In The Moment

“Hey, Tommy.”

I stand politely as he reaches the table hand outstretched, but he goes in for the cheek kiss.

I laugh it off and mumble, “Nice to meet you, in person.”

He nods and does a full 360 of the bar, catches the barman’s eye, and nods to the remnants of the drink in front of me.

“I am sorry, but you are over forty-five minutes late, so I have had a few drinks.” I hate that I have justified myself.

He scrunches his eyes a bit, like he is thinking, but I know he is trying to find a clever way to make this appear that being late will not be his fault.

“Babes” he draws the word out, holding his arms wide in a ‘don’t be like that gesture’. “No worries on the drink. I got held up at work. I may have mentioned online the boss relies on me.”

He has caught his reflection in a mirror to the right, and runs a hand through his hair, before grinning and dragging his eyes back to me: “Man, you are so fucking hot though. I can’t wait to get to KNOW you better.” His voice is moderately higher than it has sounded over our online chats; I put it down to apprehension – while scolding myself that his cockiness says apprehension lives in a city he has never visited.

My nerves have begun shooting warning shots through my body, and before I can argue with my motor mouth I am blurting out the last thing I want to say.

“This is new to me. I know that chatting online is supposed to create an illusion, but now we are in the ‘real world’ I am not sure how this goes. I am pretty sure people go to these online chat rooms, to move away from the mundane, and go where all things are a possibility, but now that we are here, maybe we should take this slowly.” I gulp the remnants of my drink while the inner me spits the darkest look and covers her ears in horror.

My statement seems to have taken some of the air out of his tyres. He waves to the barman, presumably a sign of hurry up – this one might be a loose cannon.

“I get we all pretend to be someone else.” He is attempting sincerity but my bull-shit-ometer has just skyrocketed. “…but you are here and we did have chats at a kinky sex chat site and even if you didn’t look like you, I knew you still had something, even if it’s only imagination. I believe the imagination can be so hot, not just looks alone make someone attractive. Like right now, sitting across from me, I know you are hot, but I knew you would be.”

I observe. His Adam’s apple bobs a bit, his hands are a little restless.

And as his words sink in, I realise I need to question every single decision I have ever made in my life. What the fuck am I doing here?

The bar is relatively dark, and the meeting was on a whim; I only confirmed this morning. But his late arrival has given me enough time to consume three drinks, and unfortunately, the honesty serum lives in alcohol for me.

“But if I wasn’t what you expected, would you have kept on walking? You have only ever seen my face, and only really in shadow.”

“I knew from chatting to you online that you would be super-hot.” He grins like a small child who thinks the answer to 4+4 is 5.


Is that it buddy?

Yes, we have been speaking on a sex chat site, but we spoke about politics, we spoke about homelessness, dogs, and art. And from all that, the best opening line you could come up with was that?

And honestly, why do I need to be offended? I came here for the hook-up. But suddenly I am uber offended, and it may be me, or it may be the Tequila, but I have snapped back a response, and now he looks like I have slapped his face, how the fuck do I get the hell out of here?

“Could we try saying hello again?” he asks hopefully, slugging greedily on the drink the barman has put in front of him.

I take a moment to look at him. He is really good-looking, so good-looking that his need to use the sex forums begs the question – what the fuck is wrong with you?

His hair is good, looks like his own, the tan is absolutely from a machine or a bottle. The teeth possibly Turkey, but he is fit enough, well dressed, and so far, shows no signs of being related to Dahmer.

“Look, I’m sorry. I had a few drinks before you arrived and maybe I just built a little illusion for myself. I have never done this before. I might have taken this out of context.” The words leave my mouth, but there is no truth to them. I am now on autopilot to figure out how I leave with haste.

He grins then. A big, ‘Ha – I have you in the bag grin,’ and as he eases back onto his chair to perfect his patter, every inch of my body finds the Ick.

I notice, not for the first time, that the guy at the end of the bar seems to be amused by our coupling. I am not sure which category of loud we are, and if our conversation is reaching his ears, or if our body language tells all that he needs to know, but his silent grin and his obvious amusement is also annoying me.

I make small talk, but it is all about self-preservation right now, and I try to formulate a plan to leave.

“Maybe we could go to a club?” Nick asks, taking his second drink for the very light-footed barman.

We had chatted online as Lola and Tommy, but now he wants to show me he is authentic – “My actual name is Nick, just so you know I am a real genuine bloke.” He works for a wholesale bible manufacturing company. He is the head of logistics, and I have to question, who knew there was such a thing.

We are thirty-five of the most awkward minutes into the encounter, (I can not really call it a date, and hook-up now just feels so sordid), when I finally find my voice.

“Look, Nick. I really am sorry, but I just am not feeling this at all.” I think honesty is the best option here, and I use my solemn face to deliver the message.

“Lola, the night is young, we really got something going on with our chats.” He winks, and something inside me crawls away to die.

He is now leaning forward in his seat, devouring the last of his drink and grinning at me like the cat who found the key to the fridge.

“I think this was a mistake on my part. You are a lovely guy, but I think I got myself into something that just isn’t for me. I am going to go, but it was lovely to meet you.” I try to keep my voice low as I gather my belongings, more than acutely aware of the fact that I have passed the line of tipsy.

A moment passes before his hand reaches across the table to grab my wrist.

“The fuck,” he snarls. “I gave up an extra shift to meet you, the least you can do is put out.”

It is not amusing, it is downright 1987, but I can’t help it, and as I snatch my hand away, I burst out laughing.

A look of pure fury fills his face, and he shoots to his feet with some sort of intent as he leans in, forcing me to brace my back against the partition behind me.

I am not panicked, I know I am in a public place, and well-equipped to deal with him, but my heart leaps into my mouth, and I have a moment of pure shock while I scrabble to figure out what to do, and how to de-escalate the situation.

Nick leans into me. His breath is sour, and this close, he is not that good-looking.

“You don’t get to fuck with me, LOLA,” he sneers right up in my face with venom. I would rather not correct him on my name, and I feel intensely glad I kept to the fake name.

“Look, maybe another time,” I try to placate him.

“I don’t like being fucked around with, Lola. Let’s just head to the club. A few drinks will loosen you up. I know what you like – you told me, remember?”

I am about to retaliate when a shadow falls over me.

“Ok, guy. Time to head off. It looks like the lady is not interested.”

The guy from the end of the bar is leaning over my left shoulder, and his left hand has snaked to Nick’s shoulder, where it is clear the pressure from the bigger guy is being felt. Nick has no choice but to move back.

He is not about to relent though.

“Hey, big guy. Mind your own business. She is with me, and we have plans.” He looks so sleazy, and I am utterly deflated.

Big guy seems amused and turns to acknowledge me.

“You have plans with Mr Online Dating here?” he asks.

I am mortified. The question suggests this is not Nick’s first rodeo at this bar, and given that the guy towering over me knows this, it is likely this is a regular occurrence.

“No. I have no plans with him. I was just preparing to leave.” I suddenly feel very sober, and mortified, and sick.

In moments, Nick is hauled to his feet and marched in a comic fashion to the door and deposited outside.

I am trying desperately to gather my belongings and my wits, and for the first time, I notice that there are only a handful of people left in the bar, all staring at me, and most of the lights are now below dim.

“I think it is wiser to stay here for a little bit, in case that little scrote is hanging around somewhere watching you. He is a regular hook-up here. Didn’t seem like you were a match made in heaven, so I stepped in. Hope you are not offended. I would rather my bar not end up with a reputation for the wrong kind of outcome, and I always feel he will be that headline.” His accent is hard to figure, a low drawl that could be from anywhere.

My face is flaming, and for the second time in less than an hour, I am questioning my own sanity, and wondering how I ever let myself out in public.

What the hell was I thinking? A few hours of randy conversations after the shite I had to deal with when James left me, and suddenly I want to show the world that this forty-four-year-old is not beyond it?

Tears begin to pour down my cheeks, and to add insult to injury, the blister that had been forming on the back of my heel picks that moment to burst. The pain is intense and immediate, and there is an ooze spreading over the skinny leather strap of my shoe. I have a strange longing to just fling myself on the floor and howl.

The giant hands me a napkin to wipe my tears and makes some silent request to the barman.

The silent barman brings a tall drink that looks like pink lemonade. He slides it over the table and nods to himself.

“It’s a good drink, lots of sugar, no alcohol, It will make sure you are feeling better. I am Mareck.” The giant smiles, and wow.


I sip the drink very slowly, mostly because I am too embarrassed to do anything else.

I am guessing at least twenty minutes have passed since the giant threw the internet date out, we have been making silly small talk, and I am beginning to feel more human.

“OK.” I try the word on to be sure I sound more like me.

He turns to me, his grin lopsided, his eyes bright, and not a hint of judgment seems to live there.

“I fucked up. I met a guy online. He spoke sex. But he spoke politics, dogs, world crisis, and humanitarianism. And I have come from a pretty screwed up few years, and yep. I fell for the patter. But this was a first for me. And I feel like you are judging me, and helping me, I appreciate the help, but I don’t want you to think you can judge me. Because you can’t.”

I feel sick again. Why have I not just got the gumption to walk out and go home? What is keeping me here?

“I don’t know you.” His voice is slow, like every word must have a purpose to be said. “I saw that it looked like you were in trouble. I intervened. I am not sitting here in judgment. Honestly, I screw up regularly. But some instinct told me you were not his normal type, and I would never forgive myself if something happened. I also have my bar to protect. I can call a taxi for you. Or you could stay. We could chat. No strings here.”

His voice is melodic, and every fibre of my body says ‘stay’.


We drink the lemonade, which has a sobering effect. He owns the bar. Used to be a law student, found the roulette wheel. Took a chance, won big, then took a three-year course in hospitality. Took one more roulette spin in Vegas, with the woman he hoped to marry, and won massively. She took half and walked; he bought a bar.

No sadness, or self-pity, or self-recrimination.

Two hours have passed in general conversation, and I realise we are the only ones left, even the bartender seems to have slunk off home without me noticing.

Mareck is far too good-looking, and the crazy lady who lives in my body reminds me that she will still take risks.

“So maybe now I put you into a taxi, and you will get home safely. If that is ok, if that is what you want to do?” Mareck says.

I allow a few beats to pass.

He already thinks I’m a hooker, or a slut, or whatever.

“I think you and I could….” Could what, for fucks sake? At least commit to the plan love. We could what? The mortification overwhelms me.

Mareck stands and it feels like darkness is beckoning to his command.

He takes my hand, and I am not sure if I stand or if he elevates me from my seat.

His mouth finds mine and the kiss is an invasion of the gentlest persuasion.

We walk beyond the bar counter until we are in a corridor.

Mareck scans his eye against a panel hidden in the wall. A door slides open, and a staircase takes us up to a large open-plan apartment. Lamps are staggered around; the whole setting is intimate and warm.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, pouring what looks like whiskey into a tumbler and adding ice.

“No.” It is a whisper. All my common sense has gone for a good long jog, and here I am alone, with the second stranger of the night.

“Are you sure you want to take this further?” He is toying with me, but he is also giving me the option to walk out with my dignity.

Dignity loses as I cross the space to stand in front of him.

“So long as nobody is getting hurt, yes, I want to take this further.” My voice sounds ridiculous, but my heartbeat has relocated to right between my legs.


His smile is slow, and he sips the drink slowly.

“Take off the dress, Anna.” He is leaning against the countertop of the kitchen island, and he doesn’t look like he has any intentions of moving.

My hands don’t feel like they belong to me, and it takes a few goes, but I manage to pull the dress over my head and drop it to the floor.

My expectation before I left home had been for a hook-up of some sort, not necessarily sex, but I had taken the precaution of wearing good matching underwear, so I am not without confidence as I strip in front of this man.

I know my body is in prime condition, emotional damage brought me to the gym, and the results were almost worth the pain.

“What do you want me to do for you, Anna?” He is still sipping the drink, but he looks more alert now. “Do you want kinky sex; do I have to use dirty words? Or is it a straight-up fuck, or do you just want me to adore your body till you can’t take it anymore?”

I can see the grin. He is thinking perhaps of how this happens online, or maybe he even uses the online forums himself.

I don’t want any more games tonight, so I take control.

I walk to him and take the drink from his hands; I drain the last of the whiskey and savour the sour taste.

His jacket is still on like he is waiting to leave.

It takes only moments to remove it and unbutton his shirt. His body is tight, flat stomach, hairless.

I place one hand palm flat over his heart. His heart is not nearly as cool as he is pretending to be.

He undoes his belt and drops his pants to the floor, kicking them to one side. He has rugby thighs and a bulge that tells me the attraction is mutual.

In one move he deposits me sitting on the countertop and wraps my legs around his waist. This time the kiss has promise, and the beginning of beard growth scratches at my skin.

“I knew when you ordered the first margarita you were going to be trouble, I just didn’t think you would be my trouble.” He tells me as his mouth leaves mine to kiss my throat, my neck, my shoulders.

The muscles in his back are corded beneath my hands and I allow myself to get lost in the feelings as his mouth moves lower. He unclips the bra in one impressive move, and rains kisses across my skin. His mouth teases first one nipple, then the other, while one hand creeps lower still.

I am momentarily shocked when he slides beneath the elastic of my panties and slides a finger deep inside me. I gasp and feel his chuckle.

“Don’t play shy now, Anna, I can feel how wet you are for me.”

And I know that he could just fuck me by speaking, without touch.

And he lifts me up and carries me like a feather to the bedroom. Gently he lays me on the bed and kisses me.

Again, his mouth leaves mine, but this time there is no toying. He pulls my ass up and removes the panties, and his mouth lays claim.

Roughly he spreads my legs and I find myself pinned to the bed as his mouth fastens over my clit. And just like that I am completely on fire, and I want nothing more than to leave my own body and watch from the corner.

His tongue probes inside me, licking as his teeth nip against the skin, and the white-hot heat inside is like a shot of morphine, and I’m grinding against his mouth as he uses his hands to pin me tightly against the bed, teasing me, bringing me to the edge then backing off again.

His hands move around to my ass, pulling wide the cheeks of my bum and his mouth presses harder and there is nothing I can do to stop the pure unadulterated scream that leaves my mouth as my body bucks beneath his hands, as I grind against his mouth and that one stupefying moment where my body is completely still as the orgasm floods through me.

This is intense, and he is unrelenting, he is hungrily forcing his tongue inside me and one hundred thousand bolts of electricity are firing from my body, and he is still pushing his mouth against me, his thumb has slid inside me, fucking me, telling me not to stop.

I feel the moment again, but this time my focus is on the thumb deep inside me, and his words telling me to “come again Anna, one more time for me Anna”, and his voice and the sensations, and again I am bucking against this man’s mouth and my body explodes with the force of the orgasm.

And there are moments of complete silence, it feels like floating, my body feels like it weighs nothing at all, I could be elevated above the bed, it is a beautiful sensation.

But my body wants more, and I sit up to reach for him, and he smiles, and all the shyness that was creeping in falls away.

He pulls me tight against the length of his body and buries his mouth against my neck.

I want to give back, but as though he senses my move, he pulls me over so that I can straddle his waist.

He is ready, his cock hard and thick and like the rest of him, hairless.

“Fuck me, Anna.” His words set the fire alight again, and his powerful hands grab my ass and guide my body, so his cock is just waiting to plunge inside me.

I hold him in position, I want to make this slow, but his breathing is shallow, and his pupils look oddly dilated.

Slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on his I take the length of him inside me. Slowly in, slowly out, slowly in, until he is filling me up, and his hands are grabbing hard on my ass cheeks.

And the rhythm is dictated by him, and somewhere in the very core of my being a flare lights up, and I am connected to this man in every bodily way.

His hips are grinding up to meet me, the raw strength of his body is consuming me, and it feels out of control, but I will not break eye contact, and he plunges into me with such ferocity that it almost hurts, and he has slipped a finger into my ass, and all kinds of delirious sensations are firing up and I know I should wait for him, but my body is a traitor, and I fling my head back screaming the orgasm from my body, and he meets me, plunging deeper, and pulling me relentlessly on his cock, and then I feel him, shooting into me, groaning out my name, claiming my body like a prize, and the high is like stepping off the edge of a cliff, and I am tumbling in waves and his body is jerking and he roars my name.

And as his body shudders against mine, he pulls me with infinite tenderness against his chest, enveloping me in his arms, murmuring words in a foreign language against my neck.

My body is raw, my heartbeat off the scale.

He tips my head back to look into my eyes, and I see the grin there, the grin that looks like winning a prize.

“You, Anna, better learn to speak some Polish so you can understand the ways I want to fuck you the next time, and the time after that, and after that”…..