Название: In at the Deep End
Автор: Kate Davies
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежный юмор
isbn: 9780008311360
isbn:
He opened his bedroom door and ushered me through. ‘Welcome to my spacious abode,’ he said, shutting the door behind us and leaning against it.
‘Great,’ I said.
‘Great,’ he said. ‘You need the toilet or anything?’
‘No, it’s OK.’
There was a silence.
‘Nice room,’ I said.
‘No, it’s not,’ he said.
‘Yeah, all right, it’s not.’ The room was barely big enough for both of us to stand in. It was entirely taken up with a single bed and a clothes rail, crammed with jumpers and jeans in shades of brown, green and grey. The only attempts at decoration were a few moody photos of arm creases, knees and foreheads pinned to the walls.
He sat on the bed, grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him.
‘Did you take those photos?’ I said.
He nodded, looking me in the eye now, still holding my hand.
I looked away, back at the photos again. ‘So is that what you are, then? A photographer?’
And then he licked his lips, which made them look sausagey and wet all of a sudden, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there any more.
‘Julia,’ he said, stroking my face. ‘You’re beautiful.’
I felt the urge to push him away; I was fully sober now and very aware of him entering my personal space. But I managed to pull myself together and stared meaningfully back at him. He leaned in slowly and kissed me. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the sensation, but kissing felt ridiculous all of a sudden; someone breathing all over your face, licking the inside of your mouth. Why do we do it?
I’m kissing a man, I thought to myself. He is kissing me. This is sexy.
He drew back and looked at me in a way that made me feel very aware of my own face, not necessarily in a good way.
Then he started to kiss my neck and leaned in to pull my cardigan off. I had to shrug to help him. Neither of us spoke. I became aware of some kind of gurgling noise coming from the pipes. I wished he’d put some mood music on; I was nostalgic now for the ‘Late Night Love’ playlist my ex-boyfriend used to play. At least that had helped me get into character as a person who enjoyed sex.
He started with my bra, and then pushed me back on the single duvet and pulled off my jeans, then my underpants. I was naked. Do not cross your arms, I said to myself. It is not sexy to cross your arms. It was really cold in his flat, though. At least that meant my nipples were erect.
Help, I thought – am I supposed to undress him now? I’ve never been good with buckles.
I knelt up and pulled his T-shirt over his head. It got stuck for a bit, and then when he pulled his head free, his face was slightly purple.
He clearly decided I was no clothes removal expert, because he hurriedly took off his own jeans while I lay back on the duvet, the colour and stiffness of a corpse at this point, probably.
He wasn’t wearing boxers. His penis was there, erect, waving from side to side as though it was greeting me. I’d forgotten how hideous-looking penises are. Penis is not a sexy word, I thought. But was cock better? I didn’t know. I had been out of the game too long. I prayed I wouldn’t have to say either word, or, in fact, anything else.
He was lying on top of me now, rubbing himself against me. ‘Talk dirty to me,’ he said.
Fuck. ‘Mmm,’ I said.
‘Tell me what you like.’
‘This is really nice.’
‘What do you want me to do? Do you want my big cock in your—’
Right. So he said cock.
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘I’m going to fuck you good,’ he said. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘Go on. Ask me to fuck you.’
‘Just – do it.’
I had turned into a human Nike advert.
He stood up to get a condom. It took him ages to rip the packet open. He looked so proud of himself as he rolled it on.
And then he clambered back onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he positioned himself above me. Staring into my eyes, he went to push himself into me. He missed.
‘Jesus. That’s never happened before,’ he said. He picked up his penis and guided himself in, frowning as though he was trying to assemble a particularly tricky piece of IKEA furniture.
He started to thrust, thwacking against me in the horrible silence of the room.
‘Yeah?’ he asked, looking at me again now, smiling, nodding.
‘Mmm,’ I said.
I tried to clench my pelvic floor muscles so I could feel him inside me – he was no Rampant Rabbit, let’s put it that way.
I looked past him, staring over his shoulder at the ceiling. Spider webs hung in the corners and there was a dark brown smear on the ceiling just above me. A dead fly, maybe. I wonder if he’d thrown a book up there to kill it and not wiped it off.
He moved faster, then slower, without any discernible rhythm. A bead of sweat fell from his forehead to my neck.
‘Have you come yet?’ He was slowing down now, breathing hard, or maybe out of breath – I couldn’t tell.
‘Just about to,’ I said, closing my eyes, trying to imagine I was somewhere else. But I couldn’t think of anything else, anything at all.
Panting, that’s what’s needed, I thought. ‘Uh, yeah, that’s good,’ I tried.
‘Yeah?’ he said, encouraged, speeding up.
‘Yeah!’ I said. ‘Oh! That’s right!’
‘Yeah? You like it hard, you dirty bitch?’
I had a lot of feminist problems with that question, but I didn’t think this was the time to get into them.
‘Mmm!’ I said, breathing faster now. I panted out a pained ‘Oh!’ and then sighed, slowing down my breathing, opening my eyes.
‘Was that it?’ he said, unimpressed.
‘Yeah,’ I said, anxious now. Was that not a convincing orgasm? Was I too quick? I couldn’t really remember how long it usually took when another person was involved.
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