I met G in a swanky club 2 weeks ago. We’ve been talking and trying to meet since, just fitting in the odd conversation here and there. We eventually met for a drink Friday night in El Gato Negro, a tapas bar on King St. She looked a lot different to the Saturday night I met her. I hardly recognised her. But then, any woman in a tiny dress with her tits almost falling out is going to look different in a clingy black top and black trousers, with her hair in a pony tail. Still fit though. We talked, but she didn’t flirt much. (Prior texts had been similarly dull.) We showed each other embarrassing pics from the night: her pic of us, tongues intertwined, and mine of her smearing lip gloss across my face. I walked her half way to her train afterwards, but she was saying I didn’t have to do this. She’d obviously made up her mind.
She’d obviously not been bowled over. My mates hated her, telling me her dress was awful and that she lacked class. (I liked her dress, but she did need to get some respect and not sponge money off guys.) Shame I had to spend so much money to find this out.
But then, what do you expect if you go to places like the swanky clubs? They’re all after rich businessmen, and when they find out you do admin in the public sector, they’re not interested any more. They’ll say, “We’re too different.” Whatever. Trouble is, I really like those places. I like the décor and atmos, and the challenge. (and looking at the women.) Besides, in that club I’ve been 3 times and pulled twice, so something is obviously working for me in that one.
We had agreed to do Sunday lunch, but yesterday morning she called it off saying (yeah, you guessed it) “we’re quite different.”
So. Still trying. In other news, porn star Vicky Vette is following me on Twitter, as is Susan Bennett, the voice of iPhone digital assistant Siri. Wow. I’ve not got an iPhone, but I’m aware of her reach.