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Join Holly as she searches Auckland for love and connection.
In which Holly has a near miss.
His nickname: “Mr Perfect”.
In his early 30s, six-feet four-inches tall with blue eyes, broad shoulders, multiple degrees and a fancy finance job… he’s a walking David Guetta song.
I liked him because he was fun and genuinely intelligent.
Believe me, Reader, intelligence and university degrees don’t always go together.
I’ve met many sharp-as-a-tack tradies, and many gormless graduates who scraped by on the credo “C’s get degrees”.
He’s Australian, and for a while now, we’ve enjoyed a warm but casual connection on our occasional visits.
Recently, in Auckland on a business trip, he invited me to join him in town.
After catching up over dinner and a cocktail, we went back to his swanky hotel suite for dessert.
After a few hours spent enjoying “dessert” in bed, in the bathroom and on the balcony, I kissed him and told him I’d better be off.
Reaching for my lingerie, I thanked him for a wonderful evening but explained that my day would be busy.
I wanted to get a few hours’ sleep in my own bed and start fresh.
“I want to wake up with you. Wouldn’t it be great to cuddle all night and have breakfast together? Please stay!” he begged.
“That’s sweet,” I replied, “but no, thank you.”
He insisted I should stay. I wanted to go home. We went back and forth on the issue, calmly, for a few minutes.
Then, Reader, in a split second, things took a scary turn.
His handsome face turned red and contorted with anger. Minutes earlier, he’d been whispering sweet nothings and telling me I was lovely.
Now, he was snatching up my clothes and throwing them at me, then towering over me with clenched fists as I dressed, ranting about how disgusting I was for rejecting him.
At least I got out. Every woman I know has either experienced some form of violence, stalking or assault, or had at least one near miss where she genuinely wondered: “Am I going to escape this situation unharmed?”
Certain online groups peddle theories about women wanting financial security, wilfully ignoring what most of us value more – feeling physically and emotionally safe.
And yet, Reader, I try to be understanding when people say “not all men”… because I think it’s genuinely hard for good men to realise how often this happens. They just don’t hear about it.
Victims (of any gender) seldom report near-misses, for fear they won’t be taken seriously, and perpetrators (of any gender) are silent about their wrongdoings.
Men who intimidate or abuse women don’t tell their mates about it, because they know a good guy would call them on their behaviour.
So, this is me, Reader, speaking up about a near miss, sending my regards out to the good guys, and reminding you that “perfection” isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.
Email holly@times.co.nz.
Yours in love,
Holly
