For ten years I had traveled around on my boat, pulling into various small harbours. I’d come ashore, move around, find a bar or a club, anywhere people mingled, and look for my next gal.
I was that handsome, that buff, that charming. I had an easy humour and a way of acting so sweet and that bit vulnerable, which women find irresistible.
I usually spend the night in bed with her. That’s how quick and easy it was. If I liked her, if I liked the flat or the city, I’d get an easy job somewhere, doing anything. It was all in the moment, all meaningless.
When I got bored, I would just leave. No good bye, no story, just leave.
Maybe I’d reach the flat we shared when she was at work, pack. Maybe I’d just leave the few bits at her flat. And go. Whatever it was, when I felt to move, I did. Once I was on the boat, I’d text her, saying I had to go, or something like that, and pull out of the harbour.
I didn’t use my real name or life. I never carried a driver’s license or any identity. It was a one night stand which could last a month.