Dark Alleyways (Part One)

23 Feb
Darkened alleyway

flickr image by simononly

The following story may sound completely fabricated, but please be assured that the subsequent events are one hundred percent authentic.  For once, the author has refrained from exaggeration and embellishment in order to provide you with a purely factual recount of a recent experience. The dialogue has been reproduced as precisely as possible. Quite an honourable feat really, given the author was in fact rather intoxicated at the time of the incident.   

My first tale of internet dating had disappointingly proven itself to be severely lacking a Prince Charming. However, I hadn’t given up hope. My internet dating cherry had been popped, but surely there was a normal-ish and kind of decent-looking guy out there? (Oh dear, how quickly my standards had plummeted).

Not long after the departure of Muse1979, a robust Englishman going by the moniker of ‘Perfectly Modest’ had promptly appeared. He had subsequently been engaging me in bouts of witty online banter. Granted, his photos proved he was hardly about to be offered a job as a Calvin Klein underwear model anytime soon. However, he had lovely blue eyes and a snappy wit that kept even a practised jokester such as myself on her toes.

We arranged a low key meeting – weeknight drinks at a bar in Surry Hills.

Strolling towards our designated rezdevous point, I spied a well dressed man ten or so metres ahead, walking in the same direction. Instinctively I knew it to be Perfectly Modest. I relished the opportunity to candidly watch him without his knowledge. He was dressed in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a pin-striped collared blue shirt with long sleeves. I had to admit, he was the pinnacle of smart casual.

However, it was hard to ignore the manner in which he walked. ‘Waddled’ would probably be a far more accurate description. He was heavy-set, but not quite fat. It was obvious, even from behind, that he was sporting somewhat of a stomach. In order to balance the weight of his gut protruding in front of him, his body appeared to be overcompensating by thrusting his buttocks backwards. The effect was almost that of someone impersonating a pigeon, or a white male version of Beyonce.

His thighs weren’t necessarily bulging, but they were certainly of meaty proportions. Normally this wouldn’t bother me, but they bowed inwards ever so slightly, to the point where they were quite obviously rubbing together as he walked. Thank goodness he wasn’t wearing a pair of corduroy slacks. I imagine the noise would have been deafening.     

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so cruel. My own body is hardly of supermodel proportions, and although very few of you actually know my true identity, I will admit that my own thighs caress each other a little when I walk. But so do the legs of many girls. So much so, that countless females are often not surprised to spy the faint white patches of denim erosion on the inner thighs of their jeans. But on a male, it just looked wrong.

That being said, I’d long made a pact with myself to avoid shallowness and refrain from judging males based purely on looks. After all, I’d been single for over two years. Clearly beggars can’t be choosers.

I arrived at the pub a mere thirty seconds after Perfectly Modest. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I believed myself to be of a higher calibre than him when it came to looks. This helped to relieve my first date nervousness, as I felt he couldn’t be too judgemental of my muffin top. This confidence meant I was quickly able to slip into comfortable flirty conversation.

I’ll admit, the boy was funny. He was undeniably wittier than me, and I felt myself beginning to court jester (yes, I have reborn that phrase as a verb) in an attempt to impress him. As the banter ping-ponged back and forth, I soon realised I was enjoying his company immensely.

After a few drinks, he asked if I’d care to dine with him. We soon made our way to a small Italian restaurant nearby, where we promptly ordered a pizza and a bottle of wine.

Conversation soon nudged towards the trials and tribulations of internet dating. As he was undoubtedly more practised in the art than myself, I asked if he had been on any strange dates.

He chuckled. “Indeed I have.”

“Well, do tell!” I probed, taking a ladylike nibble from my slice of pizza, though secretly wishing I could hungrily devour the whole thing as I would if I was in the safety of my own lounge room.

“Okay,” he started, leaning forward conspiratorially.

He began to tell the story of his first date with a girl he referred to as ‘The Psycho Chick’. Apparently The Psycho Chick had ever so casually asked, ”When you’ve just started seeing someone it’s okay to still sleep with other people, don’t you think? I mean, you’ve only just met the other person and aren’t exclusive with them yet, so it’s fine, right?” At this point she had apparently batted her lashes coyly.

Perfectly Modest had shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so,” he had responded.  

“WHAT?!” came her surprised and severely disgusted reply. “You don’t honestly think that do you?!” She furiously glared at him.

“Oh, um, no, of course not,” he corrected himself. “Definitely not. Sorry, I misunderstood the question.”

It seems this answer had placated her well enough, until he received a text on his mobile a few minutes later.

“Who’s that?” The Psycho Chick had asked.

“Just a friend,” Perfectly Modest had replied.

“Is that friend a girl?” she had then asked in a sugary sweet voice.

“Yeah,” he had replied hesitantly.

“Have you slept with her?” she asked in the same sugary sweet voice.

By this point Perfectly Modest was starting to feel rather uncomfortable. “Yeah,” (I know – what an idiot to admit to it), “but she lives in the UK and I haven’t seen her in ages. We’re just friends anyway.”

“Well then you should have just been honest and admitted you’re still in contact with your ex-girlfriend!” The Psycho Chick had murderously thundered.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his story. The poor girl did seem a little unhinged.

Soon we had polished off the pizza and finished our bottle of wine. Upon his suggestion, we were soon on our way to another bar. As I unsteadily walked along the footpath, I began to realise the full extent of my drunkenness and decided to stick to mineral water at the next bar.

However, Perfectly Modest would not hear of it. “Come on, help me drink another bottle of wine,” he cajoled several times until I very predictably caved.

He purchased the bottle and we made our way into a cosy room off the side of the main bar. The room was filled with an assortment of odd chairs and benches. However, the only comfortable-looking lounge had already been claimed by another couple, who were the only other customers in the bar.

We chose a long wooden church pew across the other side of the room from the already resident couple. Sitting down, Perfectly Modest poured our drinks and the jokey conversation continued to flow nicely.

Being the nosey kind of person I am, I snuck a look at the couple on the other side of the room. I’ll admit, I often like watching couples. Not in a creepy way, with heat-seeking goggles outside their bedroom window. I just like to observe them surreptitiously whilst in public and attempt to guess their situation. For example, are they a couple who has been together for an extended period of time? Are they on an awkward first date? Has she been cheating on him? Are they about to break-up? Of course, having been single for far too long, I secretly hope for the latter of those examples to be the case. I once stealthily followed a warring couple up and down the aisles of the supermarket while they argued. It’s not my proudest moment, but I’ll admit I enjoyed every minute of it.

However, when I looked over at the couple, I found they were staring back at us quite openly. A moment later, I sneakily stole another look and found they were still gazing intently in our direction.

“That couple over there keep staring at us,” I informed Perfectly Modest, “It’s kind of weird.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he replied. “We’re the only people in the room, so it’s natural that they’ll have a little curious peek at us and then we’ll have a little curious peek at th-“ He looked in their direction and abruptly halted. “Fuck!”

“What is it?” I asked worriedly.

He raked a slightly shaky hand through his hair. “Ah,” he replied awkwardly, “You remember how I told you about that psycho girl?”

I nodded.

“Well, she’s sitting over there,” He looked over at the couple again and must have made eye contact with The Psycho Chick, so he raised his hand and gave a little wave. “Maybe it’d be best if we left,” he suggested in little more than a whisper.

“You’re joking, right?” I replied. “Come on, we just bought the wine and sat down. It would look a bit strange if we got up and left now. Besides, you only went on one date with her. Plenty of people go on first dates that don’t work out. It’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” he asked uncertainly.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” I answered, then quickly steered the conversation back to more comfortable topics.

After five minutes or so, the other couple stood up to leave. The guy walked over towards the toilets, while The Psycho Chick leaned against the wall and waited for him.

By now Perfectly Modest and I had finished around half the bottle of wine and I was certainly feeling the effects of alcohol intoxication. He was an entertaining guy and the pair of us were chatting easily, joking and laughing frequently.

Apparently our laughing had drawn the interest of The Psycho Chick, who was now beginning to walk in our direction.

“Oh, fuck. Here she comes,” mumbled Perfectly Modest as she crept closer.

As she descended upon us, my hungry retinas were able to give her a better visual appraisal. She had a decent pair of legs, which she was obviously aware of, as she had adorned herself in an indecently short leopard-print dress. However, she had a rather bulging stomach which was only too obvious in her skimpy choice of attire. Her large breasts heaved obscenely from the short neckline and were boosted further upwards by a strategically placed tight elastic belt, bejewelled with a large gaudy diamante butterfly. Her obviously plain face was caked in garish make-up and her unnatural white-blonde hair looked in dire need of a nourishing hot oil treatment.  

By this stage she was standing in front of us, peering at me with what I assumed to be a sheepish expression. Perhaps she had been judged too harshly and merely planned on saying a quick hello.

“Hi,” she spoke in my direction, placing her hand on a jutted hip. “You’re obviously not the kind of girl who cares who she goes out with,” she accused, her face darkening. “Because right now you’re on a date with an arse-rapist.”

Oh fuck.

To be continued…

6 Responses to “Dark Alleyways (Part One)”

  1. Martika February 24, 2011 at 11:28 pm #

    I love the story! Can’t wait to see how Dawn and “arse-rapist’s” story ends….

    • Dawn Dash February 25, 2011 at 12:10 am #

      Glad you’re enjoying it. Stay tuned for Part 2!

  2. Stewie February 24, 2011 at 11:58 pm #

    I have to say that this is the first time I’ve read the words ‘arse rapist’ on a WordPress site! Makes a change from poems about fluffy clouds and bunnies, which is why your posts are good to read Double D, as opposed to 90% of blogs.

    I’m about to test online dating for a month. Again. Why must it come to this? 😦

    • Dawn Dash February 25, 2011 at 12:08 am #

      Women are clearly too intimidated by your amazingness. Well, that’s my theory when it comes to myself and men. Let’s look at the positive; if you don’t find your dream woman online, you’ll no doubt at least gather some amusing blogging material. The way my dates are going, I’m beginning to think those online dating sites are set up by Candid Camera!

  3. Remy March 8, 2011 at 6:01 am #

    Oooo very good read, looking forward to part 2!

    • Dawn Dash March 9, 2011 at 12:30 am #

      Thanks! Part 2 has been published and is ready to read in all its mortifying glory. 🙂

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