I didn't even mean to be on that website. Honestly.
OK, so I was on a sex story site, and I did click on the picture of the attractive blonde teen, and I didn't close the pop-up. But it wasn't my fault that the first ad that came up said "Young woman, sexy as hell, seeks older man for mutually rewarding relationship."
See, I'm a sucker for words with more than two syllables; I figure it means that the person writing or speaking might actually have something in common with me. And 'sexy as hell' can't be a bad thing, right?
So I clicked on the profile. User 0612, age 22, height 5'4, within 5 miles of your location. To know any more, send a message.
Of course I'd always wondered what I'd say. 'User 1804, 1960s vintage, everything in fair working order, will do almost anything for a sexy smile.' Send.
I was surprised how quickly the response came. 'Anything? Love to meet. Tomorrow?'
'Sure. Where?'
'The hotel by the supermarket on the ring road, let's have dinner. Book a room.'
'Can't wait. 3. 8 p.m.?'
'Sure. Xx'
With trembling fingers I opened a new tab, googled the hotel website, tapped in my credit card.
Now that it was done, I started to wonder what I was getting into. But 'sexy as hell, love to meet, Xx' fed my anticipation and I let my mind speculate, fantasise. Maybe blonde, bubbly, curvy, blue eyes fixed on mine...
Or brunette, less flashy, even petite, but passionate, looking back at me over her shoulder...
I shook my head. Twenty-four hours and I'd know. I got ready for bed, turned out the light, closed my eyes. All too soon my alarm was beeping, and I went through the usual routine of showering, dressing, leaving for work. The office was the same as always, and I managed - I hope I managed - to keep the anticipation out of my face. No-one asked about my plans for the evening - a good thing, considering what a terrible liar I am.
Finally the clock ticked past six, and I left the office with the usual formulaic goodbye. One detour on the way home - to the cashpoint - and I had an hour or so to get ready. I showered, shaved, dithered over aftershave but finally dabbed some here and there. Clothes - god, what does a man in his fifties wear to meet someone thirty years his junior? Wouldn't be a problem if it was a business meeting, but dinner and the definite possibility of more...?
Ah well. Smart jeans, dark shirt, work shoes. She can think what she likes. Maybe she'll want to tell me what to wear next time.
Next time? God, I hope so.
To the hotel - twenty minutes early. A drink from the bar, orange juice - I want my wits about me, and I'm nervous enough about - well, you know - without factoring too much alcohol into the equation.
Eight ticks by, and I really wonder if she'll come.
Then the door opens, and something in me just knows.
Not blonde, or brunette. Vibrant blue, would you believe, but the height is spot on. And sexy as hell, depend on it. Short black dress, heels, and her figure - I forget to breathe. Slender; gorgeous legs; and further up... well, let's just say curvy in all the best places.
"Hi," she greets me. "I'm Amy."
"Tim."