Raven by Monica Porter Page B

added: ‘There is more to me than meets the eye.’ Intriguing!
    I winked back at MaxE8 and soon afterwards he sent me a message to ask how I was finding the site and what I was looking for, signing it ‘Max’. I said I was just after a little fun following the end of a long, difficult relationship. ‘Fun sounds good,’ he replied. ‘Maybe we could have that together…’ Wha-hey!
    I told him I was fond of younger men and he answered that, as he was fond of older women, we might be suited to each other. This was getting better and better. ‘You look great for your age,’ he said.
    â€˜What do you mean, for my age? Ha ha…’ And so we carried on for a while and I was enjoying the flirtatiousness of our exchanges. When I mentioned that I liked swimming he said he did too but that maybe we should try the hot tub together instead.
    We agreed to meet for a drink the following Saturday evening and he took my mobile number, saying he would text me later that night.
    At about 11 p.m. I was lying in bed surrounded by my usual accoutrements: newspapers and magazines, books, Filofax (I can be so quaint), notebook and pen, radio remote control, mobile phone, mug of peppermint tea.
    My mobile tinkled with the arrival of a text. It was Max. Gone was the more understated tone of our earlier online chat. Flirty had given way to dirty. His opening gambit was: ‘Looking forward to ripping your knickers off, sexy!’
    A part of me – the 60-year-old grandmother part, I suppose – thought I ought to be offended. Did he think I was some floozy? But I couldn’t get uptight about it. A hot-looking guy half my age fancied me. It was exciting and heady. So I took it as a compliment. And anyway, hadn’t I set myself up for this?
    â€˜Ooh, hold that thought.’ I texted back.
    Max had other thoughts, too. Including some very naughty ones involving threesomes. His favoured scenario involved us getting into bed with a ‘slutty 18-year-old’. Clearly, we weren’t ‘on the same page’.
    â€˜I think you’ll have to do that with some other older woman!’ I tapped out.
    â€˜How about a horny 18-year-old guy then? You would enjoy the kinkiness of it.’ Jesus. Compared to this, SuperA’s ‘saucy quiz’ was like something out of Dennis the Menace.
    â€˜Maybe I’m not quite your type, Max. I’m a bit classier than that. Let’s concentrate on us instead of involving third parties.’
    â€˜That’s fine. But you still like kinky naughty stuff, right?’
    â€˜Up to a point. But there’s got to be some affection too, otherwise it’s soulless. Know what I mean?’
    He didn’t answer that.
    â€˜I want to kiss you passionately,’ he went on. ‘As an older woman you can instruct me on how to kiss you. I think we’ll be attracted to each other. Don’t you?’
    â€˜Yes, but I need to like you, as well.’
    â€˜Well I hope you like me then!’
    â€˜Me too. Meanwhile, don’t think mindless shagging. Think making love. That’s so much better.’
    And after a pause: ‘Do you want me to call you mummy when we’re making love?’
    â€˜Oh for chrisssakes! No I do not!’
    â€˜Just an idea.’
    â€˜A dopey one. Right, I’m off to sleep. Good-night!’
    I liked his fervour but he was definitely an unorthodox one, that Max, definitely ‘adventurous and open-minded’ as per his dating profile. Still, as the senior partner in this little liaison, the older woman who he said could ‘instruct him’, I reckoned I could rein in his wilder appetites.
    But first we would have to meet for that drink and take the measure of each other. So on Saturday evening I headed back to The Bells.
    *
    I was sitting on a bar stool, sipping a glass of iced Zinfandel, when he walked in. Tall and cool, wearing jeans and a tight-fitting hoody which showed