I am not a girl. I am not a boy. I am a human being who, should be and will be, addressed by the name of Holmes. Alex Holmes. I also, but very rarely, go by another name, which I refuse to let any inferior use. That would be pickles. But for now, while we are in the process of 'getting to know' one another, perhaps it would be acute for you to address me formally.
I dined for two, with a lady of such fine quality and taste, or so I thought. But, like many of my romantic conquests, she failed to attend an evening of fine wine and delicious food. There I sat, cold as ice, in a black blazer. It was tailored to the highest quality - only the best for Holmes, they say. Just then as I stand up to leave, across the room, sat also in a black blazer was the most sensational woman. The light caught her face in it's glory. Her perfections became apparent, he skin so radiant and her eyes. Those eyes were like two crystal black balls. Indulgent, almost like a melting chocolate bar. Her clothes hugged her body and her blazer hung loosely of her broad shoulders. She was beautiful. A petit lady dressed in black.
I notion her attention. After a few minutes of a consistent glare, she raised one eyebrow. This was my cue. The eyebrow was telling me, 'it's time to shine boys'. Off I went in full confidence, a slight stumble over a lose lace which I perhaps had forgotten to tie due to a few cherry's I had the pleasure of enduring a while back - waiting for lady luck. I had found her. She was sat not two feet from me. I could smell her lavish perfume. Vanilla and lavender.
Finally, I hit the bar - not literally of course. I bang the bar with a clenched fist. With her attention, I ask what a beautiful lady was doing here alone. She laughed. She motioned her fingers in a teasing 'come here' manner. Under the submission of two cherry's and a beautiful lady, I couldn't resist. I leant in close, her cheek touching mine, she whispered. The silence broke. "I am waiting for my husband".
In dismay, I retreat as if she was a fearful lioness protecting her King. It became apparent that she was uninterested. With a great deal of sadness, my heart sunk. I walked back to my table and called the waiter by wiggling a couple of fingers in the air. He attended to my call immediately. 'I'll have a scotch, make it a double'.
I look down at the table. And when my drink had arrived, I looked back at her one last time, but she was gone.
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