It smelled like him and a club and bad decisions. Sophie asked if I was “keeping souvenirs now”. I am. Obviously.
Tag: one-night
Footballer From Friday’s Afterparty
Not naming him. You’d know the face. Took me to the hotel next door, barely spoke, fucked like he had a match in the morning. Left a shirt. I kept it.
We Never Made It Upstairs
Hallway. Shoes still on. Someone’s Amazon parcel as a pillow. Romance is dead and I’m throwing the funeral.
I Kept The Hotel Keycard
Not because I’m sentimental. Because the lighting in that bathroom was criminal and I might need the room number if the photo does numbers. Research. Obviously.
Banker Choked Me Too Hard
Nice suit, worse manners. Hand on my throat in his City flat and I liked it more than I should admit. Bruises next morning. Told Sophie it was a necklace.
Afterparty Toilet Full Of Stories
Three girls in a cubicle at 4am swapping who they’d just left in the main room. Names, positions, who came, who didn’t. I wrote it down in Notes. Gold.
Voice Note Hit The Group
Meant for Mia. Landed in the flat chat. Full recap of who did what in the disabled loo at Fabric. Sophie reacted with a single thumbs-down. Silence after that.
He Was The Photographer
Worked the door at a private members thing in Mayfair, then somehow ended up in my kitchen at five. Mia took a photo. I told her to delete it. She didn’t.
He Called Me By Her Name
I still finished. Then I told him. Then I put it in the blog. Honesty is my vice, remember?
Anal In The Back Of Uber
Rain on the windows, driver pretending not to notice. I was already wet from the club. He asked, I said yes. We didn’t even make it to his door.