See that man sitting over there. The one in the half booth with all the women gathered around him. That's the guy. There's not much special about him. He's not much to look at. His hair is on the longish side but his face is nicely symmetrical. He doesn't have an athlete's body but he's in fair shape. He doesn't dress fashionably but his jeans are clean and his shirt has a collar. He's even wearing loafers with white socks. He's as ordinary looking as they come, so why is he surrounded by attractive women and some not so attractive as well.
My name is Peggy. I've been sitting here, at the bar in the pub, watching him with interest. I can't explain why I'm watching him. I haven't a chance in a thousand of ever getting close to him let alone talking to him. Look at all the women around him. How would a skinny, flat-chested introvert like me ever have shot of even saying "hello?"
As I said, my name is Peggy. I'm twenty-four years old and I've never been laid. Hell, I've never even had a date. I'm five foot, nine inches tall and about thirty-five pounds underweight for my height. Twiggy was obese by comparison. My hair is mousy brown and cut short and my breasts are almost non-existent. I mean, I have small bumps where most women have breasts and small flat nipples in the middle of them. It's not an exaggeration to say that an A cup bra is too large. I've seen men with larger tits. Otherwise, I'm not hard to look at. I've been told if I added thirty or forty pounds I'd be in the game and my tits would also be larger but I just can't gain weight. I've never been heavy. I eat copious amounts of just about everything and I don't add pounds.
So, I'm sitting here at the bar in the pub, alone on a weekend night, drinking a lime cosmopolitan, watching a average guy who's an above average chick magnet and wondering what he has that women are drawn to that I don't have to draw men to me. I keep looking back at him. Every time I do, I can hardly see him through his female posse.
The last time I looked at him, the crowd parted and he was looking back at me. I turned away quickly. "Shit," I thought, "he's caught me looking. I must look pathetic sitting here alone and looking at him." I resolved to finish my drink, pay my tab and walk home. "I'm not going to look in his direction again. I'm just not going to look."
But I looked anyway. He's looking at me. He's alone. The women are gone. It's just him and he's looking at me. I look around. There's no one else near me. He has to be looking at me. Why the hell is he looking at me?
I'm caught. I can't look away and he keeps looking at me. He smiles, waves me to come over to the booth and he pats the seat next to him as if I could possibly sit next to him. But I do. I pick up my glass, walk over to the table and sit next to him.
"Welcome," he says. "I'm Lonnie and you're ...?"
When I find my voice, I say, "Peggy."
"Well, hi Peggy. Nice to meet you."
"You're not talking about me. Nobody's ever glad to meet me."
"I am and I am, happy to meet you that is."
"How can that be?" I asked incredulously.
"Take a walk with me and I'll explain," Lonnie said as he stood up and offered me his hand. He waved to the bartender to put my bill on his tab as he led me out of the pub and turned left. We walked side by side in the dark through the circles of light provided by the street lamps. At the third light, I stopped and asked, "Where are we going?"
"Just a few more blocks," he said. "I promise you'll be safe."
We walked three blocks further and Lonnie stopped in front of an attached townhome with a small stoop. He stepped up, opened the door and beckoned to me to enter.
"What's this?" I asked.
"This is where we were headed," he said. "I live here. I'd like you to come inside and talk."
I was a nervous as I'd ever been. I wasn't sure I could climb the two steps or walk inside. This was a new and extremely unsettling experience for me. I'm being invited into a man's home. Me. This is not possible in my world.
"Just talk?" I asked.
"Just talk and nothing else you don't want to do," Lonnie said.
"Okay," I said without conviction. I don't know who was more nervous, me or me.
Lonnie showed me inside and up a flight of stairs to a living room furnished with a comfortable looking couch and two side chairs. He led me to the sofa and suggested I sit.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. "I have beer, wine and a number of after dinner drinks."
I couldn't think clearly. I didn't trust my voice either. "I'll have what you're having," I whispered.
While Lonnie was in the kitchen, I looked around the room. There was a small coffee table in front of the sofa and glass topped side tables alongside each of the side chairs. A huge flat panel television hung on the wall opposite the sofa and a black stereo system on a low table below the TV. There were a number of modern style art works on the walls including at least two nudes.
Lonnie returned with two snifters about one-third full of a dark liquid. He handed me one and sat on the sofa beside me. He offered his glass to me. I held up mine and we touched the short stemmed balloon glasses lightly against each other. I took a small sip.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It's spiced rum. I hope you like it."
"It's very nice. Thank you."
"You're welcome and thanks for accepting my invitation."
"I have to admit I'm a little confused by all this. I mean your invitation, your home and your hospitality."
"Confused? I have no intension of confusing you. Only treating a beautiful woman the way she deserves to be treated," Lonnie said convincingly.
"That's more confusing. I'm not beautiful. Quite the opposite."
"I disagree."
"I mean, just look at me."
"Okay."
"Okay? What does that mean?"
"It means I'm willing to look at you."
"Nothing in this conversation is clarifying anything for me," I said.