I finally did it. I'd wanted to do it for a long time but somehow the right moment never arrived. Now, at last, there I was in the dimly lit room, waiting for him. I was nervous, excited, fearful that it wouldn't be as I'd imagined it. What if it didn't happen? If the world didn't stop turning for those thrilling minutes?
I had to ask myself if it was going to be all it was cracked up to be. Was he going to be all I'd imagined and anticipated?
I tried to do everything right. I'd slipped into something comfortable and arranged myself to the best advantage on the couch. I'd lit the scented candles, put the chilled wine within easy reach.
My excitement mounted as the minutes ticked by and then, at last here we were, he and I. In the flickering candlelight he looked all that I'd imagined and wanted him to be.
But, oh dear, his performance fell well below my expectations. When it was over, I felt cheated of the moment. Disappointment is too mild a word for the whole experience. All the things I'd been told were, to my downcast mind, sawdust and ashes. It wasn't a bit like I'd expected and hoped it would be.
Thank goodness I wouldn't have to repeat it.
You've guessed it : I watched the final episode of Dexter.