Lucy’s been on four dates with Josh, the quirky but disarmingly decent Geography teacher. Three of these have been amusing evenings in various London drinking establishments, and the fourth was an awkward home visit which, after a sufficient quantity of wine had been consumed, turned into an entertaining (but not earth-shattering) play date.
If you missed this, it’s at Part 4 – Private Lesson.
Unfortunately, ‘entertaining but not earth-shattering’ doesn’t feel like it’s quite enough. Lucy wants more. She wants a guy who makes her heart pound and her stomach flip and her knees wobble. She wants a guy who puts a smile on her face and a puddle in her knickers. She wants to Just Know, in the way that her married friends say they Just Knew after only a few dates with their other halves.
Sometimes she fears she never will Just Know, that she’s too broken and cynical and over-thinky to do so, and that even if she meets The One, she’ll be too busy over-analysing to notice and she’ll miss her chance. But she’s got to keep trying: it’s the only thing you can do. When Lucy’s on her deathbed, alone to the last, she wants to be able to say, hand on heart, that she did everything she possibly could. And if it still wasn’t enough, well, at least she tried. Really cunting tried like a badass bitch.
But anyway, Josh is a sweetheart, and it’s not as if there are hordes of decent men waiting patiently in line to date her. So when he messages suggesting he swing by her place next Saturday evening, she accepts. After all, they’ve only had four dates, and he may yet grow on her.
Josh tells her he’ll be arriving late and asks if it’s ok if he stays over. This sounds absolutely ideal to Lucy, since it means she won’t even need to bother getting properly dressed – it’s not like the clothes are likely to stay on long. So she puts on the sort of comfy black jersey trousers that probably qualify as ‘lounge wear’, a basic white T-shirt (in a nod to making an effort she chooses the one with the least-pronounced yellow pit stains), and decidedly unsexy but superbly comfortable furry slipper boots. Also, no bra: partly because without it you can see her nipples through the T-shirt (something she’s heard men might find sexy), but mostly because it’s more comfortable and convenient not to, and comfort and convenience are two of Lucy’s watchwords when it comes to getting dressed.
As usual Josh’s entrance is spectacularly cack-handed. He’s somehow managed to get into the building without having to buzz, so the first Lucy knows of his arrival is when he knocks directly on the door of her flat. This throws her, so that when she lets him in she’s all surprised and confused instead of sexy and seductive (which is what she had planned in her head), and this in turn confuses him. There’s a very awkward and brief kiss and a ‘Hey how are you’, but it’s definitely not the sort of lustful greeting you should have with someone who had their face between your thighs not so long ago and who’s come over with the express intention of doing exactly that all over again.
“I brought wine!” he announces, brandishing a bottle of red with a flourish.
I should fucking hope so, thinks Lucy, wishing he’d remembered she doesn’t like red. But it’s ok, she always keeps a bottle of white in the fridge for dire emergencies like this.
“That’s lovely!” she lies, a verbal pat on the head for a child that did a good thing. “But I’ve got some cold white. Shall we drink that?”
Wine poured, they sit on the sofa.
“So,” Josh begins, bluntly, “shall we just have sex now, and then I’ll go sleep in the spare room?”
Lucy thinks he’s joking, but isn’t 100% sure. She’s pretty certain he’s not a total fuckboy, but she’s such a shitty judge of character that she’d probably have given Bill Clinton the benefit of the doubt too. She decides she’d better check.
“Are you just using me for sex then?”
“I don’t think so,” he says. “Define ‘using’.”
“Pretending to be interested in me when actually you just want to get laid.”
“No,” he assures her. “I’m not doing that. I like you.”
But if that’s the case, why hasn’t he kissed her yet? Maybe he’s scared, and is holding off to prove that he’s not only here for sex? Though if sex isn’t on the menu, frankly that’s going to be one hell of a disappointment.
Josh takes a gulp of his wine. “You know your friend who said you shouldn’t date a man who sleeps in a tent?” he asks. “Did you tell him you had sex with me?”
“No,” she replies. “I actually haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh, so not that good a friend then?”
“No he is, I’ve known him for 15 years. I even weed in front of him once!”
“What, in a kinky way?” he asks, just a little too interested.
“Oh God no! We just went on holiday together years ago, we ended up sharing a room, and the bathroom didn’t have a door. Who the fuck designs hotel rooms like that anyway?”
“So it wasn’t a kinky thing then?”
“Absolutely not,” she replies firmly, worried now. “Sorry to disappoint!”
“Oh I’m not disappointed. Though I did actually do that once. A golden shower I mean. It was with a girl I used to date, in the bath.”
This conversation has taken a rather terrifying turn. Lucy takes an emergency gulp of wine.
“In the bath?!” she exclaims. “Was there water in it at the time? Because I’m not sure that counts.”
But apparently no, there was no water. “It was empty,” he says. “And very intimate. Also a bit weird, if I’m honest. It’s not really my thing at all.”
Lucy breathes an enormous sigh of relief.
There’s a pause. They both know what’s coming next, and this slightly awkward chat can only go on for so long. And since they seem to be able to communicate much more comfortably with body language than with actual conversation, there’s really only one solution…
Down To Business
He takes her through to the bedroom, where finally he kisses her and removes her top. Lucy, who’s put on about half a stone recently, is feeling a bit wobbly round her midriff, so she’s relieved when he gently pushes her face down onto the bed and straddles her to give her back rub, without even being asked! In nearly six fucking years The Ex never once gave Lucy a massage, so this is a very interesting development, especially since Josh has a surprisingly firm technique for a humble Geography teacher.
She could quite happily lie there for hours as he works out the knots in her neck, but after a few minutes he flips her over, and swiftly removes her furry slipper boots, trousers and knickers. He strokes the boots with interest. “These are so soft!” he observes. “You can put them back on if you like.”
So she does, completely naked now but for the furry boots. Which is a bit weird, but at least her feet will stay toasty warm.
Josh pulls her to the edge of the bed and kneels on the floor between her legs, encouraging her to rest her furry ankles on his shoulders while he buries his face in her. Which is lovely, but for some reason – maybe due to the weirdness of wearing the boots, maybe the odd imbalance between having super warm feet and the rest of her being slightly cold – he’s not really having the desired effect. He carries on like a real trooper though, even when Lucy starts to get concerned that he might get RSI in his jaw.
“Are you ok down there?” she asks. “Do you need a break?”
“Not really,” he says, carrying on like a cat with a bowlful of cream.
Fair play, she thinks. If he’s having a nice time, who on earth is she to pee on his bonfire? Except definitely without the peeing. There will be no peeing here, thank you very much.
Eventually his persistence pays off, and with both of them now very much warmed up, he joins her on the bed. Lucy wraps her legs round him and pulls him into her, the furry boots pressed tightly against his back. It’s great for a while, but clearly not enough for him because he stops, flips her on her side, and tries again. But this is an awkward angle and doesn’t really work, so he rolls onto his back and asks her to get on top. Lucy’s willing to oblige in spite of her weight gain paranoia, but as she moves do to so in the traditional, time-honoured fashion he stops her again.
“Not that way,” he says. “Turn around.”
Lucy, who was pretty much celibate throughout her twenties and still has an awful lot to learn, has managed to reach the grand old age of 39 having never tried Reverse Cowgirl before. Ever the obedient student, though, she obliges. From here she can see herself in the mirror, minor tummy wobbles and all, which is entirely unsatisfactory, but since Josh seems to be enjoying himself, she focuses on the wall instead and carries on. Until, yet again, he stops to reposition. This time: from behind.
While Lucy’s quite entertained by this whistle-stop tour of all the main sexual positions, she’s also beginning to wish he’d just pick one and stick with it. And doggy is as good as any: looking over her shoulder towards the mirror she can now see just her lower half and Josh, the sexiest Geography teacher she’s ever met, enjoying himself with full gusto. It’s a fantastic view, so as she watches she tries to memorise every detail for later: his smooth back, the tan of his skin next to her pasty whiteness, his bum thrusting back and forth. That derrière… it’s nice enough, but when she looks at it she can’t help comparing it to the last bum she saw: the one attached to her former squeeze Adam, who was the owner of possibly the peachiest pair of buttocks in the entire northern hemisphere.
While Josh carries on amusing himself, this train of thought takes her off on a tangent thinking about Adam, not only that perfect posterior, but also his perfect flat and toned stomach, and of course the way he was so perfectly, um, blessed in the trouser department, not too big and not too small, the way he looked phenomenal naked and aroused… She misses all that, but she doesn’t miss him, because he turned out to be a total raging bellend, and Josh is so much nicer, and so much more interested in her rather than just himself, and fundamentally the sex is so much better this way, even if he isn’t quite as much of a specimen of physical perfection. It’s not only about that, after all. She definitely knows which one she prefers.
He gasps, finishes, and flops onto his back, arms round her, holding her tight. It’s probably just the post-coital rush, but she feels weirdly close to him right now. But it must be just the hormones talking because how can they be close when they still can’t even seem to hold a proper conversation without it being slightly uncomfortable? The thought makes her feel a little sad; he’s lovely, and the sex is pretty good, but there is definitely something missing. After five dates things shouldn’t still be this awkward between them. I feel like I don’t know him at all, she thinks, wistfully.
He cuddles her without talking for a while, and then takes himself off to the spare room. Lucy wonders about asking him to stay in her bed, but decides not to say anything. It’s probably better this way, and after all, an uninterrupted night’s sleep is worth more than the entire contents of Beyoncé’s wardrobe.
She wakes after the sort of luxurious sleep you can only have if you (a) have been well and truly fucked (in a good way) and (b) have had the good sense to have a spare room.
Lying in bed, still dozy, with a naked man just across the hall, gives her raging horn. But the flat is dead quiet – Josh is either still asleep, or waiting for her to get up. So she does: a trip to the loo, a vigorous swish of mouthwash in case of toxic morning breath, a frantic dusting of powder in an attempt to create at least some illusion of fresh-faced youth, accompanied of course by the necessary door banging to rouse him from his slumbers. She hopes it won’t be too long before he’s roused in another way too.
She gets back into bed, leaving her bedroom door invitingly ajar, and waits. And waits… Until day turns back into night and ivy starts growing over her windows (though actually it’s probably no more than about five minutes).
What to do? Should she get up and go to him? She could, but she doesn’t want to set a precedent, and everyone knows that as soon as you start chasing a guy the entire fragile house of cards will come crashing down in an avalanche of fuckery and crushed hopes. No, be patient. Let him come to you. She dozes off again.
A gentle knock on the door wakes her. “Are you available for morning cuddles?” Josh enquires politely, exactly the way he did the last time. Win (10 points to Lucy)! She throws back the duvet and makes space for him to join her. Is she available? What kind of fucking inane question is that? Even a beauty blogger who announces she’s ‘PR friendly’ could not be more available than Lucy is right now.
She rolls over and snuggles up to him, still sleepy, enjoying the feeling of warm skin on skin. Of course this only serves to increase the already raging rageiness of her horn, so she does the only thing a sensible and impatient girl in this situation can do: she sucks his cock.
Josh seems pretty pleased with this unexpected turn of events, but suggests adding another dimension to the situation. “I want to be eating you out at the same time,” he tells her, boldly.
As it happens, Lucy would really rather not. She’s only tried the famous 69 position once or twice before, but has previously found it even more massively overrated than Harry Potter, dogs and yoga combined. Because as much as she is an excellent multi-tasker, this is a situation in which trying to do two things at the same time results in piss-poor performance at both. No, it’s far better to concentrate on being brilliant at one, and then switch to the other, rather than trying to too much at once and just cocking the whole damn thing up.
But he’s asked so politely that she can’t really say no. So she allows him to flip her over onto her back, and then kneel over her so that his crotch is all up in her face and his chin is between her legs. Lucy dutifully swallows the medicine down, but with dangly bits rammed in her throat, and her vision and breathing restricted by the 12-or-so stone of boy straddling her sensory organs, she soon starts to feel claustrophobia and suffocation setting in. Which apparently is right up some people’s street, but not Lucy’s. Call her vanilla if you will, but she prefers to be able to breathe. In fact breathing is up there with seeing and hearing among the things of which Lucy is most fond.
So she battles on for as long as she can, then turns her head to the side (easier said than done when you’ve got a faceful of crotch flesh), grabs a blessed lungful of air, and politely suggests he might just like to do regular fucking instead.
Suffocation danger averted, Lucy’s much happier. She actually likes just having Josh on top of her, vanilla though that may be. He’s got good bulk and weight to him, with a toned, firm body that feels masculine and sexy on top of her, and she likes hearing his breathing quicken and the little gasps he makes and the way he gets quicker and more determined just before he comes.
Except he doesn’t. Just like on his last visit, every time he seems to get close to the edge, he doesn’t quite get there. Lucy encourages him as best she can, grabbing his bum and pulling him into her, digging her nails into his back (some guys like this, don’t they?), making loud, hopefully sexy-sounding moans, saying his name in a breathy voice, begging him to ‘fuck me harder’… using just about every trick in her limited arsenal to coax him to a happy ending, but nothing works.
Eventually he stops to regroup. “Your turn now,” he offers, and Lucy’s not sure if he wants to, or if he’s just tired and needs a break. Either way, it’s fine by her, or at least it is until he complains that she now tastes of condom. This never happens in the movies, she laments to herself, and not for the first time.
She offers to go and wash, but he carries on, and does so with the same enthusiasm and skill that he showed last night, teasing and retreating until Lucy is all tense and squirmy and, ultimately, very satisfied. If oral were an officially-recognised sport, Josh would at the very least play for his county.
He slides back on top of her and resumes where he left off, plugging away determinedly until finally, at long last, he manages to achieve what he’s been trying to do for quite some considerable amount of time. But it sounds a little underwhelming, and Lucy’s not completely sure whether it was real, or whether he just got bored and faked it so he could have an excuse to stop. Do guys do that? she wonders. It’s always possible, I guess… Of course the evidence should be clearly visible, but he whips off the condom and puts it in the bin so fast she doesn’t get a chance to see, and curious though she is, she’s not about to go digging through the rubbish to find out. Though, not gonna lie, the thought does briefly cross her mind.
As he gets back into bed he glances at the clock on the bedside table.
“Oh shit, is that the time?! I’ve got a train to catch! I need to leave in 25 minutes!”
While he has a shower, she cooks him breakfast and afterwards, fed and dressed, he stands at the front door.
“I’d like to see you again,” he tells her. “Though I’ve got to be honest, I’m not sure about the long term future of this.”
Lucy nods, not at all surprised, and not upset either. Her gut has been telling her the same thing: decent as Josh is, this probably isn’t going to be the grand sweeping love affair of the century that poets will write weepy sonnets and hip-hop artists will sing auto-tuned songs about.
“Because of the distance?” she asks.
“Yeah and maybe we don’t have all that much in common…”
“Right. But if you like, we could keep seeing each other anyway, just for fun, at least while we’re both not seeing anyone else. I’m up for that if you are.”
“Yes indeed,” he tells her. “Me too.”
A kiss at the door and he’s gone.
Afterwards, Lucy sits on the sofa feeling sad. In the pit of her stomach she feels the anxiety and loneliness returning. Now that he’s gone she misses him, misses the company, misses having a man in her flat and in her bed. It’s been like a small reminder of what it was like to have someone to hang out with and eat meals with and cuddle up to, and she wants all that again, so very badly.
But he’s right, it’s probably not going to work out between them. He’s not The One. But if Josh isn’t, then who is, and WHERE THE BASTARDING FUCK IS HE?
She’s getting very fucking tired of waiting.
Next time: Lucy goes on an Adventure.