‘What I’m trying to say,’ he said slowly, ‘is that I just don’t see us going anywhere.’
I looked at him and felt tears well up in my eyes.
He continued. ‘It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, clearly I am, and you are a brilliant person and terrific company, but I just don’t feel that chemistry – I’m sorry.’ He held my hand tightly and I tried to focus on the lipstick mark I had left on my wine glass.
‘Are you ok?’ he asked, pulling me out of my silence. ‘We’re still going to be friends though, right?’
I nodded, trying to avoid eye contact with him; knowing that if I looked into his eyes, the tears would flood out of mine.
‘I’ll be fine’ I said, somewhat unconvincingly. ‘But I need another glass of wine I think.’
He quickly grabbed the bottle and poured me another. I reached for my glass and took a deep swig; swallowing with difficulty as the now seemingly bitter taste swirled around my mouth.
I looked up at him for a moment and he smiled at me sympathetically. I realised we were still holding hands and it suddenly felt wrong to me to do so. I began to pull away, but he took my hand in his and squeezed it gently. This small gesture touched me and I relaxed for a moment.
‘Look’ I said, taking a deep breath, ‘I’m not going to lie; I know I’ve probably contradicted myself a lot, but I did want more with you. And I was hoping that you did too.’
He smiled at me again, but this time his hand was motionless against mine. I felt myself begin to blush; vulnerable, exposed.
‘But, um, you don’t – and that’s fine, it really is. I totally understand. And you know me – I don’t let stuff get me down.’ I attempted to grin at him, but looking in his eyes again threatened tears in my own. I focussed instead on the sole scarlet carnation sitting in the vase on the restaurant table; its bright colour burning into my sore eyes.
‘I think we both need another drink’ he said, emptying the wine bottle into my glass. ‘Shall we go to a pub instead?’
I agreed: I wanted to get as far away from there as possible. As far away from what had happened in there as possible.
We found somewhere close by and gulped down our drinks. A few beers later, I felt myself getting tipsy: I was glad for the alcohol – I didn’t want to deal with his rejection sober.
Somehow, like always, we ended up with our bodies touching; him with his arm around my shoulder; mine around his back. I suppose it was inevitable that we would kiss. And then slide our hands along each other’s legs. And then lift each other’s clothes to feel the skin beneath.
No longer was I hearing the quiet, sad voice inside of me of the girl who had been rejected; instead the throbbing between my legs was the only thing on my mind.
I heard myself say ‘I’d like to feel your kisses all over my body and then I’d like to slide your cock into my mouth’ as if the words coming out of my mouth, belonged to another person.
He grinned at me and then kissed me again.
My mouth continued: ‘why don’t we grab a cab and go back to yours?’
Then my uncontrollable lips found their way to his neck, to that place, to where I knew he would respond to my touch.
‘You sure?’ he asked.
‘Yes’ I heard myself say. ‘Very sure.’
We found a cab outside and hopped in it. I stared out the window and watched central London pass by.
So, this is what it means to be a sex fiend. It’s not about shagging strangers in alleyways like some kind of sex addict. It's about knowing someone doesn’t want you and yet you still offer to shag them with no strings attached. It's about being so horny that you can’t turn down sex with them. And it's about being so masochistic that you can’t stop yourself from doing something that will, at some point, hurt like hell.
We passed over Waterloo Bridge and I looked out upon the river flowing beneath it. What a tragic and yet apt metaphor for us, I thought. And how pathetically poignant too, because of the tears that kept on threatening to stream down my face. But I didn’t want to think about that; I wanted to concentrate on the warm feeling between my legs instead. I curled up to him in the cab, and with his arm around me, forgot about the knawing sensation in my heart.
When we got back to his, he immediately pushed me down onto the bed.
‘God I want to fuck you’ he said and spread my legs so that I could feel his cock up against me through his jeans.
I wanted to fuck him too. I began to pull off his top, and he mine. Within moments he was placing soft kisses all over my naked body; his lips eliciting sparks of electricity as he moved down my torso. Then he deftly pushed his fingers inside me and I gushed all over his hand as he made me come, like he always has done, with force.
He grinned at me and turned me onto my front, sliding his cock up against me and then entered me as he felt how soaked I was. He fucked me passionately from behind; we pushed back against each other with desperation and need. Finally, with an intenseness that made my head pound, we came together.
Exhausted, we lay in each other’s arms and began to drift off to sleep. Alone with my thoughts in the quietness of night, I felt numb. Not only between my legs from the rampant fuck, but inside of me too.
As his feet found mine under the duvet, I cuddled up to him and laid my head on his chest. Then I inhaled his scent deeply, knowing that this would be the last ever time I would do so. And I hoped that the next time I saw him, I would be able to find the strength to say no - to myself.