One bottle in and suddenly everyone’s ex has a name, a job, and a disappointing bedroom habit. I contributed. Obviously. I’m not going to sit there looking saintly.
Tag: sex
Someone Used My Good Towels
There are rules. White towels are not for strangers you met at 1am in Shoreditch. I found makeup on the good set and I’m being very normal about it.
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.
I Deleted Him At Breakfast
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.
We Compared Notes In The Kitchen
Mia’s boy versus mine. Timing, stamina, whether they asked for water after. Scientific. Petty. Necessary.
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.
Sophie Made A Chore Chart
It now includes “remove strange men before 9am” and “buy more loo roll after weekends”. I initialled it in lip gloss.
Bathroom Stall Was Unexpectedly Romantic
Romantic is generous. Functional. His belt buckle kept hitting the dispenser. I still came. That’s the bit I’ll leave in.
Sophie Caught Us Mid Thrust
Thought she’d gone to her mum’s. She hadn’t. Door opened, I was on all fours, he didn’t stop. She just said “for fuck’s sake Chels” and shut it. Breakfast was awkward.
I Lied About The Taxi
Told them I went west. I went east. With him. The receipt is still in my coat and Mia has a nose like a bloody sniffer dog.