First Dates, French Martinis, Cleavage & Sex Appeal

The thought of being casually wined and dined for the evening does sound positively delicious as the end result often sees you slipping out of a bedroom on tip toes, searching for a bra or pair of panties before slipping out into the waking sunrise. Or in my case, I’m the one to kick the person out of my bed and house to save on that awkward morning talk of “I’ll call you again”.

In this case, I was being wined and dined by a sinfully delicious looking babe with an equally impressive cleavage that made my somewhat questionable straight heart stop beating. As to how I found myself following said gorgeous babe up a set of stairs while unashamedly staring at her arse, it all started when standing on the opposite end of a bar, giggling.

As I tried to come to terms with what was happening to me and within my life, we briefly spoke of what had happened in the last 24 hours as both of us couldn’t come to terms with what exactly had happened.

Having woken the previous morning in a pool of sweat while clutching my bedcovers as my brain tried to figure out where I currently was, I realised that I had essentially lived a real life nightmare and as a result, reached automatically out a hand for my phone. After scrolling through my contacts and hurriedly sending a message, I hopped out of bed and went about my day of saving a fake patient’s life.

Although said patient survived after a well played hand of cards only to end it by shoving some poor guy’s arse down his throat, I found myself strolling through Brisbane City in the attempt of trying to buy time before my next tutorial. As I stopped briefly at a set of lights after having managed dodged the waiting crowds as the filming of Thor 3 was being wrapped up, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Located somewhere between the pictures of my cleavage spilling out of my bra alongside the caption of ‘too much?’, the musing and kidnapping plots of JL and the moanings of Suicide Squad was the weeping message of a missed court hearing, a bloody nose and the unclassical move of walking head first into a man in an elevator.

Like any true girlfriend at heart, I didn’t have one ounce of regret as I promptly burst into laughter whilst writing a brief comment that read: LMAO!


Pulling myself out of the self induced re-enactment of how I almost collided into a woman tottering around on her heels, I refocused on the surrounding area of the little restaurant I was currently sitting in. As the group of uni friends next to me moaned about their tutors and upcoming assignments as one fellow glanced at me over the edge of his glass, I swept my gaze around before landing on the picture in front of me.

It wasn’t the photo in front of me and its slight off-tiltedness that would have seen me in the past get up and straighten the canvas but rather the gorgeous man smiling it. Ignoring the young chap who had slowly moved closer in the bid of no doubt wanting to drop in a casual ‘hey’ as my gorgeous babe had left me to order her drink and hopefully not do the awkward first date dash, I realised why the gentleman in the photo looked so familiar.

The sinfully gorgeous bar man smiling in said photo was none other than the gorgeous chap from downstairs who had tried to make me pronounce the Italian pasta name and to the horror of my Italian ancestors, I successfully butchered it.  Even though he corrected me with a quick 101 on how to speak sexy Italian in 30 seconds, I found myself giggling on the opposite of the bar as my gorgeous date brushed past me.


After returning from having failed to do the first date flash and dash, as my date browsed through her phone before quickly sending off a message with a quick huff, I glanced around and took note of the excellent beachy wood tones for the decor.

Settling back in my seat with the menu resting in my lap and with phone in hand, I texted someone important about an up and coming post of mine whilst letting them know how perfect my date was going so far. Shortly after sending that message, my date placed her phone back on the table and with a quick roll of her eyes, she muttered “men” and as we both nodded in agreement, I glanced up in time to see our waiter heading towards us.

Ladies and Gentlemen, dinner was served.


As my date prepared to launch her defence attack, I managed to capture a photo of the world’s most gorgeous, mouth watering plate of creamy mushrooms that just so happened to be scattered around and in between beautifully tender pieces of spaghetti. 

However, what had my taste buds flaring was the dollop of melting cheese sliding its way over the pasta before coming to a rest at the bottom of the dish. It was in the moment of placing a few chili pieces on my forkful and popping it into my mouth that I experienced two things: the tenderness of the mushrooms before giving way to the creamiest spaghetti only to be followed by the burning ring of fire.

After a couple of mouthfuls and with my lips starting to tingle, I decided that I’d experienced enough chili for the evening and went about trying our second dish.


Whilst eating and sharing pieces of toasted Italian flat bread that mopped up those creamy juices left behind by the mushrooms and cream, we discussed topics that were relatively neutral and natural before coming to the final topic of the evening: “Do you want a drink?”

Having spoken of making the move up north for work and would she come to see me in the future, we both spoke of what could happen with our relationship as we both glanced over the drink options. When having made our final decision that resides somewhere between a French Martini and our traditional drink option, we both agreed that we would order separately before waiting for the other to return.

Within a couple of quick martini shakes, our drinks arrived on the arm of our gorgeous bartender from downstairs and with a quick wink, he was off. 


Although it was tempting to sneak downstairs and slip him my number just in case but never having been one of those girls myself, I sat back in my seat as I watched my date go about sipping her French martini while I stared at her cleavage unashamedly and with no regrets.

I guess it was in that moment of watching her with a smile on my face as she scooped the remaining pasta, just how my date managed to make a French martini appear and sound sexy. What made the evening finish on a rather delicious explosion of culture, excellent food with a beautiful woman is the fact she has always made to make our dates feel as if they’re the first one.

While making sure that our evenings spent together have as much sex appeal as does her cleavage.


Safe to say Dearest Reader, I may be in love.

Until next time,

~S xo

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