Background

Meet Stephen: a good-looking gentleman, 5ft 10in tall with dark blonde hair, deep blue eyes, full lips and an amazing natural tan. He was a 40-year-old divorcee with no kids, and didn’t look his age at all, at least in pictures. He was quite an interesting profile to me. But he lived in the middle of fucking nowhere - Leyton. I didn’t even know where this place was!

Stephen and I chatted quite a lot online, and often late into the night. One of the most touching statements from him was, ‘I hardly talk to anyone on that site and will happily come off it if we are together…and you want me to. I really do only have eyes for you.’

This was quite an unexpected statement, but it seemed to confirm his desire to have a sincere relationship with me.

According to Stephen, he had previously lived in central London in a flat he owned, but got tired of the buzz of the city. He moved out of London and had (rather cleverly, I thought) rented his London flat out. Later, as a newly settled entrepreneur, he had realised that he still had a lot of meetings in London, which was obviously a nuisance with tenants living in his flat. Rather than serve notice on his new tenant immediately however, he had decided to stay with friends in Leyton until a later date, when it became free again.

He explained to me that when he needed to be alone he stayed at various hotels, adding: ‘I'm a nomad. I live in eccentricity.’

I wasn’t a fan of that last part, I must admit but I fell when after another week of chat, he sent me a poem inspired by one of my pictures.

I found it very cute:

THE GIRL IN THE BLUE DRESS

I knew when I first saw

the colour of your dress,

that it wouldn't be like this

with every girl I met.

It wasn't just your smile,

or the way you wore your hair,

it was something deeper still,

an infinitely sweeter thing.

And it's not the way you smell,

of peaches, lime and sandy shells,

or the way your arms entwine

like trails of springtime flowers.

No, it's much more than that,

something deeper still.

It's more than all these things,

and the many others I have hid.

But when it's time to act,

to force those summer days

to their looming conclusion,

will I dare to stroke your face?

and allow eternity to force or break

such a tender, almost hidden embrace.

Then, such a character intrigued me; romance was exactly what I needed. It was now time to arrange a date, so we exchanged numbers.

We talked twice on the phone and he confessed that he was impressed by my voice, but that it also made him a little nervous. For his part, he had a very sensual and deep voice - a quality I really appreciate in a man. I thought it was very sexy and found myself falling for him a little bit more.

He aroused my curiosity more and more with these romantic texts, which were all similar in tone to the poem. But I couldn’t help but wonder - was he sincere? What if he was another pick-up artist, or a master-manipulator like The Dream-Seller Adrian? I had to be more careful this time.

Date No.1

It was time to leave the office for our lunch date and I was already stressed to hell. Stephen was a nice, educated man with a charming voice who wanted a meaningful relationship, and I could feel the pressure for this date to go well through my whole body. And the fact that we had been talking for nearly two weeks put even more pressure on. I was about to meet a stranger that I felt I already knew.

So, I arrived at Pearl Restaurant in High Holborn. The atmosphere was wonderful: a very intimate brasserie softly lit with tables placed to maximise privacy. I loved it, it was an excellent choice and now one of my favourite places in London.

I text him before I went inside and he, being there already, greeted me at the door.

The first moments were a little strange. We chatted, bantered and laughed; he sniffed through my neck, hair and hands... It was wild, but discreet and felt somehow appropriate. When we kissed, it was soft French kisses, which really exhilarated me. I felt good… Comfortable. Like I had known him for a long time.

He asked a lot of questions about my past, my present and my future. He even asked questions and then me if I wanted children, if I wanted to get married again about my career. This all reassured me, because it showed he was interested in me and really wanted to know more of me.

It made me realise that with Adrian, everything had been meaningless. We had not known each other at all. Everything had been completely superficial. I was excited to have a fun relationship again. This is what I had needed right after my divorce – not lies.

Stephen was very mature and solid, albeit a lot of fun. Our date went too fast and I had to go back to work.

I returned to the office feeling light and perky wishing I could have stayed longer. Stephen was charming, kissed like Apollo and was very cultured. I wanted to get to know him better.

Date No.2

Date two was at Ronnie's Jazz Club in Soho, which made me truly appreciate how many things there are to do in London. All these dates and so many wonderful venues!

Soon we were sat at our reserved table not far from the stage, where we could enjoy our dinner while listening to modern jazz. The gig was great fun and the acoustics there were fantastic. I am not usually a jazz fan, but the band was just magical - belting out contemporary songs from pop acts such as Madonna, Beyoncé and Michael Jackson – but all in a jazzy kind of way. Everybody was singing along and it was excellent! The atmosphere was friendly, so we could converse with the people around us. And I got to know a little bit more about Stephen in a more sociable environment.

The live music finished, we left our table and we were heading to the exit when I began to wonder where and when we were going to pay the bill. We had reached the door before I had a chance to say anything, but then Stephen realised he had forgotten his glasses. He looked super angry. It seemed to take him a minute or so to decide if he should go back to the table, and I was waiting in the lobby when he came back with an unpleasant look on his face.

"How funny, we were leaving without paying." He said with an unconvincing smile.

Frankly, due to his reluctance to return to the table to collect his glasses, I already suspected that he had tried to dodge the bill deliberately. I began to question his attitude and values.

We had a few drinks locally and then shared a cab. To my enormous surprise, got out with me at Knightsbridge! He didn’t ask, he just did. I felt trapped as the cab left - like a mouse being chased by a cat. I invited Stephen (rather unwillingly) up for another drink.

Fuelled mainly by the alcohol, we made love. But it was sweet, sensual, captivating and reasonably passionate. In fact, it was quite delicious. We fell asleep rapidly afterwards, stunned by the wine we had both drunk.

We had another round of sex in the morning, which thank God I didn’t need to beg for. But afterwards, while he lay in my bed so comfortably, I started to panic. I hoped he would leave first thing in the morning, but by noon he was still in my flat! I really wanted to be alone to think about all of this.

1pm - he still had not left. I did not know how to get him out of my flat. The atmosphere was heavy and electric.

2pm - I finally decided to tell Stephen that I was going out for lunch and implied gently that he was not welcome anymore. He finally understood that he had to leave - phew! But he stayed at the Starbucks in my neighbourhood and he sent me texts all day to ask if he could come back to mine later. He said that he was already missing me and he was still in the area.

8pm - He sent me a text message to say he had arrived home in Leyton.

Date No.3

I was willing to give Stephen one last chance. I was a bit of a tough cookie by then, with scars from both my ex-husband and Adrian not quite healed. But I enjoyed the conversations I had with Stephen and the air of maturity that he seemed to possess was attractive to me. So, when he asked me to go to a spa with him in Camden, I accepted, knowing that this would be the decisive date.

First, we had a quick dinner at the Pain Quotidien in Notting Hill. But this man was really starting to push my buttons: he had the nerve to ask me if he could move in with me and I almost spit my sandwich out my nostrils. The request was wildly assumptive and completely absurd – especially after two dates! I declined politely, saying that it was way too early for such a thing. He could try to butter me up with his desire to have a family with me, and his declarations of his love and admiration. But I refused to be fake and pretend. I could see a trace of despair and disappointment on his face. I didn’t care, I just ignored it.

We took a cab to Camden and stopped at The Rio. Just by seeing the entrance, I immediately understood that this was not the kind of spa I would normally frequent. From the outside, it looked very tacky and once in the queue, I realised it was a nudist spa.

I asked Stephen to confirm my suspicions and he acquiesced. He asked if I was OK with it. Honestly, I wanted to try it out; I was curious. But I was upset that he hadn’t mentioned it before. I felt a little tricked.

“I am OK, but you should have asked.” I said as neutrally as I could. Once I had decided to go in, I weirdly became quite excited by the idea.

But… wow. The disappointment inside was such that it was like going to a strip club and watching in horror as the wrinkly old janitor throws his mop bucket to the side and starts to unbutton his shirt. Inside, most of the guests were old and very unattractive. Unfortunately, (for me anyway) they were delighted to see some fresh skin.

People had various interests in being there: socialising, getting you to go home with them for a private libertine soiree, threesomes, foursomes, fuck the girlfriend - you name it! And I was getting far too much attention.

All through the evening I was solicited by women, men, grandpas, grandmas, great great grandpas and great great grandmas. And the rest… Well, trust me - you don’t want to know. Stephen however, looked to be in his element. He took immense pleasure in showing off his trophy girlfriend as he strutted around the club like a Gallic rooster with me on his arm.

I got bored after about two hours of watching the men watching me. Their wicked and perverted eyes roamed all over me, and their sometimes not so dormant penises were hard to avoid - especially in the pool. Stephen started talking about us sleeping in this place and, utterly horrified, I urged him to leave.

Finally, out of that horrible place, I explained to Stephen that I was going home. I said that I was tired and I had work early the next day. I really just wanted to put an end to this shitty night. I desperately wanted to grab a cab, but after what had happened the last time we shared a taxi, I was too afraid to get trapped with him at my place again.

I decided very reluctantly to use The Underground. Of course, Stephen came along too. Beneath the unforgiving lights of the tube, I realised that he did look his age, maybe even older. Standing beside him without make-up, I felt far too young to be his girlfriend. The insistent and questioning looks that I felt we were receiving from our fellow passengers made me feel very uncomfortable, so I did not even want him to kiss me, nor hold my hand.

Once at my station, he asked (of course he did!) if he could stay for the night at mine again. He insisted that he wanted to learn how to make love to me. I refused with indifference and we went our separate ways. Later that night, he sent me a text stating that he’d missed the last train and did not know where to sleep.

“Grab a cab, idiot!” was one of my nicer thoughts before falling into the arms of Morpheus. The next day I had another text from him saying that he went back to The Rio to sleep.

Conclusion

I never understood what was really going on in the life of this man. He was too inconsistent and all his actions, explanations and reactions to things were ambiguous and dodgy. I did not want to get involved in such a relationship. I did not respond to any of his texts of love after that last episode. His emotional manipulation attempts would not work on me anymore. But I had learned the hard way, yet again. Sacré British!

NB - A month later Stephen texted me once more: < I was sad with how things ended… I don’t normally sleep with someone once; that was not my intention. I was serious about you; I liked you a lot – you are a great girl, S x“>

I never answered.

Three months after that, his mailbox got hacked and I received copies of mails and photos he had sent and received from other ladies. I discovered that he had sent the same poem to every girl he had met. I read “The Girl in the Red Dress”, “The Girl in the Black Dress”, “The Girl in the Yellow Dress”, and even “The Girl in the Blue Shirt“!

I was right to cut ties with him. He was a complete con artist. But wait! That’s not quite the end…

6 months later, a lawyer contacted me to enquire about Stephen: a collective complaint (probably by several women) had been filed against him. He had stolen money from people, sold fake luxury watches, and disappeared with the money from the buyers. I also learned that he had four children from three different women, he was no longer paying for child support, he never owned his own apartment, he was 47 (not 40) and had been living basically as a vagabond for ten years in different people’s places all over London.

Stephen definitely needed a high five in the face. What a dick! Next!