It was the Friday afternoon of the Bank Holiday weekend. He’d be leaving for camp in a couple of hours and I wanted to spend that time just cuddling and making jokes.
He had better ideas.
Frolicking about in bed, I was very aware of his erection. It’s a very random thing, that. It can pop up even when we’re just lying in bed, talking. Of course, I don’t object to it. I bloody relish it.
But a part of me wanted to just be held. I’d say it was the foolish part of me, because an even bigger part of me wanted him to pin me to the bed and shag me senseless.
I didn’t persist my (weak-arsed) protests.
“You. Naked.” I said, while I set to stripping down as fast as I could.
The sex itself seemed even more urgent, even more shattering than before. I wanted all of him, I wanted to be consumed by lust and spat out, satisfied.
When I saw him off a couple of hours later, I treated myself to a belated post-coital cream slice at the store. It was as good as the sex.
I peeked through the window for the millionth time, and finally caught a glimpse of something familiar. It was his dad driving off, meaning that he’d dropped him off at home. I rushed downstairs, hugged him and asked him about what he had done, the silly things that had happened and so forth.
He was happy. Fulfilled with the joy of going to camp. He told me about the boiler (called The Dean. Trust me, it’s hilarious in its context.) and about cigars and weird alcohol his mates brought from the continent. I decided to take him to dinner, to celebrate his return, and he happily came with me.
What I didn’t realize was that the restaurant was going to be quite busy, what with it being bloody Bank Holiday Monday and that. To keep a long story short… two and a half hours later, we finally slumped out of the restaurant, beaten and exhausted. My mum had left three calls on his phone (a phone she’d been calling all weekend, despite me pointing out many times that we were going to be incommunicado on the weekend) so I called her back. And then I just gave up and curled up with my book. If it wasn’t for his presence and Alexandra Heminsley’s words, I think I would have been very miserable indeed.
And so, our life resumes. Tomorrow, I’m reading at the first edition of In The Flesh London. Yes, I am terrified shitless. Yes, I will be resisting the temptation to go on the alcohol. And yes, of course you will get a full report of what it was like on Wednesday.
If you’re planning on coming, you will also get to see the wonderful Liz Coldwell and KD Grace reading. Suzanne Portnoy will be hosting the evening and I have been told there may be cupcakes. See, plenty of reasons to come. Tickets are hereways and it’s FREE! (In capital letters just so you understand how free it is).