Satellite
Stephen sat alone in the restaurant with a drink. He didn’t bring a book, partly because he was confident enough to wait on his own and besides, he had no desire to get into any lengthy conversation about what he read - not at this stage in any case. He always arrived early and savoured the moment she would come through the door and hopefully not be able to mask her first reaction. He, on the other hand, had practiced his a lot. He usually smiled broadly in a ‘So glad to meet you (and here’s your Oscar)’ manner, however surprised he may be. After all, it was only a meal and he liked the food at the Thai place he’d suggested. He knew his smile was a winning one, self-assured and of course delivered with perfect dazzling teeth to match. That, and his ‘honest’, light-blue eyes, were enough to divert attention away from his greying hair, which had begun to thin considerably at the front. The clothes he chose, casual but immaculate, contributed to the ‘I don’t have to try too hard’ effect.
First impressions over though, he thought, he had to learn to be more careful and refine his approach or very soon he would hear the death knell’s words. The worst words for him were ‘I think I am falling in love with you.’ When women say that, Stephen reflected, you know they actually have fallen in love with you and they are testing your reactions. It means you can kiss goodbye to that exciting period where it’s ‘too early for strings’. Or rather, you’ve woken up to some and you better get those secateurs out instantly.
The words would mean you’d failed, even if you followed Stephen’s precepts, which went along this line: be careful not to say anything nice too often, apart from a few compliments about looks and talents, (after all you’re not boning an ugly retard). Give away little of your personal history – and Stephen sometimes made up some on the spot: you’d think women should be scared of any deep personal involvement if you say your father shagged your half-sister and is an alcoholic and your mother died of emphysema as she smoked herself dry in a council tower block - but by no means was this a strong enough deterrent for some. Don’t always phone when you said you would and go away plenty of times - and for long periods. For work primarily, but Stephen would also go on holiday - skiing in France, rock-climbing in Scotland, sky-diving in Arizona for example - without asking the current woman along. Give her back any items of clothing and make up she ‘accidentally’ left behind. Hardly buy any presents either and not precious, maybe some lingerie, it benefits you after all. Don’t show much interest in their lives. Try to make yourself unavailable to meet their friends and certainly do not introduce the woman to yours. In fact Stephen pretty much kept the women he met in a vacuum, packed like blood samples in a fridge.
But he knew that if you’re attractive, self assured, a superb and dexterous lover, you drive a powerful and expensive car, you’ve cooked a few meals, you keep a tidy house (doesn’t have to be large) and you have an excellent job… well, it’s kind of hard to limit the effect of these assets or to downgrade them somehow and relationships would eventually head for the same route: ‘I think I am falling in love with you.’ However tentatively or adroitly this was said, thankfully he could always see it coming and be ready to parry. Women somehow always picked a week-end to reveal their feelings and it made it that much more awkward to play out the situation, unless they stormed off.
Stephen turned over in his head what he should do: maybe the house should be a mess? He couldn’t tolerate it though, but just for the 24 hours period when one of these women was around? And he generally made sure that it didn’t extend over 48 hours at any one time, as that’s far too dangerous in terms of attachments forming. Women wouldn’t hold that against him too much though; with his busy job, they’d imagine he would eventually get a cleaner on his salary or, worse, they would start tidying up after him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have served nice, imaginative meals? But you’ve got to eat and he liked to cook. When he had someone round he enjoyed devising a menu with their suggestions and going to shop for it accordingly. Maybe, he reflected, he should play computer games longer before and even also after sex and avoid talking? But he already did that and the women would peer into the study and come sit on his lap and messed up landing the Messerschmitt as they wriggled around and abused the joystick. He thought perhaps he should lie about his job, make it into something deeply unappealing to females (or to the kind of women he liked), use the old ‘I work for customs and excise’ routine? All he had to do is buy and leave around the house some VAT books. They are never going to phone him at work, or come and visit him there. For a start they’ve only got his mobile number - no landline at the house - and he could make the location vague. In fact be an Inspector who goes from branch to branch and hot-desks? That might work.
As he watched other diners start to fill the room the concluded that in the meantime the way to deal with the ‘I think I am falling in love question’ (because, make no mistake, it is a question with a silent ‘And you?’ left out at the end) was to say nothing back. After that, if women are quick on the uptake and have some dignity they will let it go and you can get a few more weeks or even months out of them. But more often than not they will let it lie only for a while and see if anything shifts in you. They imagine YOU will imagine life without them and assess accordingly. Naturally, they also think that they are attractive, intelligent, sexy human beings who have a lot to offer, are prepared to put up with your crazy schedule and frankly dubious addictions to war computer games and death defying sports and where else are you going to find someone so understanding and compliant? And they are right in a way, he thought. They could all be the one, especially as he didn’t have a specific body shape or features he hankered after: just not fat please.
If he had been discussing this with anyone, Stephen would have admitted it was a bore to repeat the whole thing every so often and so he don’t ditch them as fast as he probably should. However, by now he at least had his ‘ad’ pretty tight; using the same words every time, he just changed publication. His phone message was upbeat and positive ‘Sounds too good to be true’ said one or two. The killer line was ‘I am looking for someone to make the centre of my world’. That gets them every time, he thought, they all want to be loved and adored. He never told them where he had read it himself. In fact, only one of the women had used it as a parting shot. ‘The way you are Stephen, the centre of your world is you, and everyone else is but a satellite. In fact, no, you have no centre, you are one of those black holes.’
Still, so far he’d had company directors, own-business owners, a university lecturer, an actress and even a 22 year broker and as they were all logical people, letting them down had had no major consequences - apart from a few stalking texts and clicked off phone calls. It had all worked out remarkably well since crazy Virginie (his last recorded girlfriend – they made it to just over one year) threw at him all the crockery in the house and locked herself in the bathroom for nearly a day. He was worried she may have a razor in there, but when she came out she just screamed ‘Get out, get out, I want you to leave.’ Which was easy enough to accomplish as it’s not like he shared a mortgage with her, he steered well away of that sort of complication. That was nothing compared to Julia who had put her hand through a window a few years earlier, but still it wasn’t that convenient to have to find alternative digs. Luckily Helen, who’d always fancied him from their MBA days, had a spare room in South London. Even that hadn’t put women off; a 40-year-old with a futon on the floor of someone’s spare room in a shared house and he’d still pulled.
He had concluded that these women must be desperate and irrational, just as his mother must have been to take up with a 25-year-old soldier when she was nearly 41 herself. What was she thinking? And then having him a year later? No wonder Stephen’s dad ended up shagging his 17-year-older sister (that part of his history was true, but Lynn is no blood relation to him, let’s establish that - his family was not that warped.). Dad then had to leave of course, as Stephen’s mother didn’t speak to either him or her daughter till her death and those few outings his father took him to over the years on the Welsh moors were not enough to really ever feel comfortable with the big man. Stephen remembered how he had to shoulder his mother’s grief and dependence throughout his life. ‘But I think this is what makes me understand women’ he told them. Still, dad lives with my half-sister and their five kids to this day, thought Stephen, so it was love after all and things were ok now, though just a little awkward at Christmas: ‘Hi big Sis, hi d.. , err Paul.’
Stephen took a sip of his second beer and looked at his silent mobile phone that stored in its archive a number of imaginative messages that women simply found adorable in the early days. He glanced at his watch, she was only fifteen minutes late, but he preferred that to the too well organised types. Just then he heard her footsteps on the stairs. At least he hoped it was her - high heels, he could tell, and a bold gait. When she turned the corner into the room, he saw she was just like the pictures she’d sent. He knew to make sure they hadn’t gained a stone since they were taken. She was wearing a short skirt in a bright colour, though she didn’t have incredible legs. That was good, it signalled both ‘I am confident’ and ‘I am available’ at the same time. Now, if her conversation was as witty as the emails they’d swapped, this couple of hours was going to pass easily. He recalled their short exchanges, and she wrote well - she was a journalist for one of the intelligent papers, dealt in hard facts and news and so he hoped she didn’t subscribe to notions of fairy tales and happy endings. There was a bar with low leather sofas next door and afterwards, he could check how close she’d allow him to sit when they had their last drinks of the evening. After that, however much he desired a woman, his policy was to go home alone and masturbate furiously in anticipation of their next encounter.
Maybe she won’t say those words for at least three months he thought, as he got up to move her chair for her. He saw she took in with a lingering, satisfied glance his 6ft tall, well-toned frame.
‘Stephanie... and Stephen... bit 60’s TV sitcom couple don’t you think?’ he said as he signalled the waiter over to order their drinks. Stephanie raised an eyebrow playfully. He asked for a bottle of the best red on the menu and turned his ‘Right here, right now, I’ve only go eyes for you’ look on her.
‘I like a man who takes charge’ she said, a tad predictably perhaps, but that to Stephen was good shorthand for how she liked it in bed.
First impressions over though, he thought, he had to learn to be more careful and refine his approach or very soon he would hear the death knell’s words. The worst words for him were ‘I think I am falling in love with you.’ When women say that, Stephen reflected, you know they actually have fallen in love with you and they are testing your reactions. It means you can kiss goodbye to that exciting period where it’s ‘too early for strings’. Or rather, you’ve woken up to some and you better get those secateurs out instantly.
The words would mean you’d failed, even if you followed Stephen’s precepts, which went along this line: be careful not to say anything nice too often, apart from a few compliments about looks and talents, (after all you’re not boning an ugly retard). Give away little of your personal history – and Stephen sometimes made up some on the spot: you’d think women should be scared of any deep personal involvement if you say your father shagged your half-sister and is an alcoholic and your mother died of emphysema as she smoked herself dry in a council tower block - but by no means was this a strong enough deterrent for some. Don’t always phone when you said you would and go away plenty of times - and for long periods. For work primarily, but Stephen would also go on holiday - skiing in France, rock-climbing in Scotland, sky-diving in Arizona for example - without asking the current woman along. Give her back any items of clothing and make up she ‘accidentally’ left behind. Hardly buy any presents either and not precious, maybe some lingerie, it benefits you after all. Don’t show much interest in their lives. Try to make yourself unavailable to meet their friends and certainly do not introduce the woman to yours. In fact Stephen pretty much kept the women he met in a vacuum, packed like blood samples in a fridge.
But he knew that if you’re attractive, self assured, a superb and dexterous lover, you drive a powerful and expensive car, you’ve cooked a few meals, you keep a tidy house (doesn’t have to be large) and you have an excellent job… well, it’s kind of hard to limit the effect of these assets or to downgrade them somehow and relationships would eventually head for the same route: ‘I think I am falling in love with you.’ However tentatively or adroitly this was said, thankfully he could always see it coming and be ready to parry. Women somehow always picked a week-end to reveal their feelings and it made it that much more awkward to play out the situation, unless they stormed off.
Stephen turned over in his head what he should do: maybe the house should be a mess? He couldn’t tolerate it though, but just for the 24 hours period when one of these women was around? And he generally made sure that it didn’t extend over 48 hours at any one time, as that’s far too dangerous in terms of attachments forming. Women wouldn’t hold that against him too much though; with his busy job, they’d imagine he would eventually get a cleaner on his salary or, worse, they would start tidying up after him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have served nice, imaginative meals? But you’ve got to eat and he liked to cook. When he had someone round he enjoyed devising a menu with their suggestions and going to shop for it accordingly. Maybe, he reflected, he should play computer games longer before and even also after sex and avoid talking? But he already did that and the women would peer into the study and come sit on his lap and messed up landing the Messerschmitt as they wriggled around and abused the joystick. He thought perhaps he should lie about his job, make it into something deeply unappealing to females (or to the kind of women he liked), use the old ‘I work for customs and excise’ routine? All he had to do is buy and leave around the house some VAT books. They are never going to phone him at work, or come and visit him there. For a start they’ve only got his mobile number - no landline at the house - and he could make the location vague. In fact be an Inspector who goes from branch to branch and hot-desks? That might work.
As he watched other diners start to fill the room the concluded that in the meantime the way to deal with the ‘I think I am falling in love question’ (because, make no mistake, it is a question with a silent ‘And you?’ left out at the end) was to say nothing back. After that, if women are quick on the uptake and have some dignity they will let it go and you can get a few more weeks or even months out of them. But more often than not they will let it lie only for a while and see if anything shifts in you. They imagine YOU will imagine life without them and assess accordingly. Naturally, they also think that they are attractive, intelligent, sexy human beings who have a lot to offer, are prepared to put up with your crazy schedule and frankly dubious addictions to war computer games and death defying sports and where else are you going to find someone so understanding and compliant? And they are right in a way, he thought. They could all be the one, especially as he didn’t have a specific body shape or features he hankered after: just not fat please.
If he had been discussing this with anyone, Stephen would have admitted it was a bore to repeat the whole thing every so often and so he don’t ditch them as fast as he probably should. However, by now he at least had his ‘ad’ pretty tight; using the same words every time, he just changed publication. His phone message was upbeat and positive ‘Sounds too good to be true’ said one or two. The killer line was ‘I am looking for someone to make the centre of my world’. That gets them every time, he thought, they all want to be loved and adored. He never told them where he had read it himself. In fact, only one of the women had used it as a parting shot. ‘The way you are Stephen, the centre of your world is you, and everyone else is but a satellite. In fact, no, you have no centre, you are one of those black holes.’
Still, so far he’d had company directors, own-business owners, a university lecturer, an actress and even a 22 year broker and as they were all logical people, letting them down had had no major consequences - apart from a few stalking texts and clicked off phone calls. It had all worked out remarkably well since crazy Virginie (his last recorded girlfriend – they made it to just over one year) threw at him all the crockery in the house and locked herself in the bathroom for nearly a day. He was worried she may have a razor in there, but when she came out she just screamed ‘Get out, get out, I want you to leave.’ Which was easy enough to accomplish as it’s not like he shared a mortgage with her, he steered well away of that sort of complication. That was nothing compared to Julia who had put her hand through a window a few years earlier, but still it wasn’t that convenient to have to find alternative digs. Luckily Helen, who’d always fancied him from their MBA days, had a spare room in South London. Even that hadn’t put women off; a 40-year-old with a futon on the floor of someone’s spare room in a shared house and he’d still pulled.
He had concluded that these women must be desperate and irrational, just as his mother must have been to take up with a 25-year-old soldier when she was nearly 41 herself. What was she thinking? And then having him a year later? No wonder Stephen’s dad ended up shagging his 17-year-older sister (that part of his history was true, but Lynn is no blood relation to him, let’s establish that - his family was not that warped.). Dad then had to leave of course, as Stephen’s mother didn’t speak to either him or her daughter till her death and those few outings his father took him to over the years on the Welsh moors were not enough to really ever feel comfortable with the big man. Stephen remembered how he had to shoulder his mother’s grief and dependence throughout his life. ‘But I think this is what makes me understand women’ he told them. Still, dad lives with my half-sister and their five kids to this day, thought Stephen, so it was love after all and things were ok now, though just a little awkward at Christmas: ‘Hi big Sis, hi d.. , err Paul.’
Stephen took a sip of his second beer and looked at his silent mobile phone that stored in its archive a number of imaginative messages that women simply found adorable in the early days. He glanced at his watch, she was only fifteen minutes late, but he preferred that to the too well organised types. Just then he heard her footsteps on the stairs. At least he hoped it was her - high heels, he could tell, and a bold gait. When she turned the corner into the room, he saw she was just like the pictures she’d sent. He knew to make sure they hadn’t gained a stone since they were taken. She was wearing a short skirt in a bright colour, though she didn’t have incredible legs. That was good, it signalled both ‘I am confident’ and ‘I am available’ at the same time. Now, if her conversation was as witty as the emails they’d swapped, this couple of hours was going to pass easily. He recalled their short exchanges, and she wrote well - she was a journalist for one of the intelligent papers, dealt in hard facts and news and so he hoped she didn’t subscribe to notions of fairy tales and happy endings. There was a bar with low leather sofas next door and afterwards, he could check how close she’d allow him to sit when they had their last drinks of the evening. After that, however much he desired a woman, his policy was to go home alone and masturbate furiously in anticipation of their next encounter.
Maybe she won’t say those words for at least three months he thought, as he got up to move her chair for her. He saw she took in with a lingering, satisfied glance his 6ft tall, well-toned frame.
‘Stephanie... and Stephen... bit 60’s TV sitcom couple don’t you think?’ he said as he signalled the waiter over to order their drinks. Stephanie raised an eyebrow playfully. He asked for a bottle of the best red on the menu and turned his ‘Right here, right now, I’ve only go eyes for you’ look on her.
‘I like a man who takes charge’ she said, a tad predictably perhaps, but that to Stephen was good shorthand for how she liked it in bed.
posted by Lisa Taylor at 6:06 AM
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