So we didn’t wait. Coat still on. His hand over my mouth because the attendant was two feet away pretending not to exist.
Category: Sex
Not always a bed. Sometimes an Uber, a hallway, a lock that barely works. I wanted it, I took it, I wrote it down. Romance optional. The anecdote is not.
Everyone filed out. We didn’t. The sprinklers never came on. Anti-climax in every sense except the one that mattered.
He was sweet in the dark and mid in daylight. I finished my coffee, blocked the number, and borrowed Sophie’s concealer. Efficient. Some would call it cold. I call it Tuesday.
Hallway. Shoes still on. Someone’s Amazon parcel as a pillow. Romance is dead and I’m throwing the funeral.
Romantic is generous. Functional. His belt buckle kept hitting the dispenser. I still came. That’s the bit I’ll leave in.
Look, I said he could get an Uber. He made coffee instead, used my good mug, and Sophie clocked the whole thing in her dressing gown. I still haven’t decided if that’s charming or a hostage situation.
Wedding afterparty in Chelsea, open bar, I was only meant to be content. Best man had a fiancée on table nine. She found me in the cloakroom redoing lipstick. Awkward doesn’t cover it.
Everyone’s pretending they’re done with apps. I’m not. It’s research. Also I get bored on the District line and some of these boys write like they’ve never met a woman. Useful.
Same night. Same man. Different room because the first one had his flatmate snoring. Efficiency.
They always ask once the lights are off. I said yes because the alternative was the night bus and I’m not a masochist. Sophie heard the kettle at 6.