The Longest Date Known to Woman Part III: The Long Walk Home

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So that was awkward. I had to close my mouth and open it again like a fish to cover up my wanton kissy face. Totally worked, and yes, we’re still imprisoned on the bus of doom…

As I predicted, about five minutes in to our half hour imprisonment waiting for the police to arrive, a drunk Barbie vomited on herself and kind of on everyone else in a way as we all had to sit there smelling it along with scents of stale alcohol and desperation. Twenty five minutes later the police were still as yet to show up and the martial law bus driver informed us they wouldn’t be showing up for another half an hour. This proved a little too much for Barbie’s boyfriend who shall be known as Steve for no reason at all who promptly had a panic attack.

Chaos ensues. People are banging on the bus driver’s window shouting at him to open the doors so at least Steve can get some air. The bus driver relents and taking full opportunity of his kindness (weakness) we all pile out, united in our escape. The Youths even form an alliance with Gideon based on our fall out; they all hold the doors open together so everyone can pile out. It is the ultimate act of politeness for Gideon and the ultimate act of defiance for the Youths. For the record, Gideon is yet to forgive me but in the bundle to get off the bus he roughly takes my hand so I don’t fall. It’s weird, I think being gallant is part of his genetic make-up; he literally cannot help it.

We pour out into the night or early morning actually and I have that utterly surreal feeling that this is all a really really weird distressing dream I will wake up from at any point now. Don’t worry readers I wouldn’t pull that kind of literary stunt on you, nope this is all happening and all I want is to go to bed but I fear I am destined to be awake a while longer.

By the time we stop running and the crowd disperses Gideon and I find ourselves standing alone on a street corner wondering where we are. Only then do we notice we’re still holding hands. I pull away first, I definitely have to be first after my parted lips stunt earlier. I get out my phone and work out that we’re actually not too far from my place. Not too far by bus standards except there isn’t another bus due for another forty sodding minutes. Okay Scarlett don’t panic just another half hour walk and you’ll be home and in bed by three. Three?! Yes three you old woman. And that’s after half hour walk through a fairly dodgy area – what area of London isn’t a bit dodgy to a woman at two in the morning?

Gideon: “So what now? How are you getting home?”

Me: “I was going to walk, it’s only half an hour or twenty minutes if I’m being chased. Kidding.”

Gideon: “I’ll walk you back home.”

Me: “No it’s fine honest-”

Gideon: “And then I’ll call a cab.”

Brusque and reluctant though it was, Gideon’s response brings tears of relief to my eyes. Don’t worry I haven’t gone soft on you, I’m just tired and hungry and when I’m tired and hungry I regress to being about five years old. As we begin the amble back to my place I dream of a dirty kebab shop, maybe there’s still one open. Mmm greasy meat and garlic sauce.

Gideon: “You want a kebab?!”

Me: “You can read my mind?”

Gideon looks confused at the childlike sense of wonder on my face. Seriously he can read minds?

Gideon: “What? No you just said greasy meat and garlic sauce with your eyes closed. Like you want to have sex with it.”

Me: “Oh. I don’t want to have sex with it. Just eat it with pickled jalapenos and chips doused in vinegar then royally regret it tomorrow morning.”

Gideon: “Stop closing your eyes like that, it’s disturbing.”

Gideon looks like he’d rather eat his shirt than eat a kebab. I think he should eat his shirt. Or just burn it. Wow that is one black eye he’s got. I want to gently hold a bag of peas to it like I’m Adrian in Rocky. I feel terrible 2am pangs of guilt.

Gideon: “If I’d known how you felt about kebabs before, we could have saved ourselves a whole evening.”

And then I feel less guilty. I want to poke the black eye.

Me: “Are you serious? Having the odd kebab is a full on game over situation for you?”

I say odd, what’s odd in real terms? Every Thursday and Sunday, sometimes Friday as well? Whatever, I’m not going to see this guy again and the kissing fantasy was obviously a moment of high drama delirium as was the Adrian from Rocky fantasy two seconds ago. Shh.

Gideon: “You want to talk game over? Okay, you and the shirt.”

I roll my eyes nonchalantly, slack mouthed like, ‘What shirt?’

Me: “What about the shirt?”

Gideon: “What about it? You shut down the moment you saw it.”

Me: “Is playing dress up on a first date the same as a kebab?”

Gideon: “It’s not dress up! It’s Swiss Voile and I bought it in a legitimate store and had it tailored!”

Me: “WHY?!”

Someone shouts out of their window for us to shut up. Since I’ve had various things thrown at me for not shutting up I shush Gideon and we continue to walk whilst whispering harshly to each other, which is as ridiculous as what we’re whispering about but it all seems very serious at the time.

Gideon: “I only wore it because I thought you’d appreciate it! But obviously the closest you’ve ever gotten to Austen is a film review of Bridget Jones!”

Me: “I read the Bridget Jones books too actually. On holiday. In Greece. And even if I had read Pride and bloody Prejudice I’d still think you were absolutely off your bloody rocker.”

I don’t know why I said that like I’m winning this argument. No one’s winning here. Just two more streets over, and it’s all over. Wait what the hell is he doing? Oh God.

Me: “Put your fucking shirt back on!”

An angry person from a second floor flat: “SHUT UUUPP!!!”

Gideon is now topless. Except he’s put his jacket back so he looks like an extra in a Bros video. I can’t take anymore and I just burst out laughing, the loud hysterical sleep deprived guffawing that proves infectious. Gideon starts laughing louder and harder than me. I think I’m going to be sick, my stomach muscles ache so much and just as I take another look at my date, bringing on a new peel of laughter, Angry Person from a Second Floor Flat releases the piece de resistance in the shape of a bucket of very cold water.

Unusual though it may seem, I’ve never had a bucket of water chucked over me. I’ve had a pint before but they missed because they were more pissed than me, thankfully considering they threw the glass as well. After my screams died down I was pretty philosophical about it actually. I guess if you keep walking the noisy tightrope of shouting in a residential area in the early hours you get soaked eventually. Even Gideon found it funny.

We finally get back to mine and I don’t know what to do with myself. I am very aware of how good this man looks topless. All he needs to do is keep his mouth zipped and he’ll be perfect! To be honest I’m starting to reconsider that last point. I mean, no one else has dressed up for me before. In fact when it comes to dressing up I’m always the person to do it. Every Valentines. Kinky nurse, kinky devil, kinky cat, kinky Hilary Clinton (that’s another story readers), you name it I’ve probably worn it but never has a guy dressed up for me. Don’t worry I’m not man bashing but why is it that girls think to do that more?

I remember once this guy I was seeing asked me what my sexual fantasies were. I’ve only got one and it’s been the same since I was thirteen: James Bond (Pierce Brosnan Golden Eye James Bond to be clear), I’m the Russian lady who can kill with her sexy legs and Pierce Brosnan has to use his wiles to win me over. That’s it. Sorry for the visual Mum. Apart from that, I don’t really go in for men in uniform, it just makes me think of the Chippendales. Do you remember them? Male strippers from the nineties, oiled up to look like Arnie in Conan? Anyway, this Gideon situation makes me wonder if maybe I would have a thing for men in uniform if they took it upon themselves to do it without prompting. Maybe if Gideon was wearing the full caboodle, not in public, maybe I’d find it a huge turn on. I’m definitely finding the idea of taking his clothes off a huge turn on but it is not to be.

I hand Gideon a cup of tea and sit down while he calls a cab. I’m trying very hard not to look at his body. I’m trying to remember that even with all his valour (creeping into Conan territory, be careful Scarlett) Gideon is precious, talks too much, and doesn’t seem to be a very relaxed person. And despite our moments of shared laughter, he’s gone back to reserved mode. I know right? He can actually sit there on my couch, a perfectly composed statue even when he’s wearing a towel like it’s a boob tube and a pair of damp suit trousers. I’m trying not to laugh by biting my inner cheek. I’m half expecting John Cleese to show up in a matching outfit saying “And now for something completely different.” Does he realise his absurdity though, that’s the question. Would sex with Gideon be a quiet awkward appraisal or a bawdy romp? Bawdy romp? I need to go to bed.

Gideon: “Yeah going to Kilburn. Yep… How long? Okay great… Thanks. Bye.”

Kilburn? Okay for you non-Londoners out there, the N38 doesn’t go to Kilburn or anywhere close to Kilburn in fact. He lied about the bus. Columbo Scarlett has her thinking cap on… And also seems to be typing in the third person. Stop it.

Gideon: “Cab will be here in ten minutes or so.”

Me: “Kilburn isn’t on the N38 route.”

Now we’ve got him.

Gideon: “No it isn’t. I think I’ve made the seat of your couch damp. Sorry.”

Me: “Why did you say you were getting the same bus as me? Should I be creeped out?”

Gideon: “There you go again, judging me and finding me wanting.”

I think I’m the one wanting. The towel’s dropped a bit. Oh josh there’s nipple. Stop looking at it. But it’s looking at me! It’s like the eye of Sauron! What is wrong with me? Get a grip woman.

Me: “Okay so you wanted to make sure I got home okay? Isn’t that taking chivalry a bit far? I mean there are hundreds, thousands of women and only one you. You’re not Santa.”

Gideon: “Why is chivalry ironic to you? It’s not a joke. And no that is not why I got on the bus.”

Me: “Why did you get on the bus?”

Gideon: “Because I know I spent the whole date talking and crying and surprising as this might sound I don’t tend to make a habit of sitting in front of women in a frilly shirt crying. Even women with careers in porno pictures.”

Me: “Ha! So you admit it is frilly shirt.”

I’m fucking Poirot. Yeah.

Gideon: “For fuckssake Scarlett I was trying to salvage a train wreck of a date and I didn’t know how to and then you called me gay and-”

Me: “I said that IF you were-”

Gideon: “It was emasculating.”

Me: “Even more so than the shirt itself?”

Gideon: “Well I saw how you changed your tune the moment I got violent. All sins are forgiven’ because I punched someone in the face.”

Shite, that is absolutely what I did.

Me: No I didn’t.

Gideon: “Oh please don’t think I didn’t notice how you looked at me even before you did that weird fish mouth thing. I could have done anything to you on that bus.”

Me: “Well that’s not very gallant is it.”

Gideon: “You’re not denying it.”

I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks. I’m practically a raspberry. Oh gosh here comes the dry mouth and the wobbly voice. But now I’m kind of angry. Who the hell is this guy?

Me: “Right, and the only reason you didn’t is because of that great big stick up your arse prevented you from moving.”

Too far Scarlett. It’s the bus all over again; the pregnant pause followed by calamity. I don’t think he’d hit me but maybe he’ll just spontaneously combust or implode. I always think implode is a more impressive word than explode but in practise it probably wouldn’t be as visually arresting. It’d be more like watching someone collapse in fast forward mode. There wouldn’t even be a bang but, oh god Gideon’s getting up and walking over. He grabs me and OH! Oh bloody hell, who’d have thought he’d be such a good- OH OH OH THERE’S THE OTHER NIPPLE!

***What followed has been censored for your benefit (Mum) since really knowing who put what where and how many times they orgasmed just seems smug and a bit point scorey. But let me just say this, Gideon did not get his cab, he is a filthy kisser and many bawdy romps were had although at one point Scarlett did a fanny fart and was made to wear the shirt as punishment.***

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About 123withnail

A funny female living in south London who suffers from bouts of outrage and hysteria mainly caused by impoliteness and the ridiculousness of the general public - herself included.
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4 Responses to The Longest Date Known to Woman Part III: The Long Walk Home

  1. tedupdate says:

    Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! I wouldn’t have believed it had it ended any other way. ~ Irene

    Irene Burns Producer G R A C E P O I N T 100 Avenue of the Americas, Rm 609 New York, NY 10013 (646) 833-2061 office (917) 613-8749 cell Irene@ireneburns.com

    From: 7 out of 10 <comment-reply@wordpress.com> Reply-To: 7 out of 10 <comment+c6uiqfvjmo4tfge1_7waf4@comment.wordpress.com> Date: Thursday, April 17, 2014 at 11:46 AM To: Irene Burns <irene@ireneburns.com> Subject: [New post] The Longest Date Known to Woman Part III: The Long Walk Home

    123withnail posted: ” So that was awkward. I had to close my mouth and open it again like a fish to cover up my wanton kissy face. Totally worked, and yes, we’re still imprisoned on the bus of doom…As I predicted, about five minutes in to our half hour imprisonment waiting “

  2. childlanguagedevelopment says:

    It is mean and wicked to tell such a brilliant story, and then have no more to read. 😦

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