Kirstie's Tale

Chapter 2: A Dream Of White Horses, Part 2, Ryan

This looks a bit more interesting. It's a good start that he uses my name. Of course, it's not my real name, but nobody on-line gets to know who I really am until I've met them, and often not then.

His profile reads well. This one's actually literate. He can string a sentence together and doesn't sound cheap or tacky.

On his profile, he doesn't sound bad physically either... 'Attractive', '5 feet eleven, dark-haired, clean shaven, non-smoker. Physical attraction is always important, but even more so when you're screwing for screwing's sake. I don't want a husband or a boyfriend. I want a f**k-buddy, someone who'll not try to take over my life.

I've had too much of control freaks...

Mmmm... Travels for his work and wants to call by every few weeks...

A wife in every port?

Education... University level. Interests... movies, classical and jazz music, politics, science, art, the outdoors...

Bit of a Renaissance Man...

Marital status... Separated...

Could mean anything...

I don't like hanging out with married guys and always avoid it if I can. Despite my own poor experience, I hold on to the belief that there is something sacred to marriage, trying hard not to get involved with anyone if I suspect there is a wife in the background.

Age... A couple of years older than me. That's the classic male/female mix of course. Personally, I've found that it often leaves me sitting next to a guy who feels like my grandad. I have a definite preference for younger guys, and I look good enough to pull it off. Still, I can make exceptions.

Photos? No, none uploaded. Fair enough. There are none of me on the site either. No way is my face going to be plastered over the internet from a site like this.

Here we go then. I tap out a reply...

“Hi, Ryan. Thanks for contacting me. Yes, I do like the look of your profile, and I'd be interested to know more about you. First of all, can you please send me a current photo. Debbie."

Time for a coffee...

And as the water boils, I hear the bing of an incoming message.

Yup, it's a photo...

Whoo Hoo... He's hot!

Bing! Another message...

Hi, Debbie. I hope you like the photo. Could you send me one of you, please.

I'll say I can...

*****

Seated at the bar, he is watching the door as I walk in. He stands as he sees me, smiling. “Debbie?"

“Ryan?"

He looks good enough to eat. Beckoning me to the barstool by him, “What can I get you?"

“Red wine, please. Did I keep you waiting long?"

“Not at all, I just arrived a couple of minutes ago."

As he waves over the barman, I study him. Ryan understated himself in his profile; tall, with strapping shoulders and a lean fit build. Dark, slightly wavy hair and a light tan set off his white smile and dark eyes.

He is disconcertingly attractive. There's usually a reason that someone who looks this good is on the dating circuit, even when it's only for s*x dating.

Fourth finger, left hand... No, nothing there...

Nice hands though... long fingers...

Holding two glasses of wine, Ryan eye-points me across the room. “I hope I'm not out of order here, but I booked us a table. Even if we can't stand the sight of each other after a couple of hours, at least we'll have a good meal inside us."

He sees me looking askance at the table. Holding both hands up, almost warding me away, “Hey, it doesn't mean I'm making any assumptions other than it's the end of the working day, and I'm guessing that you're hungry. I certainly am."

Feeling foolish. “Yes, sorry. My suspicious nature..."

He looks at me oddly.

Weighing me up?

I think so, yes.

“Shall we sit?"

He seats himself opposite me, ignoring his wine, gazing at me. Chin propped on a fist, he is, very obviously, looking me up and down.

“So, what's the deal?" he asks. “Women who look like you don't tend to appear on dating sites like that one. There's generally some guy in the background beating the jungle drums." He glances down at my left hand. “And if you ever wore a wedding ring, there's no sign of it now. Have you ever been married? For that matter, are you married now? Is this supposed to be some kind of 'on the side', 'playing away from home' kind of thing?"

He's wary of me...

“Is this 'Twenty Questions'? Yes, I've been married. But no, not now. Been there, done that..."

He laughs. “... Seen the movie, read the book, got the tee-shirt, eh? That bad, was it?"

“Oh, yes, that bad. But I've got control of my own life now, and I'll not be letting it slip out of my fingers again."

He sniffs, reflectively I think. Not critically. “That's why you're doing this? You don't want entanglements?"

“That's right. What about you?"

“Very similar. My last long-term relationship was a bit of a nightmare. Just now, I prefer to keep things very easy-going. No strings."

He pauses; sips his wine. “You didn't do yourself justice you know, on your profile. Very few women describe themselves as 'Not pretty'."

I c**k an eyebrow at him. “Is this where you tell me you think I am pretty?"

So... Are you a liar? A flatterer?

“No, I don't think so. You're right. You're not conventionally pretty. Your features are quite strong, and your nose is a bit big for a woman..."

I burst out laughing. “You're a silver-tongued charmer aren't you..."

His brow furrows. “Have I offended you? I didn't..."

“No, not at all. I was expecting you to come out with some typical bit of patronising, male blarney, and you said exactly the opposite."

He sits back in his chair, holding my eyes, rubbing his chin.

“Just because I don't think you're pretty, doesn't mean I don't find you attractive. Quite the contrary. You're just... unusual, in more ways than one I think... Can I ask you something?"