It is one of the unalterable facts of life that women are mysterious. There is no point in trying to rationalise, trying to account for or predict every facet of their behaviour because whatever you think you know is liable to flip over on you revealing a truth you never guessed at. Let me put it another way: You know in those naff horror films where someone looks at their reflection in a mirror? Then they put their hand out to touch the mirror and it turns out to be a pool of water? Quite often there's something unexpected behind it. Well, now you're getting it.
Years ago now when I was a student in my fourth and final year at one of the better-known Scottish universities I was once taught a savage lesson in humility. At the top of my game (or so I thought) in both my academic and physical prowess I believed I was cock of the walk. Imagine my pleasure, then when on one particularly lengthy booze and narcotic soaked night flitting between various house parties in the city I spent several hours in rapt conversation with a beautiful and alluring girl.
Jenny was a second year architecture student from the south of England. From a straight A background she was in possession of improbable wit, intelligence and good looks. When I blinked back into consciousness late the following afternoon with her number scrawled on the paper insert of a cigarette packet I wondered whether the person I had experienced the previous night had perhaps simply been a figment of the chemicals which had made their way through my body.
Wretchedly dialling her number later in the following week almost convinced of failure I could hardly believe my luck to be greeted by the same personable girl who I had met at the party. We talked on various subjects for a good hour before agreeing on a pub-date that Saturday. I could hardly believe my luck.
Come Saturday evening I found myself sitting in my favourite local, nursing a pint and talking with to two of my acquaintances that had wandered in. Drinks with Steve and Jeff were hardly what I had in mind but half an hour had already passed since Jenny and I were supposed to meet and here I was killing time with two hairy-arsed metal heads.
Another full half hour passed and I had abandoned all hope when suddenly, as if by magic, there was Jenny. She appeared at our booth in the now packed and smoky bar wearing a pair of slender white jeans and an elegant, matching white shirt. She looked amazing. The three of us stared slack jawed at her before my brain kicked back into gear and blurted out a hurried series of introductions.
"Right, I'll get the drinks then." Beamed Jenny and turned, casually flicking her hair and cruised off towards the bar leaving us in a heavenly scent cloud of perfume and expensive shampoo.
"Well, well S! I guess you'll be looking to hang onto this one then?" Smirked my friend Jeff. Steve, my other friend just grinned like a schoolboy.
"Well, its early days." I cautioned. Of course I was pleased that she had shown. But a nagging feeling inside me was telling me that the stress I had felt believing I was being stood up was a portent of things to come.
Over the coming weeks I saw a Jenny with some regularity. We spent the night together a couple of times every other weekend, although midweek meetings were rare. The University campus was sprawling and vast, making chance meetings extremely unlikely. Even when they did occur one or both of us were usually on route to someone or something that wouldn't wait. We shared some pleasant but intermittently awkward dinner dates, sports and shopping as well as a sex life that while satisfying was a little restrained, mannered even. I was haunted by the strange sensation that she was waiting for me to catch up. Perhaps waiting for me to press some buttons that, to my gradual deflation, I couldn't find. In conversation Jenny was often quiet, considered and reflective. Although her intelligence and manners were beyond reproach the fun, humorous girl who I met that first night only appeared occasionally.
Nonetheless the relationship stumbled on at varying degrees of intensity for almost six months in a fashion that if not blind, was certainly partially sighted. Somehow Jenny still seemed like a stranger to me, a fact that I tried, perhaps a little too hard to remedy. After we spent weekends together, come Monday morning she would rise promptly, kiss me goodbye and disappear out into the bustling streets. I gradually grew to hate lying there with the sun shining through the thin curtains, waiting for the alarm clock to go off, wondering how I could get closer to someone I was desperate to know. Any attempts to secure a definite next meeting with Jenny were often met with vague or evasive answers. Of course I was still madly attracted to her. After all she was not far off the dictionary definition of sexiness for me, her cascade of strawberry blonde hair framing a beautiful heart-shaped face with clear, alabaster skin. Her toned athletic body was both hard enough to look good but soft enough to retain its femininity. She had a beautiful pert, round arse conditioned, no doubt, by her above average abilities on the tennis court and a childhood in which horse riding purportedly featured prominently. She also had a fondness for push up bras, a belly ring and a tiny black heart tattooed on the inside of her thigh. Yep, I think its fair to say that she looked just about good enough to eat. I desperately wanted to love her as much as the way I loved the idea of her. Sadly, it simply wasn't the case. And so in the face of our decidedly lukewarm chemistry and with heavy heart I decided to end things with her.
That Wednesday I miraculously managed to pin her down to meeting me for lunch at the bar where I worked part-time in town. Bizarrely she was far more affectionate and animated than I had seen her for some weeks. You could have knocked me over with a feather when she suggested we fly down to her Father's house on the Devonshire coast for a romantic weekend. The thought of having her virtually all to myself for a couple of days amongst the beauty of the south coast was just the tonic I needed to make me shelve my plans for dumping her. Sitting there gazing at this woman with her beautifully curved legs primly crossed, an inch of cleavage peeking out from her white lycra sports top and her mesmerizing, mysterious smile I thought to myself: 'How would you ever be able to explain to your mates that you dumped her? How are you going to feel when they all start queuing up to try their luck?'
And so I decided to soldier on. After all things weren't that stale were they? Besides didn't I feel great cruising my local haunts with such a fine looking girl on my arm? Pride comes before a fall. They say that don't they? Sadly I've always found crash helmets rather restrictive.
Is it just me or is there something sexy about airports? Don't judge me. Okay, they're dirty, heavily air-conditioned, rammed with people often in various states of tiredness and/or frustration. But there's something else there too. People heading off to places, smartly dressed to make a good impression at a meeting somewhere, showing a bit of leg to get in the right mood for partying or lying on a beach somewhere else, expectation and excitement in equal measure. There is also certain anonymity, the thought of a chance encounter, a random proposition? I don't know. Despite my feelings I have never had a sexual encounter at an airport. Today didn't look like it was going to change that.
"Is everything okay Jen? You seem a million miles away."
"Yeah, sure. I'm fine; it's just been a while since I've been home. I'm just thinking about things. Dad, Mum, you know?" She smiled at me. I was suddenly struck anew I knew her.
"Are you feeling down that your Mum isn't going to be around?" I took a stab, knowing that Jenny's Mother and Father had ways shortly before she had started at Uni. The split was to be permanent and her Mother was now living and working in Vancouver.
