Virtually Perfect
Authors: Sadie Mills
VIRTUALLY PERFECT
b
y
S
ADIE MILLS
Cover design by Paul Beeley at Create Imaginations
Copyright © Sadie Mills 2012
All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1483975498
ISBN-10: 1483975495
This book is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and language which may be considered offensive. The characters featured in this book are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely imaginary.
First published 2013 Copyright © Sadie Mills. The right of Sadie Mills to be identified as the author has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
For James.
You can find all kinds of men on dating sites. Tall men, short men. Black men, white men. Bald men, fellas as hairy as a yeti. That's right. We're starting with looks, because that's where it always starts.
Women complain about men objectifying us - making judgements based solely on our looks. The fact is we're just as guilty, we're just more subtle about it. Not to say you have to be Brad Pitt, but the sad truth is if you're a Danny Devito messaging a Charlize Theron, no matter how witty your opening or fabulous your profile, when we say we're going to catch you later, trust me on this one: we're not.
The better looking he is, the more typos we're willing to forgive. The more lame jokes we're prepared to lol at. If the guy looks like Gerard Butler, who gives two hoots what the profile says? That is, if the guy
really does
look like Gerard Butler.
You'll come across this after a quick lap of the internet dating circuit. People paint themselves in the best possible light. There's nothing wrong with that, but it can be a very fine line between 'accentuating the positives' and telling an outright lie. That picture he posted, it's ten years old. Damn, he looked good then. You think you're meeting with Johnny Depp, and in walks Yule Brynner. He'll have to rely on his scintillating conversation and wit from here on in, but hey, at least he got the date, and maybe,
just maybe
, he'll win you over yet.
It's a dog eat dog world out there. You check out the competition. You couldn't give a monkey's about her being a member of MENSA, or her voluntary work in The Sudan. All you're concerned with is whether she's prettier than you. There are some munters out there to be sure, but my lordy me, the competition is
stiff
. The blue steel pout is pretty much universal, as is the hand-on-hip, sideways stance (wonderfully slimming). That dodgy passport photo you had left over just isn't going to cut it. It's time to up the ante.
You put up a not so current black-and-white taken at your uncle's 50th. You think that one's OK. Your cousins are hitting the dancefloor in the background: evidence you're not a social pariah (very important). You've got a cheeky smile, you look happy - not too pissed. A bit of cleavage and a twinkle - those heels make your legs look great. Sexy, but no Madame Whiplash. Above all else, you're not featuring the usual 'I-hate-having-my-photo-taken' psychotic stare. It has to be a goer.
Ignore the dating site's top tips. One hazy photo is plenty. Time to fill out the questionnaire and 'meet your soulmate'. Vital statistics, usual stuff. You deduct the stone you've been carrying since Christmas - you're going to sign up for the gym after payday. Other than that you'll be honest. Apart from the smoking. After all, you're planning to quit.
'What are you looking for?' That seems obvious. 'Well duh, I'm looking for a man!' But the answer goes deeper than that. It's actually at the crux of any cyber affair. After you've made a connection, establishing what that person is looking for (versus what they
tell you
they're looking for) is crucial.
I'm not knocking dating sites, I've used them and had mixed results, but let's be honest here. Most of us are hoping for an action man who'll sweep us off our feet. Devastatingly handsome, of course, but if he's got an IQ of 45 or less you could potentially get bored pretty quickly. You need a decent sprinkling of interesting, adventurous and exciting. A little bit edgy. Bear Grylls would do nicely. Now ask yourself, how likely is it, in between filming in the jungle, jumping out of planes and biting the heads off snakes, that Bear Grylls would find the time to trawl through a 14 page dating questionnaire, let alone actually talk to anyone?
So, you're here with realistic expectations. Bear Grylls you're not going to get. Bear's off doing what Bear does best. But all isn't lost, there's still a chance you'll find someone half-way decent. Some guy whose just struck dumb luck, just like you.
People sign up to dating agencies for any number of reasons. It's convenient, for one. We live in an internet age, where everything's available in a few clicks of the mouse. Your shopping, your next holiday, a new job, a new home. Finding a date is as easy as ordering a romantic comedy, in theory. In practice, it's a little trickier. No girl really wants to find herself sharing a bowl of curly fries with Hannibal Lecter, after all.
'What's
he
looking for?' It could be a one night stand, in which case he might be honest and put down 'Intimate Encounter', and you can feel free to block. 'Friends' is uncommon on a guy's profile. If he wants someone to discuss the latest Chelsea transfer with or that new secretary's knockers, unless he's exceptionally rude (or you're particularly into football and women's knockers), that's unlikely to be you.
'Hang Out.' Who the hell knows what that means.
That leaves 'Dating' and 'Relationship'. Just because it's there in black and white doesn't make it fact. The information superhighway is the perfect hideout for the commitment phobe. Unfortunately, he doesn't come with a big sign emblazoned on his forehead. He'll just hit the gas, then, when the moment suits him, slam on the brakes and shoot you out of the windscreen. There are the lotharios - the married men and cheats. Then there are the weird and the wacky. I've had some very strange offers. A very persistent wife looking for a woman to join in a threeway; an all expenses paid trip to Zurich from a guy twenty years older. Then we get down to the scumbuckets: the professional scammers, who prey on the vulnerable and bleed them dry. Then there are the downright dangerous.
It isn't all doom and gloom. Plenty of guys are perfectly well adjusted, but just too busy (or lazy, or intimidated) to go out and look. If you're shy; if the thought of walking up to a member of the opposite sex with some cheesy chat up line breaks you out in a cold sweat, then internet dating is perfect for you.
But for millions of users, it's a shield to hide behind. It's like water wings. You've finally plucked up the courage to test the water again, but it'll be a long while before you're throwing yourself off the diving block (or so you tell yourself). A lot of dating site members are stuck in limbo. Skittish. Defensive. You've been hurt before - you don't quite feel ready to put yourself out there again... And you know what? That's fine. There's no obligation, no commitment. Just poke your head around the door, take a look around. Something spooks you? One click, and 'poof'. You're gone. No explanations; no sorries. You just disappear.
Eve sat in a daze, staring at the little white arrow hovering over the 'delete profile' button.
There was a thud behind her. Eve's head whirled.
'Bo!'
He paused, paw balanced on the rim of the cup. She locked with his bright green eyes.
'Don't you...'
Eve lurched - too late. The cup clattered down in the saucer.
'Oh shitting hell, cat!'
She desperately tried to scoop up the lake of lukewarm tea that was already pattering down on her catalogues.
'Thanks a sodding bunch!'
Eve often brought her work home, burning the midnight oil. She threw wads of Kleenex onto the auction catalogues and dragged them to one side, mopping her bedside cabinet, dabbing the trickles from her purple shaggy rug. Eve's head was thumping and she was parched. She hadn't even taken a sip.
Once she'd downed some Nurofen and fixed herself a fresh cup, Eve lay back on the bed, snuggled in her dressing gown and socks.
Boink!
Eve looked up at the laptop.
Boink-boink!
'Oh God...'
Steve23 wants to chat!
glared a popup.
Cheekychap76 wants to chat! You have 36 new messages!
Eve raked the mass of brown curls from her face and rubbed her dark, deep-set eyes. Seagulls shrieked and cackled overhead. She lay back into her pillows, sipping her tea, gazing up at the sash window, watching condensation run down the panes.
It was a freezing February morning. At least the sun was out. She could see shadows dancing in the frosted glass of the chiropractors across the street.