“You must be Don. I’m Victoria. What an absolutely perfect day for a fuck.”
What she just said didn’t seem to make sense.
Yes, I am Don and yes she is Victoria. But a girl wearing sensible sandals about to go on a country walk on a first date wouldn’t suggest a fuck the moment we meet. I’ve definitely misheard.
She sits on a bench. A yellow bicycle is propped up against a hedge behind her. That at least does add up. When we were messaging each other after we’d been matched on the dating site, she said she was passionate about the environment and used public transport or cycled. She didn’t own a car.
She looks wholesome. Her hair, a gorgeous gold, is tied up in a plait. She probably wore it in this style when she was a child. Her surname, Pure, could not be more fitting.
Her straw hat is a classic, perhaps it’s her father’s, with a wide brim—perfect for protecting her fair complexion from the summer sun. It’s already hot, and it’s not yet eleven o’clock. Sensible choice.
A yellow dungaree skirt comes to her knee. The colour matches her sandals. She looks really pretty in it. That rather trite word is exactly right. She is truly very pretty: a pretty country girl about to go on a pretty country walk
On the floor next to her is a big bag, which I hope contains the picnic she promised to bring with her. She’d asked if vegetarian was ok with me. She said she’d use it to lure me into the woods for a luscious, indulgent, sensuous feast. At the time, I thought it was a bit of a joke; she knew from previous conversations that I’m a bit of a foodie.
She held out her hand to take mine, “This way,” she says with a smile. “You’re just going to love it.”
Love...
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Read all about the wonderful author: PJA Woode
I love it