This is the story of Karim. A very polite, cute, likeable young man, sorry, TOY BOY, I met in December 2004. One of my originals. Not on TBW I hasten to add! And, speaking as someone who has been around the block a few times and met several (lots, in fact) of total bastards en route, this *boy* is one of the most decent males I have ever met. A special one.
I had just come back from Edinburgh after a long, boozy weekend watching South Africa play Scotland at Murrayfield. I fell off the London train into the Living Room and into the arms of 42 year old South African investment banker. With the body of a rugby player . Blue eyes, short brown hair. Def my type. I was heavily & deeply in my sex haze. What ensued was a 9 1/2 week scenario of illicit sex, weekends in bed, in hotels, countless texts and emotional roller-coasting. Big time. But I digress. It was a week after I met him that I met Karim.
It was Sat 5 December ( the night is most deeply etched in my memory) .I had just done a supper party for a few friends. Not wanting to call it a night, my girlfriend and I hopped into a cab and headed off to the 151. It was pretty late when we arrived and we were both merry after god knows how much champagne and wine. We both wanted a party. I was loitering by the edge of the dance floor, staring quite aimlessly into the dancing crowd when he emerged. Smiling. Looking at me. Did he mean me? He approached me and we started chatting. The attraction was immediate. Split second. We immediately wanted to be alone so found ourselves a quiet table and were immersed in each other surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol……he was adorable. About 5”10, dark hair, pale skin and quite well built. Not stunning. Just gorgeous. Gorgeous as a person. I liked him & couldn’t wait to get him to bed. But I felt he was in control. I felt like the younger, inexperienced girl, like a child with an older man. He was old beyond his years. Odd.
We leant over that table & chattered and flirted until my gf ruined our moment saying she was alone & wanted to join us. Damn her. K, being a gentleman, stood up, got her a chair & drink and we made polite chit chat. He invited us back to his flat off High Street Ken. Now he told me he was 24 and a student at LSE. Hmmm…a tad old I thought. Student? 24? He should be working. And the flat was sublime. And big! How was he paying for it? Rich daddy ( yes) Anyway and more importantly, conveniently, he had a Finnish male flat mate – useful to talk to my gf leaving K and I in the kitchen to “ pour some drinks” . The drinks took ages to materialise. We were kissing wildly and in a state of semi undress. Already. But it was right. He told me “ Tonight I am going to have the best sex of my life”. My ego was all over the place. It was sooooo flattering. He was very very insistent. We could not take our hands off each other. Boring gf wanted to leave, so K, not wanting to let me go, escorted us ( bless!) back to my house.
More drinks..bla bla bla… gf leaves about 7am at which time K takes me by the hand and to bed and undresses me. It was very sexy and, get this, for someone so young ( he was 22 not 24. he LIED, but I only found that out a year or so after!) he was so confident and knew exactly what he wanted. It was lovely for me to let him take charge. Needless to say, the sex sizzled. It was fabulous. He was very skilled for a young un and he had not had many girls, or so he claimed. When he eventually decided to leave -it was dark again (!) he told me “ I have not finished with you yet, SG” I loved that. So masterful! He was in charge but it should have been me calling the shots. Surely?
A few weeks later he met some of my family at a drinks thing. They loved him. Well spoken, well dressed, polite, good manners, just lovely to have around. I dragged him ( well, not quite) home, put him on my sofa as I went and changed into my sexiest AP undies. I walked into my sitting room and he nearly fainted. Skip the details & fast forward a few months we met again. It was only then he admitted he lied about being so young as he thought I would not consider a 22 year old. Hello!! Stupid,stupid boy. Of course I would have considered you. Who cares about age for God’s sake? This was one big ego trip. But THIS is the funny thing. 22 . For me that is SO young. It signifies immaturity & wild living ( that is who I was at 22 anyhow and even in my 30s/40s) . But he behaved, looked and spoke like an old man. He speaks slowly, carefully. Measured tones. Thinks before he speaks. Quite serious and heavy. Earnest. I am 42 and frivolous and giggly and silly and would do anything. He is like a 50 year old.
One night when we were getting naked he said “ But S, I have the body of a 50 year old”. Admittedly he was not in great shape, he did look some of the older men I have slept with. Inwardly I was chuckling. Oh the irony. Oldie!! Now he is 25, 26 even. Until very recently he worked near me on Oxford St. Sometimes when on the bus I saw him, in his Barbour over his suit ( old git clothes) , his old man’s demeanour, Walking slowly, markedly. Not like a young man at all. Old beyond his time. I find it slightly odd. .The last time he actually texted was last summer. I was about to board a flight to Amman with my Mother when ping ping “ Karim here, are you free to meet?” “Sorry K “I said , “off to Jordan”. I have not texted him since. Nor him me. It is over. But the second you stop thinking about them they reappear. “It has been ages. I have moved to Switzerland but will be back in London in October, can we meet?” Can we hell?? I cannot WAIT. My old man will be back in town. 25 going on 50. Old guy!
By Sarah G
