More of the Six-foot Stunner

And indeed it turns out Arina would have been a hard chase anyway, since she’d gone back to her hometown for the vacation.

But I have yet to finish up that dinner I had with her, the one I’d invited her to along with Cara, even though I was half included to chase Cara too.

Arina and I met first, before going to dinner, and she was just stunning... Tall, elegant, dressed with great individuality, she was waiting for me near Henan Zhong Lu subway. I made to kiss her cheek and she avoided it. This seemed a bad omen to me; but maybe I just took her by surprise, or maybe she thought I was going for her lips, since later in the evening she became more relaxed, more physical with me. I sms’d Linda to tell her we’d arrived; she replied to say she was at the restaurant already, even though we’d agreed to meet at the station. That was mildly irritating, but no great matter – a brief stroll round the corner, to Shanghai Uncle, and the evening kicked off. Cara was looking good and, sans Arina, I’d have made more effort to flirt with her.


But it likely would not have got anywhere, and indeed I think I reinforced the image she might have of me from class as a swaggering foreigner since I insisted on paying at the end. But it was a good evening for all of that, and I ordered a fine meal.

Ordering a good meal, it seems to me, is a kind of wooing. It looks good to know your way round a menu. This is a lesson I picked up from Michael Bloomberg; on a trip round NY, he said that in a business meeting showing power matters, and that one could do this anywhere. In a business dinner, for example, one way to do this was either to show you know the menu back to front, or just order what you want without even looking at it. Now business strategies leave me cold, but the lesson can be applied to the chase. It is one I have used to great success at Laris.

And in fact this restaurant anecdote reminds me of another. A few days ago I stepped over the road to get some fried rice to go with a meal. When the chef had cooked it, he called over the guy behind the counter to bring the carton out from the kitchen. The guy did this, fetching the carton from the kitchen and placing it on the work top opposite me, its lid still open. I looked at him; he returned my gaze blankly. Since I did not know this was even my rice I just waited. The rice sat there, open, cooling, the idiot guy vacant, his mind idle. After a few moments one of the servers on my side of the counter came out of the washroom, closed the lid, put an elastic band round it, bagged it and handed it to me.

This minor incident struck me quite deeply as a testament to the utter vacuous mindlessness of huge swathes of modern Chinese society. No imagination, no thought, nothing at all; just the myopic focus on one’s own task. No possible thought of stepping outside it. It is a society so cramped and conditioned, so bereft of individuality that I can imagine such people looking on as, say, a piano from above falls from a crane towards a hapless passer-by. Somebody else’s problem. Sure, sure, boxing up fried rice is a job for a robot and working in such a joint at that would snuff out what little selfhood this dolt might have had. But to not even make the tiny step of closing the lid because it was someone else’s job….

Anyhow, back at Shanghai Uncle, it was a fine meal, all the usual wow dishes, the ones that look good, taste good, make the orderer look good: the cheese-baked mandarin fish, the lamb, the veal. (The fish in particular impressed Cara. very much, which gratified me… though writing that I also wonder if maybe she was doing a little showing off too, for the other women at the table, demonstrating her familiarity with the Western style of this dish. Cheese does not go down big in China, and Cara also made a point of mentioning the Italian influence in it. A certain familiarity with international culture is held to have cachet here.)

Though this evening was some time ago, I still very clearly how greatly Adina impressed me and how much that evening redoubled my wish to get her. At the evening’s end she said she’d catch the bus back to her campus, which was nearby and, since I had Linda and Sara, I somewhat reluctantly agreed. Adina gone, Linda, Cara and I taxied to the tube, Linda heading off into Pudong. Cara was heading in my direction, to Huaihai Lu, and we talked as we went. I said, ‘I get the impression I irritated you in class.. I’m really very sorry about that.’

I had hoped to hear ‘Not at all’ but instead she said, `What’s in the past is in the past,’ meaning ‘Yes, you did irritate me’; which took me aback rather. I have not seen her since then and not though of her until now. So it goes.

Back home I sent an SMS after Arina, `Great to see you.. You were stunning,’ and during the next few days she and I talked on MSN. Our chats were a little brief and I was not sure I was making any headway. But then she emailed me to invite me to stay with her family in Nanjing over the Spring Festival holidays, telling me that:-

Today my mom talked about Lunar New Year with me, and I told her I wanted to invite you to visit Nanjing, especially for real local food. She thought foreigners might not have chance to spend time with their families while other Chinese families were celebrating together on this special day. So, she really hopes you can come to spend the New Year’s Eve with us, just like I do.

This was an email that pleased me greatly. But my first impulse was to make an excuse, for traveling though all the crowds and noise to a family I do not know at all would be a hassle. But I suspected it might have been her offer, and that if I did not go I would have no chance of her. But if I went it would still have to be in the terms laid out in her email – as just a friend. It was a test.

So I decided to go, my decision partly influence by the selection of photos she’d sent me. They were all chosen to show her at her best, which seems to me a fine sign; and I was frank about how stunning I found her, so she knew I was thinking of her beyond just mere friendship.

Yet even at the time I felt that my attitude was something I ought curb a little. If I showed too much keenness for her, I would seem a supplicant, not a master. And no one ever gets a woman by asking too hard.

But getting a ticket to go see her was a real cunt, with the fucked up system they got here. The clerk told me (after I’d got to the head of a long queue) I could not buy a ticket until within six days of the desired travel date. I went back on the sixth day before departure, and again met a long queue. At its head, the unsmiling clerk told me I could only get a ticket two days before departure. I went back two days before departure, queued again. The still unsmiling clerk told me I should have bought it six days before I planned to leave.

I lost my temper, somewhat. Generally I try not to do this, for I have seen too many foreigners, perplexed by the hard language and odd rules, shouting and screaming at the locals. This happens especially frequently at the PSB – the Public Security Bureau - where they issue passports and visas and the like. Most every time I go some foreigner will be frothing and screaming at the person behind the perspex; and while the rules here are frequently arcane, arbitrary and frustrating, shouting about it is only going to have a counterproductive effect. So in general I keep my temper, for I have no wish to come off as another intemperate white guy.

But in the face of my mild irritation and broken Chinese, grudgingly they told me I might be able to buy a ticket on the day of travel. On the day, I queued up once more and this time got a ticket.

Every single one of these queues, naturally, was made longer by the incessant number of people pushing straight to the front of the queue.

Fuck me, I’m writing about the inability of Chinese people to queue. Next it will be spitting, and then, fuck, it will be bicycles, and then my blog will be the same as every other blog on China.

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This Week's Menu

Having been busy every evening this week, I have had little chance for dinner and the chase – though I did fit lunch with Clarissa on Monday and coffee with Anita on Wednesday.

Clarissa, whom I have mentioned in passing before, is back in China for a few months, having emigrated overseas last June. I remember the date she left very clearly, since the night before I had dinner with her and her husband (a good looking guy, but one who does not quite fulfill her). On the way back from that dinner, having given her a colossal hug goodbye (and him a handshake) some fat chick on the tube heading to the station to get a train back to her nearby hometown wanted to practice her English on me. Happy enough to oblige, I even gave her my phone number when she asked for it, and for six months after that put up with her mithering sms questions, and did it gladly too, for the sake of her random, tenuous connection to Clarissa. Fat girl (who I named in my phone address book merely as ‘some chick’) was a connection to the last day I saw Clarissa; that made her important. And that shows what Clarissa is to me.

I did not know Clarissa was coming back. A few days ago, ten a.m, my mobile rings, with Clarissa’s name on the display. Not having had enough sleep from the night before I was groggy, confused. ‘Is that Clarissa?’ I asked. It was. ‘Where are you.. in China?’

‘Yes’ she said, and then, ‘trouble!’ and rang off. I did not quite know what to make of it. But a few minutes later, the doorbell. It was her. And to see her filled my heart with joy… She did not stay for long, telling me she had appointments to keep, but wanted me to be the first person she saw outside her family after arriving home.

But this lunch we had was more recent. At that lunch she brought her friend along, Showy, who I had met at Clarissa’s wedding. Showy too is married.

Clarissa had suggested we eat at the Changshu Lu branch of 博多新记. (It is an excellent place. Normally I go to the other branch of the same restaurant at Fuxing Xi Lu and Xiangyang Lu; indeed, that was where I began my seduction of Tingting. It is not as fine as some other places, but it has its own advantages. Prime among these – other than the great food – is the fact that it is overwhelmingly a local restaurant. It is rare to see foreigners in there, and no-one speaks English nor are the menus translated. Going there, then, gives the date the impression that I have truly embraced Shanghai, that I do not just move in the expat-only circles. It’s also worth a visit since the Heineken girl they have there is remarkably cute. Though since I only ever go there with a date, it is pretty much impossible to do anything about her.)

Anyhow, at the Changshu branch, there were only outside tables were left when I arrived. I was sitting at one of these, waiting for her, my camera ready to picture her. Soon enough, she arrived and my joy surged as she did…

But outside was too hot, she felt, so I suggested we walk down to the nearby Yang’s Kitchen, and there we had a nice lunch, easy conversation. Though Clarissa and I flirted, I began to see that Showy was rather cute too.

At one point, Clarissa made a joke about married women finding lovers, and as she said it I raised my eyes to meet Showy’s. She is rather sexy, and married women make the best lovers. She met my eyes with the briefest look of surprise, and then her features assumed a studied neutrality. I was not sure what to make of that.

As for Anita, she was a more or less random find. I was waiting at Luijiazui subway stop to meet Feena last Friday (having decided to eschew Ellen, the sure thing, for the chance of Feena), when I saw a woman somewhat struggling to carry a bag down the steps descending to the station concourse. No one offered her help, naturally, for this is not a culture that is big on random acts of kindness. So I strode forward to help her (before I had even seen her face, so it was not a total pick-up). But she was rather good looking, and so at the bottom of the stairs we traded cards, leading to meeting for lunch on Wednesday. More of that later.

So this week I want to fit in various women; Angel and Suna, for lunch on Tuesday and then Wednesday afternoon and evening with Deedee. I also ought to see Jingjing, who I have pissed off, but having taken her home twice now, I am losing interest.

Angel and Suna are a couple of students who have become friends with each other and me since meeting in a class I taught. In that class, I noticed Angel, since she was quite cute (a Shanghai girl, with Shanghai style, sharply dressed, confident, a little bit sassy) but not Suna. However, I’d given the whole class my email this time, and it was Suna who popped up to talk first.

That first time she chatted to me online, I saw she had a blog, so I checked it out just to see who she was, since at that point all I had to go on was her email name. The main picture on her blog wowed me – a snap of a girl kissing another girl. It was clearly a ‘real’ picture, not just one downloaded from a porny website. Since one of the girls in the picture looked a little familiar, I wondered – hoped – that it was her. A girl who has a picture of a girl kissing another girl on her blog is a girl I want to get to know.

And so I did. But I did not tell her I even knew she had a blog, and, suppressing the urge to ask, ‘So, you’re into other girls, then?’ I just laid some getting-to-know-you groundwork shit. Then, a few minutes after we’d begun chatting, another student, from the same class, popped up; this was Angel, though I did not know it at the time, and clearly Suna had suggested she join in the conversation.

Though I didn’t know who this girl was, naturally I hoped it was the other girl in the pic – yet since these two were only classroom buddies that was unlikely. So all three of us talked until 11pm, at which time the electricity in their dorms (on different campuses) went off – Chinese university students being treated more like livestock than human beings.

A day or two later, I got a chatty SMS message from Angel; it was clear that Suna had given her my number (the only place Angel could have got it). Prior to this, I’d arranged to see Suna for coffee: now, she messaged me to ask if Angel could join us. This message gave me a frisson of excitement, as I fantasized that Suna was engineering this with an eye on seducing Angel.

I went to that date determined to flirt but also to keep my conversation away from prurient questions about that picture, her sexuality. But the topic came up anyway, for, before Angel arrived, Suna and I were talking about student life, and I’d mentioned something about a friend at Shanghai Maritime University. She seized on that name, and told me it was renowned for having many lesbian students. Did I know if this was true, she asked, and did I know any such people? More of this, too, later.

Finally I am keen to take Arina out to dinner once more. I have not had much luck in wooing her; there is certainly attraction there, and potential too. But she has made it clear that she is looking for something serious. So the only way I can get her is by making a proper play for her, and showing some commitment. And I am not sure I am ready for that; plus, of course, I already have Sara, my full time girlfriend, of whom I am very fond. Sara is leaving China for study in Canada later in the year, and I would like to keep our relationship tranquil until then. Getting with Arina would make my life a bit too complex – just an endless round of changing sheets and hiding trinkets.

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Sweetie Continued

The first fuck is usually the best; it is diminishing returns after that. So, with Sweetie, that first time lasted an hour or so; and, being the first fuck, it was the most exciting – and so I nearly came a couple of times before I was ready. But, champion masturbator that I am, a brief pause was enough to restore control.

This is an important point of honor, especially the first time. After all, I wish to do all I can to highlight the difference between my lovemaking and that of the average local guy; he (from what numerous women have told me) can’t last more than a few minutes. Indeed, among my various lovers, Ellen (whom I have yet to describe), as we rested together after making love, made me laugh with her tales of the over-excitable guys she’d been with.

But the first time needs some balance; it cannot last too long since, in general, the woman will become sore, not being used to the larger size of Western men. I do not mean to boast about the size of my cock (though it is vastly flattering (and pleasingly frequent) when a new woman says ‘Wow, it’s so big’) – it’s rather that Western guys routinely are bigger than Chinese guys.

Now once I had found my rhythm, found the ideal stroke and ideal state of mind, I could have ploughed away all night. But Sweetie was getting a little pained with it, so I said that perhaps we should conclude. ‘You can control it?’ she asked, in some surprise.

She wanted me to wear a condom to come. Yeah, yeah, sure I should have been wearing one already. And I was perfectly happy to do so, though I made a joke about it – ‘.. you will have to put it on for me.’ And so she did, with her mouth, which was rather good.

The key reason I do not often wear a condom – apart from pure, naked selfishness and profligacy, I mean – is that Chinese condoms are just too small.

Again this is not a by-proxy boast about my dick size. For example, Mona’s other Western lover, the guy who I heard being gossiped about in a restaurant but have never met, also had this problem; indeed, I spent a jolly afternoon with Mona trying to find decent sized condoms for her to use with him. She liked him to use a condom when they fucked, but he did not like to. With fine hypocrisy I told her this meant he was a turd. (Though then I laughed and added, ‘But I am being hypocritical, I did not use one with you either, did I?’). He told her the local condoms were too small; that was why she wanted my help to find larger ones.

So first of all we went to the medical center in the Portman; no luck there. Then a conversation with a Durex rep by the condom rack in a Watson’s, also to no luck. Mona was a little shy about this so I did all the talking (and indeed as I did so the customers in the area skulked away, embarrassed). The rep told me this was a frequent problem with Western guys, and that as far as she knew nowhere in the city sold a bigger size. But, she said, foreign guys said such and such a line of Durex was the least bad fit; and so we bought a few packets of those.

Anyhow, back to Sweetie and her mouth. The condom being too small, it first of all threatened to come off, sitting as it was on my helmet like – well – a helmet -- so I had to pull it further down me, making it yet more tight, and thus constricting me, reducing feeling and making it rather tougher to come, meaning I had to pump her pretty hard and fast, which began to exacerbate her discomfort. But come I did, covered in sweat and roaring.

Yeah, it was a pretty good fuck, and she’s a good lover – though her oral technique could do with some improvement. Post-fuck rest, she asked me, ‘How many times do you think I came?’ I had little idea, it being hard to tell among all the various cries, some of pain, some of pleasure. But ever the vain male, I said ‘Three, four?’ It was two, she said - -‘but then some women never come at all’ she added. So two was ok.

As it was still relatively early in the evening, she wanted to go get a drink, so we did; and as we drank she chain-smoked and played with her PS2, or Gameboy, or whatever it was.

She’s a slightly unusual woman, nervous, jumpy, twitchy; smokes too much, is, I would guess, at heart rather insecure; and given we went back to my place after the bar and fucked some more, this could have spelled a future problem. Having fucked her a couple of times I was more or less done. And while she did at that time have a boyfriend, I was a little wary lest she wanted to make that night any more than the fling it was. Certainly, given that the boyfriend was, from what she said, the dull, dependable, decent type, barely an ounce of passion but reliable, sensible, and thoroughly Chinese, this was rather a risk.

But even so, the next day I idly flirted via sms message, sexy messages at that, in part to test how far I could go. It was unwise, and might have made her think the fling could be more permanent. But I did it anyway; I did it because I could.

She wanted to know more sex talk, so I told her some. At first she misunderstood ‘giving head.’ Does it mean ‘Sper on the head?’ she wondered. ‘I do not like that,’ she said.

I replied that no, it did not mean coming on her face, and that to do so was disrespectful to a woman; instead it meant the mouth on each other. Now coming on the face is of course a form of humiliation for the woman, a form a control, of belittling. Naturally it is also a turn on I would like to try. The fact she had an active enough mind to mistake my meaning that way was promising. There are some women I have been with who could barely even imagine such a thing. But she knew all about it, and even if she was not keen on it, it still showed she had a sexy mind.

All in all it was a fine, sexy fuck, with a sexy, willing woman. She had to work the day after, leaving my place around 8am, wearing, to her slight embarrassment, the same clothes she’d worn yesterday (‘My Japanese bosses will notice’ she said. I have a few horror stories to tell about the way some Japanese guys treat women).

I lent her a clean pair of my briefs and, later that day, found – to my pleasure – she’d left her panties behind. The scent on them was strong, since she was pretty highly aroused when I undressed her. I told her by SMS I wore them to bed the night after, to gauge her. She seemed to quite like it. Yeah, she had a sexy, dirty mind for sure.

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Does No mean No?

And so together Deedee and I looked for a cab. The last year or so it’s been hard to find a cab in the city and in general this causes curses in me. But tonight I was grateful for it, since it meant I could linger longer. The Bund was lined with ones and twos of people scanning back and forth for cabs, perking up at seeing a vacant light, only to see someone else get the cab, or a fresh passenger in it already and the flag not yet dropped. ‘We won’t get a cab here’ I said, and steered us off down a sidestreet, my arm round her waist. We walked for ten minutes before finding a cab, chatting easily enough but getting interrupted by messages from her supine maggot guy. When we did find a cab he switched from messages to calls, none of which she answered.

She was slightly tense now, for she had a good idea of what was coming. ‘Why are you tense?’ I said.

‘I’m not’ was her first reply.

‘You are, you’re nervous’ I said. ‘Don’t be’ and put my arm round her, pulled her to me. She lay against my side, but still uneasy. ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Is it because you think I want to kiss you? But I do…you are so very beautiful.’ And so I leaned over to kiss her. She squirmed a little, said she did not want to kiss – but half-returned my kiss even as she spoke; her No was not a real No.

Now of course this is a dangerous way for a guy to begin to think, that No means Yes. And indeed it’s not usually that simple; No can mean Maybe, ‘Maybe, but I don’t want to appear easy,’ ‘Maybe, but my culture teaches me to be shy of sex.’

‘No means No’ is just too much of a simplification. It is more about tone, body language, implication. No in a certain style, certain tone most surely does mean No; but there are a dozen ways to say No, and a dozen shades of meaning.

Deedee’s No was the same as Tingting’s No, Tingting whose No took an hour to turn into Yes. And when it did, what a yes! She was (as I said below) a fine lover, and she may be back in my life (or my bed at least) for she sent me a warm email the other day to tell me she has now finished her PhD studies and is about to embark on the next stage of her life, a posting to a hospital in a nearby city. I hope to see her at least once before she goes, for I have fine memories of her body, her passion. Her smooth belly, lithe legs, those deep liquid eyes…

Deedee’s No was ‘No, not tonight… but maybe next time.’ And her half-response to that first kiss suggested to me that her No might have become a Yes had not this clod been persistently calling; there is no way to woo when you’re sharing the cab with a whacko. The simple expedient of switching her phone off was no option, for her parents, like so many in China, are wholly unable to see her as an adult. To them, she is still 12 years old and thus must be reachable at all times. A switched-off phone just causes panic in parents such as these.

For example, Arina’s mother; to me Arina is a strong, sexy, confident woman, bold and stylish. To her mother, she’s barely more than a schoolgirl. Arina’s family home is in the city of Nanjing, a couple of hours away from Shanghai.

Now Arina used to have this wimpy whingy boyfriend, who indeed I have met (shaken his hand, looked him in the eye and thought ‘I’m going to take her from you’). He studies in Australia, but, poor dear, cannot make a go of it there, and so from time to time comes back to China for some R&R. This he hides from his parents, and so when he comes he stays in a hotel in the city. On one trip back he and Arina spent 24 hours together and, since she did not want to be disturbed, she shut her phone off. When she turned it back on, she told me it notified her of 40 missed calls, all from her mother, and then beeped and buzzed nonstop as the 60 messages she’d sent arrived. Not only this; the mother had also called relatives in Shanghai and implored them to go to her campus and find out where she was. Nuts.

And so Deedee and I parted, her to her bed and me to mine. As I rode home I followed her with an sms message of my own. ‘Wow.. u r the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.. Hope to see you again soon.’ And then, a little later, ‘You are not toooo angry with me?..'

`一点生气' ('A little angry’)

Ohhh… 55555… Well.. maybe if u forgive me we can meet again..’ (The number 5 is pronounced `wu’ in Chinese, and thus is used in sms to express mock-misery)

`现在不生气‘ (‘Now I’m not angry’)

`So.. if I send you a goodnight kiss.. what will u say?’

不可以老师不可以这样 (‘Not good for a teacher, not this way’)

呵呵。。 你太厉害。。 我非常不高兴!’ (‘Oh, you’re too fierce, I’m so unhappy’)

你为什么不高兴的呀？ (‘Why are you unhappy?’)

`因为我很要吻你.. 你太漂亮!’ (‘Because I so wanted to kiss you… you’re so beautiful!’)

你一点也不像老师哪有老师说这话的呀？(‘You’re not like a teacher, would a teacher say this?’)

‘I cant’ help it.. you’re just tooo sexy..’

‘You’re kidding’

‘Kidding? Not at all..you are stunningly sexy..’

‘Only lovely not sexy’

‘You are lovely, it’s true.. but you really are one of the most sexy women I’ve met in Shanghai... You're breathtaking....

By this time this exchange was over, I’d been home awhile. It occurred to me she did not have my MSN address, so I gave her my private one, for lovers, would-be lovers and family, and a few moments later she added me.

Me: hi

Me: well... i had a really great evening with u.. u're cool and a lot of fun...

Deedee: really?

Me: really, yes, i do mean that... you are funny, confident, clever, and artistic!

Deedee: I never found that!

Me: well.. take it from me. it is true!

Deedee: haha

Me: really, i was fascinated to hear u liked jazz and blues

Deedee: why?

Deedee: you too??

Me: because most people have rubbish taste..

Deedee: what are you doing now?

Me: editing documents for students..

Me: and also... i'm thinking of the sexiest woman i've met in aaaages...

Deedee: you working so hard

Me: yes, lots to do!

Deedee: you have a lot of friends,studends........why me?

Me: why....

Me: i don't know

Me: all i know is that..

Me: the first moment u walked i my class...

Me: i could hardly take my eyes off u

Deedee: I cant find that

Me: i know

Me: i tried really hard to hide it

Me: but it is true

Me: and if i showed u what i wrote in my diary after that class, u would beleive me...

Deedee: I saw a lot of sexy lovely clever girl in your class.

Me: no. no one as fascinating as u

Deedee: In you other classes?

Me: no.. not for a looooong time. really!

Deedee: there are many lovely girls........

Me: u just blew me away, u really did...

Deedee: you kiding me555555555555

Me: the 2nd time u came u had that cute little black and white skirt, and black tights...

Deedee: that's funny

Me: oh, why?

Deedee: you write diary?

Me: i do

Me: and you are in it

Me: several times!

Deedee: can I see my parts?

Me: ha ha ha

Me: no!

Me: it's a secret

Me: but..

Deedee: 5555555555555555555

Me: well, let me look and see what i wrote, hang on...

Deedee: en

Me: you REALLY wanna see?

Deedee: yes

Me: ok

Me: I got to class to find her not there. I had expected this. But half an hour into the class she turned up.. the door opening slowly and her peeking her head round, knowing I would tease her on it. But I just smiled at her lighthearted entrance and let her go to her seat with little further comment. And then spent the rest of the class, up until the break, trying not to check her out too much.

Me: As I called the break I saw her pulling on a scarf. I knew she was going to make a run for it, and I knew she would wait until I left the room so she could escape without my comment.. if I had stayed in the room she might not have had the bottle to go.

Me: there's more but that's all i'm going to show u tongiht

Deedee: you are a fox

Me: ha ha, so now u think i am even more of a bad guy, huh?

Deedee: en

Me: :$

Deedee: :@

Deedee: angry

Me: ohhhh... why?

Deedee: you hve got the polt

Me: polt ? i do not understand...

Deedee: Iintrigue

Me: ah, i see...

Me: r u *really* angry with me?

Deedee: I dont known up to now

Deedee: yes

Me: why r u angry?

Deedee: you let me scared (I’d not expected this; but maybe I should have known better)

Me: oh.. gosh..i did not mean to do that!

Me: in fact i was jsut teasing u (so I tried to lie my way out of it)

Me: i only wrote that before i said i'd send it to u tonight!

Deedee: I'm sorry

Me: 不里我！

Me: u r sorry?

Me: why?

Deedee: I am sad to heat that??

Me: i really did not want to scare u

Me: but u know u i really did notice u strongly in class

Deedee: 555555555555555555555555555555

Me: so i hope u will forgive me

Deedee: It's really

Deedee: a kidding?

Me: well...

Me: ok, i do really remember all that happening

Me: but i just wrote if for u tongiht to tease u a little

Me: u recall i told u the same thing over dinner!

Deedee: Thank you for everything you did for me

Deedee: everything you said i'll believe (and I hope she bought it )

Me: oh..

Me: that sounds like u'r saying `i'll never see you again'

Deedee: many thanks....I like the time with you

Deedee: It's the truth

Me: but...

Me: will u agree to see me again?

Deedee: you want to see me again?

Me: oh i do, yes

Me: yes yes yes!

Me: but...

Me: will u agree?

Deedee: en

Me: that makes me happy! u r great company

Me: next time i wanna take u to the great art gallery i told u about. you'll like it a lot

Deedee: yeah

Deedee: It's too late

Deedee: I want to go to bed

Deedee: today I'm so tired

Me: sleep well

Deedee: 88

Me: i had fun tongiht!

Me: 88

And she was indeed not too angry with me, for we have met several times since. I took her to the art colony I spoke of, a wonderful collection of independent artists and galleries, meeting and chatting to various of the artists I know there; and I took her to the Armani fashion retrospective at the Art Museum; and, next week, will meet her again for dinner.

And herein lies a problem... Having seen her several times, I have begun to see beyond my own primarily sexual reaction to her, and have begun to value her for herself as well. I want to spend time with her just to enjoy her idiosyncratic, refreshing, intelligent company.

But will this deeper attraction last beyond taking her to bed?

As time shall try…

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