Surprises

Every now and then little surprises pop up that always keeps things interesting. Tonight mine came in a very nice little 5’10 package with shaggy hair. I saw him as I approached the bar where I was meeting my housemate and thought “wow he is gorgeous”. He was staring at me and as he was standing right in front of my housemate Catherline, I threw a brilliant smile to Catherine and, of course, he thought I was smiling at him – which of course I was!. But I walked straight passed him and embraced Catherine. Where did this confidence come from? A glass of wine and comfort in my decision to wear a stylish business skirt instead of my Friday casual jeans.

Shaggy haired boy is Ben. We chat – I don’t remember what about. Travels – he is a tour company guide – which led to me talking about how tour guides have a deserving reputation for picking up a girl. I certainly had no doubt that he didn’t experience the advances of a girl (or two) on his tours. It is a sad indication of the direction of the night when you don’t remember a first kiss. And sadly I don’t but I do remember later ones and they were very nice.

We caught the last train home to Clapham and lost Catherine and our friend James along the way. The Clapham North Pub is the logical next stop and I make my way to the toilet and as I descend the stairs a gorgeous guy catches my eye. He looks familiar, but I can’t place where I have seen him before. I turn around for a second look and he looks back at the same time. We exchange a smile.

As I make my way back to my friends after the ladies break, I am suddenly grabbed from nowhere. I am expecting to see Ben, but instead it is this mysterious man on the stairs. He introduces himself. We exchange pleasantries and I am acutely aware that it is very uncool to be chatting up another guy when I have just been kissing another.. My new admirer is gorgeous with a brilliant smile – probably about 28. He tells me he saves penguins for a living. It sounds like a line – but surely too ridiculous to actually be one. And I ask if he is a marine biologist. Which he isn’t. I was almost convinced he was feeding me a very bad pick up line, but then I do have a friend that keeps a stock of KY jelly and latex gloves in the boot of his car in case he is called out for a marine rescue. So we exchange numbers, he says he is away for a few weeks and will give me a call when he gets back. The following morning I have a message from him.

So. Ben, Colin (Catherine’s very posh work colleague) and I are reunited with Catherine and James and the next stop is Sol Bar on the high street. We dance the night away – Colin is surprisingly good on the dance floor. I am noticing that my young acquaintance is looking increasingly intoxicated. But so too am I.

We are the last to leave the bar and with Catherine and James on good form, they are keen to move to Infernos – a bar you only go to if you a completely trashed. We manage to lose them in about five seconds, to which I call it a night. I was happy to leave my friend at James' house, but of course he had other things in mind. I warned him in advance that he would not be adding a run to his very long tally. But I had a feeling the attraction of a comfy bed over a stinky couch was his main driver for “I really don’t care”. So for the first time ever I invited a guy that I have just met to my bedroom.

Of course when it is the early hours of the morning and you are suitably very drunk you forget one minor issue in the whole equation: the sports bra underwear that is a requirement of my recent operation. It is only two months since my surgery. My scars are there, the operation wasn’t a perfect success with my C cup breasts looking quite odd and nothing like the perfect DD natural originals - however I haven't regretted for a moment my decision to have the operation. 

Even drunk, the self consciousness is dawning on me. My solution was to find a sexy bra, make haste for the bathroom and change. I would simply tell him he couldn’t take it off. Sounds easy enough.

So, as the moment of truth arrives, I assert my desire for the bra to stay on. He wasn’t having any of it. “Trust me,” I say. “This is a bit of fun and if you take the bra off I have to have a serious conversation with you – which I really don’t want to do.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer. So I told him I had had a mastectomy, that I hadn’t had cancer, it was just precautionary because my mum had had cancer. He insisted on taking my bra off. And proceeded to tell me how beautiful I looked. So, all really quite sweet. But things all went very emotional. His father died only two years ago from cancer and I told him of my mum. So a fun one night fling suddenly became very deep and serious.

It is funny. The thought of showing someone my breasts – that first time – is something that had worried me quite a bit over the past few months. I didn’t know what to say or what to expert. I certainly did not think it would be like this. But I, in some way, felt that everything was meant to be just as it was.

This morning I had a headache. It has been a long time since I have woken up like this. I was running late and keen to get out of the house. Harry and I planned on having lunch together before seeing a matinee session of La Boheme in Soho.

The modern adaptation of the classic opera was brilliant. We took our seats for Act 1 in a sold out theatre. Act 2 was set in a bar. So the entire audience moved to the real life bar and the opera was performed amongst us. We were sitting next to some of the performers. Brilliant. It was a great day.