That Perfect Girl.
I saw her in the waiting room of the station, sitting with her phone balanced on a rainbow backpack that was across her knees. She wasn't beautiful, not in the generally accepted sense of the word, but I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Her face was freckled, with a nose a little too large, and a generous mouth with pouting lips. Her chin was square, with a slight cleft - almost masculine. Her eyes were hazel, maybe with a hint of green. The pale red hair was fastened in a messy ponytail, making her periodically swipe a tangled lock from her eyes as she read something on the screen in front of her. There was not a trace of makeup on her face.
I'd just decided that I needed to get to the platform, or miss my only way home, when she stood, pocketing the phone and striding out through the door.
She had on those jeans that hugged her round behind, yet became baggy on the legs. I didn't think they were in fashion any more. She was tall, almost up to my five-foot-ten, and wore training shoes that had seen better days. Her jacket covered her upper body.
I followed her, as the train pulled in, stepping into the carriage behind her. She sat in an aisle seat facing the front, and I chose one on the opposite side facing the rear of the train. Not my usual at all.
I observed her as she took out a bag of mints, popping one into her mouth. Her tongue was pierced, and I noticed the small silver ring in her septum at the same moment. She took out a book and began to read.
I had these fantasy moments all the time, travelling home from work, sitting at airports or in cafes. The woman always approached me, asking my name, then striking up a conversation. It never happened in real life, of course.
Someone sat opposite me, and I looked up from my daydream.
"You were staring," she said. Oh, God! It was her. I turned beet red and stuttered my reply.
"I'm sorry, I must be creeping you out. I - I'll move. Um, go to another carriage or something."
Her hand reached across the plastic table top and touched mine. "No, don't go. I just wondered what you saw that was so fascinating."
The lie was out before I could stop myself. "You're beautiful."
She grinned, the slight gap between her front teeth was hypnotic. "I most definitely am not," she said. "I'm plain, at best. Now, what do
you
see?"
I met her gaze, fully, for the first time. "I don't know. You seem to have a magnetism. It's about how you look, though it's true that is not traditional beauty. It's a sum of the parts. There's an attitude about you. I'm prattling. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."
"You didn't." She pulled out the bag of sweets again, offering me one.
"Thank you."
"Shall I tell you what I see?" she asked. I nodded. "I see a man who is a little shy. A man who stays fit, but not a gym-rat. I see quality clothes, but a little worn. You're single," she paused, considering. "No, divorced. You've been burned and you're scared of the fire, now."
I stared at my fingers. "You're pretty close. Yes, I'm divorced. Five years now. She took off with her boss. It took a long time for me to get over that. I like to dress well, but these are work clothes so, yes, they're older. I work in a warehouse, so I'm lifting and carrying all day. My name is Rick. Rick Wilson."
She held out her hand to shake, and I took it. A charge, like an electric shock, jolted me. "Rae Kendal," she said, squeezing my fingers. "My stop is coming up, but maybe we'll see each other again."
"Oh, it's my stop too. Do you live in Hilton?"
"Battersby Road. You?"
I laughed. "Conningly Lane. We must live less that half a mile apart."
The train pulled up at the platform and we stepped out.
"Have you eaten? There's a good cafe on the corner of Lexton Road."
"I was going home to make pasta," I said.
"Do you have enough for two?"
I looked at her, stunned. "Um, yeah, I guess."
She hooked her arm in mine. "Sorry, now I'm freaking you out. I don't make a habit of this, I promise. You just really tick all my boxes. Maybe another time, huh?"
My mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. Was she looking for a way out, now? Was I going to let this stunning woman get away? "No, please, come and join me for dinner. It's just something simple, but I'd love to get to know you better."
She grinned that infectious smile and pulled me along the platform and out onto the street. We passed the corner shop and she paused. "Do you have red wine?"
"No. Shall we get some?"
She dragged me into the little shop, standing before the small selection of reds. "Cabernet, or Merlot?"
"Cabernet," I said. I reached for my wallet, but she stopped me. "My treat."
At the house, she let go of my arm while I fumbled for my keys. "You like roses," she said, taking in my front garden.
"I do. They've been beautiful this summer. Do you garden?"
"I help my mum in her garden. I still live at home."
We went inside, and I took her jacket, hanging it beside mine. Her white vest top was thin, and pale freckled breasts swayed, unencumbered, beneath the fabric. She was far too young for me.
"How old are you, Rae?"
"Twenty-one on Tuesday. Why?"
"I'm forty- three. More than twice your age. Is this a 'friends' thing, or an attraction?"
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around my neck, staring into my eyes. There were definitely flecks of green in the hazel. "Attraction, and I don't care that you're older. I don't like boys, I like men. You're a man. You're polite and considerate. I'll bet you haven't seen the inside of a nightclub in twenty years, and you're not just looking for another notch on your bedpost." Her lips met mine, soft and yielding. "I was promised dinner," she chuckled.
I smiled at this enigma that had walked into my life. I wondered if she knew that she was enacting my best fantasy. I set water to boil for pasta, browned minced beef, then added sauce from a jar. Herbs and mushrooms followed, then I left it to simmer while the pasta cooked.
Rae opened a few cupboard doors before finding the wine glasses. She opened the bottle and poured the rich, dark wine. She sipped hers, then kissed me again with grape and tannin lips.
I served the meal, leading her to the dining table. She got cutlery from the drawer I indicated, and we sat to eat.
"So, tell me about Rae Kendal."
"I work in a second-hand book shop. My dad owns it but he's almost retired, so it's pretty much mine now. I like nature, reading, older men, and this pasta," she said, her gappy grin stealing my heart. "What about Rick Wilson?"
"I like the countryside and hiking. I enjoy cooking and tinkering with old cars, and I fantasise about being chatted up by a pretty girl on a train."
"Really?"
"Really. When you came and sat opposite me, I was dreaming that you did just that. It's why I was so embarrassed when you came over."
Her giggle was infectious. "So, we have nature and hiking in common. I like eating, so were perfect for each other. What kind of cars do you tinker with?"
"I have a 1973 Ford Cortina."
"The mark three? I love those! I have a '64 Morris Minor in my dad's garage. You may be perfect!"
I blushed and cleared the plates. "Dessert?" I asked.
"What do you have, kind sir?"
"Chocolate ice cream?"
"Sold!" she said, kissing me once more.
I scooped two bowlfuls and set one in front of her, passing her a spoon. She took a mouthful and groaned. "That is divine. Where on earth did you get it?"
"I made it. Would you like some coffee after?"
She shook her head, concentrating on the dessert in her bowl. "No, I'd like to see your bedroom, Mr Wilson. I think that we should check just how compatible we really are. Don't you?"
The dessert finished, I set the bowls in the sink and took her hand.
"You're sure? It's all quite quick. I don't want to feel I'm pushing you, Rae."
"I'm sure, but thanks for asking. Are you sure?"
"A gorgeous twenty-year-old wants to take me to bed? I'm not stupid, Rae." I closed the bedroom door behind us.
She went to unfasten her jeans, but I held up my hand. "May I?" She smiled and nodded, waiting for me to undress her. I knelt and unfastened her shoes, slipping them off. The tiny socks followed. I unbuckled her belt, then drew down her zipper. The metal button popped open, and I peeled the denim down her legs.
They were ivory pillars of muscular beauty. The same freckles that covered her face and cleavage spread across her thighs. Tiny white panties did little to hide wisps of red hair that escaped from the gusset.
"I'm natural," she said. "It scares off boys, but I don't shave, or even trim, much. I don't do makeup, and seldom wear a bra. You're a man, so I'm hoping it won't scare you off."
