‘I’m completely serious. Sit on my face.’
‘That’s rude!’
‘I know. Do it.’
Part of me wants to. All of me wants to.
So I do.
And he tangles his fingers with mine as he explores me with his mouth, his hot, skilled, greedy mouth. His beard rubs all the sensitive parts of me in the most delightful way. His other hand skims over my body, over my belly, up to the heavy weight of my breasts, and he’s just rough enough to make me squirm. I start to protest, but then I stop myself. I won’t pretend to be anything other than myself. I won’t pretend that I’m not enjoying this, that I don’t want it, that I don’t like it. I don’t need to, not with him, because we’re friends, and we’re lovers, and we’re ourselves, and that’s all we need to be.
So I add my hands to his, and play with my breasts, my nipples turning into tight little knots under my fingers as he pleasures me with his mouth. I can feel the rumble of his laughter vibrating up through my thighs, but I’m breathing too hard, too fast to really think about it. And then I realise that his shoulder is jerking, and his hand is somewhere out of sight. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What do you think I’m doing?’
I smile, then, glorying in the wonderfulness of it. The freedom. I’m not shy, when I’m with him. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done, or not done. It doesn’t matter what happens outside this room. All that matters is here, now, the two of us and what we feel for each other.
He opens his mouth over my pussy, tasting me, exploring all of me, and pleasure starts to build inside me. It swells and grows and takes over me, and I can’t hold it back. ‘I’m coming,’ I tell him. ‘Phil, I’m coming.’
I can feel his laughter again, and it pushes me over the edge. My body spasms, my back arching, my knees digging into the pillow either side of his head.
And when it’s done, I collapse onto the bed beside him, fighting for breath, and I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. I push my hand between us, and find him still hard. He holds me tightly as I stroke him, my grip tight. His fingers are in my hair, his mouth on mine, our legs tangled as he spills himself all over my belly in shockingly hot spurts. ‘I always knew you were dirty,’ he says, as we lie there in a messy post-pleasure cuddle. Neither of us seems able to move.
‘I could say the same about you.’
‘That’s because with men, what you see is what you get.’
‘And women are different?’
‘Women are…complicated.’
‘Am I complicated?’
He kisses me on the top of my head. ‘Absolutely.’
I hit him with a pillow as punishment. Then we snuggle closer, and we both fall asleep in a warm post-sex haze. He wakes me up when it’s still dark, and I ride him in a dreamy, blurry state, and his cock feels so good inside me that I can’t believe I was afraid of this for so long. Because I understand that, now. I was afraid. Of him. Of myself. Of everything.
He was one of the few people I could be myself with. I never had to hide, not with him. I wonder which version of Jules is the real one. Was she pretending when she was with me? If she was, then we were never really friends. And if the person she is when she’s with Dave is the real her, then we never can be. Maybe it’s time I stopped looking for the friendships that I feel I should have, and focus on the ones I do have. The ones that I need.
The next day, we both go to work. My day passes in a blur of happiness and inappropriate texts from Phil. It seems his talent for dirty talk extends beyond the bedroom. When I close the shop, he’s waiting for me outside, and we walk back to my place. I cook pasta and we talk and joke and maybe we have a little sex on the sofa in the living room and eat the pasta cold.
Everything seems so right, so easy, and maybe he’s right. Maybe sex and friendship can go together. It doesn’t have to be awful. You don’t have to change who you are, change yourself in order to fit with someone else. Maybe the reason why none of my relationships have worked is because I’ve always looked for them in the wrong place. I tried to build relationships with men I wasn’t friends with, and then I was always surprised when they fell in love with someone else.
I think about Jules, and about Dave, and I finally understand that the fault isn’t with me, it’s with them. Or at least, who they are when they’re together. And I’m tired of only being worth something to her when the two of them are on a break. I deserve better than that.
‘Can you fetch my laptop?’ I ask Phil. ‘I left it downstairs.’
‘Sure,’ he says. He gets out of bed and goes to fetch it. I admire the view. It’s different, when it’s someone that you know. It’s like getting to know them all over again, but at the same time, it’s not. He’s not a stranger. He’s Phil.
When he comes back in, I admire the view again, from the front this time. Hair in all the right places, the perfect amount of lean muscle, the heavy swing of his cock. I might sigh a little. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks, as I open up my laptop.
‘Finishing the story,’ I tell him.
‘Let me help you.’
My hand hovers over the mouse. ‘Help me how?’
‘I’m sure I can think of something,’ he says.
Something turns out to involve his head between my legs, and it’s a lot longer than it should be before I’m finally able to type The End.
We sit side by side and read through it together. ‘Well,’ Phil says.
‘Well,’ I say.
We look at each other.
And then things get a little sweaty and rude. Actually, they get very sweaty and very rude. And right when I’m about to come, Phil looks at me and says ‘I’m in love with you.’
I can’t speak, I can’t think, I can’t do anything because I’m coming, I’m coming, and it’s desperate and wonderful and special, and I suddenly know what this is, why it’s different.
Why it’s him, and why it was never anyone else. Why the boyfriends I’ve had were so bland, so colourless, so uninteresting. I didn’t want to be with someone I could fall in love with. I didn’t want to be with someone where there might be a future.
Because I was waiting for this.
‘I’m in love with you too,’ I say.
His mouth comes down on mine, and we tangle together, bodies, mouths, hearts. He holds me so tightly when he comes, like he never wants to let me go. ‘I’m so glad to hear that,’ he whispers. ‘Because unrequited love is a pain in the arse.’
Chapter Seven
It’s Friday night, and we’re back in the pub, all of us. Me, Phil, Jules, Dave. It’s early, so the place isn’t too busy, but Dave has already had enough pints to add a thick layer of alcohol-fuelled arrogance to his already over-inflated ego. Jules is sat next to him, her hair perfectly flicked, wearing his favourite jeans and heels combo.
I didn’t have much time to get ready, because Phil didn’t let me out of bed until half an hour before we were due to meet everyone. I’m clean, and I brushed my hair, but that’s about it. It doesn’t seem to matter, though. He keeps looking at me with that wicked twinkle in his eye, the one that says I know you’re not wearing any knickers.
I’m still the same shy, awkward person I always was. That hasn’t changed. Maybe it never will. But it doesn’t seem like such a big deal any more. It’s OK that I’m a bit bookish, a bit quiet. It’s OK that I don’t like Dave. Not liking someone isn’t a crime. I like myself, and that’s all that really matters.
I can’t remember the last time I liked myself.
I glance across at Phil, who is lounging in a chair next to Dave. He gives me a quick nod that says you can do this and I believe him. He’s wearing a check shirt and jeans, and he’s as neat and tidy as he always is, but that’s just him, and I love him for it.
‘So, Dave,’ I begin. Dave glances across at me. I see a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes, and then it’s gone. Despite everything, I still feel awkward about this, and I reach for my drink and take a sip because my mouth is so dry. It goes down th
e wrong way, leaving me embarrassed and coughing.
‘You can’t get out of this by making yourself choke on your drink.’ Dave laughs.
‘Are you all right, Amy?’ Phil asks. He’s halfway out of his seat already. Jules is sat stiffly next to me. She doesn’t say anything.
I cough again, nod my head, use what little voice I have. ‘Fine,’ I say. I reach into my bag, fumbling for the pages that Phil printed out for me. My hands are shaking, and I know they can all see it. But I battle on through. I refuse to care what they think. A few other people have joined us now, including a couple of friends of Dave’s. They’re all grinning and I wonder what’s so funny.
‘Do you want to read yours first, or shall I?’ I ask.
‘Ladies first,’ Dave says, smirking.
‘OK,’ I say. I straighten up the paper, take a deep breath. When I start to read, my voice sounds all weird. I try to ignore it, but I don’t get beyond the first few lines before I start to stumble over my words, and I stop as something occurs to me.
I don’t want to read this out loud.
This story is private. It’s personal. It belongs to Phil and I, and I don’t want to share it with anyone else. I fold up the paper, tuck in back into my handbag. ‘You get the idea,’ I say.
‘Not really,’ Dave says. ‘It was supposed to be a dirty story, Amy. Not a children’s book.’
‘It gets more explicit later on,’ I argue, but I know I’m wasting my breath. ‘All right. Let’s hear some of yours.’
I half expect him to admit that he doesn’t have one, but he pulls an iPad out of the bag at his side, turns it on, grins at me, and starts to read. I expect it to be badly written, but it isn’t. At the very least I expect it to be crass and semi-pornographic, but it isn’t that either. I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make any sense.
And then I experience the oddest sense of déjà vu. It takes a few more lines before I’m certain, but there’s no escaping it.
‘You didn’t write this,’ I say, interrupting him.
Dave scowls at me. ‘Yes I did.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ I say. ‘I’ve read this book. You’ve copied this from Spank Me Sir.’
A titter works its way round the group, together with a few whistles.
Dave sets down his iPad. His mouth is grim, but his cheekbones are flushed, and a horrible sense of dread settles on me. I feel Jules stiffen in her seat next to me.
‘I bet Phil a hundred quid he couldn’t get you into bed,’ he says.
His words hang there, heavy and vicious in the noisy bar. The tittering stops.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard,’ Dave says. ‘Me and Phil had a bet. A hundred quid he couldn’t get you into bed.’
I turn to Phil. ‘Is this true?’
‘Amy, I…’
It is. I can tell from the look on his face. That’s the problem with falling in love with one of your friends. You know them too well. And they know exactly how to hurt you. ‘I can’t believe this,’ I mutter. I grab at my bag and get to my feet. My whole body hurts. Was all of it a lie? Did he really have sex with me to win a bet?
That’s the other problem with falling in love with one of your friends.
They know how to make you believe them.
I’m about to head for the door when I stop. I turn around. Dave and Jules are still in their seats, though Phil is walking towards me. ‘You’re an utter shit, do you know that, Dave?’
I turn my attention to Jules. ‘And you,’ I say. ‘Why the hell are you putting up with him? What is wrong with you?’
Then Phil. At first, I don’t think I have any words. I know I have tears, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone see them. ‘Bastard,’ I whisper.
Then I turn on my heel and run out of the bar before he can reach me. I start to cry as soon as the cold air hits me. How did I get everything so very wrong? Why did I trust him? Why did I think he really wanted me?
I know I should head home, but instead I find myself heading for the shop. I need to be alone, somewhere safe, with people I can trust. It’s a pity all those people seem to be fictional. But at least they’re safe, and I need that right now. Real people are too dangerous. They lie and they cheat and they take pleasure from other people’s distress and they get away with it.
I walk faster, heading towards the centre of town. I pull my keys from my bag and open up the shop, though I don’t turn on the lights. It doesn’t matter. I know my way around this place without them. I take a battered book from a shelf, not caring what book it is, and hide myself away at the back of the shop. It’s only after I have sunk to the floor and closed my eyes that I realise I’m in the very spot where Phil showed me that I was more than capable of pleasing a man. That I was more than capable of pleasing him.
And now I know that it was all a lie. All the things he said to me. None of them were true. He did it all for a bet. I wonder if he ever actually liked me, but it’s a path I can’t go down.
Then someone knocks on the door of the shop. I ignore it, at first, but it persists until I’m forced to accept that whoever is out there isn’t going to go away. I push to my feet and shove the book back on a random shelf, then I make my way back to the front door. I turn on the lights and open the door.
‘Jules,’ I say. ‘What do you want?’
She pushes past me, into the shop. ‘I can’t believe you said what you did about Dave. I thought we were friends, Amy.’
‘So did I.’
‘Friends stick together,’ she spits at me. ‘Friends do not say things like that about each other’s boyfriends.’
I stand there, silent. There doesn’t seem to be any point in arguing with her. What is there to say? I can’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not. ‘Dave is a git,’ I tell her. ‘When you’re with him, you become someone else. He treats you like crap, and you can’t even see it. He dumps you, hurts you, and the second he clicks his fingers you go running back. Look at you. You don’t even look like yourself any more.’
Her hand shoots up to her hair, then drops away. ‘It’s not like that.’ She looks pale and shocked and hurt and angry. ‘I don’t think I can be friends with you any more,’ she says.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ I agree.
She stares at me for a moment, then she shakes her head. ‘I don’t understand you,’ she says.
And then I do break. ‘Your boyfriend isn’t a nice person, Jules. He bet Phil he couldn’t have sex with me.’
‘That was just a joke,’ Jules scoffs.
‘Not to me,’ I say. ‘Not to me.’
She blinks. For a moment, I think that maybe she finally sees it, she finally understands. Then she folds her arms. ‘Whatever,’ she says.
She slams the door on her way out.
I lock it, and stand there watching the world outside. It’s not that late, so there are still people outside, but I feel so apart from them, so alone. I thought I had something with Phil, but I was wrong. He said it meant something. He said he was in love with me.
He didn’t have to say that. He’d already had me. He had nothing to gain. I thought he was my friend.
And that’s what really hurts.
But it doesn’t matter. Not any more. That doesn’t stop me taking book after book off the shelf though, or searching through them for an explanation. I don’t find one. I read until the words swim on the page, until my eyes hurt, until I start to cry. For the first time I can remember, my fictional friends have let me down. At some point, someone knocks on the door, but I don’t answer it. I know it’s Phil. I can see him through the gap in the shelf. He knocks and knocks and knocks.
I keep ignoring him.
Eventually, he leaves.
And I cry some more. Yesterday, I would have opened the door. I would have welcomed him in. But not now. I knew sex would kill our friendship. I didn’t know it would kill it like this. And I didn’t know it would hurt so bloody much.
The tears stop after what feels like for
ever. I’m parched, dry, aching, and I still don’t have the answers I need. I guess there’s only one person who can give me them and I’m not going to find him in the pages of a book. Not a book in here, anyway. I have to talk to Phil. I have to understand. I pick up my bag and turn out the lights, and then I leave this place.
I need to know the truth.
I lock the door behind me, then I stand there, wondering where he might have gone. I suppose the best place to start is the place I saw him last, and that means going back to the bar. Fantastic.
But thanks to him, I’m not the same person I was a week ago. I’m stronger than that now. I deserve better than that. What’s the worst thing that could happen? It can’t be any worse than what has already happened.
By the time I get there, it’s Friday night busy. I linger outside for a few minutes, trying to see him through the glass, but it’s too crowded. And then I see Dave. He raises his glass and smirks at me.
He thinks he’s won.
And maybe he has.
But he hasn’t won everything. I push open the door to the bar and walk inside. I dodge between the people milling around. I ignore Dave. I should have started ignoring him a long time ago.
And then I see Phil.
He’s sat in the same seat as earlier, staring at the half-empty glass in his hand, and he’s alone. Everyone else seems to be giving him a wide berth. I walk over to him, and he looks up at me.
‘Amy,’ he says.
‘Why?’ I ask him. It’s all I want to know. All I need to know.
His mouth tightens. His face flushes. He drops his gaze back to his pint. Then he looks up at me. ‘Because I was stupid,’ he says. ‘I was really, really fucking stupid, and when I made that bet with Dave I didn’t think anything was ever actually going to happen between us.’
‘Well, it did,’ I say. ‘So congratulations. You must be really proud of yourself.’
‘What for?’ he asks. ‘For screwing up the best thing that ever happened to me? For hurting the woman I’ve been in love with for months?’ His gaze falls on mine. ‘For losing the best friend I ever had?’
My heart misses a beat.
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