Apart from alternating between spending time with Amy and my colleagues at Perennial Mutual, an uneventful week drifted by. I received no more emails or texts from Lindsay and my profile on Love Bitz didn’t pull in any more emails. This was probably just as well given my state of mind.
I had been mentally sparring with myself all week about whether to meet up with Carrie or not. After my telephone conversation with her I wasn’t sure it would go well, but despite my reservations I found myself, on Saturday evening, sitting on the top deck of the bus trundling into town.
Weirdly I had a guilt thing going on in my head about Amanda. I had chatted to her on the phone a few times by then and the conversations had been comfortable and easy. I’d discovered she had three brothers and two sisters and was part of a large Irish Catholic family. I did manage to restrain myself from mentioning anything to do with the Irish potato famine, even though that was some 160 years ago. I used to annoy an ex-girlfriend with that particular jibe, probably one of the reasons why she became an ex-girlfriend.
Amanda and I seemed to be getting on well. I would have said we were getting on like a house on fire but that struck me as a silly saying, because if my house was on fire I’d want to run like hell in the other direction, and I didn’t think I wanted to run away from Amanda. I had even managed to discuss Lindsay’s death and what had happened to her. Amanda sounded sympathetic and interested.
I think one of the reasons I was so reluctant to meet up with Amanda was that I was bound to make a mess of the date. I had wondered if it was possible to keep her interested for another six months or so, by which time I might be ready to meet someone new. Amanda probably wouldn’t want to go along with that plan.
The bus arrived at my stop and I jumped off. The evening was pleasantly warm and as I wandered along George Street, the waning sunshine felt good on the back of my neck. A light breeze blew up small dust eddies between the tall buildings, and I watched fascinated as a Walkers crisp packet spun in the air for a few moments before it settled into the gutter where it was promptly flattened by a number 26 bus.
Many of the bars had set up tables outside to take advantage of the late summer weather and they were all packed. The Pink Strip was probably the biggest bar in Edinburgh and as such had more outside space than the others. I was reluctant to take a table on the pavement and preferred the more private setting of a booth inside.
The waitress appeared as soon as I sat down and I ordered a beer. I wasn’t sure what Carrie’s drinking habits were as her profile didn’t go into that level of detail. She arrived just when the waitress returned with my beer and ordered herself a large glass of red wine. She then casually tossed her shoulder bag onto the seat opposite me and slipped into the booth.
She was blonde-haired and blue-eyed which I knew she would be, but her hair had been cut into a short bob, a different hairstyle from her profile photograph where it had been long and luxuriant.
Another feature that had failed to register in her profile photograph was actually how huge her breasts really were. The tight blue top she was wearing did nothing to disguise the size of them, and I noticed a few other men in the bar staring over at us. One poor chap was caught ogling by his girlfriend and got a slap for his trouble. Completing the ensemble were baggy black jeans and lace up Replay trainers.
Our conversation was awkward initially but once we’d both consumed some alcohol we relaxed, and I (mostly) managed to keep my eyes on her face and not her tits. In truth I had two goals, one was to get past the first ten seconds and then to avoid being rude to her. I managed both which already made it a much better date than my previous efforts.
After we’d ordered a bottle of wine to share and some nibbles, Carrie leaned over the table and placed her chin on her hands. She stared straight into my eyes and said, ‘So tell me about your Internet dating experiences so far.’
I smiled and told her about Ellen and Terry, intentionally keeping the details vague and that she was my third. ‘So I’m not quite an Internet virgin, but close.’
She laughed, her eyes lit up when she smiled and I liked that. ‘Well, I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.’
That comment broke whatever ice was left and as the wine disappeared we became more comfortable.
Carrie explained she worked for the local environmental health department, mainly in a desk-based role but occasionally she got to go out on inspections and trips to restaurants and bars. Her main role however was to prepare the legal documents connected with any cases they wanted to pursue. She had trained as a lawyer but didn’t want to work in a lawyer’s office, so started working for the council whilst in her final year at university and transferred over to environmental health after she graduated. I kept my occupation details vague to avoid boring her to death.
After around an hour had ticked pleasantly by there was a natural pause in our conversation and Carrie broke the silence first. ‘There’s a lovely little place just around the corner – Paddy’s Piano bar. Have you ever been?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Oh you’d remember if you had, come on, let’s go.’
She bounced up (literally) which caused a chain reaction in her breasts that rippled on for more than ten seconds. I gulped down the last of my wine whilst trying not to look. We walked briskly to the end of the block and Carrie disappeared down a flight of stairs to a basement entrance. There was no sign over the door and no clue that it was anything but a private address. She knocked loudly on the grey metal door and it was opened by a smartly dressed bouncer who was wearing top hat and tails – something I thought must be uncomfortable on such a warm evening. Carrie just nodded at the man and walked past him. She was obviously a regular. Inside the bar was air-conditioned and chilly and as I followed Carrie through a heavy blue silk curtain, I shivered involuntarily.
The bar was intimate and snug, with tables and chairs arranged against the dark walls. Conversation was muted and the lighting was subdued and soft. A number of long red curtains were draped periodically around the room, giving privacy to some VIP tables but which also made the bar feel silken, soft and hushed.
On a raised platform in the corner was a baby grand piano and the vacant stool in front of it was lit by a single spotlight. Carrie ordered some wine and as the waitress returned with a bottle on ice with glasses, a polite smattering of applause announced the arrival of the pianist. She was dark skinned and exotic. My first impression was a cross between Sade and Halle Berry. She sat and began to play a jazzed up soul song. Her voice was soft, husky and hypnotic and it soared to meet the high notes. I was mesmerized. Three songs later the spell began to wear off and Carrie and I returned to chatting quietly.
Carrie whispered, ‘Will you do me a big favour? Will you go and ask her to play “Cry Me a River” by Julie London, I just love that song.’
I agreed and when she finished her next song I carried out her request. A few minutes later she performed possibly the best version of that song I had ever heard in my life and Carrie was ecstatic.
I had to wonder about the singer, how someone so talented ended up playing in a bar in Edinburgh. I thought about the huge number of talentless numpties that auditioned for the TV talent shows, and why someone like this had not been discovered.
I was about to mention this to Carrie when she said, ‘I have a theory about dates. I think, no I know there has to be the “phwoar” factor. If that’s not there you might as well just go home.’
The perceptive part of me noted the nearly empty wine bottle and that Carrie hadn’t gone home. ‘I assume we’ve got the “phwoar” factor then?’ I was at a loss here, the Men Like Women and Women Like Shoes website hadn’t mentioned a ‘phwoar’ factor, so this was unknown territory for me.
Carrie nodded, and gazed into my eyes. ‘Well I feel it anyway.’
I felt uncomfortable and squirmed in my seat for a moment before Carrie checked her watch.
‘What time is your babysitter leaving?’
‘It’s Amy’s gran actually, so she’s not on the clock.’ I felt immediately guilty about saying that but the excitement I felt in my loins overrode it.
Carrie waved to the waitress for our bill. ‘Excellent, let’s get out of here, it’s too nice a night to be sitting indoors.’
Outside Carrie hailed a taxi and we jumped in. I was feeling a little nervous and excited by this turn of events.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘Back to my flat of course, where else would we go?’
Where else indeed? I found myself opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish.
Carrie continued. ‘I recently moved into one of the new flats in Fountainbridge overlooking the canal. It’s gorgeous. We can sit out on the balcony, have a drink and watch the sun go down.’
I found my voice again and asked good-humouredly, ‘What if I’m an axe murderer?’
Carrie took my hands and turned them over examining the palms. ‘You’re not.’
‘How can you tell by looking at my hands?’
‘If you were an axe murderer, you would have calloused hands from swinging-the-axe practising.’
‘OK you’re right, I’m not an axe murderer, but honestly . . . how do you know I’m not some kind of nut-job?’
‘You don’t look like a nut-job.’
‘I didn’t know nut-jobs had “a look”.’
Carrie nodded. ‘Yep they do, I’ve known loads of them over the years.’
I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. She noticed my reticence and leaned closer to me and lowered her voice to a whisper.
‘Look, Andy, I’m a very good judge of character, always have been. I trust my instincts completely. Anyway, all I’m suggesting is a few drinks and a beautiful view – and I don’t mean me, but I’m pretty good to look at, I think. I know you find me attractive because your pupils are all dilated. I’m not the sort of person to worry about standing on ceremony. If I want something I usually just go and get it. It’s just who I am. If you are uncomfortable, you can leave anytime, and if I don’t think I want you there any more I’ll ask you to go. Fair enough?’
‘Yeah, OK.’
I had no idea what I had just agreed to. Was I just going to her flat for a drink? Was she going to tie me up and torture me? Was she perhaps an axe murderer herself? I resisted the urge to examine the palms of her hands. She might not be a murderer, but I had my suspicions that she might be a nut-job. I had the knack of attracting them at the moment. I also wasn’t sure what I was doing in a taxi heading towards a strange girl’s flat. I was probably being old-fashioned. Maybe this was how things worked now if you didn’t offend your date in the first five minutes of meeting. She was right about one thing: I did find her attractive. She was physically attractive but I also liked her self-confidence. I have always liked strong women.
I noticed the taxi driver glancing at me in his rear-view mirror. He smiled knowingly. What he knew I don’t know, but he seemed to know more than I knew – that was for sure. We arrived at her building and after paying the driver, she opened the communal door to her block.
Her flat was on the first floor and her front door opened directly into her living room. It had wooden floors and a small leather couch facing a flat-screen television. The place was filled with light from the floor-to-ceiling French doors that faced onto her private balcony. She opened them and I stepped out while Carrie disappeared back inside. The view was lovely. Her flat overlooked the canal basin, and I noticed there were a number of little coloured barges and house-boats bobbing on the water. It was not as spectacular a view as the one from my penthouse, but there was more to see here, with people coming and going from the boats and flats.
The canal was overlooked on three sides by similar apartment blocks, and on the furthest away block on the eastern corner was a small bar with tables outside. The bar was busy and music drifted across the basin towards us. There was a slight smell of decay in the air which I assumed came from the stagnant water below. That alone would put me off living on a house-boat as the odour must have been much stronger close to the water.
Carrie returned with two large glasses of red wine and we sat and watched the world go by for a while. Carrie was very quiet, compared to earlier and I wondered what was going through her mind. I glanced at her and she smiled.
‘What time do you need to be home?’
I checked my watch. It had just gone nine. Amy would be in bed by now and Pauline would be quite happy watching the TV. ‘As long as I’m back for midnight I’m probably OK. I don’t like to take advantage.’
‘Aw, that’s a shame. I was hoping you would take advantage of me.’
As Carrie smiled at me, I felt a tingle of excitement slip down my spine into my loins. I hadn’t had sex with anyone since Lindsay died, and even then we last made love in early November so it had been nearly a year.
I didn’t know what to say so I simply smiled. I was still feeling uncomfortable with the whole scenario but there was no going back now.
‘OK then.’ Carrie stood up. ‘Just stay there for a few minutes and I’ll call you through, OK?’
Still mute I nodded.
Carrie leaned over, put her hand on my shoulder and kissed me slowly and sensuously on the lips. I could taste cherry lip gloss and red wine.
A few minutes passed, which seemed like hours, before Carrie called out to me. I put my empty glass down onto the metal table and stepped through the doors into her living room. There were four doors leading out of the room. One was the front door we came in, another was open and revealed a small galley kitchen, and the other two were closed. The first one I opened led into a small bathroom. Amazed with my powers of deduction, I decided that Carrie must be behind the other door which I assumed led to her bedroom. I tried to suppress my growing excitement which was becoming obvious by the bulge in the front of my jeans.
The sight that greeted me when I stepped into her bedroom did nothing to reduce my excitement. The room was dark. Carrie obviously had a blackout blind behind the closed silver curtains. The room was lit by a number of scented candles, the flames of which flickered when I walked in. She asked me to close the door.
Carrie was lying naked on her double bed holding a small silver vibrator. I could also see a number of other instruments of pleasure lined up neatly on her bedside cabinet. Some of them were instantly recognizable from various magazines and porn movies I’d seen such as the ‘double intruder’ and a pink ‘rabbit’. However some of them looked like torture instruments, and one in particular reminded me of a miniature version of a deep mine tunnelling machine that I think I saw once in a documentary on the Discovery channel.
She placed the small silver bullet vibrator on her pillow and then reached over for the ‘tunneller’. (I’ve no idea if that was what it was called, but it was the name I gave it.) She switched it on and gasped as the spinning knobbly multiple-headed device throbbed over her nether regions. Adding to the effect was the multi-coloured lights that were spaced along the edge of the device. The colours changed from red to blue then to green and back to red again. It lit up the room like some kind of weird sexual discotheque. The scent of Carrie’s arousal filled the small space and I wondered what my role was to be. Carrie had made no attempt to involve me yet in her reverie and I wondered if I was just supposed to join in. I was aching with the sight of her and watched as her magnificent breasts heaved up and down with the steady rhythm of the ‘tunneller’. I began to undo my belt.
Carrie looked up from her ecstasy and frowned. She waved her finger at me, switched the ‘tunneller’ off and sat up, covering her body with a sheet.
I was taken aback by her sudden display of modesty. Noticing my confusion, Carrie explained. ‘You can watch me, Andy, I like being watched, but I don’t want you to touch me, and I don’t want to touch you. Not yet anyway. I don’t know you well enough.’
The whole situation was completely absurd. My life was starting to feel completely absurd. She didn’t know me well enough, and yet she was happy enough to invite me back to her flat and let me watch her masturbating.
‘Can you sit on the chair in the corner, please,’ Carrie instructed. ‘That way I can keep an eye on you.’ She indicated a small wooden chair opposite her bed.
I followed her instructions while she fired up the ‘tunneller’ again and the room was once more bathed in multi-coloured lights. Sitting in the corner while Carrie lost herself again I felt like some kind of naughty schoolboy, though quite what sort of school would apply this kind of punishment to one of their pupils I wasn’t sure – not one I would want to send my children to anyway. I watched for a moment longer then told her I needed to go to the bathroom – which was true, although I needed an excuse to get out of her room for a few minutes. It took me a while to pee for obvious reasons, but that also gave me time to think. As sexy as it was watching Carrie playing with herself, I didn’t feel comfortable with the arrangement. It had been a long time since I’d been in such an erotic situation. Who was I kidding? I’d never been in that kind of situation and I was ill equipped to deal with it. Carrie was not what I was looking for. If I was going to meet somebody I wanted them to be normal, whatever normal was. Maybe there was no such thing as normal any more. Given my recent experiences, I certainly had my doubts.
I flushed the toilet and stepped back into her living room. I could hear the buzzing of her sex toys and gasps of pleasure from her bedroom. Reluctantly I decided to leave, and slipped quietly out of her flat, though I’m not sure why I was being quiet as I doubted very much she was aware of anything other than her own body, and the liquid sounds it was producing.
I headed home, strangely relieved to be out of her flat, and a little sad that yet another date had ended in disappointment, although the image of Carrie on her bed would stay with me for some time, I was sure.
I hailed a cab and phoned Pauline to say I was on my way home. When I arrived she was waiting for me at the front door of the apartment block and jumped into my taxi. I had paid the driver more than enough to cover my fair and Pauline’s ride home. Pauline didn’t get a chance to ask me how the evening had gone or why I was home early, which was a relief.
Back in my apartment I checked on Amy who was sleeping soundly. I poured a glass of wine and flipped open my iPad. I logged on to Love Bitz. I wasn’t expecting any emails from Carrie whom I was sure hadn’t even noticed I was gone yet. There was one email waiting for me though from someone called Sandra.
Hi Andy,
I saw your profile and felt really attracted to you. The only thing is I’m actually married.
I sighed. Another odd-ball.
I know my profile says I’m single but you have to say that to get a listing on the site. Anyway my husband and I have . . . mmm what would you call it? An understanding maybe? You see we don’t make love any more. We’ve been married for ten years now and stopped the sex thing about three years ago. We basically just stopped fancying each other so it seemed pointless having sex when neither of us enjoyed it. What we do now is we have an open marriage – at least I think that’s what it’s called. Basically we can sleep with other people as long as it doesn’t get serious. We talked about getting divorced but actually we get on really well, except physically, so neither of us wants to do that. I suppose it is possible we might meet someone else and it might happen, but it hasn’t yet.
I guess that’s it, so if you want to meet up for a no-strings arrangement then I’d love to see you, but quite understand if you are looking for something different.
Sandra xxx
PS I’ve added you to my friends so you can see my profile.
Out of curiosity I clicked onto her profile. Sandra (34) had only one visible picture. It showed a petite raven-haired beauty with intense green eyes. I found it hard to believe her husband had stopped fancying her. However, as tempting as her offer was, I didn’t need this kind of complication in my life and I reluctantly sent her a quick email telling her that, and sadly shut down my iPad for the night.