Kirstie's Tale - The Box Set

A Dream of White Horses I sit on the dune, staring out to sea where, under a stiff breeze the surf rolls in, tossing its white horses onto the beach. The surf fascinates me, frothing and boiling as it dances over the sand, holding me in its spell in the way a flame will hypnotise, enrapturing the eye. A million white foaming bubbles race and toss and die, only to be reborn on the next wave. The dogs frolic in the waves; at least Emma, Meg and Archie do. Mac is far too dignified to get wet, and he settles for exploring the strand line, poking through seaweed, dead crabs and driftwood. Sometimes, he finds a plastic bottle or other floater that he identifies as entertainment, bringing over his offering and inviting me to do something interesting with this enticing object, like play tag or fetch, or make it go…. If I’m really lucky, he’ll find a dead seagull and roll. As it is, the car is going to be full of salt and sand, but everyone, me included, will have had a good day’s exercise. The sky is blue and bright, white clouds scudding high above, speeding across an azure dome, silvered at the edges by brilliant sunshine. It is a perfect day. I’m dragged from my thoughts by excited yapping. Meg has something in her mouth and is making threats to another dog; a stranger, What has she found? It’s a dog toy, one of the rope tuggers, and it’s not hers. Its owner, some sort of terrier, ears askew and fur sticking out at odd angles, is not cowed by her threats, the two squaring-up for combat. From off-stage a man comes jogging in, calling. I close in on the pair as well. Meg can be a snappy little madam when she wants to be. “Meg….” I call. “Come on, Meg. Give it to me.” Reaching carefully, I take the toy from her. She grumbles but doesn’t snap. Once of a day, I couldn’t have done this with Meg, but she’s improved a lot in the couple of years since I brought her home from the shelter. Offering the tugger back to the stranger. “Sorry about that. Meg thinks she owns all the toys in the world.” He laughs. “Thanks. Don’t worry about it. They can be like that, can’t they?” I don’t recognise the man. Letting my gaze wander over him, I try not to be too obvious about it. He’s nice looking; not spectacular, but…. nice…. Taller than me, he is dark-haired, with steel grey eyes set into a serious, almost stern face. He is casually dressed in trainers and sweats…. of course he is, out jogging on the beach. He glances around. “Are all this lot yours? Four of them? “Yes, all mine. Everyone has a vice. Mine’s that I’m a serial dog rescuer.” “You’re not kidding.… four?” “I never intended to have so many, but when they turn up, well… what do you do?” He nods. “I bet you never have any trouble when you’re out, walking with your wolf pack.” It sounds like a joke, but he doesn’t smile. “You’re not wrong there,” I reply. “Oh, I’m Ben, by the way.” He holds out his hand to shake, and I take it. “Kirstie.” “Nice to meet you Kirstie. You come here often?” “Yes, most weekends. It gives the dogs a good run, me a good walk and I love to sit and watch the sea.” “Yeah, me too. It’s a good place…” He hesitates, as though he wants to say something else, then, “Anyway, I’d better go finish my run. Scruffy there wants to be off….” “Scruffy?” I call after him, as he trots away. “What kind of name is that?” Still jogging, he turns, running backwards for a few steps. “Well, look at him. What would you call him?” Then he turns again, continuing on his way. ***** Back at home, I open up my laptop, checking e-mails and the ‘dating’ site I use. Mmmm…. I trawl through what’s come in. It’s the usual stuff. I never make the first approach, always letting ‘them’ to come to me, and the responses to my profile, as ever, run the full range from the sublime to the ridiculous. “I have read your profile and you look very nice. I am looking for a long-term friendship and hopefully more….” So.… you haven’t read my profile…. I am very clear that I want casual contacts, a bit of fun a couple of times a week, have a meal, conversation, throw each other around between the sheets for an hour or so, some pillow talk and then, a firm “Goodbye.” I want my bed to myself in the morning. I like to wake up alone. I will remain in charge of my life…. I scan more of the messages. Image of genitals…. Delete. Image of full frontal with blurred out face…. Ugh! Delete. “Knight in shining armour seeks maiden with can opener……” I chuckle but delete anyway. That sounds a bit too romantic for me. “Hi. I can c from your Birthday that u r a Scorpio. The sexyest of the signs. I am a Scorpio too….” Oh, God. You don’t believe in all that stuff, do you? Can’t spell (or be bothered to try) either.… Delete. “You just want to f**k? Great. Me too. I’m really well hung….” Picture of genitals…. OMG! Look at the size of that thing.… Delete “Hey… you look cool. You’ve tried the Rest now try the Best….” Cheesy, or what? Delete. “Hi. I don’t want to sound conceited, but I’m pretty good looking. Do you like being eaten out? It’s a deal breaker for me if you don’t like being eaten out….” Delete It’s looking like a poor crop for today’s harvest, but then…. “Hi Debbie. I just read your profile and it looks pretty good. I get it that you like to keep things casual, but you still enjoy good company. If you can’t have a conversation with someone you’re ‘sleeping’’ with, what’s the point? That’s what I’m looking for too. Why don’t you take a look at my profile and see if it you are interested? If you like what you see, then get back to me and we can chat. All the Best, 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?” “You can ask.” “Is Debbie really your name?” “No, of course not. On a dating site like that, do you think I’m going to hand out my details to anyone before I’ve had a chance to meet up and eyeball them?”