Jen Brook

I consider myself an artist trapped inside the body of one who cannot instead, I model...

Matchmaker Part VIII: That Talk

Part I: Matchmaker Matchmaker Make Me A Match.

Part II: Matchmaker Have You Made Me A Match?

Part III: Find Me A Find, Catch Me A Catch.

Part IV: One Message Received. 

Part V: Steak Night.

Part VI: First Base

Part VII: For One Night Alone, Brand New

The story continues…


Lucky date seven was soon approaching; the one where I planned to stop counting. For just over three weeks we’d been wrapped up in each other, using compulsive obsessive lust as the only winter coat that we needed. It’s funny how you don’t feel the cold when you’re laughing. 

After twenty two days through February and March, I began questioning how many dates make a boyfriend. Well, I decided the moment I first met him that for me this (whatever ‘this’ was) had become exclusive. Yet through several steaks, and cinema ventures, that talk had never cropped up. 

For a moment, I hesitated to consider that the fact of the matter still remained…I hadn’t actually asked him is he was soloooo single, or if he was the type of single that was *ahem*….’still sowing thy seed’ and still looking. 

So what if I wasn’t the only one he was courting? I’d met him online on a dating website, but that didn’t really mean anything. Perhaps he just enjoyed going out on dates - meeting new people, eating posh nosh, flirting and frolicking with girls. Perhaps he enjoyed it so much that maybe he did it quite often! …Oh bloody hell, I knew this would happen. I knew it was too good to be true. My perfect man’s got girls in every town and I’m just one of the hundreds. 

Less than a whole minute had passed and I’d already convinced myself that I’d hooked up with a serial dater who was sowing his seed all over the city. 

Trying not to hyperventilate with hysteria, I gave myself an imaginary slap in the face whilst consoling my over thinking self with a tub of the best Ben and Jerry’s. 


Could it possibly be that whilst I’d been falling for this incredible stranger; the one with the electric smile, thick Gatsby hair and emerald green eyes…he was actually off catching more flies in his web? I’d had a Match subscription for all of twenty four hours, whereas he had already been there when I found him…and for just how long exactly? Maybe he was a Match veteran! My mind bounced from thought to fear, pondering the potential of my own propositions. There was certainly a chance that I wasn’t alone. 

Maybe he just really likes dating" I thought out loud alone in my own empty room. Maybe he really likes going out on jollies, but never commits to a relationship…and I suppose that, of course, would be his own prerogative. After all, the site was set up for dating, not marriage. Or was it? I suppose that’s the idea…but really that’s just presumption by the user. Oh I don’t know….!!

*Inhale* …and breathe. 

We needed to have ‘The Talk’.  I picked up my cracked phone and I text him. 

Hello, it’s me" (of course it was me, my name would have started the message *facepalm*) …”I was just wondering if maybe…we could talk”. 

As always it didn’t take long for my message to be read. Those two words….’message seen’, they give more away than they’re meant to. My heart pounded with self doubt wondering what words would fall from my motor mouth next. 

Oh hello ‘me” he said, ”what’s up?

To be continued…  

** Follow me on Facebook at and Twitter @Jen_Brook_Model & my website **

Matchmaker Part VII: For One Night Alone Brand New.

Part I: Matchmaker Matchmaker Make Me A Match.

Part II: Matchmaker Have You Made Me A Match?

Part III: Find Me A Find, Catch Me A Catch.

Part IV: One Message Received. 

Part V: Steak Night.

Part VI: First Base

The film was coming to an end and I was still secretly smiling. As the credits rolled and the music played, I put one leg across him giving an unspoken permission to touch me again… 

(The story continues…) 


It was gone the strike of twelve on this Sunday school night when I was back in my car driving home in the rain, bearing a smile the Cheshire Cat would be proud of. He’d made it evidently clear without words that there was an attraction between us and I undoubtedly shared the same thoughts. 

I was still beaming like a deluded teenager with hearts in my eyes as I slipped into my house through the darkness. Tip toeing up the creaky stairs I was greeted by Walter halfway. For a cat, he’s a clever little creature. A suggestive squint of his almond shaped eyes and an all-knowing rub past my legs with a wink that was perhaps coincidental, said far more than his feline vocals can speak. He knew. He knew more than I was willing to share…and I’d not even said a damn thing! 

Sauntering his fluffy derriere step by step down the steep stairs, he paused only to toss a quick glance over his shoulder…a cheeky expression with those same knowing eyes, before swaggering off into the night. 

Yeah alright" I whispered to him, "but keep it to yourself, ok?


The bash of the catflap echoed in the tiled porch, as the tip of his tail slipped like a snake into black. I knew he wouldn’t be back before dawn. Where he goes, of course, one will never know. Cats have more secrets than spies.  

In my own familiar boudoir, I wiggled down my tight jeans over my two scoops slowly, before grabbing the baggy t-shirt and striped fluffy socks from my perfectly unmade bed. My mind was wandering as I climbed under the covers. My body was in Preston but my head was still in Manchester, dancing with stars and dreaming of surely second chances, my stomach still fluttering with excitement.

For one night alone, I was confidently beautiful, very much wanted and all so unexpectedly…new. Rinsed of the roots that had once tied me, cleansed of the baggage that had suppressed…and uplifted to a platform of new hope. Even if it wasn’t to last, for one night alone, I was brand new. 

By Monday morning the texts were coming thick and fast. My phone vibrated over and over; each time my heart skipped a beat. For the next few days, they flowed back and forth as we teased each other, played with silly nicknames and sent ridiculous photographs with equally risible captions.

Oh, I was in lust!  

'In lust'….of course, not love. For love is what theoretically follows. Love is surviving problems together, arguments seen through to the other side, support where no-one else is giving and sharing more than just…saliva! …Ew.

A mini-sick appeared in my mouth at the grotesqueity of my own thoughts but with a grin I tried to hide from myself. Bodily fluids and potential love was enough to turn my stomach full flip. 

Of course love cannot be compared to a few delectable dates. But the start of something new is undeniably, ineffably awesome. Laughing together, joking together, playing together; all the things that people in pre-love all do. Perhaps it’s a light that burns so bright that the whole world can feel it; an intensity I was no longer fighting and a craving I couldn’t deny. 

Almost three weeks had passed since we met. There had been six ‘dates’ so to speak and thread upon thread of text messaging and phone calls. Next was lucky date seven, the one where I planned to stop counting. 

To be continued….  

** Follow me on Facebook at and Twitter @Jen_Brook_Model & my website **