Lucy’s caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock is the loneliness of singledom: the being alone, the mindless trauma of dating apps, the agonising enforced celibacy. The hard place is in Charlie’s pants. And also outside them, in the heartache and headfuckery that comes with trying to date a polyamorous guy when you have monogamy written through you like a stick of rock.
After Charlie announced he was getting married, Lucy’d told him she couldn’t deal with the situation any longer. But a few days later, and now that the dust has settled, things don’t seem so black and white. Maybe the engagement doesn’t really change anything. Is she ready to give up this kind of chemistry? Does she have the strength to go back to square one for the 46,000th time?
So while Charlie continues to pursue her, she dithers, enjoying his flirtations but terrified of getting hurt again, rejecting his request for another date, but then regretting it. Her indecision makes her so crazy that even she starts to get annoyed with herself. Charlie either genuinely likes her and is willing to put up with an awful lot of shit to win her over, or really is just gagging for a shag.
Or maybe, thinks Lucy, this proves what all those dating coaches say – being unpredictable and hard-to-get really does keep ’em keen.
Lucy reminds Charlie that they already have plans to go to the theatre on Wednesday – booked before he made his shock announcement.
And so after agonising for half an hour, it’s decided. Lucy’s chosen the hard place. And fuck, now she’s made her choice, she can’t wait. It’s been a week since the Sunday of All The Sex, and she wants more.
Right. Now. What to wear for a second sex date? Over the years Lucy’s accumulated a fairly adequate collection of matching lingerie which almost never gets worn (I mean, what’s the point of wearing the fancy stuff if no one’s going to see it?), so now she’s finally got a chance to show it off, she needs to choose carefully.
No to the black stuff; black is boring. No to anything with too much push-up scaffolding – those bras make her nothing-to-write-home-about tits look reasonably decent from a distance, but try to go for a cheeky boob squeeze and it’s like groping a bag of concrete. No to anything red – she’ll save that for a special occasion. Delicate pink lace seems to fit the bill: it looks grown up and classy, and it definitely fits with the demure side of her that Charlie seems to find so irresistible.
And then she remembers that last time they fucked her underwear hit the floor before she even knew what was happening, and that he probably won’t even look at the fucking stuff.
Bollocks. And, indeed, bugger. If she wants him to appreciate the effort she’s gone to, she’s going to have to be bold and make him take notice.
Well, that went well. In fact, a little too well. Now all Lucy can think about are the treats in store for her later.
Tempting though that suggestion is, of course responsible Lucy would never do such a thing. Besides, as she tells him, if she were going to sack off work, it’d be to have a nap, since she’s feeling pretty tired.
They’ve agreed to meet at hers at 7.30 pm. Lucy’s planned to get home fifteen minutes early so she has time to make herself presentable before Charlie arrives, but as she approaches the building she can see he’s already there, sitting on the front step, wearing smart work trousers and a blue gingham Ralph Lauren shirt and looking good enough to eat.
But fuck! Why’s he early? There’s literally no need for that kind of behaviour, not when Citymapper will tell you down to the exact second how long it takes to get somewhere. No, fuck that! Being late is bad, but at least there are reasonable excuses – you might have fallen down an open manhole, or stopped to help a family of ducks cross the road. Arriving early to someone’s house, on the other hand, is absolutely unforgivable.
He has, however, brought champagne, so on this occasion she decides to graciously let the misdemeanour slide. As she goes to chuck it in the fridge he follows her, pushing her up against the kitchen worktop and kissing her impatiently in that commanding way she finds so thrilling.
Lucy dodges out of his grasp. “Give me a moment!” she laughs, taking off her coat and shoes, and then running to the bathroom.
Safely locked inside, she takes a deep breath. Right. He’s caught her off guard, which is inconvenient to say the least, so now she only has a few moments to prepare herself.
A squirt of deodorant to refresh after the day. A wee and a quick check that there’re no traces of cheap work toilet paper stuck down there. A freshen up with a wet-wipe. She debates redoing her make-up but decides there’s no point: he’s seen her now, and anything she puts on will be rubbed off again in five fucking seconds.
As she emerges from the bathroom he’s waiting, leaning in to kiss her again and steering her backwards into her bedroom where they tumble onto the bed. She can feel him hard and ready against her thigh, but this is all a bit too much too soon for Lucy, who does her best to wriggle out from underneath the weight of his body on top of her.
“Slow down!” she laughs. “I need wine!”
But secretly she’s delighted how confident he is, how gently dominating, cutting through her overthinking and indecision. And she loves how easy it is just to give in to his demands, because him wanting her is hotter than a spicy meat feast pizza fresh from the oven, and just as mouth-watering.
She pours the champagne, sits on the sofa with her feet curled under her, and takes a couple of big glugs to help her relax. “How was your day?” she asks.
Lucy’s not sure why she needs to go through this pointless charade, the chitchat, the pretending this is a date when clearly it’s not, not really. Charlie’s only here for sex, and that’s fine. She wants it too, and she needs to accept that sex is all this will really ever be. Even so, there’s no harm in a little small talk, is there?
Except it’s difficult, because so much is off limits. Lucy wants to know more about Charlie, his life, and what he gets up to, but she absolutely doesn’t want to hear about his girlfriend, or the things they do together, or anyone else he might be fucking or thinking about fucking. Which, it turns out, doesn’t leave much. Apart from his work and one or two hobbies, what else is there in his life to talk about?
But maybe that’s for the best. If Charlie’s just going to be a fuck buddy then it doesn’t do to get too close. They’re not friends. This is just about the sex. Yes, honestly, yes it is. Just sex. Honest. No feelings here, m’lud. Nothing to see, move along now.
Glasses empty, she gets up for a refill. But it seems Charlie doesn’t need further lubrication – of the alcoholic variety at least – because he guides her back into the bedroom instead, gently removing the glass from hand and putting it on the chest of drawers. Then he turns her around and removes her dress and bra and chucks them carelessly on the floor, so she’s standing in just her knickers and tights.
“You’re so fucking annoying!” she wails. “I knew you wouldn’t appreciate my matching underwear! Just as well I sent that photo!”
“Do you want to put your bra back on so I can appreciate it properly?”
“No,” Lucy huffs. “It’s fine. Carry on.” She sits on the edge of the bed to remove her tights while, standing in front of her, he swiftly strips.
And now they’re suddenly both fully naked for only the second time, and his cock is jutting out achingly just inches from her face, demanding to be sucked. So what’s a girl to do?
From where she’s sitting Lucy can see the scene in the mirror: his broad back, his pale, smooth bum, and herself, hair awry, face flushed, mouth sealed round his erection, cheeks sucked in, lips wet with saliva. She doesn’t even recognise herself. Who is this wanton harlot, and where did geeky, unconfident Lucy go? What has this man done to her? She catches him looking over his shoulder at the mirror too, and his reflection grins back at her. “God, you’re so sexy,” he sighs.
“Who, me?” What is happening?
She wants to carry on but he stops her. “Wait, I want to savour this.” He lies back on the bed and pulls her on top, so she’s now astride him. Lucy thrills at how he pushes her around, bending her to his will. Literally manhandling her. Now that’s a sexy word.
Now his erection is pressing between her legs, and she makes the most of the angle, tilting her hips forward and rubbing herself against him like a bear scratching luxuriously against a tree.
“How long can you handle this?” she asks, teasingly.
“It’s up to you! I’m pinned!” he grins.
It’s a battle of wills but eventually his patience wears thin; he pushes her off and leans into the bedside drawer for a condom. “Wait, what do we have here?”
Charlie reaches into the drawer and pulls out Lucy’s one and only sex toy, a Satisfyer, which she bought last year during a particularly dry spell after seeing people raving about it online. The reviewers loved it, but having tried the toy once or twice she concluded that her own fingers are just as efficient, and it’s languished in the drawer ever since.
“Interesting,” he grins. “Veeeerry interesting!”
For a moment Lucy’s mortified, and then she remembers that she’s literally naked in the middle of having sex with this man, so for him to find a sex toy in her bedside drawer is really not a problem.
Satisfyer in hand and condom unrolled, Charlie pulls her back down on top of him, no messing about this time. After all the teasing and build up, and the emotion of the past week, the relief is intense.
And then he applies the sex toy.
Now here’s a thing about the Satisfyer. If you’ve never seen one, it’s basically a clit-teasing device that uses air pressure to create a sort of sucky pulsating rhythm that, applied correctly, can be extremely effective. Add this kind of stimulation to the general fabulousness of riding someone’s cock, and you’ve got a recipe for a truly spectacular time.
That is, until you factor in the fact that moisture, and a vacuum, don’t always make a great combination. And of course, what with all the excitement, Lucy’s pretty, um, moist down there. So when Charlie applies the toy, instead of all the sexy good times rolling, what he gets is a wet sucking sound, like when water gurgles down the drain, or like that hose thing the dentist uses to stop you dribbling all over yourself while he’s in there poking around with his drill.
So while there’s definitely poking and drilling going on, the addition of the sucky device is not the sexiest.
Lucy desperately wants to reward Charlie’s generous efforts with the desired result as quickly as possible, but she’s far too distracted by all this squelching and slurping to get even close. Instead, she’s overcome with embarrassed giggles, and after trying to reposition the toy a few times without success, Charlie gives up and chucks it on the floor, choosing instead to simply flip her over onto her hands and knees and fuck her from behind, which is altogether much less confusing.
As soon as he’s done, like the perfect gentleman he’s proving himself to be, he jumps up, disposes of the condom, and then ducks his head down in between her legs to swiftly and skilfully finish what he started. Which after all that, takes all of about seven seconds.
Afterwards they drink wine, order Deliveroo, and lie comfortably together while they wait for the food, Lucy idly stroking his chest and stomach.
And it seems this is all it takes to get Charlie worked up again, because after only a few minutes he’s ready to go again, and reaches for another condom.
“What?” asks Lucy, shocked. “Already?”
“I doubt I’m ready to come again, but I just want to be inside you. I can’t get enough!”
“I’m starting to see why your girlfriend lets you sleep with other women!” Lucy laughs, somewhat bitterly. “If she didn’t she’d be exhausted! And she’d never get anything done!”
But she fucking loves the feeling of connectedness when their bodies are locked together, so she’s more than happy to let him carry on until there’s a buzz at the door.
“Fuck! Delivery!” Lucy wriggles out from under him. “My hair’s like a haystack! Do I look like I’ve just been fucked?”
“Yes,” Charlie says with a proud grin on his face. “You most certainly do.”
Lucy chucks on a dressing down and sheepishly answers the door. She can’t even look the delivery guy in the eye; simply taking the proffered brown carrier bag, muttering an embarrassed thank you and ducking back inside. She doesn’t even tip him, and then she feels bad – should’ve given him double for having to witness such a mess. Could he smell the sex, she wonders?
As soon as they’ve eaten Charlie takes her back to bed. Jesus Christ the man’s a fucking Duracell bunny!
“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands, and she does as instructed, squeezing him tight with internal muscles she didn’t even know she had and digging her nails into his back too, just for good measure.
“Fuck!” he gasps. “This is fucking amazing! I was not expecting sex to be this great with someone new so quickly!”
Even though Lucy knows never to trust what a man says in the heat of the moment, she can’t help the delight she feels to hear this ringing endorsement. Especially from a guy who’s probably fucked quite a few other women in that time.
Lucy laughs. “I’m amazing, you say? I’d go one further. I’d put you in my all time… I dunno… top two?”
He grins, satisfied.
“No, wait…” She makes a thinky face. “Top three? Oh hang on… Top five.”
Charlie laughs. “Don’t make me fall in love with you,” he warns sternly.
Wait… what? Did he just use the L-word?!
Even though he didn’t actually say those three little words together, even the barest suggestion of it feels like a delicious, hot, cheesy pizza with pineapple on it. So warming, so joyous, and then ruined at the last minute. The sweet joy of hearing that the guy you have the hots for feels the same way about you, followed by the painful sting of knowing that he’s promised to another and can never be yours, no matter what you both might feel. It’s the ultimate gameshow consolation prize; the ultimate ‘look what you could have won’.
“Don’t say things like that,” she scolds. But she wonders, did he mean it? It’s been nine dates now… or is it ten? Long enough that she’s lost count. Certainly long enough to fall for someone – after all, The Ex introduced her to all his mates after just four. So could he have meant it, or was it just the sex talking? Honestly she’s not sure what she’d prefer. As far as she knows, only one man in her whole life has ever loved her, so if Charlie did fall for her, that would be simply wonderful. But what good does it really do her? Maybe it’d just be better for her in the long run if tomorrow he gets bored, meets someone else and moves on.
But for now, like the insatiable machine that he is, Charlie carries on, enjoying every moment. And Lucy, who would normally be getting rather bored and wishing he would hurry up and finish, finds she’s still relishing it too, the skin-to-skin contact, gazing into each other’s eyes, mouths hot with kisses, her legs wrapped tight round him, hands pulling him close. Is it because their time is limited? she wonders. Is it because each moment is so rare and precious, she has to grab onto everything she can get? If he was hers and hers alone, would this unceasing banging like the bunny with his drum start to get tedious? Probably, TBF.
Too soon, Charlie’s jumping in the shower, putting his clothes back on, heading back to his girlfriend. Lucy lies naked in the tangled sex sheets and watches him sadly.
“You’re awesome,” he says as he leans in to kiss her goodbye.
“I hate you.”
He laughs. “How shall I hate thee, let me count the ways…” he calls back as the front door shuts.
Fucking fantastic in bed AND he (mis)quotes poetry? This man really is quite a find.
To find out what happened next, click here.
Since you’re here, I have a favour to ask…
My 40th birthday is moments away, and I’m panicking. I know age is just a number, but as a single woman 40 feels like a Big Deal.
So I’ve done something to help me handle the horror. I’ve set up a JustGiving page in aid of homelessness charity Shelter. I figure if some small good thing can come out of me turning 40, that’ll make it all a lot harder to bear.
If you’ve enjoyed all my hard work on the blog, please consider throwing a few quid their way. If every one of my followers gave just £5 (ie. what you might spend on a book), we’d raise over £20k!
And a HUGE thank you to the wonderful people who’ve already donated! You’ve already made turning 40 a lot easier to stomach!