Girl No. 2

Just had a weekend at this place in Ireland, and cutting the story short the party included six girls in their late twenties, two of whom I got on with well (I’m 48). Girl No. 1, who I’d got some chemistry going with first but neglected in favour of Girl No. 2, then slept with this guy aged, I should think, about thirty, with a big fucking ginger beard who was running the place and giving orders. There was only one evening available to go for something, after a meal out: I call Girl No. 2 over at an appropriate moment and keeping cool: “I really like your personality, and you look stunning tonight … I’ve got a couple of things I’d like to show you in my room if you’d like to come down, kind of a surprise … it’ll be okay…” (candle and incense sticks).

She nods enthusiastically but then understands what I’m saying, and to my surprise becomes rather shy, disappearing outside to the table to cower and attend to her fingernails. I’ve come across this before, but wasn’t expecting it and have been wondering what else I could’ve done … perhaps thinking faster and asking her to stay and talk, as she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to come back when I left the table to hang around. Another evening might have been good, as the next morning she comes over with the most excited and pleased excuses, and spends much of the day by my side.

In the night I had to put up with Girl No. 1 next door having what was obviously pretty mediocre sex and making sounds with the sole purpose of me overhearing. The other ginger beard fucker had talked with her for four or five hours straight before making a move – a bit much I thought, but maybe I had something to learn there.