I think about the night before, and the morning. If I never have sex again, I know I’ve truly been fucked. Fucked like some never get it.
There is only one thing that bothers me. He had not left a note, and we just had the most incredible sex. Also, an amazing night.Who does that?
What sort of cold arsehole just walks away? Walks away after we shared such spectacular sex. And such rare, playful banter.
4
HARRISON
As I stand in the wind with my takeaway coffee, I check my Breitling watch. I inherited it from my grandfather, but it is still in good form, just like my sex skills. The same skills that now go into hibernation.
I make my calculations, and he is late. Ten minutes late. I pull my cell and check for messages.
Sorry, Master Harry, storm. Bridges damaged from river. ETA 20min.
I pace, looking up at the clouds. The weather is strange, it rained half the night again.
As I message him my new street location, I consider returning to the hotel.
I’m still unsure if I should have left a message. She deserved more. She really was unique. I rarely feel so comfortable talking to and sleeping with strangers in a bed.
She was also uncomplicated and in no way a gold digger.
It was clear she was not trying to impress; she was just being herself, and that felt real.
As I look down the street, I sip the strong black coffee. I consider walking back and getting her number.
I tell myself to control my urges. Keeping my sex drive in check is key, and I also made a pact a year back. Two years off, and then I will start dating again.
I have a complex job to do, and sex of any kind will distract me, or mess it up. Mess it all up.
I lift my collar and step under a large tree as the sun tries to rise. I close my eyes, feeling the sun on my face. I think of her, and her shattering below me.
“Thanks for the message, dick!”
I turn, open my eyes, and my jaw clenches. “Oh, shit.”
I watch her walk towards me with her own takeout coffee. My god, she is well put together. And sassy.
“My message was left inside you,” I say, pushing my luck, but immediately knowing I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Not bad, funny guy. I guess you fuck like that all the time.”
We stare each other out. She has a right to give me a hard time. I finally shake my head and cave. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m?—”
“No! Lemme guess,” she cuts in. “'I’m unavailable', 'I’m emotionally stunted'. No, 'I do this all the time' or, ‘I’m married.'”
“Are you finished?” I ask as she puts her hands on her curvy hips.
“Yes, no.”
I step towards her, and she lifts her chin defiantly. It’s hot. Like her.
The energy between us is electric again, and it’s almost as if we’re back in the hotel suite.
“Actually,” I jump in fast, “you, us, it was special, but I’m not really able to get into…”
Suddenly, she gives me bullshit eyes. Screw her, I don’t owe her anything. I can, however, push her buttons.
