A date with Betty Page
The date was late. Or to be exact I was late, I had to visit a friend in hospital and then change at Biscuit’s new place. So I didn’t meet up with Betty Page until about 10pm.
She was waiting for me in a pub on Tottenham Court road. The date had been off and then on again so she was wearing very casual Friday clothes instead of what I’d imagine would be normal date gear.
She wore a stripy blue top, dark green combat trousers and faux-biker boots and leather jacket.
She looked like her *ahem* pictures, wit shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes. Her voice was fairly low with faint Midlands accent.
The meeting was a little awkward at first, which just encouraged us to drink a bit more. After the first pint Betty Page took me to her club in Soho and bought me loads of cocktails.
The conversation was fairly easy, not that intense connection you sometimes get with people but not awkward either.
She mentioned she liked rock music, and well a load of other things that Biscuit is into. I sort of thought she was on a date with the wrong person.
I wasn’t sure how things were going really, or at least I wasn’t sure until she raped my mouth.
She had said she was going to the go to the loo, looked at me a bit weirdly and then latched on to my face. It was all rather shocking.
I was a bit taken aback by all this and finished my drink eyeing her up carefully. I was very drunk.
“Hey,” I said “Biscuit is out in Camden with a friend, we could go and join them?”
“Or,” she replied. “we could go back to my place and have sex.”
Blimey, I thought.
And kept thinking as were we in a cab going somewhere with her saying “I’m going to get my money’s worth out of you.”
I’m still not sure if she did.
Marriage percentage = 20%