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