Quite frankly, to this day and until the end of time, we like to believe our coming together was through helping hands from his grandfather and my dad. We’re convinced they had more than likely become sick to their stomachs listening to all of our whinging and whining from across the English plains and jointly decided over a thick cigar up in Heaven to conjure up some plan to bring us together. I can picture them now — my dad sipping on his favourite lager munching on a thick steak listening to the powerful tones of Shirley Bassey in the background and Mark’s granddad on his beloved rocking chair drinking a whiskey on the rocks, both coherently scheming about how to get us to cross paths. And from the triumph of their successfully meddling ways, I seriously hope they start some sort of in-air in-heaven dating service for people just as deserving as we are.
What seems like a fly-by-night visit is followed by five subsequent weeks of emails, lengthy texts, costly telephone calls, never-ending voicemails and tiring coach rides back and forth as we alternate our visits. It’s becoming more and more difficult to be away from each other.
From: Gemma
Sent: 17 February 00:15
To: Mark
Subject: xxxxxxx
OK, so you’re probably gonna think I’m being overly mushy and pathetically stupid but I’ve been unable to sleep a wink tonight, so I’ve been up for a while thinking of a poem. Try not to gag too muh! hahaha
I wake with you, the first thought on my mind
Who knew, a true soul mate I would finally find
I thought I was protected, even left feeling numb
Then you came along and something special we’ve become
Each night I fall asleep with you still on my mind
It’s you in my thoughts as each end of light I unwind
Now I miss you more each and every day
Never did I think I’d ever feel this way
The way you look longingly into my eyes
The way you laugh and talk and walk and smile
Makes me miss you more and more each day
Blah blah blah & blah some more is all I can really say!
I won’t stop the yearning till you’re right here by my side
Just want you here so the burning in my chest can finally subside
As you can tell from all this blurb, I’M MISSIN YOU LOSER!!!
Love G xx
Mark and I book a getaway – nothing major, just heading down south for a night in Brighton.
Saturday arrives and I drive down. It’s the worst possible journey. All I’m going to say further to that is holy hell that bastarding ball bag of an M25 sucks! What was meant to be an hour’s drive ended up taking two painstakingly long and ass-aching hours.
We finally arrive at the hotel, me with an aching ankle, knee, back and a headache. Of course, I pretend otherwise. After all what’s worse than arriving at a hotel for the first time with someone and saying you have a fucking headache. I dump my bags, open up a bottle of red and pour two shots of vodka. I need it desperately to help ease the pain. Of course.
After we slug back the spirit, I do my usual hotel room initiation of jumping on the bed for at least a minute. I quickly remember that this is Mark’s first time of being at a hotel with me and I wonder what he must really think of me behind those eyes looking adoringly at me. Is that more of an ‘ah, I didn’t realise just how “special” you are’ look, or does he really think my crazy ways are endearing? Too late now! Guess I’ll find out after this weekend.
I jump off and into his arms wrapping my legs around his waist. We very nearly plummet backwards onto the floor but he manages to control his stance. He’s indeed quite strong and I know this, because I’m not the most petite woman at size twelve edging towards the beginning stages of a fourteen, and at five foot nine and a half in height. His grip is tight and firm, almost constricting. It feels gooood. I know with him I’d feel safe and intrepidly confident.
He kisses me gently then pulls my head in closer and embraces me harder and throws me backwards onto the bed. I’m instantly aroused. I guess I was from the time I walked into the room. Hotels do that to me! I immediately want to rip off my own clothes and fuck like a bunny...after jumping on the bed like a child, of course.
He climbs on top of me and gently moves hair away from my face as he looks zealously down at me and sighs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly as I tilt my head to the side like a puppy.
“Absolutely nothing. I’m just so happy to be with you right now.”
“Oh,” I beam.
“Well so am I. I couldn’t be happier. I have some majorly crazy flutterbies going on in my belly right now.”
“Yeah? Shall we see if we can get them stirred up even more?”
“And how do you propose that then?”
“Well, perhaps if I do something like this,” and he slowly manoeuvres my blouse to the side freeing my left breast. My nipple is standing at attention like a motionless Queen’s guard. I gulp and breathe deeply in before letting out a gratifying murmur.
“Yep, that’ll send them insane!” I profess with my eyes closed.
“What else ya got?”
“What about this?” Mark circles my nipple with his finger before I feel his hot breath near my crying breast as he swaps his finger with his tongue.
Again, I endorse his proposals to drive my already fluttering butterflies into over excitably deranged ones. Holy fucking hell. I’m literally shaking – a mixture of trepidation and a flurry of ecstasy all rolled into a ball of ‘Give it to me right now before I explode!’
I open my eyes, the room is spinning and I’m lightheaded. Jesus, he’s barely touched yet me and I’m losing control already.
I gently nudge him back and he sits up, as I lift myself forward, guiding him off of me and into the bathroom. I rotate the shower tap to massage and turn it to hot as the bathroom quickly steams up. He climbs in with me following closely behind him. I watch his buttocks clench as he lifts his leg over the bath panel and steps into the tub as the powerful shower jets pummel water over his head. I stand behind him watching the water fountain cascade over his head and down his back as I lather it with the free hotel gel. He leans his head back and revels in the moment as he defies the heated water beating down on his face and chest. I work his robust biceps as his roaming hands worm their way behind his back and onto my hips and ass, pulling me in closer. I nip at his shoulder and he turns to face me with a consuming look of ferociousness, as if he’s about to devour me. Oh god I hope so.
He pulls my hair to the side, leans in and bites along the curves of my neck. Bite for a bite I guess. I delight in the euphoric bliss of his touch against my skin. My legs give in but he quickly lifts me returning me to my feet. I can feel his erection demanding its way in between my thighs. I twist my body and press my hands up against the inhospitably frosty wall tiles as I welcomingly spread my legs, inviting him in. He RSVPs right back and aids his lusty swollenness inside me. I remove one of my hands from the wall and manoeuvre it onto my breast, pinching and teasing my ardently rigid nipple. Oh shit that’s cold. I move my hand down my front and onto my imploring pussy, when I feel it being jostled away and rebelliously replaced with a helping of Mark’s generous fingers. Holy fucking he...he...hell! My breath is stringently snatched away from me. I push back so I can feel more of him. I want him deeper inside, until it almost hurts. I can feel him once again bulldozing internal organs I never even knew I had. I listen to him groan throatily, ploughing repeatedly into me, faster and assiduously as I almost lose my footing. I promptly recover as he withdraws his throbbing cock and feel an added heat on my back as he comes all over my buttocks. He stops for a second to gather himself but continues to massage my clit until I too reach a shuddering orgasm. Ah, so accommodating and considerate.
I turn to smile admiringly at him and he returns his gratitude and satisfaction with a benevolent peck on the lips. We finish showering and get dressed to some music, the rest of the wine and a tad few more
vodkas.
I had planned to take us to Gay Pride in Preston Park that day, so I rang reception to ask them to book us a cab. Unfortunately, it turned out that the hotel was in fact a bit of a drive away — about twenty five pounds worth of a drive. Each way!
“For fuck sake I’m so annoyed! I’ve been looking forward to this for months and we can’t go.”
“Why what’s up?”
“The cab prices are extortionate and that’s just to get there and back, let alone drinks all night. It’s just not worth it.”
I hadn’t anticipated it would be so expensive, so instead we decide to give it a miss and try again next year. We instead just head into town to try a few bars and pubs. We’ll see where the Brighton streets take us. Mark gets up and tops my wine. I really do thank mother-nature slash people’s grape-squishing feet for wine.
I become excitable again. We’re in Brighton after all and it’s always guaranteed a good night out no matter what. Well, so I’ve been told.
I decide to go all out and wear my cute rockabilly swing dress, petticoat and heels as opposed to my standard and rather unappealing t-shirt, jeans and trainers.
“Ah babe, you look awesome in that dress,” Mark asserts with wide accepting eyes.
“Thanks hunny,” and I twirl round and round to let the dress take centre stage. It really is a fun dress to wear. I feel so pretty. There’s a knock on the door.
“Shit, the cab’s here already? Ah go wait with him please babe. I’ll be down in five,” I say as I pop Mark’s trilby on his head and shunt him out the room.
“I just need to finish my hair, find my ring, pack my handbag and put on my heels. Oh and my lipstick. Okay, say ten minutes then. Sorry,”
I finally finish. I hastily gather my handbag from the bed and everything falls right back out. Not sure if it’s the half bottle of red, two vodka shots or the fact that I’m running around like there’s no tomorrow. I try again and run out the door.
We pull up alongside the beachfront. It feels like we’re on holiday somewhere abroad. Okay so not quite like we’re in the Seychelles or Barbados but it’s a holiday from home.
We climb out the cab and walk along the strip of bars on the beach. It’s packed with colourful and happy people – unlike in my home town where most are more solemn or pretentiously up their own ass. I don’t know what it is but I feel so relaxed and at ease – like nobody’s judging me for what I’m wearing, how I look or how I walk. I certainly couldn’t pull off wearing this dress in town back home. Here, everyone has their own diverse fashion. The best part is they’re all comfortable with themselves and don’t care two crisps what others think. Not one person looks at me oddly, in fact I get nothing but compliments and I feel great. The only problem is my feet are already killing me and it’s only 5pm.
We stop at one of the first bars along the seaside. There’s a live band playing. Already I want to dance.
“I have a feeling this is gonna be a fun night. I can feel it,” I say to Mark as we wonder over to the bar to get us drinks.
We sit down at one of the tables nearby. I haven’t felt as relaxed and calm for years as I do at this moment. Every day is just a constant rush and not in a good way either. Always dashing here, running there, scurrying back, speeding into work and speeding out just to get home early enough to enjoy a bit of sofa time before crashing.
We chat as we take in the beautiful sunset and laugh at the hilarious outfits walking by. Now who’s judging who? Loads of hens and stags so most groups are in fancy dress. What better evening than to spend with my favourite man in the sun near the sea with music playing and drinks flowing.
We slowly stroll along the strip as we peek into shops, trying on beautifully crafted jewellery made from shells. As we continue to make our way to the bar across the street, I can’t help but dance my way through the entrance and to the bar. Yep, I’m that person!
“Two Jaeger bombs please,” Mark shouts over the bar as I continue to dance and scan the room. What a great vibe.
We down the drinks and I pop upstairs to the ladies room. I approach the staircase but am stopped by a woman who pays me a compliment. So I think it is anyway. It’s something to the effect of “You’re a tall fresh pint of water”.
“Oh thanks,” is all I can say as I curtsey. Yes, I fucking curtsey. Unsurprisingly, she raises her eyebrows almost in shame that she’s just wasted her chat up on me. I lower my head in contempt and continue my ascent cringing at my clearly drunken response.
I pee and touch up my reddened face with more foundation in the hope that it hides the excruciating embarrassment I’m suffering, or at the very least disguises me from the girl I no longer want to come face to face with again. Or I may just die.
I exit the ladies and am stopped by two extremely hot girls as one of them tells me how gorgeous my dress is and the other, how stunning I am. I’ve learned my lesson and I simply say thank you very much and tell them they too are rather lovely, and walk out...without the addition of an unnecessarily formal gesture.
Mark is standing at the bottom of the stairs watching me as I walk down towards him. It’s his turn for a visit to the gents whilst I wait holding our drinks. He takes all of five minutes to pee, shake, zip and wash as opposed to my typical fifteen. We down our bevvies and head next door. He’s spotted a karaoke bar.
Mark has a good voice. I love it when he sings. He often plays his guitar and sings to me and every time, like the complete over sensitive loser that I am, I cry. We often go out on the piss, come home and continue drinking indoors, whilst he strums on his strings and we sing our hearts out. Of course the neighbours probably don’t appreciate it as much.
There are all of around six people in the karaoke bar, including the barman – three gay guys towards the back, a transsexual in possibly the biggest Dolly Parton styled wig ever. She’s on the karaoke machine. And a lesbian couple. I’m buzzing already and it’s not even seven o’clock yet – that’s what no food, three glasses of red, one glass of shitty tasting rose, bombs and shots do to a gal who’s had a week from hell and is now excited to be out in her idea of heaven of being surrounded by hot lesbians and bi-sexuals.
The guys come straight up to us and tell me how gorgeous I look in my dress and of course, as one does, I twirl for them. We all get chatting like we’re old friends meeting up for a routine Saturday night out. One of the women gets up on top of the bar and I join her. Coyote Ugly fuckers! I finally get to dance on a bar.
So I’ve been a contender in the South African Gladiators, and yes I hopelessly lost. But I’ve done something as amazing as that but never had the opportunity to do one of many simple things in life, like dance on a fucking bar. Finally I do and it’s brilliant. Although we quickly get shunted off by the sad barman.
I climb down, most ungracefully in my pretty dress, trip over to the transsexual, grab the microphone and fire up into song. Now let me fill you in, I don’t do karaoke, because no matter how much singing or at least whaling I do indoors in the privacy of my home, I don’t sound at all great. I really don’t! But of course tonight is about doing anything and everything that comes our way so why not sing with a transsexual, who too by the way couldn’t sing if her wig depended on it.
Sing-song over, drinks consumed; we air kiss our friends goodbye and head off to the next watering hole. About seven minutes of sauntering and talking utter bollocks along the pebbled way, we come across an outdoor pub, which even has its own strip of fake turf outside. We buy another shot and Jaeger bomb each, knock them back whilst Mark has a quick smoke break. Just a quick pit stop before moving on.
It’s quarter to eight and still gorgeous, bright and really warm. We stop into one of the local mini markets. It’s about time we had a bite to eat and soak up some of the alcohol we’ve ingested so we can last a hell of a lot longer. Because undoubtedly I do not want this night to end, not any time soon anyway.
As if I’ve lost all control of my bodily movements, I randomly jump, clap my hands and
squeal in excitement like a child. Mark, of course, looks over as if I’ve gone off the deep end and unhinged from the little sanity I have remaining and bursts out laughing. How could he not?
We gobble down a couple of cold sausage rolls. Boy oh boy does crap grub taste so good when pleasantly intoxicated.
“Next place!” I bellow excitedly.
We end up in a bar I don’t really remember much about. I deliberate as to whether that’s down to it not being that great a place, or the possibility that the measly sausage roll I had guzzled ten or so minutes ago hasn’t yet begun to fulfil its duties of soaking up the bloody alcohol.
It’s suddenly, well, rather sudden to me anyway, relatively dark outside. Still hot though. A bus with blaring party music is idling in front of us. As it slowly starts to pull off, I scream out.
“I want to get on”. Of course! Why wouldn’t I?!
It brakes and I run diligently towards it, yanking Mark along with me. We get to the open top deck, sit down and I’m instantly excited that we have absolutely no idea where we’re going. The coach pulls up outside a cabaret club. Oh my god I’m over the moon. This club is exactly what we’ve been searching for, for ages. 40s and 50s music and I’m dressed perfectly for it.
“Oh bloody hell, this is cool,” Mark says placidly.
I know he’s eager too, he just doesn’t show as much excitement as I do. I’m obtusely animated and high spirited in comparison. Just as well, one of us needs to appear sane and in control.
Sweet Convictions Page 19