy, mystery...

First things first

Honey is a lap dancer

Who looks like Rihannah

But comes from the heart of Africa

Ansd is 20 years old

Now, a number of you may have a number of questions at this point

Like:

1) Where do you meet girls like these, Peter?

and 2) What do they see in you?

and 3) Why do they go on dates with you?

And the answers are actually NOT

1) In a lap dancing club

2) A Mug Punter

3) The Mrs Merton answer (ask your dad)

How I met Honey was through a friend of a friend

It's an interesting process

That I now call "3 Degrees of Seduction" (c. peterhero 2012)

Where one girl after another seduces the next girl for you, all by herself

And each girl is EVEN more attractive than the one before

Until you end up, quite quickly, with models, or lap dancers or just beautiful, beautiful girls

Effortlessly

It sure takes the waiting, and the working, out of wanting

All you have to do is to start the process, the chain reaction, off with a bang

A Big Bang

When Toby Young went to NY he seduced a Manhattan babe and surpassed her sexual expectations (as we Brits tend to do, we don't brag about it beforehand, like some, we just over-deliver)

She complimented him

"Don't tell me", said Toby, "Tell ALL your friends"

THAT is the principle

You meet attractive girl A

You give her a VERY good time (that bit is crucial, I'm afraid)

She then tells her EVEN MORE ATTRACTIVE friend, girl B, about you - rather breathlessly

"He's gorgeous, and so good looking, and SO good in bed"

And so girl B agrees to meet you (so girl A can show you off) and she thinks "He IS good looking, and he IS gorgeous, and she is not actually DATING him. So let's see HOWgood in bed he is"

So she does

And he is

And so girl B talks, excitedly, to UNBELIEVABLY GORGEOUS best friend SUPERMODEL BABE C...etc, etc, etc



And so Paula told Dom and Dom told Honey

So Dom and Honey and I had dinner

The three of us

And then Dom and Honey and I went to bed

The three of us

Which was nice

The stripper stripped, but didn't stop there

And the lap dancer danced

But didn't stop there

And, I have to say guys, when a lap dancer doesn't WANT to stop and doesn't HAVE to stop...

Well, there's no stopping them

UNBELIEVABLE!


So, a few days later, when I having some post Barbadian problems with Dom, Honey thought: "Well, I'm not missing out on him"

And moved in, like Finn

I ticked her "What are you doing, gorgeous?"

And her reply was to the point "Coming to spend the night with you"



Which is not a bad message to get, as sex texts go


And the reason she was so keen?

These stories, dear reader (oh, and the sex. and some presents possibly)

You see Honey was my first groupie

She is a bright girl, and loves reading stories, and one day wants to write herself

And she LOVES these stories

And she read Barbados five times in a row, in hysterics

And she got all her friends, who don't normally read stories, to read it as well

And they loved them too

Which is lovely

And what Honey wanted, more than anything, was a story called "Honey"

And the answer to that was in my hands that very night, and on my face, and ...well, you can guess the rest

And that night Honey was delicious, and sweet, and warm and soft

And flowed

And flowed

And flowed

And Honey did something I've never seen before

She faked NOT having an orgasm

She came, while I was licking Honey like Winnie The Pooh, and she pretended she hadn't, so I wouldn't stop, because she was enjoying herself SO much, and so she could carry on coming, and coming, as she did

5 times in a row

And that was just for starters

An amuse bouche

Honey, on toast

And, later, she said "You've got quite a sex drive, Peter"

Which was nice, coming from one so young to one - well, not so young

Then we shared a bath

And there was some business with the plughole

Which she liked, a lot

And then, poor thing, she was quite pooped

And slept for 12 hours straight

While I watched MotD



So, the next time I was in town she wanted me to come to her club

And be my Private Dancer

So she could have me all to herself

So I did

Bit that's where it all started to go wrong

Strangely

But then girls are a mystery to me, still

Because lap dancing is very sexy (oh my Mona, my Tallulah and my Krissie long ago)


But when you have actually, already, had real SEX with a girl SIMULATION is less of a STIMULATION

It's actually very frustrating

So I stopped after 2 dances

Andd she did not like that

And said I was going to see somebody else, and she did not like that

AT ALL

So, later, I got a text

"Thanks for everything. Take care x"

And I never saw her again

Which just goes to show

You can't have everything, girls

Not all to yourself

But, if you're lucky, and lovely

You can have your very own story

Allright, Honey?

Hope you like it as much as I like you

Thanks for everything, take care


peterhero x

2012

13) Pepsi

Sit down and let me tell you a story, about how I fell in love, again

It isn't a long story

About 8 hours long, that's all

But that's enough for it to be a love story

And it's called Pepsi

Now, it's a Saturday morning, and I'm minding my own business, as I do, having a Cappa and reading the papers outside Caffe Nero, as I do

And I'm watching the world go by, and the cars go through, Barnes, when one of the cars (a rather nice one, though I'm not very into cars) pulls up

And a rather nice girl (and I'm very into rather nice girls) gets out

And she's cooly blonde, and cooly beautiful, and dressed cooly casual, and she has a small tattoo in the small of her back

Which is cool as well

And she goes into the cafe, and then comes out and sits at the table next to mine

So there we are

This is quite interesting

And then one of the baristas comes out and hands the girl a chocolate and says "Happy Birthday", with a smile

So now I know it is her birthday and she is so sweet she can charm a barista in a nano-second

So I say, "Nice car, what is it?"

And she told me later that if I'd asked any other question she wouldn't have spoken to me

So that was a good start

It was an old TVR (or Trevor as I explained), and she was Pepsi. And it was her birthday, 32 I think, and she was on her own, on the way back from her parents, on her way to pick up the rather powerful motorbike she had ordered for herself, as a treat

And she no immediate plans

And neither, suddenly, did I

This was going well

So we started to talk

And we just couldn't stop

And she listened to my CD, and laughed, and looked disapproving but forgiving when I knew she would. And she looked at all my photos and loved all the right ones. And she read 'Mandy' & 'Christine' and loved them too

Now I have to say: if you are a rather beautiful girl, and you like my voice, and my photos, and my stories then, by definition, I am starting to like you a lot

I have absolutely no idea, of course, what you're thinking, or feeling, about me...

And Pepsi (its her nickname, her real name was Nichola) believes in fate

And I say, that's why you're sitting here

And we both know something is happening

And we both like it happening

So we...

...have another coffee

And we move into the back area, because the sun has moved while we've sat for so long

And we move like ballet dancers through the crowded cafe

And now she's got her dog from the car

And the dog is gorgeous too

And she charms everyone at every table with her svelte, friendly grace

And everybody is smiling because this girl is just so beautiful, and sweet, and funny and...

And I must say I thought this was going rather well

And her family called her "Chicken", but I've learnt not to count my chickens, with girls

Because there is one problem

The word "Boyfriend" is slipped into the conversation

Now I must say I'm beginning to hate that word

Not out of jealousy, I'm long beyond that

Nor out of competition. I can cope with that

But out of a growing realisation of just how many bright beautiful girls have, not boyfriends, of course they have boyfriends, but

BAD

Boyfriends

And the more beautiful they are the more likely it seems that their boyfriends are

REALLY REALLY

BAD

And, for whatever reason, they STAY with the bad boyfriends

And the Bad Boyfriends get rid of me

Pronto

And I haven't worked out the solution, yet

So, Pepsi is telling me about her boyfriend, with some distaste, and her boyfriend - let's call him "Creep" (seems like a good name to me) - hasn't organised ANYTHING for her birthday

And she's still waiting for him to tell her if he'll DEIGN to meet her, at all, on her birthday

And for one bright minute I think she's going to say "Fxxk him" and go to lunch with me

But she doesn't, quite

Instead she say "I could talk to you all day"

And I say "I could talk to you all day too" (which is not something I often say to Estate Agents, for that is what she was)

And she says "But I have to meet my friends"

And I say "And I have to see Amy and Sharon"

And she says "Here's my number", and punches it in

"Call me when you can join us. I'm not going to tell "Creep" (my name not hers). He can like it or lump it"

And on that, promising, note she goes

After spending three delightful hours over two cappas with me



Wow

Let me say that again

WOW

I am, a little, in love


So I go to see Amy and Sharon, then call Pepsi, and agree to meet on the Green in Chiswick

And its her birthday. So I get her a little something

Nothing too heavy

One white rose

One card (picture of dog - quite innocent)

& One Eric Clapton CD (she's never heard him)

I thought that would be appreciated

So we meet on the Green

And she's on her own

And she is so happy to see me

We greet, like friends and lovers do

Then "Creep" arrives and, guess what, he is not so happy to see me

At all

Then her other friends arrive. And there's a nice girl who works with Pepsi. And a nice guy who works with Creep. And me. And that was her birthday treat.

And she deserved better

Especially better than Creep

Now I have nothing against men. Some, well a few, of my best friends are men. But I can't stand men like Creep. And there seem to be a lot of them about. And they give men a bad name, and girls a bad time. And I don't like that. So here goes

Creep was a black hole of self loathing who tried to suck everyone around him into his orbit. But he wasn't much of a hole, and didn't have much pull. So he had just three satellites. The boy, the girl and Pepsi

And because of her incredibly low self esteem, caused by a domineering father, she had got locked in his orbit. Which is reversible, in time. But not, in the short term. Which was all the time I had. And that is incredible sad, but something I'm getting used to

So I stayed until 5:00, when I had to go to Oxford. And we bought Rose, and food, and played frisbee

All except Creep, who didn't do anything, or say anything, or contribute anything at all to his girlfriend's birthday

Except wait, for me to be gone

And at one point Pepsi engineered, carefully, our bring alone together, and out of earshot

And she said "Honestly, what do you think of him?"

And I said "Honestly?"

"Yes"

"Get a thousand miles away from that pile of bile, as fast as you can"

And she understood, and nodded


And I left


And she ticked and said "Talk tomorrow, Thanks for today  x"

Then "Thanks for yesterday. Talk later. x"

And we talked on the phone. And I said I was worried he would take 'me' out on 'her'

And then


"Honest as I always am, trying to sort out my life, head and heart  right now and listening to the latter two. Was good to talk to you XXX"

And then

"Hi Peter. Don't think this is a good idea. (Creep) and I are hectic at the moment. Hope Oxford is as cool as Clapton. All the best x"

And then

"Sorry, not happy to continue this contact. I could be reading too much into it. but...Hope you're OK with that"

The Creep had struck

And I said "I met a girl on her birthday. She seemed a bit down. I tried to cheer her up. Seemed to work at the time. Don't read too much into it"

Which wasn't what I felt

Which was a wave of sadness that I'd failed the Pepsi challenge

Just what I thought I should say...


peterhero 2006