I met Helena at a party on a Saturday night during early June hosted by Tim and his wife, Emma. Tim is my assistant at work, and he joined my department just as my wife, Mary, was entering the final stages of her losing battle with pancreatic cancer. Tim and Emma were a huge support to me as my world was crumbling, even though they are twenty years younger than me. I could not ask for better friends, and I was really happy that Tim would succeed me as head of my department when I retire, probably next year. So, it was natural that Tim and Emma invited me to a summertime party to show off their newly refurbished garden. As I was sipping wine and talking to some of Tim’s and Emma’s friends on a warm evening, I spied Emma and her mother, Sue, talking to an older woman. This woman caught my eye for two reasons: she was the only person at the party who looked like she could be over fifty besides Sue and me, and she was devastatingly attractive. Her short salt and pepper hair framed a lovely face that – while showed some years had passed – had aged quite well. She was wearing a pair of red skinny jeans, a tight white t-shirt and an unbuttoned blue shirt over the top. She was also wearing a pair of high-heeled white sandals, and I noticed that her toenails were painted red, matching the colour of her jeans. Of the thirty or so people packed in the small garden on a warm summer night, she was probably the most stylishly dressed. About twenty minutes later, Emma walked toward me, accompanied by this woman. She introduced Helena as an old friend of Sue’s, and Emma winked at me when she said the Helena was single. The three of us spoke for a moment, until Emma slipped away, allegedly to check on the food that was about to be served. I really did not know what to say, but Helena did not let the awkward silence last for more than a several seconds. “So, James, Emma tells me you are on the market. I am sure there are all sorts of divorcées and widows beating down the door of a wealthy, eligible and very attractive older man.” “Actually, no,” I stammered. “I really haven’t dated much since my wife died four years ago. I am sure that I should, but … Helena interrupted. “With all due respect, you should get out more. I am sure that’s what escort your wife would have wanted. I don’t think any woman would want you moping around on the weekends at home being alone. Emma and Sue have told me a lot about you. According to them, you are a handsome, articulate and lively gentleman, and my first impression is that they, as usual, are correct.” I was a bit taken aback by Helena’s kind words and also by her direct manner, so I asked: “Is this a set-up? Is Emma playing match-maker?” Helena threw her head back and laughed. “In a way, yes, but not probably in the way you think. Actually, it is more of Sue’s doing. But, let’s get to the point: what woman of my age wouldn’t want to meet an attractive, sexy, mature man?” Getting bolder with her compliments, I asked her: “And exactly what is your age? I’m fifty-eight.” “You are pretty well preserved for a geezer,” she replied with a smile. “You can be my toy boy … I’m fifty-nine.” I was momentarily dumbfounded. I would have put Helena in her mid-fifties. She was very slender, but I could tell that she had a generous bustline under her t-shirt. Her jeans were nearly as tight as those worn by Emma’s sixteen-year-old daughter. I wondered if Helena had benefitted from some cosmetic surgery. Helena must have read my mind. “What you see is the real me. I take care of myself and still go to the gym three times a week.” “You are very fetching, indeed,” I said, returning some of her compliments. “You must have a long line of suitors knocking at your door.” “I am selective, very selective,” she told me. “I have never married; I just never really settled down. To tell you a secret, I have a bit of a wild streak. I have had a lot of relationships, some very short and others a bit lengthier, but I guess I never have really met anyone who I felt was perfect for me. It’s good to know that I can still turn some heads, because in the last thirty seconds you have eyeballed me from my forehead down to my toes. “I just love men,” she continued. “They are so obvious and indiscrete!” I must have turned thirty different shades of red, but Helena reassured me. “At my age, I accept any compliments I can get! But, if you want to make your ‘indiscretion’ up escort bayan to me, why don’t you ask me out for dinner?” “Would you like to go out for dinner?” I quickly responded. “I would love it. I’m going to be out of town for work for about a week, but how about a week from Tuesday? Here’s my number,” she said, handing me a plain card with her name and a mobile/cell number. “Why don’t you give me a call during the evening the day before? I should be back in London by then.” We agreed that I would select a restaurant in the West End and, just as I was about to ask Helen more about herself, Emma’s mother sauntered over and asked Helena if she could help in the kitchen. Helena gave me a peck on the cheek and said that she would be looking forward to my call. While I tried to find Helena the rest of the evening, she had disappeared. Emma told me that Helena had received a work-related call and had to leave suddenly. When I asked Emma what Helena did for a living, she told me that she was a consultant in the entertainment industry and therefore did a lot of work in the evening. Emma explained that she and Sue had wanted to introduce me to Helena for quite some time. The next week passed very slowly. I asked Tim a lot of questions about Helena, but he said he did not really know her all that well. He knew that she and Sue had been good friends since they were young and that Helena sometimes attended family gatherings. He said she was high-spirited and friendly, but he had never seen her attend a party with a boyfriend or male companion. As soon as I returned home for work on Monday, I began pacing the house, trying to decide when to call Helena. I decided I was acting like a sixteen-year-old mustering up the courage to ask a girl out for the first time. While I had been out with a couple of women since Mary died, these encounters had been arranged through ‘mature’ internet dating sites, and almost all of the dates had gone poorly. I also decided to see an escort for some sexual relief about a year after Mary passed away, but performance anxiety got the best of me. I finally thought, “What the hell,” and dialled her number. Helena picked up on the fourth ring. “James, I was beginning to bayan escort think you wouldn’t call. I bet you were trying to guess what time would be best to ring me.” I did not know what to say, so I stammered and finally managed to say, “Are we still on for tomorrow evening?” “Yes,” she replied. “I am really looking forward to it. I have been Italy for the past week, working non-stop. I will really enjoy talking to an intellectual person rather than some of the really boring, demanding people I have been with.” I was just about to ask what she had been doing in Italy, when she interrupted. “Shit, my doorbell just rang. Quick, when and where are we meeting?” I gave her the name of one of my favourite restaurants in Covent Garden and asked: “Is 7.30 for drinks in the bar okay with you?” “Perfect, my love,” she replied. “See you then. She then made a loud kissing noise through the phone and hung up. As soon as I came home from work the next day, I carefully showered and then trimmed my beard. I wore a pair of casual yet classy trousers, a striped shirt and a blue linen jacket … I laughed, wondering whether this was what a sixty-something should wear on a first date. I arrived at the restaurant at 7.20, but Helena was already perched on a bar stool, drinking a martini and looking utterly fantastic. She wore a black jumpsuit with wide-legged trousers. The neckline was low enough to show a healthy amount of cleavage, and a pendant dangled between her breasts, almost guiding my eyes to what she wanted them to see. She also wore a bright yellow jacket, with stiletto sandals of a perfectly matching colour on her obviously pedicured feet. I am sure, despite her age, she turned a lot of heads upon entering the bar. I bent down to give her a polite peck on the cheek, but Helena turned her head to plant a sizable kiss on my mouth, and I could feel her tongue quickly trace across my upper lip. “Don’t worry about anything, James,” she said as I sat on the stool next to her. “I just know we are going to get on splendidly.” And we did. Over dinner, she asked me a lot about myself, and reached over to touch my hand when I told her about Mary’s final days. By now we were on our second bottle of Sancerre. I learned a lot about her – her tastes in film, theatre and books, her love of travel, wild times at university in the early 1970s with Sue – but she deftly changed the subject when I asked about her work. We had finished our main courses, but when the waiter inquired whether we wanted dessert, Helena asked for the bill.
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