‘So, do you think Rogerson Railways will improve its customer service?’ I ask.
Stares into my eyes.
‘Who gives a fuck?’
Silence then smile (God, it makes me nervous when he does that).
‘No, really. I think it will get better but it will take time and money, which the government are not prepared to give at the moment. Why are you wearing a bra?’
Somehow the sentences seemed a little incongruous together, and I wasn’t quite sure whether to comment on the first bit or answer the second. So I did both.
‘Do you think the funding structure will change with the new government and do you think privatisation will work? And this dress is slightly see-through and I didn’t want you to see my nipples.’
‘I don’t think the funding structure will change within this government or the next. The petrol and car industry subsidise government coffers so heavily, and the catch-22 is unless the service improves customers will not use public transport over private transport. It’s a pity I can’t see your nipples. I think that would make you look quite sexy.’
I stare straight back into his eyes, which are now boring into me.
‘How do you know all this about the government subsidy and the link with the car industry? Is it common knowledge? Surely there must be some sort of policing committee to stop this from happening or continuing to happen? Travelling by air is still the quickest and easiest way to get around the world. And, yes, it would look sexy, but I don’t want to look sexy today. I want to look professional and have a conversation about airlines rather than my nipples. OK?’
‘I know about the subsidy because we work closely with local government and we get told, like many journalists do—‘ (pointed look here) ‘—off the record about back-handers. What we need to do in the railway is change the culture so that we can better manage the limited funding we have and then we can progress from there. And I like talking about your nipples. Interesting. Are they very responsive to touch? And you have nice legs, Ms Giles. The dress allows me to see that you have very long legs. Long calves. Long thighs.’
John Wayne starts to salivate, which puts me off my sole. I get up, taking my legs and nipples with me to the Ladies’. I can feel his eyes following me, but he doesn’t.
In the Ladies’ I sit on the loo, pontificating whether I should allow him to kiss me. Or pat my bottom. Or hug me goodbye. Of course, he may not want or offer to do any of these things. And, hey, Sarah, you have a boyfriend, right! Yes, yes. Out of mind. Get John Wayne out of your head. Ten minutes later and no pee. I leave the Ladies’ and go back to the table. John is coming towards me.
‘I was going to send out a search party. Thought you’d flushed yourself down the loo. You OK?’
‘Me OK.’
‘Good.’
He escorted me back to the table, now soleless. And asked if I wanted dessert.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Coffee?’
‘That would be nice.’
Two hours, two liqueurs, two coffees and wafer-thin mints later, I was beginning to relax in his company. As we sat at the table, he started very slowly to stroke my wrists. The inside of my wrists. Very gently with his fingertips and then with the back of his hand. It made me feel quite dizzy.
‘Why are you doing that?’ I asked him, knowing full well why he was doing that.
‘Why not?’
Why not, indeed?
‘When you were in the loo, it took me back to when I was a child. Do you know that if you prevent yourself from going for a pee for long enough you might orgasm?’
‘I thought I would just wet myself, or worse get severe stomach cramps.’ (God, this guy is weird.)
‘No, it’s true.’
‘Did you read that anywhere?’
‘No, one of my girlfriends told me this is what happens. It was always very exciting having sex with her when she was dying to go to the loo. She would have the most amazing orgasms.’
‘I presume you weren’t giving her oral sex at the time? Would be a bit messy, what?’
John smiled. (Ughh).’Yes, I suppose so. But keep that in mind next time you go to the loo. Hold on and you never know—you may relieve yourself in more ways than you think.’
This guy was certainly different, and entertaining in a very unexpected way.
‘Tell me about your boyfriend, Sarah.’
‘I told you. He works in a bank. He is a trader. His name is Paul. I love him to bits.’
‘Why aren’t you married?’
‘He hasn’t asked me.’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘I don’t believe in the woman asking the man.’
‘Not even in a Leap Year?’
‘No. Are you still with Amanda?’ (Miss Piggy cropped up in my mind.)
‘Yes. But she may be moving out. She was married before she met me. For a month. She realised on her wedding day she’d done the wrong thing. She was brave to do what she did. I met her on a management training course in the New Forest. She thought I was interesting and asked if I could take a walk with her round the grounds after dinner one evening. I did. She seduced me.’ (Yeah, right.) ‘She told me about her trick with chocolate cake. She said she could smear it all over her chest and I could lick it off her. I’m rather partial to chocolate cake so I tried that evening. Very good it was, too.’
All the while John talked about his chocolate-coated Miss Piggy he continued to stroke my wrists. Occasionally reaching up my forearm to the inside of my elbow. It was as though he was pretending my arm was my leg. That he was playing with the ankle and gently making his way up the calf. Then stopping, and gently pushing to go even further. I was so pleased I was wearing a bra. My nipples have a life of their own.
He continued …
‘You see, Sarah, I went into the railway because after leaving university I trained as a research chemist, but there weren’t many women in that job. Or not that I found attractive. I joined the rail industry, because I considered myself on the fast track in life—‘ (he smirks; I don’t) ‘—because I liked the challenge it presented and also because I thought you’d find more women working in the industry.’
I must admit, I found this argument totally unbelievable and told him so.
‘I thought you would have found other industries with more women in them. Advertising or marketing, for example. Far more women, and attractive ones. Or PR. That industry is full of women who give good head as well as PR … I’m told.’
He smiled.
