I could sense her.
Her eyes on my back. All over my body. I couldn’t see her, but I knew someone was very interested in me.
I’m forty. Married. And in the UK vacationing.
And yes, I was wearing my wedding band.
She was beside me before I could turn. I turned just as she reached out to tap my shoulder.
We both froze… I don’t know what made her pause, but mine was because of a few reasons:-
Yes she was as beautiful as they come.
Yes she was curvaceous and yummy.
Yes she was high or tipsy or both…
But most striking was her youth. She was all of sixteen. And looked eighteen. As a retired connoisseur, I could perceive the right hormones oozing off her sultry form.
At that moment, I started to hear my bruv’s voice of caution,
“Dude, out here, the sort of women you like, are jailbait! They age differently here.”
And here she was. Smiling seductively at me and intent on whispering everything in my ear… Did her cleavage have to be so… there?! Sigh!!
“I’m too old for you.” I ventured directly.
She sidled closer with a broader smile.
“I’m bad news. The sort your mummy warned you about.”
She practically gasped in arousal, warm unclad body parts glued to me.
It dawned on me at that point that anything I said next would unleash the sexual tsunami brewing within the young teen.
Whatever she had been smoking, snorting, eating, anally-absorbing, shooting-up or drinking was good stuff. She was in a good place.
“I’m not high.” She quipped,
And from her voice It occurred to me then that she wasn’t. This was a proper problem now!
“I think you’re a right legend. And I want you.”
I immediately sat up straight and extended my hand,
“Bond… James Bond… The negro version.”
She squealed in good humour and the brunette bombshell was suddenly in my arms. I swear I didn’t hug her back.
As I (grudgingly) extracted my married self from her surprisingly ‘octopusian grips’ she began peppering available portions of my face with kisses.
“Wahala dey o!” I lamented as my people are wont to.
Long story short, I didn’t want witnesses. So I suggested we take a walk.
She blew kisses at a bevy of equally hot and giggly friends, who all either snarled, batted eyelids, or waved at me on our way out of the pub.
Long story shorter still, there’s nothing quite like the crisp chill on a cold winter night to quell ardour.
And nothing quite like fresh air to clear the senses and leave you room to make proper decisions.
I returned her back to The Artillery Arms thirty minutes later. In good health, no longer in lust, though I suspect, now in love.
We had exchanged BB pins and email addresses. Yeah, I’m hybrid old school like that.
May not seem like much, but I was impressed by me.
I can be nice; I am not necessarily nice.