Most nights, John, like almost every other guy who worked with him in the Canary Wharf based hedge fund left work and hit a bar in the hopes that he would pull and take home a fantasy woman.
John had a recurring fantasy about a fantasy woman.
The fantasy began when he entered a swanky London bar. He made eye contact with the sexiest woman in the place, who happened to be the sexiest woman he had ever seen. In fact she would have to be the sexiest woman any of these men had ever seen.
She would be tall, dark and think he is ridiculously handsome. She would wander over to him, and for a few glorious hours she would drink his overpriced champagne, throw her head back and laugh loudly at his jokes and when it was clear to everyone in the room that neither could bear to keep their hands off each other for another second they would head to his place. They would pile into his Ferrari, roar through Canary Wharf, drive through the London night and head back to his luxury apartment in London's most exclusive postcode.
The best part of his fantasy though, is that the bar would be packed with men who would kill to be in his position and be shocked to see him desired by a flesh and blood woman. The bar would be packed with the same men who day in and day out made him the butt of their jokes, who could see no redeeming features in John because all he could ever be is a 5ft 5 hobbit, who started balding at 24 and who's only reason for living was that he had been given brains to compensate for his lack of looks and happened to be the best and highest paid risk analyst in London.
John knew as well as they did that a woman like the woman he fantasised about would be with him just for the money. As soon as the money was gone or running low or threatened to run low the kind of woman he fantasised about would be out the door and looking for another meal ticket. The thing that would hurt most though, is that some small part of him would believe that she would grow to love him.
That is why tonight is a different kind of night for John. Instead of heading to a bar with taller, louder and handsomer than himself, John piled into his convertible and headed to south London. He didn't have to look very hard to find the address on the card advertising London escorts, he had thought about the route to get there all week.
John never did get to live out his bar fantasy, but he soon forgot about that one as he indulged a million others with a never ending supply of beautiful women.
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