Every morning I would get a coffee from a coffee shop near my University. Every morning I was greeted by my barrister (in my whole five years at Uni, I never once found out his name!), and he would exclaim on cue
“Miss Prada, nice to see you. The usual?”
I would smile, nod, and say the same “I really should stop being so predictable”, to which he would chuckle obligingly, brew my coffee, and I’d bid him farewell for twenty-four hours.
We had a good and stable relationship. It took us two years to get my coffee mix just right (I’ll admit, I was seeing other Barristers during that period) ‘long black, extra shot, topped with cold skinny milk’, but once he did...he could have married me (told me his name at some point during the engagement), made me a coffee every morning, and I swear to God I would never have looked twice at another man.
Alas, I think he was gay. (WARNING # 1: Likes cock.) WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN? I should have realised when he noted the brand of my spectacles (or kissed his boyfriend?). Anyway, I digress…
Walking to University one day I walked past a reasonably attractive man with some very sexy aviators outside the coffee shop. I say ‘reasonably attractive’ because who can really tell with 85% grey mirrored plastic enveloping two-thirds of one’s face? I also use the term ‘reasonably attractive’, because no one who smokes is considered attractive in my books. And a-puff-puff-puffing he was, outside the front of my coffee shop, blowing smoke in my face as I walked past. In my profession I see patients who smoke daily, those who smoke ‘only when they’re drinking’ and my personal favourite; the ones who smell of stale smoke yet claim they gave up twenty years ago. Any attempts to reason with an addictive mind are futile. They know the facts. As an idealistic graduate I once chose to berate a woman for her smoking habits and she calmly explained to me that addictions come far and wide in society, and smoking just happened to be her vice. I exclaimed proudly that I had no such addictions. Smugly, I retreated to my desk to see a can of Redbull, a cup of coffee and a packet of gum. Alas, whether I was the pot or the kettle, I was still as black her emphysemic lungs, only masked by the fresh scent of spearmint. I have bit my tongue ever since.
After my customary daily exchange I cradled my perfect coffee and proceeded to make my way to clinic. Leaving one fag in the café, I was reacquainted with another, still perched against the lips of Mr. Aviators. He was sitting with a group of older gentlemen, sipping espressos and stroking each other’s egos. I politely smiled at the crowd and continued on.
Realising that my casual observing had made me late for my session, I began gulping my coffee and briskly walking to class. I was stopped unexpectedly by a tap on my right shoulder. Reacting abruptly, I turned around and to my surprise I was greeted by Mr. Aviators slumped over resting his hands against his knees trying to catch his breath.
“I saw you.... over there (pointing across the road to the coffee shop), and you smiled at me...and…oh shit... I don’t usually do this (WARNING # 1 I do this regularly)… but you smiled at me you see...and…oh shit…. I’m puffed.”
“Maybe take a deep breath? If your lungs will allow?”
“Yeah…I shouldn’t smoke I know… ahhh (taking a big breath in)...that’s better… yeah…look I don’t usually chase girls down the street, but you smiled at me and I thought I would be more of an idiot if I didn’t chase after you, so….hang on, let me take another breath… can I…can I have your number?”
“Umm...ok, how about we take a few steps back now… maybe you should start with your name?”
“Oh...yeah…of course, shit I’m an idiot! My name is John.”
“Ok John, nice to meet you". Awkwardly stuck for words, "So what do you do with yourself?”
“I’m an architect; I am just at the University today giving a speech to the final year students about the Graduate lifestyle. I was just over at the café having a coffee with my boss and colleagues. What about yourself?”
“Well I’m still here at Uni, and am currently very late."
“Could I call you later and perhaps make you late for another session?”
“I’d prefer you called after hours, but this is my number”.
What the hell I thought! Kudos to him for running that fast and that far with damaged lungs! I walked to clinic with a spring in my step and slightly inflated ego.
However my bubble was soon burst when three days later I was yet to hear from John. No text, no call, nothing...had that run induced a cardiac arrest? Surely one man would not go to such extremes to obtain a number that he never utilises. My questions were answered soon enough when I was alerted to a little red 'one notification' (God, that's a good feeling!) on my Facebook inbox. John had face-stalked me and sent me the following email:
However my bubble was soon burst when three days later I was yet to hear from John. No text, no call, nothing...had that run induced a cardiac arrest? Surely one man would not go to such extremes to obtain a number that he never utilises. My questions were answered soon enough when I was alerted to a little red 'one notification' (God, that's a good feeling!) on my Facebook inbox. John had face-stalked me and sent me the following email:
Hey there,
Look I know this may sound strange especially if you gave me a phoney number, but I have been trying to call the number you gave me and it is disconnected. If you did in fact write me a phoney number, then ignore this message, if not; is this your number 04556277775?
John (that weird guy who chased you down Lygon St)
I realised that I had accidentally typed in one extra ‘7’. Mystery solved. I decided that given the effort he had gone to, I could surely do him the decency of letting him buy me dinner. We met for Japanese at an inner city restaurant. We had been in the restaurant for close to twenty minutes so engrossed in conversation that neither of us even opened our menus. This was a good sign I thought. After being approached for the third time by an impatient waiter we looked at the delicacies on offer.
“What entices you?” asked John.
“Oh look... I’m pretty easy. I like most things, bar red meat. I don’t eat red meat.”
“What? Are you SERIOUS? Don’t tell you’re one of those high maintenance girls, the ones who only order a salad?”
“What? No... I mean, yeah sure, I like salad…but I haven’t eaten red meat since 1992, and I don’t intend on starting tonight.”
“Jeez… If I had known that maybe I wouldn’t have chased you down the street.”
“Yeah..tough break there Romeo."
Well, it seemed like I accidentally stumbled upon a Deal Breaker of John’s. Surely being a pseudo/half-ass vegetarian in this day and age is hardly something that is surprising…maybe if I was a vegan with celiac disease currently following the “raw food only diet” then things may be a little difficult to negotiate but I mean, come on!! I couldn’t help it- my inner ‘I-am-woman-hear-me-roar!” bubbled and surfaced just as I placed my 13cm stilettos on my soap box.
“I have not once said that you could not order as you please, but I will not eat it if it’s red meat. Now… let’s say I really liked grilled cows tongue in black bean sauce and I ordered it religiously at every Japanese restaurant. Just because I liked it and enjoyed it, doesn’t mean I’d impose my culinary savours onto you. Oh...and another thing… Have I mentioned how terrible and unappetising the smell of stale smoke is?”
John raised an eyebrow,
“Now that’s just stupid…cow’s tongue is red meat isn’t it?”
In exasperation I sighed,
“Oh…whatever, never mind”
“Fine, we’ll get chicken… is the white meat variety ok with you?”
I smiled,
“its fine”
“And I’ll order some beef teriyaki and... You’ll have some” (WARNING # 2: It’s my way, or... the way I have chosen for you)
“Ummm...”
“Waiter!”
So John was a circa 1950’s alpha-male. I did not like this. This was further confirmed when he ordered all our dishes and my wine without consulting me. Look, some ‘take-charge attitude’ is fine, but a little pre-negotiation discussion is essential. My God, my nonna would LOVE him I thought…but my mother… I think she’d castrate him.
Conversation progressed to past relationships- always a touchy topic. I generally disclose on a ‘need to know’ basis, which is; ‘they need to know nothing’ simply because it makes for bad conversation and too many swear words. We discussed dating prospects at University as compared to full-time work. He had no time for love during his degree and had relationships solely of convenience. He admitted that although he was looking for a more stability, he found his bachelor habits hard to shake.
“Look... I’ll admit I struggle with the concept of monogamy. Is it really natural?”
“Well, it depends. Is it natural to you?”
“I don’t know… I’ve never been monogamous before” (WARNING # 3: Bad track record)
Recognising my shock he softened the blow,
“Perhaps I haven’t met the right girl yet” (WARNING # 4: Sentimental tripe to conceal far from sentimental behavior)
“Perhaps not”
A Relationship of ‘convenience’. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard this phrase being bantered around before. But what the hell does it actually mean? Did he only date the girls in his street, or within a certain kilometre radius? In fact, the more I thought about it- a relationship of convenience is a complete oxymoron! Relationships are anything BUT convenient. Was this just his euphemistic way of saying that he spent the past six years fucking around with no commitment? Perhaps these relationships were just convenient for him. In his defence, (and mine, for kissing him later that night), I was disarmed by his candid and honest admissions. I still wasn’t certain whether he was a bad boy reformed or just repackaged (although I had my suspicions) and although I hated his chauvinistic control, I also found it kind of sexy (I’m sure I have lost a few readers by that last comment). I’m not making any great revolutionary conclusions here- we simply cannot deny that there is something so alluring about the alpha-male. I can go all “primitive-cave-woman-I-want-a-man-who-brings-home-the-antelope” but I don’t think that accurately represents a modern woman's mentality. Upon reflection I realised that what his behaviour did was solely entice me physically. Which I suppose was my primitive reaction- to become impregnated by his ‘warrior sperm’ (perhaps I was even ovulating at the time?). In society, women may have worked hard to be considered equal and self-reliant however we have not managed to evolve physiologically. Fuck you Darwin!
This distinction in my behaviour enlightened me on John’s take of a ‘convenient relationship’… it was convenient for him- because in most cases, his behaviour got him what he wanted…a good root. And despite recognizing the clear deal breakers he so candidly presented, his pull over me was magnetic.
Giving into my desires we left the restaurant to resume kissing speckled intermittently with continued conversation in his car. In a brief moment where I came up for air, I casually asked,
“So, Casanova…surely you’re not so bad?”
“I suppose only you can determine that.”
“ok then... so what’s your big number?”
“As if you’re asking me that!”
“Well... you told me to judge for myself. So let me judge you”
“I know it would beat you for sure”
“Oh that wouldn’t be too hard!”
“Hmm....” he paused, “I suppose you can guess”
I sat there, looked him up and down, gave a coy smile “Oh I dunno, eighteen?”
John’s eyes widened as he began to chuckle to himself.
“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry”, I said, “Have I offended you? I only said that because I made up some ridiculously high number, I didn’t actually think that...”
“No...No... You’re alright”. John replied cutting me off. Now clutching the steering wheel; “Fuck! As if you’ve asked me this now! I mean it’s our first date! Jesus! I’ve never even been asked this before”
“No...No... You’re alright”. John replied cutting me off. Now clutching the steering wheel; “Fuck! As if you’ve asked me this now! I mean it’s our first date! Jesus! I’ve never even been asked this before”
“I find that hard to believe! Nobody has ever asked you to take a blood test?”
“What?!...no… what for? Is that where this is going? Jesus what a mood killer!”
“Well what are you having? One night stands?”
“I already told you I’ve never had a serious relationship”
“Even more reason to know then. And for you to get a blood test...for your own sake!”
“Wow, you sure know how to make a guy feel dirty. It’s just a number!”
“No! You’re weight is ‘just a number’... this my friend, is a mentality”
“Fine, it’s higher than eighteen”
I paused.
“... Don’t tell me you’re an escort?”
“No, I just prefer to say that I’m very experienced”
“Yeah, they call an experienced girl a slut”
“They would, wouldn’t they”
“So like fifty?”
“...Higher”
I slumped back, almost not wanting to probe further.
“One hundred...?”
“Oh come on!” John exclaimed pressing his hands against his chest, with a look of offence, “ Lower”
“Look you may as well tell me, fifty- five, seventy- eight, one-hundred and three...it makes no difference now”
With a look of defeat John succumbed to my relentless proing,
“Fine...sixty-eight... I think” (WARNING # 5: There is such thing as too much experience)
“You think? Or you know?”
“I know.”
Holy Fuck! I didn’t even think guys like this existed. Could he possibly be making it up? Gauging from my reaction, I don’t see why he would. He has bedded on average, eleven women a year throughout his six years at uni. That’s not a mean feat for a studying twenty-four year old! And not one has been a relationship. Chances are he’s never even uttered the words ‘I love you’ to any female aside from his mother. What are his views about women or a relationship even? Look, I know you may consider me a little old fashioned on this front but I have no issues with promiscuity. But I do have issues with a man who sleeps with that many women with none of which being remnant of a relationship. To have sixty-eight one night stands? Surely there must be some underlying disrespect for women or emotional issues with women/slash his mother (Freud always goes back to it,so why can't I?) going on here?
And then... I realised- Oh fuck! I’ve kissed those lips!! Thank God I’ve only kissed those lips. I did not agree to a first date dinner of tuna sashimi and a side of the clap. Where was an alcohol swab when you need one? Or some bleach to gargle with?
And then... I realised- Oh fuck! I’ve kissed those lips!! Thank God I’ve only kissed those lips. I did not agree to a first date dinner of tuna sashimi and a side of the clap. Where was an alcohol swab when you need one? Or some bleach to gargle with?
After making some lame excuse to make a swift exit, I ran upstairs to my apartment and went through an entire bottle of Listerine. Melodramatic? Oh hell no! But the fact that I drove to Woolworths for another bottle was perhaps a little excessive.
John and I did not go on a second date. Some of you may argue that John was quite possibly a missed opportunity of the best sex of my life. Perhaps he was. But with every lingering kiss I would forever envision those same lips lusciously intertwined with those positioned between the thighs of so many others. There’s experience, then there’s just plain dirty.
So, in case this wasn’t already a no-brainer, what were his deal breakers?
- The alpha-male is nice in theory… but bad if you have an opinion.
- If a man does not respect women, he won't respect you...you are NOT an exception. If the sixty-eight before you weren't, chances are neither are you.
- There is such a thing as too much experience- well, if you value a vagina that doesn’t itch and burn anyway.
