The English Rogue

I was looking hot as usual, minding my own business, taking stock of my life, one pre-christmas day in town –

By town, I mean Borders. By minding my own business, I mean I was fresh out of Borders arms laden with ‘Buy 3 for the price of 2’ novels, happy as a pigeon that just pooped on a canteen table.

By taking stock of my life, I mean I was in Marks & Spencers stocking up on dark chocolate digestives biscuits, sparkling grapefruit juice, and slinky nylon knickers.

And by looking hot, I mean I was in my usual 4.5-inched black patent heels, in a pencil skirt that was tight as a Chinese housewife at NTUC, and a thin white blouse, which humbly concealed my Marks & Spencers demi-cup laced push up bra. I had let me hair down and was playing with my waist-long tousled mop, sweeping it out of my face with pre-meditated panache -

which usually means I am sending out “approach me” signals.

A powdered nose, a wrist-ful of different St Michael’s deodorant scents and 20 minutes of shopping later, I was $256.90 poorer, and chirpier, and possibly more approachable than ever. Because a voice, no, more like, a noise, originated from the man who stood between me and the shelf of oh-so-yummy gummies.

Man: swight. Ay ay ay…

Me: Sorry?

Man: ay swante tah ssaye tha eu af gor nois shoooz.

Me: I what?… oh, nice shoes? I have nice shoes? Thanks! *blush*

Man: aydon aydon… aydon eu shu lee doi dis but but ma maits swaidin, ays wundarin, ca ay huf yo numbah? To to contac ya, yagitwhaaymean?

Me: You want my number? To contact me? But you don’t even know my name. Shouldn’t you at least introduce yourself first?

He was a white guy. Duh.

Not tall. Looked about late 30s, maybe early 40s. He had a friendly face and a perfectly crinkled nose. He had a deep frown and the most piercing green eyes which sat on top of an omnipotent smile. When he spoke to me he looked me directly in the eye. But when I spoke, he let his eyes drop to my feet and appreciatively let them wander up the length of my skirt, lingering just politely long enough at my chest before he returned to my eyes - Making me a subject of his scrutiny made me hot. And it made me wonder if anything I said was being taken in at all.

He could tell he was making me uncomfortable, and he was enjoying it.

Man: *with a smile and a glint in his eyes* oh, Par nn me. Leem’s mah nayme.

Me: Lee?

Man: Tha’s righ. Leeum

Me: Oh, Liam? As in Liam Gallagher?

Man: Tha’s wah ah sed.

Me: Oh, sorry, I’m not listening well today. Nice to meet you, Liam. Where’re you from?

Man: Where rum from?

Me: *nodding* That’s what I said.

Man: *giving me another once over as if to say: “know your place, little girl”* Arm frum England. You kno…

Me: Of course I know England

Man: Sorray, of cos eu doh.

*pregnant pause*

Standing before me was a man with confident eyes, and a put-on nervousness – something I could not get my head around. Just as quickly as he was lusting after me, he seemed to snap out of it and returned to manager mode.

Man: Lis-nn, ma maits swaitin, un ah huf ter goh, buh ah wus wunderin if ah cud contak yah

Me: But I, erm… it’s not really my…

Man: Cumon, ma maits swaitin *points to his friend* an ah wud lik tah sta’ n cha’, buh I kan. *gesturing to his mate to wait a little and looking helplessly at me*

Me: okok. Here’s my card. You can email me.

Man: noh noh noh. Ah m noh dum. Tud’s noh nice. Gimme ur numbah.

In my study of men thus far, I figured there were only 2 possibilities.

1. He’s picked up countless chicks like that before and has no more fortitude to baby yet another one despite her being outrageously above-average.

2. He’s newly back in the game after years of thinking it’s something strictly for people half his age. And I just happen to be the outrageously above-average test-bed that’s given him back a reason to shave and live.

I smiled. He was too old to play my silly games, and been around too much to fall for my weak coyness and had zero patience to coddle me. I liked that.

Man: Doh keep me hah in’ Ah ahreddy got ma fone out.

Me: ok. It’s XXX-XXXX

We parted ways. And I forgot to buy my damn deodorant.

Within 20 minutes he SMSed:

Him: Sorry couldnt stay and chat that was my boss

Me: It’s ok. that’s how you ought to treat girls with nice shoes

Him: u always this funny

Me: u always don’t use punctuation?

Him: Just picked myself up from the floor

Me: and picked u a new random helpless shopping chick, may I add.

Him: call u soon we have dinner

Like 4 days later he called

Him: Liss nn. Ore eu doin arnything tah noite?

Me: *took me 2 seconds to process it before I replied* Oh hello Marks and Spencers guy, Why? What’s up?

Him: Liss nn. Mah mate’s got tickets ta a concert.

Me: So he’s taking me?

Him: *laughs* yore funny, eu know tha? Lis nn. He not goin. Eu wanna come? Bunch of us, good fun.

Me: ahh… I can’t! I made plans!

Him: tha’s arright. Coll you again.

And 3 days later he emailed:

How u doin

I ignore him.

And then he emailed:

I be in samui for two weeks

I ignore it.

And 3 weeks later he texts:

Your not sure how to work emails

I ignore him.

And then he texts

Weird you ignorin me

And then he calls:

Him: Hey, Lis nn, you arr wight?

Me: Yeah.

Him: An you don think to reply would be nice, to saye tha least polaite?

Me: *surprised he was so fierce* Well, you lis nn, you never asked any questions, or put a question mark to say the least. What do you expect me to reply?

Him. *long pause* Unbelievable.

Me: what.

Him. Unbelievable, you are

Me: erm…

Him: You got to be won of de fohnniest girls ah hav eva met.

Me: *breathing a sigh of relief*

Him: now. Wha time u git off? I gort some work drins en will try ta git away, lis nn, u wanna have dinna?

Me: I… er…

Him: Ah see you 7.30pm at foh east squa?

Me: right… (he smooth or what?)

Him: righ then. See you later.

He picks me up from Far East Square in a beee-hu-ti-full car.

Hiding behind anonymity means I can tell you how this was a big fucking turn-on.

Without even asking me if I was hungry or if I have a restaurant preference, he takes me to this ah-mai-zingzingzing restaurant.

Hiding behind anonymity means I can also tell you that I have already, at this point, decided he can kiss me tonight.

And then, when we get to the restaurant, he is friends with everyone! And by everyone, I meant the waiter, bartender, damn, even the chef came out to greet him. Not only that, the chef, in his thick Italian accent said:

Chef: Ahhh… Lee-am, my friend! Finallee, you is bringinger a girler to my restronter. How are you, my friends’ preeedeee girlfriender? Why deeden u teller me that you were a-coming der?

Him: *jokingly* as if yoh full house ta-nigh. Yea, you twat, Let go rofher hand.

This was all too hot for me. This guy was some cool shit. And I’m not even the impressionable sort. We even had a private table!!! Wheeee…

He sits, the waiter walks me to my seat and pulls my chair out. As I lowered myself on to the chair he does it again. The long lingering once over – one with a good mixture of lust and hunger and the right dose of appreciation. From holding the gaze in my eyes – which at this point was programmed to reflect 30% coy and 70% shy, he let his eyes drop from my eyes, to my bare shoulders, to the little crease in my top right down to my thighs and said coolly,

“Dah-ling, you forgoh tha rist of ya skirt”

Damn. He was funny. And somewhere in between the wine and the banter and picking at my main course, I decided I may let him get a bit more than a kiss tonight.

To be continued.