The name you can't remember

He had ginger hair, fair skin, freckles and he was from New Zealand but was a Lawyer practicing in London. He as 8 years my senior, but kind of a geek and emotionally immature so I guess that explained why he was lavishing attention on someone so much younger than himself. He was 26 and I was 18. I can't remember his name.

We met when I was working in a retail store on Pier B of Sydney International airport, the year was 2001 and I had just finished high school.

It was a boutique, so frequented by arrogant bastards who only said things to me if they needed a different size or wanted to know if we took diners card. The Japanese men would frequently ask if they could spit phlegm into my garbage bin while they bought gaudy trinkets for their wives, it was rude to blow their nose but hocking into my garbage bin while I held it out for them, well that was just was fine!

We met very briefly; he was going back to London and had been in Australia for work, he was wearing a suit. I think I feel in love with the man in the suit, because the man who flew back from London to spend New Year with me and wore a Hawaiian shirt, I didn’t recognise him.

When we first met he had a boyish trepidation about him that was endearing. He fumbled with the wallet he had just bought, he tripped on the door as he left the store then had to return because he forgot his laptop, then tripped on the door again as he ran to make his flight.

When we met again and I picked him up at the airport, he didn’t stop staring at my breasts and his walk had changed. It is difficult to completely explain but I think me on his arm made him feel confident, so his boyish charm and nervous saunter morphed into a cock sure strut. When we checked into the room he introduced us as Mr and Mrs (insert his name that I can’t remember) and he would push me about the place, with his hand on the small of my back, in and out of doors, in and out of cars, up stairs, into bed. There is gentility / PDA and then there are physical displays of ownership. I detest the latter.


We had planned to hire a car and travel to Melbourne on the great ocean road but after one night with him I had the difficult task of explaining to him that I would only be comfortable with the trip unless we did it platonicly.

He wasn’t happy with this. I had paid for the hotel room and he still owed me $400 dollars for half of the room. He stood up without saying anything, walked to the hotel bar and bought a neat scotch and withdrew $400. He walked back to the hotel lounge were we were sitting and sat down with a huff, knocked back his scotch and slammed $400 cash on the coffee table and loudly said, “thanks for last night, I’ll call you a cab.”

All eyes in the upscale hotel lounge turned to face us. I just had been publicly outed as a prostitute, a cheap one! I turned as red as the heavy magenta curtains behind me.

What can you do? I had already packed my bag because I anticipated I may have to make a hasty retreat, he bundled me into a cab and I never saw him again. I think he was concerned for me because the last thing he said was,

“ I called to cancel with the travel agent and she wants to know if you are ok?”

“Tell her I’m fine,” I said.

My parents hadn’t expected me to be home for 2 weeks, I was never home early, so the fact that I returned home 1 week and 6 days earlier than expected, raised questions. I never answered them though. I still can’t remember his name.

Grant, George, Graham, something like that?