This post starts with a call. An ordinary call with an ordinary introduction:
John: Hello Jewel, I’m John.
Jewel: <to herself> Of course you are, honey. <to John> Aha.
John: I know. I should be able to come up with a better name, the trouble is, I really am John. I saw you a while ago, and it was so terribly good…
Huh explained: someone calls and claims to have seen me, and it was TERRIBLY good but I have no recollection of it. That’s unusual. Even though frankly the unlucky name doesn’t help, I usually have no trouble remembering having seen someone. After all, I didn’t pass him by in the street, I had sex with him – terribly good, apparently. How can I forget that?
John goes on to describe what we did (still no help. I mean, doesn’t every john get to do pretty much the same thing?) and the apartment where I allegedly saw him and although things do match up and he does sound like someone I’d have agreed to see, I still do not recall any John that I could have seen at the place he describes. I’ll let you in on a secret. While there are a lot of Johns out there, most of them feel conscious (for different reasons) about their name when calling a lady of fixed-rate virtue and will introduce themselves as… David. Yes, that’s the name that’s used most by johns in Scotland, at least in my experience. I have trouble recalling this John because the name is actually relatively rare and I haven’t seen any Johns in a very long while now. If he were David, I’d have the same trouble because the name is too common. I wish men had more imagination. Any sex worker will be happy to see Melvin, Eugene, Rudyard and Wilberforce. Because when this Wilberforce calls you 2 years later, you’ll still know exactly who he is and recall easily what he enjoyed. And if you don’t want an odd name, what happened to the Scottish names? How come I’ve only ever seen Hamish once? And he wasn’t even Scottish! And the only Donald I’ve had sex with was (no, not a duck) Canadian! I’ll give £20 discount to the first Angus, Dougal and Malcolm who come along (providing they are Scottish, sound like people I’d like to see and have a photo ID on them)!*
Anyway, back to John. We go on to arrange the time and place, I hung up, call to book the flat and then it hits me. Of course I know this John! It was early spring, both of us wore weird leather jackets (unforgettable coincidence) and he told me the most hilarious story of hitch hiking in his youth and having to fend off numerous amorous advances from older men. And after that he went on to give me a lecture on orgasmology (yes, to listen to him, you’d think it’s a science). But I didn’t remember that booking as terribly good. It went well. Very well. But by the end of that date John did not look or act like he’d been to heaven and back, and there was no thank you text afterwords, so I assumed that this john will not be coming back.
Turns out he had a totally different view on that booking. He did not remind me of the stories he’d told me: he didn’t think they had deserved a place in my memory while for me they were the major reference point. And he really enjoyed our time together, so I misread him to a degree. It feels good to be wrong sometimes.
*Will now go and update Offers page.