I had seen her only a few times before. I had heard of her much more. I knew her name and I knew her act. Girl after girl, night after night. It meant everything at the moment itself, and nothing the day after. If she ever did the same girl twice, it was by coincidence. Though not for the girl, of course, who had probably been pining away for her since the last time.

The first time I saw her, I saw her only briefly and didn’t get how this boyish girl could be such a lady killer. The second time I watched her as she was courting an Asian girl and as I saw her non-caring attitude and then heard that mixed with her deep, all-too-caring voice, I began to understand. And from there, it was a small step to wanting her myself, of course. However, I had no such illusions. The girls never picked her – she picked the girls. And there was no reason why she should pick me. And a very good reason why she should not. She probably didn’t know about my past, but she seemed the kind of woman who could just see such things with one glance, in the same way that she could conquer someone with one glance.

So I never gave the thought of her much thought, since it seemed so out of reach. But then one night she came up to me. I never got why she picked that night – I wasn’t dressed better than usual, nor was the night too slow for her to find someone else. But anyway, she came. It was the first time I had her in front of me and the first time I got a full view. Short hair, the kind of short that’s a little too long. Her eyes were dark, her body actually kind of skinny, and not especially attractive, but that didn’t matter. Sexy is nothing but a state of mind, and she seemed always to be in it. She wore a black t-shirt, quite simple – no explanation there either.

I knew what her coming up to me meant. She never came just to chat a little. If I made no strange moves, simply followed her lead, I’d end up having her that night. And though of course she was mistaking, I didn’t consider setting her right. Honesty doesn’t matter if it’s one night only. I followed her lead, of course. I let myself be enchanted by her voice, most of all her voice. She didn’t say much, though; she wanted me to talk. And so I did, about my job, about my writing, but I did it reluctantly. I knew she hadn’t come to talk and she knew I knew. It felt like useless foreplay. Of course, I could have turned the conversation into a more meaningful direction. There were a few things that would only be fair to tell her. That if she kept on courting me instead of someone else, she would have a disappointing night. There had to be a better use of her time. And it would be fair to tell that I hadn’t slept with a woman in two years and had grown more and more sick just thinking of it. And that I wasn’t into anything wild or weird; regular sex was enough of a challenge. If I could get through just that without bursting into tears, I had made quite an effort.