Peaches and cream

"Like, like this," Leila mumbles, as the sweet, sweet juice of a peach bubbles out of her mouth and onto her chin. "I want to have a sex life as juicy as this peach."

Alena starts cackling, all 5'2 of her shaking so hard the uneven bench wobbles. "Oh, babe. I don't think young Anthony at the skatepark knows how to make you into a slippery peach!" She laughs some more, eyes sparkling.

"Oh, oh, and I want him to like reading. Be a bookworm like me. Is that too much to ask for? Good sex, and well read?" Leila adds.

"Maybe you should be dating someone a little closer to your age if a dazzling sex life with a side of nerd is what you're after."

Sure, sure, but where are they all? It seems like all of Leila's recent partners have fulfilled the same checklist:

- Under 21? Check.

- Smokes blueberry vapes? Check.

- Opens a dialogue on messenger with the same 'wyd'? Check.

- Has never heard of Ernest Hemingway? Check.

Leila continues pondering. "I mean, I guess they all are a little juvenile, aren't they?" She says through a mouthful of peach. Alena gives her a look.

"A little?" she mumbles.

"Okay, a lot. Give me a break. I guess I always hope one of these douchebags will end up being my own Patrick Verona and will stride across a field and sing to me and also make sweet love to me!"

"Mmm, honey, those things exist on a 2D screen for a reason, they ain't happening in the human world."

The lunch bell sings out across the grounds. Leila and Alena watch as the 3 and 4 year olds sprint back towards the classroom, their shrill screams rivalling even the most irritating seagull. "Alright. Let's go teach these nuggets. Drinks tonight?" Leila isn't actually a fan of alcohol. Or of noisy clubs, really. Or of meeting guys at said clubs. She would much rather be on a whimsical outing, flipping through some intelligent books at an intelligent bookstore, and spend the night flirting with the cute, intelligent bookstore attendant. But Alena is her only friend in this new place, and Alena loves alcohol, and noisy clubs. So, she participates in the charade, at least for now. "Sure, I'll meet you there at 7."

At 6:30pm, Leila reluctantly puts down her much thumbed through book - Pride & Prejudice, 10th re-read - to consult her wardrobe. The last time she and Alena went out, she mistakenly wore her favourite 1950's sundress, a sweet floral number with a gorgeous halter neck. Alena took one look at her, before whipping her around and marching her straight back into her closet, where said blasphemous outfit was immediately substituted for the one mini dress she owned. Having had this experience, Leila put on her Alena-tinted-sunglasses, imagining her opinions on any potential outfits. "We aren't frolicking around sunflower fields! We are going clubbing!" "Naw, that doesn't show off any of your hot features" "I'm sorry, Mum, is that you?" At last, Leila settles on a vintage, mint green mini skirt, paired with a checkered, slightly revealing blouse. She lets her strawberry blonde, bouncy hair fall naturally, adds a slick of mascara, grabs her purse and bounds out the door.

Tonight, I will have fun! Leila affirms to herself whilst on the tram. No, no, tonight, I am having fun! She rectifies the statement, remembering that affirmations have to be in the present tense to have any real impact. She silently repeats the vow to herself, the city flickering past her unfocused eyes. Leila's ruminating mind circles back to the conversation she and Alena had earlier that day. Maybe all her partners have been juvenile because she has met all of them at the club, when all of them have been absolutely shit-faced, so much so that their first conversation usually occurs whilst they romantically clutch her chair for support. My God, she thinks. I haven't actually met someone out in the real world! She chews her lip as something akin to regret, and maybe irritation, gnaws at her insides. 24, and never been in love. 24, and never had a relationship that lasted for longer than 6 months. 24, and no prospects.

Her eyes absentmindedly slide around the tram, as her mind replays the tragedy of her life. Hang on. Look back a second. She returns her gaze to a man two rows in front of her, his chair facing the aisle. He is leaning forward, furiously studying a magazine, his eyes devouring each word. Long, smooth tendrils of hair dangle over his face. She tilts her head a little as her heart quickens. Okay, deep breaths, Leila, deep breaths. Green velvet shirt? Shit. Probably gay. She had never met a man so well groomed, who also read, and for that matter, who read in such an enthralled manner. Gotta be gay. She dismissed her hopes and was about to look away, when he lifted his gaze, and stared straight at her. Green forest eyes, straight into her soul. She actually felt the air being whipped from her lungs. Ever the anxious person, her fingers instantly began searching for something to fiddle with, finding relief with the buckle on her bag. Oh God. He was getting up! He smiled at her, a curious, lopsided smile, and unfolded his long limbs. My God, he was tall! Is this real? Leila was sure she was about to hyperventilate. This man came straight from her dreams, onto her tram, and was currently ambling towards her. Breathe, breathe. I am calm. I am calm. I am confident. I am calm. He moved right next to her, reached up and grasped the ceiling strap adjacent to hers. The grounding smell of sandalwood enveloped her, and she felt her knees go wobbly. She looked up and their eyes locked. She could already envision their kids. This must be love.

"Hey." He murmured. Smooth, not too deep, not too high. Excellent.

"Hi there." Why would you say hi there? What sort of witty response is that? Oh, God.

Suddenly, he leaned down, his lips almost tickling her ear. "Do you have OnlyFans? I'd love to see what's underneath that grandma blouse."

As she dashed off the tram at the next stop, falling over her feet to escape from him whilst giggling in sheer disbelief, she caught a glimpse of the magazine he was so engrossed in.

Playboy.