You get that occasional blind date where you both seem to just click. You like the same things, you find you have friends in common, you're opinions are similar, and there's a romantic hue cast over the entire date. You rejoice and bless the person who set you up.
This was not one of those dates. My neighbour and friend, Karen, had set me up with Janet, assuring me we had a lot in common, she was a nice girl, easy to get on with and, if I played my cards right, I might even get lucky.
I picked up Janet and off we went. I'd booked a place at a well-known restaurant, but it was not the one Janet would have gone to if she'd had a choice. We had different political opinions, and different artistic opinions.
We hadn't even finished the first course and I knew that the entire night was a bust.
"Janet," I said, as soon as we'd finished the first course. "No offence, but it seems to me that this whole evening is going to be a waste of both your time and my time. May I suggest that after we have our coffee, I'll escort you home and we'll leave it at that? If nothing else, you'll have enjoyed a good meal.
Ah, if you've already texted someone to come and rescue you, you might like to cancel that."
She blushed and took out her phone.
Subsequently I took her home and dropped her off. She didn't invite me inside. If she had, I wouldn't have gone. I went home.
Karen must have seen me arrive home. Alone. She came charging around to my place almost before I was inside.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "You're supposed to be out with Janet. Have you stood her up? How can I face her if you've gone and stood her up?"
"Come on in, Karen," I said. Maybe that was a little sarcastic. She was already inside, having barged in with only a pretence of knocking.
"No, I didn't stand her up. We agreed that we wouldn't suit, so I took her back home as soon as dinner was over."
"But why?" wailed Karen. "I'd have thought you were perfect for each other."
"Let's see. I think part of the problem was that Janet seemed to be under the impression that I was an intellectual and artistic moron, a brow beating redneck who's taste in music never got past low dive ditties. I, on the other hand, thought that she was a pretentious idiot, swallowing whole any garbage fed to her as long as it was delivered in an authoritative and pompous voice."
"Artistic moron? Did you let her know that you play classical music on the violin, and that you're very good at it?"
"The subject never arose. She was too busy contradicting everything I said."
"Um. I guess she can be a little dogmatic, can't she."
"Somewhat. Actually, I'm glad you dropped over. There's something I've been considering a lot lately, and I'd like your opinion. Come on. I want to show you something."
I turned and wandered down to my bedroom with Karen trailing behind, curious as a cat. Standing at the end of the bed I had a Cheval mirror. Quite a good one.
I sat on the end of the bed and invited Karen to stand in front of me, facing the mirror. Now Karen wasn't dressed to go out. She was dressed for knocking around the house, because that's what she'd been doing. She had on a sort of short shift and tights.
"Now tell me what you see."
"Ah, I see myself in the mirror."
"Uh-huh. And what do you see now."
My hands slid under the hem of her short shift and took hold of her tights and with one smooth motion I brought both them and her panties down.
"Michael," she shrieked.
My hands were on the front of her legs, moving smoothly upwards. (And preventing Karen from pulling her tights back up, by a happy coincidence.)
"I said, what do you see," I reminded her.
"Ah, myself with your hands on my legs."
Strictly speaking they were no longer on her legs. They'd come together at her groin and were not rubbing smoothly over her mons, lifting her shift as they came.
"This isn't funny, Michael. Let me go."
"Oddly enough, I'm not smiling," I pointed out, steadily lifting her shift higher. As soon as my hands reached her bust line I moved them behind her and unhitched her bra.