I am late meeting Thomas at the Japanese. Pretty oriental paper shades loop from the celling, out from their pinky-red crepe paper pours streaks of unflattering light. I see him at a table and walk to him, he stands to kiss me on the lips then takes a second to survey my outfit. His expression makes me feel nervous, so I sit down. I was wearing high waisted Kenzo shorts with a tucked in white t-shirt. White socks and brogues sat at the bottom of my bare legs and I was suddenly all too aware of the 'schoolgirl' connotation the sock detail added to my outfit. He looked thoughtful, "Do you ever wear your hair in pigtails?" he asked slowly, cautiously. "No" I said in a bored tone, I didn't need another reminder that I am nineteen and he is thirty two. "Would you like me to?" I added in a flirty tone then immediately wanted to take it back, confused as to how it had escaped my mouth in the first place. He smiled the kind of smile that revealed he had a raging hard-on under the table. Thomas surveyed the menu with a frown of concentration, I lifted mine with one hand but didn't pretend to read it. The waiter came over, "order for me?" I looked at Sam. He looked back at me then reeled off our order. The waiter was gone then returned with Saki. I knew that Sam thought I couldn't order because I was too young, inexperienced and uneducated to possibly understand a menu that consisted of more than fish and chips but I was simply feeling indecisive. He reached to hold my hand across the table. I couldn't decide wether I enjoyed this kind gesture or not. I decided that I didn't but remained still. His hands were small and feminine, maybe more so than mine which is bizarre as I used to be a hand model. Sam grilled me about my school life and growing up and I told him everything about the horrific school I attended where I learnt precisely nothing except for how to fist fight and how to break into any house as well as details of the dirtiest sexual acts. I explained the squalor of growing up in lifeless small town with a cockney criminal as my only parent. He sat fascinated and interview me some more. My life was a world away from his upbringing as an Etonian with two parents, lots of love and money and a dog and whatever else. I didn't question his questions, I've always been very willing and very talented when it came to talking about myself.
The sushi arrived white, beige, brown, all the invisible colors. I was hungry and raised my chopsticks. "Now the key with chopsticks" he began in a teacher-y voice. He didn't not look up but sat unsettlingly straight in his chair. He picked up a piece of a california roll as if demonstrating, wait, he WAS demonstrating, how to use chop sticks. "The key is to believe you can use your chop sticks and then you will be able to successfully eat with them." I waited for the joke, he was a funny man. I waited and waited for something ironic, sarcastic or silly to follow but it didn't. I sat horrified. What? what just happened? I asked myself. I could feel my expression straining my face. He was studying our selection of small plates for his next choice and was oblivious to my fury at being so horribly patronized. I raised my hand to my forehead and pushed my palm into my skull to levitate the anger. Somehow it worked and I re-picked up my chop sticks and began eating.
We finish the meal and he pays and I remember why I'm seeing him. We turn the Camden corner to the cinema. He already has the tickets, I do like efficiency, another point in his favor. "We can have ice cream or popcorn." He says this as if he is my Uncle and has taken me on a trip to the toy shop for a treat. "Why don't we just get both?" Without thinking I had blurted out the cliche child's answer. Ignoring my comment (because it was the incorrect answer) he buys ice creams and passes me one. I didn't even want it. I hate eating a huge meal, late at night, then having sex feeling like a whale when i'd rather just sleep. I guess I have to hold up my end of the deal, he is my meal ticket, I am his whore.
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