Page 9 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘Oh, many are instantly forgettable, but a few stick in my mind. One chap looked at me in horror when I turned up for our rendezvous. I quickly checked my boobs hadn’t escaped my dress and asked him if he was OK. You know what he said? “I hadn’t realised you were black”. Yeah. Ridiculous. He mumbled something about not paying photographs much attention, but I didn’t give him a chance to finish. I got up and walked out. He followed me to ask why I was going. So, I told him, “I hadn’t realised you were an arsehole”. That shut him up. Opened and closed his mouth like some beached fish. Come to think of it, his skin was really pasty – looked like a blanched piece of cod. It’s true. Who wants to have sex with a fillet of fish? Mind, even the good-looking ones can be a pain. There was one who spent his entire time looking at his reflection in huge mirrors on his bedroom ceiling.’
‘Whoa. Kinky.’
‘He kept moving me to one side to admire his beautiful body. He called himself Apollo – I know, loads of bizarre names on the app. Clearly thought of himself as a right sex God. More like Narcissus. Totally in love with his fake-tanned six-pack. Then there was this guy who wanted to have sex in the bushes of the park…’
‘What?’
‘I said no at first, but it was a warm, dry night, and the park was empty.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I did. And I have to say, it was exhilarating.Hilariously, his name was Rowan.’
‘Ha ha. You have definitely made that up.’
‘Or maybe it was his berries I remember…’
Monica snorted into the back of her hand.
‘Hey, if you really want something to laugh at, I can tell you about the ones who want to dress up. Close your mouth. I’m OK with it if it’s not too weird. It’s just a bit of innocent fun. I happen to have built up a small wardrobe of erotic gear.’
‘Seriously? I need details.’
I smile as I picture Monica’s face when I replied. Her bright blue eyes were alight with a combination of curiosity and scandalised delight.
‘I knew you would. Oh, you know, stuff like nurse and doctor, pilot and air hostess, wench and master… that sort of thing. One chap got us bothFlintstonesoutfits.’
‘Yabba-dabba-doo.’
‘Best if I don’t mention his club.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Then there was a guy who was into cowboys. What did he call himself? Oh yes, Clint Westwood.’
By this time, Monica was laughing aloud.
‘His bedroom was done out like a tacky wild west stage set. Saloon doors, beer barrels – I think plastic shotguns were part of the decorations. I was hammered, so it’s all a bit of a blur, but it was a total turnoff when he started shouting “Yeeee-ha”.’
‘Time to get out of the saddle?’
‘You betcha. The showdown morphed into a total letdown. Clint was all boots without spurs and pistolswithout shots.’
Our laughter petered out and Monica suddenly turned serious.
‘Will you tell Max about all the other sex dates?’
‘It’s none of his business.’
‘So, no?’
‘OK, I guess I’ve already told a little white lie. I intimated that like him, I’d only had a couple of dates via the app. Hey, stop shaking your head. I barely know the guy.’
Monica smiled as she sent her lovely long auburn mane swinging around her head. ‘What are you like?’
A year on, I still haven’t told Max the full story, not that he needs to know. In fact, I hadn’t confided this aspect of my life to anyone until I told Monica. I guess I did enjoy raising her eyebrows. She’s normally so serene and collected. Everything about her, from her perfectly made-up symmetrical face to her beautifully manicured nails, speaks calm and poise. She could easily come across as a bit remote, but when she lets her hair down, the real Monica emerges, and she’s full of fun.
We had a ball when we went to Glastonbury together, just us with our kids. I asked her after mistakenly assuming she was a single parent like me.
