Mark and I stride purposefully into the lively bar, the pulsating beats of music and the chatter of the crowd enveloping us. Unsurprisingly, we find Terry and Reg lurking in their natural habitat, desperately vying for the attention of the fairer sex. At the mere sight of a woman and a heartbeat, their collective IQ seems to drop faster than a lead balloon.
I decide to cut through the testosterone-laden haze and make a beeline for the bar, deliberately avoiding any fleeting glances from eager females along the way. Tonight, my focus is solely on Mark, and the prospect of entertaining the pitiful and desperate attempts of any potential admirers is far from appealing. Reg has ensnared a petite brunette in his arms, and Terry, or at least a semblance of him, is engaged in a questionable robotic dance with a birthday girl bedecked in a sash.
As Mark heads over to the boys, I navigate the crowded space and reach the bar, determined to get our libations without unnecessary detours. Busty, whose name I can't be bothered to remember (do I really care?), is engaged in conversation with someone else. I seize the moment, "Hi love, me again... Can I get 6 pints of Bud and... Hang on a minute..." My attention diverts to Reg, and I holler across the room to inquire about his drink preferences. The response is as perplexing as it is unhelpful – "ask Millie."
Who in the world is Millie?
Reg persistently points to my left, where I discover a brunette with sharp ice-blue eyes, delicate freckles gracing her face, and lips that glisten with moisture. Admiration for Millie's features floods my senses. There's an intriguing tension as our eyes lock, and she nervously bites down on her bottom lip. The adorable display of anxiety only serves to heighten my interest. Are my mere glances enough to make her uneasy? How utterly endearing. Our gaze reconnects, and her lips, wet, plump, and richly colored, captivate my attention. Undoubtedly, the best feature on her face.
My mind automatically goes in the gutter and I wonder what those wet lips would look like around my co..
Nope.
Taking a moment to collect myself amidst the chaos of the bar, I decide to engage with the enigmatic Millie. With a determined focus, I lean in slightly and direct my attention to her, "Millie... is that your name? Is that you?" Her gaze remains fixed on me, eyes traversing up and down my form, and those lips of hers, constantly moistened, betraying a subtle allure.
The lack of response from Millie becomes increasingly frustrating, prompting me to raise my voice a notch, "MILLIE." My irritation is palpable, and I'm growing impatient with the prolonged silence. What's with the mysterious act?
As I await a reply, I take a moment to scrutinize this captivating brunette who's been eyeing me up. Despite my initial intent to escape the bar quickly, the situation has taken an unexpected turn. Millie's hair, cascading in waves around her shoulders, adds to her allure. I find myself appreciating the brunette's features - a welcome distraction from the chaotic atmosphere around us. If she's going to take her time eyeing me, well then, two can play that game. Millie, with her good-length waves of brunette hair, has piqued my interest. Very perky tits. Tits that I can imagine are more than a handful but a perfect amount for my mouth....
I mean for a mouth.
My gaze travels down Millie's figure, taking in the details of her attire. The black, skin-tight dress she's wearing leaves little to the imagination – it's as if it's been painted directly onto her skin. The fabric accentuates every curve, clinging to her like a second skin. Her legs seem to go on for days, emphasized by a pair of sleek black heels that add extra inches to her already impressive height. I estimate her to be around 5'8, not exactly short, but certainly not towering.
As my eyes roam back up her body, I can't help but scrutinize every inch of her. The dress is a delicate balance – revealing enough to stir desire in the dimly lit club, yet not crossing the line into desperate territory. It's a fine line that Millie effortlessly treads. She's undeniably fit as fuck, her physique suggesting a dedication to fitness, but as my observations unfold, it becomes apparent that there might be a mismatch between physical allure and intellectual engagement. The silence between us remains unbroken, and I begin to wonder if Millie has any intention of speaking at all. Is this an intentional game of mystery, or is there something more beneath the surface? Her alluring exterior, while captivating, leaves me with a lingering curiosity about the person behind the provocative facade. As intriguing as the visual allure may be, the absence of verbal communication only deepens the enigma that is Millie.
Completing my assessment of Millie's physical presence, I notice a heightened sense of nervousness in her demeanor. Her breath quickens, and I relish the surge of power and confidence that courses through me, realizing that my mere presence has disrupted her composure. This newfound revelation fuels my determination to break the silence and get an answer about the shots.
"Millie... What shots? I really don't have all day," I press, my patience waning. Despite my persistent attempts, there's still no response. Frustration mounts as I call her name again, this time with a more exasperated tone. "Millie! HELLO... Are you even listening... Fuck it, I am going to pick something myself."
Turning away from the brunette, I shift my attention to Busty, who eagerly awaits my decision. She gazes at me with unwavering attention, hanging onto every word as if my choices are the only thing that matters. The realization that I could effortlessly take her home for the night brings a sense of power, though she isn't exactly my type. Millie's faint voice breaks through the air with a brief suggestion, "Not limoncello," as she finally tunes back into reality.
Ignoring Busty's expectant gaze, I order 20 shots of Jägerbombs. While she scurries around to fulfill the order, she attempts a poor wink in my direction. Unfazed, I understand her attempt to impress, thanks to the £50 bill I discreetly handed her earlier. My only desire from her is improved service.
As I wait for the shots, my mind briefly considers the possibility of getting Busty's number for another day. A fleeting thought, as I made a promise to focus on Mark tonight. However, the idea of adding someone new to the mix briefly tantalizes my mind. Memories of random calls to gauge reactions resurface, a testament to my unpredictable dating approach. My attention is drawn back to the bar, where Busty's attempts at making the shots prove embarrassingly inept. The first batch is missing Jäger, and her determination to impress me is almost painful to watch. She fumbles again, knocking over seven shots. I brace myself for a potentially lengthy wait.
Amidst this chaos, an unexpected sensation distracts me.
A breeze brushes past my left arm.
It repeats, again and again.
Is someone intentionally blowing on fucking my arm?
I turn my head sharply with a mix of confusion and disgust, only to find Millie inexplicably jumping up and down like a hyperactive kangaroo. My immediate instinct is to figure out the cause of her erratic behavior. Perplexed, I witness her head moving left and right, executing a full 360-degree spin, and resuming her bouncing routine on tiptoes. Utterly baffled, I try to spot Reg and Terry to share the absurdity of the situation, only to discover that they, along with the girls, have vanished. Realisation dawns on me – this is why Millie is freaking out. Searching the dance floor, I locate my friends in the VIP area, where Reg's prowess has undoubtedly secured their presence. I marvel at his charm. Gripping Millie's shoulders firmly, I'm struck by the softness of her golden skin. A subtle shimmer catches the light, reflecting specks of glitter. I wonder if it's intentional or just a natural quality of her skin. The contrast between her softness and my rough hands is noticeable, yet strangely pleasing. Without moving my hands, I guide her toward her friends and mine, sensing her shoulders relax and a calm flutter overtake her.
Millie turns to face me, offering a small but meaningful smile. I can't help but wonder if she thought her friends abandoned her for a brief fling with guys they barely know. Our eyes lock, and the seconds stretch into minutes as a silent understanding passes between us. I offer a sympathetic smile, acknowledging the unspoken connection. Busty, our now more confident waitress, arrives with the tray of shots. I reluctantly drop my hands from Millie's shoulders. "Only charging you for 10 shots, handsome," she declares, punctuating her words with a poorly executed wink. It seems she's gained some confidence, likely fueled by a few shots for herself. As I reach for my wallet, a sudden touch on my chest freezes me in place.
"Oh baby, I will get this round," a voice says, and a card is tapped onto the reader, paying for the bill. Bewildered, I glance at the well-manicured hand and arm, realizing it's connected to the very shoulder I had been reluctant to release.
Millie?
Stunned, I find myself unable to brush her hand off my chest. She gazes up at me, her soft pink manicured hand lingering, and without thinking, I lift my arm to rest my hand on top of hers. In an unexpected turn, I'm pushed forward into Millie, our bodies brought inches apart.
The unexpected proximity to Millie leaves me in a state of bewilderment. Her hand lingers on my chest, and I find myself unable to break away. Questions swirl in my mind, each more perplexing than the last.
What's happening?
Are we having a moment?
I don't get moments.
Yet, despite my usual detachment, I can't deny the magnetic pull of the situation. Millie, with her soft touch and enigmatic smile, has managed to create a moment that defies my usual casual approach to interactions. I'm captivated, unable to tear my gaze away from her.
She is undeniably beautiful.
The increasing tempo of my heart rate becomes a subtle reminder of the unfamiliar emotions swirling within. This unexpected connection challenges my usual stoicism, and for the first time in a long while, I find myself caught in a moment that transcends the fleeting encounters I'm accustomed to.
Millie has stirred something within me, and as our eyes lock, I sense that this night might just unfold in ways I never anticipated.
As I stand there, caught in a surprising moment with Millie, a wave of conflicting thoughts washes over me. If I had the patience and energy, perhaps I would entertain the idea of letting Millie captivate me, allowing her a chance to break through my usual detachment. However, the reality is that I'm too busy, and the intricacies of dealing with women, with their bundles of emotions and mountains of baggage, don't align with my lifestyle.
My lack of interest in remembering finer details about people's lives, like their favorite dinner or the hatred of driving in the snow, becomes glaringly apparent. I don't possess the inclination or personality to make others feel special. The journey to my current life has been one of sacrifices, marked by lost friends and gained enemies. My unwavering dedication to my company has been the driving force behind my success, and I've deliberately avoided distractions to reach where I am today.
Trying to convince myself that Millie and I are sharing a meaningful moment feels like a futile exercise. The truth is, I don't know this woman. The notion of a relationship seems almost comical to me. I don't do relationships. It's been nearly three years since I've entertained the idea of a connection that extends beyond my version of casual encounters.
In this brief interlude with Millie, I find myself at a crossroads, torn between the unexpected emotions bubbling to the surface and my well-established commitment to a solitary, focused existence. The clash between the desire for connection and the aversion to complexity creates a tension that lingers in the air. As I grapple with these conflicting sentiments, I'm left wondering how this night, and the intriguing presence of Millie, will shape the trajectory of my carefully curated life.
The reminiscence of my past relationship with Sophia tinges the present moment with a subtle layer of regret and introspection. She was undeniably phenomenal and captivatingly beautiful, possessing a personality that matched her outer allure. Despite dating for two years, I acknowledge that I fell short in giving her the love and commitment she deserved. I was faithful but couldn't provide her with all of me, a realisation that became increasingly evident as our arguments multiplied over work-related issues – late nights in the office, business trips, client dinners, and missed important events. Sophia wanted a life and future that I, in my driven pursuit of success, couldn't offer. The endless conflicts became draining, and I recognised that our relationship was far from the fulfilling partnership she sought.
Unwilling to face the emotional turmoil of a breakup, I resorted to an unconventional move – asking Louise to end it on my behalf. Yes, that's a dick move. A major dick move, but it worked. She needed it. I needed to be the villain in her story. So I did the best thing I could.. I stayed away, letting Louise handle the delicate task of packing Sophia's belongings, knowing it was the worst move possible but hoping it would be the catalyst for both of us to move forward.
As Sophia's essence and possessions were removed from my home, the emptiness left behind was palpable. Artwork, candles, cushions – the once vibrant and personal touches were replaced by a monotone nightmare. Louise hated me for weeks after, Sophia would ring her asking how I was and I'd make her lie and say I was away in business and not knee deep in a red head I'd met that night. Yet, despite the lingering nostalgia, I knew the decision was necessary for Sophia's happiness.
Time passed, and I occasionally asked Louise about Sophia's well-being. The news of Sophia's 4 month pregnancy, shared on Facebook with her fiancé Scott, brought a mix of contentment and a hint of smugness. I had unintentionally pushed her towards the happiness she deserved. Reflecting on Sophia's journey, I acknowledged that she was never meant to be with someone like me, I was selfish for keeping her as long as I did. She found her person in Scott, and although our breakup was hard for her, it eventually led her to the life she envisioned.
I played a role in her finding true happiness. Dick thing to say but entirely true.
As thoughts of Sophia linger, the question arises: Can I envision having a person, a true partner who understands my work habits, supports my ambitions, and makes life easier?
The answer, straightforward and unapologetic, is no. I dismiss the notion as unrealistic, considering people who believe they need someone else to function as pathetic. I find solace in being alone – a state that is stress-free, uncomplicated, and devoid of the burdens that come with relationships. The prospect of a committed connection seems distant, and my preference for solitude remains unwavering.
As I reflect on my romantic history, the flings I've had seem to pale in comparison to the depth and intensity I experienced with Sophia. It's a curious observation, especially as I witness numerous acquaintances, old friends, and colleagues embark on the journey of marriage and family life, only to proclaim that it's the best thing that has ever happened to them. I can't help but question the validity of such sentiments. How could the mess, the incessant noise, and the perpetual need to disclose one's whereabouts to a spouse be considered the epitome of fulfillment? It almost feels like a life sentence in Belmarsh Prison, confined by societal expectations.
The concept of having children doesn't particularly appeal to me either, especially considering my own less-than-ideal childhood that bore no resemblance to a Disney storyline. I've chosen, contentedly, to let the bloodline conclude with me. However, there exists an unexpected exception to my stance – my goddaughter.
When John revealed the news of his impending fatherhood to his wife, my initial response was one of resigned farewell, expecting that our interactions would become scarce. However, life has a peculiar way of defying expectations.
On the day when John's wife went into labor, he unexpectedly showed up at my office. His demeanor was a mix of anxiety and anticipation as he stared out the window for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he managed to convey that his wife had been rushed to the hospital from her book club, and she was in labor. Without hesitation, I shot up from my chair, exclaiming, "Why the hell are we sitting here, John? We have to go."
John, gripped by the fear of impending fatherhood, appeared frozen. I took charge, dragging him down to the car park and retrieving the keys from his coat. The only logical solution was for me to take the wheel. As we sped toward the hospital, I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the situation. Here was a man, frozen with anxiety, and I, unexpectedly, became the one to guide him through this significant moment.
Upon our arrival at the hospital, I took control navigating the intricacies of the situation. Eventually, I discovered the room where SJ, John's wife, was situated, and I waited outside, providing silent support until John returned.
Reflecting on that day, it stands out as one of my favorites. The unexpected turn of events, the shared anxiety, and the role reversal created a bond between John and me that transcended our previous dynamics. In the midst of the whirlwind of impending fatherhood, laughter, and camaraderie, I found a newfound appreciation for the unpredictable beauty that life often unfolds. I've established a personal rule for myself – a weekly visit to see Gabby. The incredulity I initially felt when they asked me to be her godfather was overwhelming.
I mean, me?
A godfather?
It seemed like a joke at first. But, against all odds, it works. The role of a godfather, once thought to be inconceivable for someone like me, has turned into a surprisingly fitting and rewarding responsibility.
It's intriguing how life unfolds, defying our preconceived notions. The musings on family, parenthood, and unexpected connections come to me while I'm amidst the contrasting atmosphere of an underground club. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, yet sweetened by the subtle fragrance of vanilla, a scent that lingers in the air, seeping from Millie's perfume. In this sensory-rich environment, where the beats throb and bodies move in rhythm, I find myself contemplating the paradoxes of life, all while grappling with thoughts that seem incongruent with the pulsating energy of the club.