THE TUB
After waiting for ten minutes at the spot next to the station, I see his Audi and he pulls into one of the available spaces. It’s still early stages and I went on a date with someone else yesterday to calm my nerves. I feel a knot in my stomach at the thought of him finding out. I get into the car and he greets me with a sloppy kiss and we chat.
As usual, we stop at the petrol station first so he can fill the car up. I’m not sure why this has become a habit. Perhaps sheer convenience? Or maybe it’s some way of showing his masculinity or ability to provide? Without reaching a clear conclusion, I put this thought off for now. Back at his flat, we start kissing and he pulls me into him. I’m smiling so wide our teeth awkwardly graze each other, something he doesn’t seem particularly pleased about. He starts filling the jacuzzi and tells me to hop in while he fixes something in the basement, where his music studio is.
Obediently, I strip everything off, get in the tub and see he’s left two glasses of champagne. After five minutes alone, I start feeling bored. After fifteen it’s getting awkward. It’s the second time this happens and I’m trying to figure out why. The routine - pick me up, get into flat, disappear downstairs for almost an hour before reappearing - is starting to feel disrespectful and confusing.
Finally, he makes an appearance and gets in beside me, as if nothing has happened. He looks older in the bathroom light, the wrinkles etched a bit deeper into the skin on his face and I start wondering if the whole situation isn’t somehow a bit sad.
Oblivious to my thoughts, he starts kissing me again and asks me to kiss him first, as that makes me so much hotter. This my fifth date with a man twice my age I swiped right to. I’d always wanted to date someone significantly older - the potent cocktail of a power imbalance and more life experience being an aphrodisiac which beats dating another 21-year-old. And then there’s the fact that he’s a musician.
It turns out I too am not immune to the charms of men with instruments, which is disappointing. He has two kids from a previous relationship, their bedrooms in the flat we are currently in, adding a pleasingly forbidden aspect to our meetings. The next morning I am stirred by the sounds of voices coming from outside the bedroom.
The kids are back and jumping around, asking to be taken out. I hide under the covers and try to muffle out the noise of his ex-wife saying that we will absolutely not all be getting in the car to give me a lift. I remember I left some magazines lying around and wonder if she’s spotted them. Then I think of how strange this must be for the children and pray nobody opens the bedroom door. They retreat and Nial casually opens the door.
‘‘Coffee?”
