“HI UOK”

(This was the first contact that started a chain of events that lead to one hell of an adventure for two people.)

“I think this is your number?”

So came the second message and I actually had no clue who it was from.

A search for the mobile number online told me it wasn’t malicious nor an offshore call centre trying to sell me a new phone contract or pursuing claims for an accident I was yet to have.

“Ans pls”

The third message arrived not long after the second and typically I was driving so couldn’t reply though the technology in my car displayed them as they arrived. It was 9am and my contact book was in my work bag on the back seat and in the handsfree word we live in, I wasn’t going to look.

Curiously I thought they were maybe a wrong number so, with a busy day ahead, I ignored them and thought no more about them. That was until another arrived later in the evening.

“You looked at me?”

I scratched my head and thought this must have been someone texting either their boyfriend or girlfriend so, playfully, I chose to reply.

“Hiya :-)”

Note my smiley — not that I usually use them at my age apart from the laughing face one and was recently bemused when someone sent me one in the shape of a smiling poo. You know the one.

I then sat and waiting for a reply and, still not sure, who from too, half expecting them to stop.

“I know who this is.”

Now things were getting weird so I thought it’s time to block the number — one of the perks of modern mobiles compared to the bricks we had in the past.

“Who am I?”

This was getting to be a bit like a guessing game and my finger hovered over BLOCK when I saw this:

“You were at the party?”

Now this was getting interesting as I’d been to four parties recently: a retirement party for a colleague from a previous job over in Rainford, a friends’ son’s 18th birthday that was really more a polite visit as I knew nobody really apart from the family, a mate’s drinks as he was moving to Scotland and finally my sister’s son’s birthday but he’s 10 and there was literally me, him, a dozen other prepubescent boys, my sister and my mother there due to it being the end of covid restrictions!

Looking at my watch, it was getting late and I really needed to sleep, not chat to a mystery text sender as I had an early start in the morning.

“Can I text you tomorrow?”

“Y. Cya”

Well at least lines of communication were still open and with that, I wandered around my flat, checked the door was locked, that next door’s kids hadn’t pushed my bin over again (they use it as a football goal), washed my dishes and headed to bed, plugging my mobile in just before switching off the light.

—

I was wide awake.

It was about 3.20am and I was laying there, thinking to myself who the hell the texts were from.

I know, I’ll message back. They might answer if awake.

“Hiya”

No reply. Well it’s stupid o’clock and I can’t sleep.

“Wass up?”

Oh my — they are awake.

“Who is this?”, I responded.

“I thght you goin txt me tmmrw?”

“Can’t sleep, Curious”

“I’m tired. U looked at me”

What the hell is that supposed to mean. I look at a lot of people.

Also who would have my number?

I also give business card to quite a few people so my number isn’t exactly a mystery seeing I work for a national wholesaler that sells electrical fittings — you know the sort — you want to rewire your house or build an entire new estate — we supply the DIY shops and wholesalers and I go up and down the bottom half of the country with a car full of electrical switches, sockets lights, wire, showers, cookers, etc and paperwork of house plans from surveyors who specify the amount of items needed down to the last brick.

But who the hell did I look at?

“Gimme a clue?”

“What clue?”

“Do I know you?”

“No.”

Great — the mystery continues. Let’s try some early hours detective work.

“You’re male?”

“Nope”

Oh this is getting interesting. A female from a party?

“So you’re female?”

Durrr come on, stupid question.

“LOL obvs”

Now that was a clue — I tend to text full words, usually because the main person I text is my mother and she hates text speak, but ‘lol obvs’ meant they are younger.

“You’re young?”

“Y”

Is that yes or why? I’ll take it as yes.

“So what party?”

“18th”

OMG finally. But it was a massive party of which I didn’t stay overly long as I only knew the host through previous businesses and his wife who always gets drunk too quick and their son who did his work experience at our offices when he was still at Forton High School and we’ve kind of kept in touch.

“Name?”

“Not yet”

Ahh it’s like that. I’m feeling it’s a kid or almanbahis maybe the lad’s mate who’s found my card on the hosts board in the kitchen and winding me up.

“You’re Richard?”.

Well he or she has got that right — Richard or Rich to my mates or “Richard Samuel Weaver” in full to my mother.

“Yes….”

And that was it, 3.45am, and I dropped the phone on my pillow as I drifted off to sleep.

—

7.30am.

I woke in that horrid “Have I been to sleep or not?” mood and glanced to the bedside unit where my phone usually was.

But it wasn’t.

It was next to me on my pillow and the charge said 7% – shit — I’d not plugged it back in after texting my late night mystery individual.

So on charge it went as I did my usual — breakfast, cup of tea, shower, shave, sh…yes that bit too, dressed in my work outfit that, nowadays, was a pair of black or blue chinos, work safety shoes and a corporate polo shirt so we all looked the same out in the field. (Yes I even have a hard hat in the car in case I’m on site from time to time.)

Grab my diary — I still work on paper in this day and age — field sales were the last to get anything high tech issued to them and it suited me. I was 40 last month and despite growing up in the era of everything-Internet, I still liked old fashioned tech, didn’t do a lot online apart from work emails and the occasional Amazon and eBay purchase and, amazingly, managed to send my sister a bunch of flowers on her birthday last year too. She laughs at me for NOT being on Facebook!

For me, this is all quite impressive.

Four customer calls today, quite spread out but one is to a new customer who’s put quite a lot of business towards us, meaning I get a nice bonus too.

28% charge — that’s better — I can plug it in in the car. The phone that is — and there’s the symbol for a new message too.

Timed 9.03am:

“Lol, you fell sleep?”

Oh good morning, I know who this is apart from the name and yes I fell asleep.

“Yes, sorry”

“Guessed who I am yet?”

No, I actually hadn’t.

“No”

“LOL”

I hate that response. We had a trainee office manager at work who would send client bookings through and she would send LOL a lot, often when things weren’t that funny.

“LOL?”

“Yh, u funny”

At least this was the same person, I hoped.

“What’s your name?”

“Starts with M”

Oh geez now it’s hangman by text message and I had to get going.

“Message you later? Got to go to work”

M: “OK”

—

“I like the way you move….” blasted out of the speakers in the company car while it chewed up the miles as I drove towards my first customer of the day.

At least my phone had stopped with the mystery messages.

Is it just a wind up?

I wonder what ‘M’ does during the day?

Depending on their age, I guess it could be anything — college, work, housewife.

I think ‘M’ is definitely female as my sister messages in a similar way whereas us males tend to be more wordy.

—

One hour spent with my new customer looking at catalogues and samples and I’ve got an initial order placed which is great as it’s commission for me, not that I’m desperate for money.

As I’ve said earlier, work is selling electrical parts. My father ran a small electrical supplies shop in Forton, not far from home in Rainford, where I myself worked from the age of 12 at weekends and holidays and got to know every item from a fuse to a complete house wiring system.

By the time I left school, I had an option of lots of apprenticeship offers from the electricians who came into the shop alongside studying at Forton Tech College, which I did, going with ‘Kings’ who were the biggest electrician employer in Forton, became qualified, got all of the certificates I needed and spent six years rewiring houses, factories, doing repairs, the occasional weekend ‘job’ for a mate and made real good money.

My late 20s arrived and I took over the shop from my late father Sam, keeping the name ‘Weavers Electrical Supplies’ over the door and ran it until it could no longer compete with the chains and other sellers, so I sold up and was offered a job with a wholesaler — useful seeing I knew the trade and it suits me.

The rest of the day soon sped past — one call was to a large factory where they were upgrading old equipment and the afternoon wrapped up dropping off leaflets and samples and, despite being a fair distance from home, I didn’t mind as the roads had treated me well so far.

—

M: “Busy 2day?”

Here we go — ‘M’ is back in town!

“Not too bad, so so”.

What kind of answer is that? At least she has been quiet while I’ve been out and about rather than getting constantly messages while I’m busy especially with work clients.

M: almanbahis giriş “Wuup2?”

Ah I know this one.

“About to head home”.

M: “Where? Married? Kids?”

“Rainford, Not married, 0 kids”.

M: “Gud gud. l8trs”.

So she’s gotten my biography out of me in 2 minutes flat. I like her style!

I’m still assuming ‘M’ is female.

Come on Richard, think who did you see at the lad’s 18th?

I’ve been trying to work this out for a few days. There were the hosts, Paul who I know from my past work for him and he used the shop a lot, his wife Donna, their son Stefan who’s birthday it was. He’s a nice young man — as I’ve said — did his work experience with one of the companies I deal with.

Right, so who else was there?

A couple I’ve seen at a few of their parties who are only there for the drink, various elderly members of family, aunts, uncles and cousins I’ve been introduced to and I recall a young-ish looking woman but I doubt it would be her despite being in good shape and always the one cracking the dirty jokes when cucumber or sausages are mentioned at the buffet.

So who else?

I let my mind wander over the younger people and then, like a blur, I think I remember her.

Actually, as a true gentleman, I tried my utmost not to stare.

The female, around 19, brown hair, wearing jeans with the holes in them and a burgundy coloured top that wrapped around her waist and really showed off her ample cleavage. When I say ‘cleavage’, they were globes. Honestly. For her age, they were big. Actually they were massive. Hence I did stare. I couldn’t help it. You couldn’t not miss them. And she knew it. I think.

No way was it her?

If it was, OMG she was an utter angel.

I admit I really really tried not to stare as her breasts, that for her age were truly massive and she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra that day. I wouldn’t be the only one looking.

I also remember she was pretty.

Not quite the face of a model as yes she had the spray-tan, even on her breasts, and there was quite an amount of make-up, the eyelashes and eyebrows all done, etc and the cheeky navel piercing too.

But she was very very pleasant on the eye. Especially her breasts.

And yes I also admit, when I first saw her, especially with what she was wearing, I did think ‘wow’ and, as she says “I looked at her”.

But who was she?

Let me do some more thinking.

Stefan and his girlfriend were there — a nice young couple and he’s got his heart set on a career as a fireman rather than in the building trades like his father. She’s nice and I recall seeing her serving at the cafe over in Forton too. Probably also at college. I bet she’s at college with ‘M’.

He seemed to have a mate with him — again I recall the mate as I found Stefan and mate walking home from football training one evening as I was heading to drop some electrical catalogues off for his father and gave them a lift.

Matey is your average lad — tall, thin, a few spots, always wearing football tops and smells of Lynx. They both do actually. Seems to be the odour of the teen boy. And it’s awful.

So was ‘M’ with matey?

I think she was. I’ll ask her the next time she texts me.

Buzz buzz. Great that will be her…..

‘”Can you pop around look at the DVD player, I think I’ve got a disk jammed”. That will be my mother, and yes I will as soon as I can.

—

You know when you are waiting for something and it never happens or takes so long.

Like boiling an egg or putting the kettle on when you’re late for work.

Well, I’m not the most patient person on the planet and typically ‘M’ didn’t text me for a few days.

I spent probably every hour checking my phone and decided that I was just a passing interest or someone she text because she was bored, until….

M: “Hey UOK?”

“I thought you’d vanished?”

M: “Sorry, busy with Mum and college”

Ahhh another hint — she’s still at college.

“Busy with college? How?”

M: “Submitted A level coursework and fin now”

So, finished A levels — 18 at least. I think I’ll ask a digging question.

“Oh nice one. Your bf play football with Stefan?” (I couldn’t ask if he wore Lynx could I!)

M: ‘Y’

So it was her.

“You were at Stefan’s party?”

M: “Y :-)”

My detective thinking is paying off.

“Burgundy top?”

M: ‘???’

“You wore a burgundy top?”

M: “Y. LOL”

I go for it.

“No bra?”

M: “LOLOLLLL”

It’s her! So how the hell did she get my number?

“Am I right? Stefan’s party? You were with boyfriend?”

M: “Y”

Bingo! OMG it’s her.

What the hell — my heart fluttered and I got that weird butterflies in the tummy feeling as I closed my eyes and pictured her once again.

Come almanbahis yeni giriş on Weaver, you’re 40 and old enough to be her father!

So, what now. I’ve got an 18 or 19 year old girl with amazing boobs messaging me. And why?

“How you get my number?”

M: “Secret”

“LOL yeah right.” (I’m getting as bad as her with my LOLs!)

M: “LOL”

“So what now?”

M: “What u mean?”

“We just chatting or you text me for a reason?”

(Was that a bit harsh or impolite?)

M: “Rude”

“Meet me? Coffee?”

Did I just ask her that?

She’s younger than me. Probably now thinks I’m an utter creep and pervert.

M: “Y but busy today”

“I can wait”

M: “Tmrrw?”

Yes yes yes! Again my mind drifts. You can guess where to.

“You drive?”

M: “Yes passed test 2 months”

Well, that helps as we can’t quite meet in the local town as I bet she knows everyone and that would be awkward. Let’s see if she will choose.

“Where?”

M: “Dunno. Garden Centre A817?”

Well, hardly the most romantic of places and full of old people and the kind of place I take my mother on Sundays but I guess it would do and is about four miles from town.

“Tomorrow?”

M: “Y. time?”

“12 noon?”

I had a clear day with just one call to do for work so I can cancel that.

M: “cya there”

This is too easy.

I’ll have to ask her where she got my phone number.

Also why me?

I’m ‘Mr Average Company Car Single Guy’ and literally one house-move from living back at home with my mother. Yes I’ve had relationships over the years and was even engaged around 12 years ago but that turned sour especially when I was told she’d been meeting with a good ex-mate of mine when I was working my ass off running my own business.

But that’s in the past. Where was this going to lead with ‘M’ and was I literally expecting it to be a set-up by someone to catch me out rather than meeting a buxom young female.

Tomorrow all will be revealed.

(I’m usually rubbish at dates too, let’s see how this goes. Hang on, it’s not a date. Or is it? We’ll see.)

—

Without going too much into my morning and a quick text exchange with ‘M’ to ensure that she was going to show up and not cancel, things seemed to fly past, time wise.

I decided to wear black jeans rather than blue and a short sleeve shirt rather than a t-shirt and the next thing, I’m dashing to the car and thinking the quickest route across town to the A817 as I pull away.

The rest of me — I’m your average chap I guess. Not a drinker or smoker with what I guess they now call a bit of a ‘dad body’ as I don’t go to the gym, do any sports really unless dragged along to take part, dark brown hair that is cut into a modern short ‘style that the guy at the Barbers charges me the same amount every six or so weeks to keep tidy, while also doing me a shave, clears the hair from my nostrils and tames my eyebrows.

I keep a check on everywhere else — I’m not overly hairy but keep my cock and balls hair free — my ex liked it and it’s now routine.

(Sorry a bit too much info there — and while we are on that subject, my ex had no complaints in that department either — I’m an average 6 inches according to something I read in a blokes magazine while waiting for my haircut! Trying the measure is funny. Unless you use string!)

What else — I’m around 6ft so I can reach the top shelves in the supermarket, wear glasses for reading, not overweight and, all in all, quite fit seeing I live on myself and could enjoy a life of take-aways, ready meals and 12 packs of beer but don’t — well maybe the occasional curry.

Anyway, back to business….

What do I say to an 18 or 19 year old?

Films?

Television?

Netflix?

Does she do TikTok?

What music?

I could embarrass myself there immediately as my tastes are more back in the 90s rather than today with R’n’B grimy grunge etc. so I avoid that topic most of the time.

—

I’m driving and not thinking to much as I’m on the ‘817, sticking to the 40mph speed limit as the camera van is often here and you could bet, today, I’d get a ticket.

Pull into the garden centre, quick check nobody here I know, not that I care, and find a space, close to the doors but far enough to be able to walk to the car if we are chatting.

The garden centre is a vast place, with the cafe or ‘Potting Shed Restaurant’ in the centre of it inside a huge glass atrium. I wander in, check the day’s ‘Specials’ menu and then start scanning around.

I’m sure I’m on time, checking my watch, the hands both at 12, when my phone goes.

M: “I can see you!”

I look around and there she was, ‘M’, sitting at a table, coffee already ordered, wearing a knee length beige coloured skirt, the most amazing boots and looked totally stunning in a beige/black hooped polo neck jumper; everything underneath covered up from vision, but equally enhanced all the same.

I headed over, smiling, as she stood up.

“Hi Richard, I’m Maisie”, she says, smiling back at me.

—