4. Picturing

When I got off the train at Parliament Station I realised I had hardly thought about Mark Two since I left the office. Wow, my long delayed meeting with him was the whole reason why I was in this brazen state. It was time for me to do a little stocktake, now that I was taking the steep escalator ride up to Spring St and was only a short walk away from the bar where we were to meet. Hmm, where was my underwear? Underneath my little pleated skirt? Maybe this really was a new me, rather than a retelling of my old self. Maybe not! An anonymous man on a short train trip was one thing, but could I really be so brash, and potentially revealing, at a bar with someone I really fancied?

Gracious style, decorum and some fairly innocent flirting was what I had in mind during the long wait to finally be with him. I wanted a long term relationship of some kind with him and I needed to be a bit careful. This meeting would be the first time when we were alone together solely to enjoy each other’s company, and it was already awkward enough. Was my ability to act appropriately compromised by my current mood and condition? Almost certainly! So why was I continuing to entertain such wicked thoughts and finding them so compelling?

The truthful answer was absolute fervent lust. I feel an overwhelming urge to quench my burning bodily desires in as quick and uncomplicated way as is possible. I have not changed my mind and decided to have sex with Mark Two on this first night out with him after all. My thoughts are heading in an even more shameless direction as I walk along busy Bourke St. I only walk another twenty metres before turning left into a laneway. It is time to put aside my rather compelling notions as I have reached our meeting place, a small bar in Meyers Place.

Thankfully, I cannot see him anywhere on my quick circuit around the crowded bar. We had worked out that we both knew this place so I was sure he would be here soon; thankfully I have got here first. Good! I have some time to compose myself and rearrange things in the loo before facing him. I need to think clearly about what I actually want to happen, and not get swept away by these wild impulses and do something I might regret later.

Hurry towards the women’s bathroom I have to sidestep the opening door of the adjacent men’s toilet. I am suddenly standing face-to-face with Mark, and I have no idea of what I should say or do. Without thinking I give him a standard greeting kiss then stand back and take a calming deep breath to fill my lungs with air. While this gives my churning thoughts and impulses a chance to quieten, I hope my behaviour s doesn’t seem a little standoffish.

I see that Mark is a little stunned too, and then smile with the realisation that his slight trepidation owes to the sight of me all dressed up for him. After an awkward moment of silence Mark finally speaks. “You look very nice,” he says, kissing me on the cheek, just like I had kissed him. The delicate feeling of his lips brushing my soft skin sends a little thrill down my neck and spine, and I shiver with release from all the pent up emotion and sexual tension which has been building up within me for months.

He takes my hand, which is lovely, and leads me to the seats and table that he claimed before my arrival. As we approach the table I size up what seating arrangement I want. He sits down behind it on the bench against the wall and I decide to join him there, rather than sit on the chair opposite. As I turn towards him, I remember that I failed to make it to the bathroom; which means my sexy lacy undies and stockings still lay crumpled in my handbag. After our slightly awkward start I don’t want to get up again immediately and decide to just go with the flow.

Mark Two is handsome in a larrikin kind of way. His brown hair is long and curly with no real discernible style. His wide set hazel eyes sit nicely in his round face with a good sized and pointy nose. I know he is forty-years old, but he has a slightly haggard look, making him seem a little older or just plain tired. I think this due to recent rapid weight loss, although I know he drinks more than he should. Perhaps I shouldn’t have offered to meet him in a bar. Well, there was more than one thing going on here so it probably didn’t matter where we met. I worry a little I might hurt him; he seems the sensitive type, almost like he is going to burst into tears at any moment. Oddly I find that a little romantic, rather than it seeming a sign of weakness.

Something about him is quite attractive, and I feel very comfortable quietly chatting with him about nothing in particular. I am glad to finally be with him in this moment, and happily notice that the overwhelming feelings that coincided with my arrival have now receded.

Some cool jazz is playing in the background as we sit beside one another; me twisted around to face him while he sits straighter looking more forward than directly at me. We have a few drinks and I feel completely in control, like I am directing what will happen, at what pace, and to what end. It is a nice feeling, not being pressured in any way and I feel myself becoming even more drawn to this introspective and gentle man.