An Interlude With Sally Hawkins

As I walked down the jetway about 6:45 p. m. toward the first class section of Delta Flight 4383 (operated by Virgin Atlantic) I was still sore from my full body workout with masochistic female trainer Jill. I didn't know that it was my normal trainer Vince's day off and that I'd have the trainer from Hell when I arrived at the gym otherwise I might have skipped the workout entirely. The only reason that I could still walk was because I begged off early by honestly telling her that I had an international flight in three hours. The witch even made me show my boarding pass on my cellphone before she'd let me go – you would think that she was paying me instead of the other way around. "Oh well," I thought, "I can sleep it off on the flight," which didn't arrive at London Heathrow until 7:20 the next morning.

Plus, I couldn't be in a bad mood despite the hard work out because I did get to ogle Jill's unparalleled sculptured body during some of the exercises, and because it had only been a week since I had closed on a deal to sell my dot com company for an obscene amount of money – more than any 29 year old should have if life was fair (but it isn't). Also my trip to London was a feel good trip. I was planning on giving away at least $2,000,000 of the obscene amount I had just received to environmental organizations from the U. K., Dublin, Amsterdam, Nice, and Munich who were pitching me at the headquarters of the London Environmental Network.

I had an aisle seat. The window seat was unoccupied until shortly before takeoff when I did a double take as a slim roughly five foot two inch (155 cm) brown haired woman approached and with a smile and a lilting British accent said "I have the window seat."

I stood up to my full six foot five inch (195 cm) height and with a polite smile greeted her with "Welcome aboard – would you like me to put your carryon in the overhead compartment?"

While I always try to be a gentleman – although it hasn't really worked for me if you judge my success at romance by the short length of my relationships – I was especially pleasant this time because I recognized the woman. It was Sally Hawkins.

I have had few crushes on movie stars although I had one for a long time on Nicole Kidman, and more recently on Gal Gadot (Wonder Woman), and even more recently the aforesaid Sally Hawkins who I saw in The Shape of Water, and then bought and watched two older movies that she was in. I know – all three of those women are vastly different. What they all have in common – at least to me – in addition to good looks is an "it" factor which I can't explain.

"Thanks – I guess it would be easier for you than short little me," she chuckled as she handed me her small carryon.

"I guess that you didn't eat your Wheaties as a kid," I chuckled back, not knowing whether a Brit would know what that meant, but either she did or was being polite because she chuckled again.

I admit that I was nervous. How often does one get to spend seven hours and fifteen minutes (not counting boarding and de-boarding time) a sex symbol? After a while, however, I calmed down and developed a plan of attack.

I kept glancing over at Sally – and if we talked gave her weird looks – until we were airborne. Then I turned to her and said "This is not a pickup line and I hope that I'm not being rude, but in order for me to stop staring at you I need to know if I've met you before or if you're famous, because I know that I've seen you."

"You want me to figure it out for you?" she chuckled with an impish grin.

"Well would you at least answer some questions?"

"Depends on the questions," again with a chuckle and impish grin, "but why don't you give it a go."

"Alright – are you known in the environmental community?"

"I'm sure that I'm known to some in the environmental community."

"Is your job in the environmental community?"

"No, but I do support a number of environmental organizations."

"Do you recognize me?"

"I recognize that you don't have good eyesight or sense if in fact a handsome twenty-something like you is actually trying to pick up a woman in her forties."

I started to stutter a protest "I...I'm...not...uh...trying..." before she mercifully cut me off with a genuine laugh.

"Easy to tease, aren't you – what did you say your name was?" she giggled.

"Uh...oh, sorry. Another faux pas. I'm Blake Break. And you are?"

"No tricks, Blake – you're trying to figure that out, remember?"

"OK...Are you famous?"

"In some ways."

"Are you a politician?"

"Heavens no! I should slap you for that insult," she chortled.

"Are you an actress?"

"Why yes, I am," she smiled.

I boldly gently touched her chin and moved her head to profile, then back to facing front, then to the other profile.

"Are you going to do a painting of me or guess who I am?" she chortled again.

"You're Sally Hawkins, aren't you?"

"Took you long enough, Blake; maybe you haven't seen my movies."

"Oh yes I have – in fact I saw you in The Shape of Water twice in the last four or five months, and you were fantastic in it," I gushed, hoping that I wasn't overdoing it.

"What parts did you like the best," she challenged, staring directly into my eyes with a diabolical grin on her visage.

The next part I didn't plan, but it worked out better than if I had. I apparently turned red and made a few unintelligible sputtering sounds.

"It was the nude scenes, wasn't it – you pervert," she laughed as she punched me in the arm.

"Uh...not just the nude scenes, although you do have a fantastic...uh...uh...I think that I'll stop now before I get into more trouble and you call a steward over to move me to an economy class seat," I stumbled, probably turning redder.

"Is that an option?" she giggled, but before I could respond said "Well, I'll take that as a compliment and withdraw the pervert comment," she chuckled – she really looked sexy when she was smiling or laughing – "even if I have to question your eyesight or taste."

"Actually you're my favorite actress. After The Shape of Water I bought or rented Happy Go Lucky and a few of your other movies."

"Favorite, huh," she fake scowled. "Hard to believe, Blake – hard to believe."

A wave of honesty hit me, "Except for Gal Gadot – but she's married with two kids and you're single – at least according to the Internet," I replied hoping that I wasn't putting my foot further into my mouth.

"Stalking me then, are you Blake?" she smiled.

"Uh...you know I think that now I really will quit because I'm so far behind that it will only get worse. I feel that I'm down five nil in a football match with only a minute to go," I proclaimed, proud of myself that I called "soccer" "football" just like the Brits do. "So how about the weather..." I joked.

"Since I'm sure that you've read everything in the tabloids about me – since I am your SECOND favorite actress," she said with a fake snarl when she got to "second," "why don't you tell me about yourself."

"I don't normally like to talk about myself; in most ways I'm just an average guy."

"Besides being tall and handsome, in what ways are you not?"

"Well...very recently I came into a lot of money, some of which I'm going to give away to environmental groups in Europe ... and then I have that thing of being enamored by a British actress twelve years older than I am," I smiled.

"So are you famous too?" she snickered.

"Only to a limited community, not to the whole world, like you are. I have had a few things written about me recently in specialty publications."

Sally looked at me suspiciously. "I'm getting the feeling that you're putting me on, Blake – you're not going to get in my knickers just because you tell me that you're famous," she continued – and I couldn't tell if she was serious or kidding. I was, however, pleased to hear that both of us were thinking about me getting into her pants even if we presently had a different outlook on it.

"Uh...I...well...I don't...uh...want you, ah...to think...I'm...uh," I stammered before she put me out of my misery.

"You really are gullible and easy to kid, aren't you Blake?" she laughed. "It's OK if you're not rich or famous, I'll still talk to you."

"If I could prove to you that I'm rich and semi-famous would you go to dinner with me tomorrow night – or is it tonight? Have we passed into a time zone where it is past midnight yet?" I chuckled.

"How would you prove it?"

"Leave that to me – are you willing to bet or is the thought of dinner with me so heinous that you would find losing such an anathema..." I started to say.

She cut me off. "I accept your bet, Blake Break – if that is your name," she replied as she held out her hand for me to shake.

I shook her hand. Just then – perfect timing – the seat belt sign went off. I stood up, went into my briefcase in the overhead compartment, and pulled out the most recent issue of Wired magazine, with my photo on the front. With a smile I handed it to Sally. She looked at the cover and laughed. "So you carry this around with you everywhere to sweep impressionable young ladies off their feet?"

"No – it just so happens that this is the most recent issue and I haven't read all the articles yet."

"On what page does the article about you start?"

"Thirty four, I think."

Sally thumbed through the magazine, and then obviously started reading the four page article about me – four pages of text and lots of photos. After a minute or two I reached for the magazine while saying "I'm sure it that it will be boring to you...it's just a fluff piece."

Sally playfully slapped my hand. "I'm reading about someone obviously more cultured, pleasant, handsome and rich than you are. Don't bug me and I'll return it when I'm finished," she chuckled.

I chuckled, and started leafing through some of the environmental proposals that would be further pitched to me the next day.

I kept on glancing over at Sally expecting her to be getting bored – but she seemed to be concentrating. After about twenty minutes it was clear that she had read the entire article. "Hmmm," she said as she handed the publication back to me. "One of the most eligible bachelors in America, huh; expected to have closed a deal to sell your company for one billion dollars, and to give all of your employees $20,000 to $50,000 bonuses; true zealot for the environment especially renewable energy – are you really all that?"

"Look – they just put the good stuff in there. Actually I have lots of bad qualities. But I do like a good meal – where should we go for dinner?"

"Did I agree to dinner with you?" she played dumb. "I'm not sure that I remember."

"We shook on it – don't you remember – my right hand touched yours, and I'll never wash it again," I smiled.

"God, you're such a bullshitter I should back out – but my pride doesn't allow me to. I know Gordon Ramsey so I think I can get a reservation for dinner at his place. I'll text him as soon as we land."

"What time should I pick you up?"

"Let's see what Gordon has to say first," she chuckled. "Enter your cell number into mine, and I'll do the same for yours," she continued, reaching into her purse, extracting her iPhone and handing it to me. I did the same.

When I got my cellphone back the name associated with her number said "Second Fave."

I laughed as I turned to her holding up the phone with the name clearly visible. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Shows you that honesty isn't always the best policy," she snickered.

***************

What followed was a very enjoyable conversation about many and varied topics. If I wasn't so preoccupied with trying to tone down the effect her pheromones were having on me – especially my crotch area – it might have been in my top ten enjoyable conversations ever. After about two hours of discussion, however, she suddenly yawned and stretched.

"Enough chit-chat, Blake; some of us actually have to do some work tomorrow – we don't all get to just decide how to give away a couple of million dollars. Be a dear and get me a pillow and blanket from the overhead compartment, will you?"

I did as asked. Sally kicked off her shoes, pulled her legs up on her seat with her blanket over her, put the pillow on my shoulder and with a smile said "You don't mind, do you Blake?" as she put her head on the pillow, put her hands in contact with my arm, and sighed.

I was shocked – extremely pleased but I believe that "gobsmacked" would be the word the Brits would use – by her friendliness. It was a little uncomfortable, but when I heard her deep breathing with occasional whistles or snores I yawned myself. I obviously slept with both of our heads on the same pillow because it was starting to get light outside when I was next cognizant. The pilot's message over the loudspeaker that we were landing in about an hour woke up Sally. Her hair was mussed up, and sleep was still in her eyes, but she looked even cuter than ever – impossibly cute, in fact.

"Morning sleepy head," I smiled as she pulled the pillow into her chest and threw off her blanket.

"You better not be cheery in the morning – I had cheery morning people," she growled.

"How dare you talk to me like that you grouch," I snickered. When she got a startled look on her face I hit her with her refrain to me: "Really gullible and easy to tease aren't you Ms. Hawkins," I chuckled.

"Bastard," she fake sneered, playfully punching my arm.

After a quick breakfast and a trip to the washroom to fix her hair and what little makeup she had on, Sally was virtually gushing. Her most memorable comment was "If you play your cards right you may get me to give you a tour of London."

To myself I mused "The only London site I want to see is the inside of your knickers," but I quickly purged my mind of that.

Sally actually gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek as we parted at the baggage check. Her driver was waiting for her, and my hotel was in the opposite direction from her house, so we parted with her promise to call or text me about dinner.

I was on cloud nine!

*****************

After a shower and change of clothes at my hotel I went to the meeting place and had a very uplifting and pleasant summit with six different environmental groups. I told them at the start that we were working through lunch and I was leaving at one p. m. to get a nap, and that we would continue tomorrow.

Sally texted me about noon. "Gordon says that at 7:30 he could provide a perfect table for two. Pick me up at 7 at..." with an address that I hoped was her real home and not somewhere in the middle of the Thames River. I quickly texted back "I can't wait."

I had the hotel arrange for a limo to pick me up at 6:30 before I went down for my nap at about 1:30. My fatigue was such that despite my excitement I slept soundly until my alarm rang at 5:30.

When the limo pulled up at a stylish detached house on Park Row in the Greenwich section of London I was five minutes early. I didn't let that deter me as I alighted from the limo. I rang the doorbell and it was answered by a well-put-together woman who looked to be in her early fifties with a pleasant face and big tits (not that I noticed). Hoping that this was in fact the right house I timidly asked "Ms. Sally Hawkins please?"

The woman smiled and held out her hand. "Hi; Blake, isn't it? I'm Miranda, Sally's companion."

As I shook her hand I was thinking "Is Sally gay? What the hell is a 'companion?'"

Miranda obviously read my reaction. "No, Sally and I are not lovers, I just take care of the house and personal matters for her, and we were friends long before I became her employee, and we still are. Sally will be right down. I should know by now what a tease she is, but she had me convinced that you were a one meter tall Italian – not a two meter tall blond gent," Miranda laughed.

I laughed too. "I'm so pleased to know that others are as susceptible to her teasing as I am."

Miranda chuckled. "I'll go up to tell her you're here."

As I waited in the "sitting room" suddenly I heard a combination bark-growl as into the room bounded a less than friendly looking large Airedale. I've always had dogs, and get along well with them, so I wasn't the least bit intimidated. After a little gamesmanship, the Airedale and I got along famously. In fact he was on his back and I was rubbing his belly when Sally and Miranda entered the room with shocked looks on their faces.

"Hi," I said smiling, standing up while the dog also jumped to his feet and rubbed his side on my leg. "Wow – you look great, Sally," I honestly gushed. Since both of them continued to look shocked and didn't speak I asked "Is something wrong?"

Sally squeaked out "I'm sorry that Brady accosted you. We thought that he was in the back yard – I don't know how he got into the house." I was about to say something when she continued "Brady hates men. He never lets them rub him like you were doing."

"Well Brady and I bonded," I chuckled as I rubbed his head and walked toward Sally, offering her my arm.

Miranda still seemed dazed as we exited the front door and Sally turned to her and said "Don't wait up 'manda, but if you don't mind bring Brady into your room when you go to bed."

"With pleasure Sally," she replied. "Have a good time.

Sally really did look great in a classy pleated yellow sundress, with a gold choker, a purple belt and fascinator, and purple high heels.

In the limo ride to the restaurant Sally was cheerful, impish, and funny. I laughed most of the way, especially with her gentle teasing about almost everything. When we got to the restaurant she asked me to dismiss the limo. "I have a car service I use that can take us home."

Gordon Ramsay happened to be in London and he greeted Sally warmly, and vigorously shook my hand. He led us to the most isolated window table.

We joked and laughed through most of the dinner. The wait staff was always available, but not sycophantic. Our only interruptions were when Gordon Ramsay quickly introduced us to two different Lords and Ladies, all of whom were careful not to linger, and whose names I can't remember.

After a great dinner (not quite as expensive as I thought that it would be – not that I cared since I would have paid one hundred times the bill to be with Sally) Sally wanted to go for a walk along Kings Road, where the restaurant was located. The way she held onto my bicep as we walked and occasionally laid her head on my arm, caused me to constantly tent my pants, hoping that she didn't notice. Of course she did though, and wouldn't let it pass without comment.

"Glad that you like me," she laughed as she brazenly pointed at my flagpole.

"I hate you," I growled, getting a laugh from her as she replied "Well part of you sure doesn't."

After we walked dinner off, Sally called her car service and invited me to have a drink in her house. I hoped that her invitation meant what I thought that it might.

The tabloids always picture Sally as shy; maybe she is sometimes, but she was the opposite of shy – blatant even – once we got into her house.

After we each quickly got a glass of wine we sat on the sofa in her living room. After a couple of sips as she stroked my thigh Sally queried "Do we need to pussy foot around Blake – or shall we both speak our minds and not waste time?".

That was the perfect opening for what was in my mind. "I want to fuck you more than anything else I've ever wanted in my life," I growled as I stared into her eyes and held her wrists.

"My feelings exactly," she chirped with a big grin. "But I have to warn you; I play hard to get and I don't want you to wimp out on me. Say that you won't wimp out – say it!"

"I won't wimp out" I half grunted, half roared.

She smiled, tossed off her high heels, and led me up the stairs to her bedroom. After we closed and locked the door and I had my shirt half off she coyly but convincingly said. "Wait a minute. I just realized that I have some photo shoots tomorrow and can't mess up my hair. You don't mind just giving me a foot rub and then leaving, do you?"