I met Sarah at a time when I thought most of my sexual adventures had already happened. Closer to 40 than 30, I'd been divorced for a couple of years and hadn't really had any meaningful encounters with a lady I had any interest in at all in that time. A friend had persuaded me to come to a singles night at a bar in town, and I didn't get out much so off I went. The best decision I ever made. Nick, my mate, who was fairly happily married, was really just along for the ride - My Wingman, as he put it.
I'd never attended such an event, and I wasn't hugely hopeful as to the prospects when we entered the main bar area of the pub, having confirmed our names and paid the Β£10 entry fee. The bar was largely empty, possibly 20 people were in attendance, in small pockets, and mostly male. But, as Nick said, it was early doors.
"There you go mate." Nick kicked the back of my leg, as a couple of likely candidates pushed through the double doors, the eyes of a roomful of pretty ineligible bachelors upon them.
"Maybe..." I pondered. Both were clearly pretty keen to impress, with too-high heels, and too-low necklines. But they didn't strike me as anything worth bothering too much about. Mutton dressed up as lamb, my mother would have said.
"What's the matter with you man?" Nick quizzed me. "You don't need a soulmate, just something to fuck - that'll do won't it?"
Behind me, I heard a slight snort, and almost made eye contact with the girl working the bar. I gave a half-apologetic smirk, and turned back to Nick.
"Attractive as that sounds, I'd like to be able to at least hold a conversation about something vaguely interesting. Before fucking."
"What for? You think too much." Nick knocked back the last of his pint and sauntered over as the two main attractions turned their backs on a nervous looking man about 10 years their junior. They perked up a bit as they registered Nick's interest. There were also other candidates arriving now. Clearly, we'd arrived too early - the place was starting to fill up.
Nick had motioned me to get him another pint, so I turned back to face the bar and tried to catch the barmaid's eye. She had her hands full, with all the new arrivals, so I had a good few minutes watching her get a couple of orders.
I was struck with her posture and the way she moved, gliding effortlessly on heels, with leggings stopping at three-quarter length, revealing a tasteful tattoo on her ankle. She had jet black hair pulled back into a pony-tail, and wore glasses, giving her an intelligent look. It was hard to guess her body type, as her jumper was quite baggy, but she definitely warranted investigating further.
"Let's have my pint then." Nick had come over to see where his drink was.
"Sorry mate, it's got a bit busy."
"Hasn't it!" Nick was beaming, surveying the room, literally rubbing his hands. "Plenty of snatch Dan, plenty of snatch."
This time I definitely registered the barmaid looking over at us with one eye. I was used to this obnoxious behaviour from my friend. Nick had 2 kids, a great job, and the type of amazing wife who would be enough for anyone. But he still pushed it, with no qualms about the odd liaison with a 'slapper' every so often.
And even more maddeningly his wife seemed to let him get away with it, at least that's how it seemed, as an outsider. What's more, he was really successful when he put his mind to it, rarely failing to leave with whoever he'd decided to focus his attentions on that night. My heart sank a little as I guessed that the barmaid I'd been eying up would be his, if he put his mind to it. Eventually she appeared at our end of the bar.
"2 pints of Stella, please. Your friends want anything?" I motioned over to the two women who were very obviously watching Nick's progress at the bar.
"Who?" blankly. "Oh, them!. Naa. they had plenty left when I came over. I'm sure they can afford their own, anyway. Tell you what though," he leaned in conspiratorially, "One of them is getting my cock tonight. And the other is for you. Or maybe I'll fuck both. Haven't decided yet."
He grinned, grabbed the pint and headed back over, the girls beaming as he approached. Smiling, I turned back to the bar to pay.
"That's nine pounds exactly, please." I handed over a ten pound note, noticing well-manicured nails, with each nail varnished a different colour.
"Keep the change."
"Thanks". Now I noticed the eyes. Really dark eye shadow creating entrancingly welcoming frames to two intensely green, shining irises. Strikingly noticeable, now I noticed them.
"I'll need the tenner though". She nodded at my hand, and I realised I hadn't actually paid yet.
"Oh - sorry." I blushed.
"Quite the charmer!" I read the name badge hanging slightly lopsided on her chest, which I was still infuriatingly refusing to give away its structure or proportions, concealed as it was by the baggy jumper. 'Sarah'.
"What?"
"Your friend. Bit of a Casanova, is he?"
I felt a bit self-conscious for a brief moment, very aware that I hadn't engaged in small talk with anyone outside my immediate circle for possibly decades. But something about those eyes pulled me in and loosened my lips a little.
"Oh, right. I guess you could say that."
"So, you're the wingman then, right?"