“I love fat women,” he says.
On another day I would have hit him, not a proper hit, but a definite nudge in the ribs that would have made him think twice about what he says to me. In another mood I would have laughed and asked him why he keeps dating all those models then, the ones who disappear when they turn sideways. But today in this mood, with him staring me in the eyes with those beautiful baby blues of his, I know that he isn’t saying he loves fat women. After knowing me for most of his life, surviving the trauma of school, the disappointment of exam results. After sharing the stories of all the people we kissed, the ones we nearly kissed, the ones we didn’t kiss, and the best stories of all, of the ones we did a hell of a lot more with than just kiss. After struggling through what sometimes feels like way too many years of adulthood together, supporting each other through the stress of trying to be proper grown ups and get responsible jobs and respectable homes filled with all the mod-cons bought on credit cards way too flimsy to support the weight of our debt, before realising neither of us have what it takes to be happy being a proper grown up. After all this, and way, way more than I can think of right now, Darren Harris is finally saying he loves me.
And there are so many words I want to say. So many questions. So much happiness that I will never be able to tell him. I almost tell him I love him, but it is too soon. I need to wait, let my mind get used to how life is going to be now. Now that Darren Harris has admitted he loves me.
So instead I say, batting my eyelashes for the whole of Britain,“That’s a funny coincidence because I wouldn’t mind having sex with a ridiculously skinny, but still OK looking guy.”
Darren looks left then right and I am suddenly aware that we are in a busy bar and there are lots of people around us, for a moment there it felt like it was just me and Darren, Darren and me, in some alternate world of fluffy clouds, beautiful butterflies, pretty pink flowers and chocolate houses.
“Maybe you could ask that guy over there if he fancies a shag then?” Darren says with mock seriousness. “I’d love to oblige you but unfortunately for both of us I’m not ridiculously skinny, I’m perfectly normal sized, and I’m not OK looking, I’m fucking gorgeous.”
And even though he’s joking, he is telling the truth. There was a time a few years ago when I couldn’t leave the house without seeing his face on the side of a bus, plastered on a billboard, or on the cover of some glossy magazine with red letters over his stomach claiming to reveal the secrets of how to get the perfect six pack.
I shrug. “I guess some women might find you gorgeous, but you’re not really my type. Don’t worry, honey, though, I’d still say you’re OK.”
For a too long moment Darren looks all serious, and even hurt. And I’m scared that I’ve done it all wrong. Why am I teasing him? We’ve always teased each other. But this should be different. Darren has just told me he loves me. Kind of. And I’ve just told him he is too skinny and I don’t really fancy him. I’m considering dropping to my knees in the middle of the bar and telling him that I would happily spend the whole of my life worshipping him as the sexgod he so obviously is. But luckily before I can do this he laughs and grabs me around the waist.
“I’ll show you how OK I am,” he says.
And then there is no more teasing. No more anything. Because his lips are on mine, his tongue is pressing into my mouth, exploring, licking across my teeth. I didn’t know teeth could feel anything, but his tongue on my teeth is making me tingle. I mean really tingle, tongue on clit type of tingle. Or maybe it is the way his hands are moving, one on my bum gently kneading my flesh and the other on the back of my neck, lightly caressing my skin. And suddenly there is a thought somewhere in my brain. That even though this is the first time we’ve ever been like this, this won’t be like any other first time with any other man. And not just because he is Darren Harris, the sexiest, most gorgeous man imaginable. But because he is Darren Harris my best friend forever, and I’ve told him everything. Without ever having touched me like this before, he knows every detail of all the funny little things that make me wild. And I know every detail of all the funny little things that make him wild. Except I can’t do anything. I can’t even kiss him back. I am like a statue. A shaking, trembling statue whose heart is beating so fast it feels like it is going to explode. And then Darren pulls his tongue out of my mouth, and then thrusts it back in, so fast. Again. And again. He is fucking my mouth. And it feels like my heart has exploded and the world has stopped.
Somehow I pull away from him and take him by the hand. And I realise I wasn’t actually shaking before. Now I am shaking.
“You have to fuck me right now,” I say.
I walk in some direction. I have no idea where I am going. We’ve been in this bar hundreds of times and right now it looks totally foreign to me. But he takes control. He leads me outside, and the air is cold and I feel like it is going to wake me up. But I am still in a dream as Darren has led me into some alleyway and he is pressing me against the brick wall. I’m aware of a vague amazement in me at his strength as he supports my whole weight.
“Did you come back there?” Darren asks.
I look at him properly and see his eyes are wide, they almost look black his pupils are so big. And I see that he is as amazed and breathless and shaking as me. Well, maybe not quite as bad as me, but he is so close.
“I don’t know.” I say. “I don’t know what that was. That was beyond orgasm.”
Darren’s hands are underneath my top, pulling my breasts out of my bra. The bricks are rough on my back, but his touch is rougher, pinching down on my nipples. I cry out and he steps backwards.
“Sorry, it shouldn’t be like this. I’ve wanted to touch you for so many years and now I’ve ruined it by getting too carried away. Please give me another chance. Let me do it properly. Say you’ll agree to go on a date with me. Let me take you to an amazingly expensive restaurant. There’s a place in Paris, I’ve heard they make the best chocolate in the world. Let me take you there. Let me start again and maybe we can forget about me being an animal and trying to hump you in the street.”
I put my arms on his waist and pull him back against me.
“I told you in the bar that you have to fuck me right now. You can do all the other stuff later, especially Paris and chocolate, we’ve got plenty of time, but I meant what I said, I want to be fucked right now, Darren Harris.”
He opens his mouth like he is going to say something, but I don’t want words, I’ll be so happy being his princess but now I am the animal and all I want to be is a complete slut, his complete slut, his whore. I want to be Darren Harris’s fucktoy. I don’t say this. I kiss him. I push my tongue hard into his mouth. I raise my right leg and wrap it round his thighs, one of my hands raises my skirt and pushes my knickers to the side, I rub my naked sex against his trousers staining them with my wetness, my other hand reaches into his back left pocket and pulls out the condom he always keeps there. I hand it to him to open. He tears it slowly as if he is the one that can’t believe what is happening. I’ve undone his belt, his fly and released his hard cock in the time it takes him to take the rubber out of the packet. He is equally slow and careful placing it over his prick. Another time I will show him my trick of putting it on with my mouth, but right now I am grateful for his slowness, enjoying the chance to just stare at his manhood, watch his fingers as they pull the thin material further down until the rim is touching his dark pubic hair. The air is filled with the smell of the fresh condom, it is the most beautiful smell in the world as it means in moments Darren Harris’s cock will be inside me. He licks his thumb and begins to rub against my clit, but I stop him. For the first time in my life I don’t want foreplay, I just want to be fucked hard.
We stare hard into each other’s eyes, we are both breathing hard, more panting than breathing. Then he grabs my thigh and pushes my leg higher. Then he is inside me. One long hard thrust. No more teasing. I cry out. He grunts. He grabs my other thigh and he is holding me as he rams my pussy. Somehow he moves his hands round, they are under my ass. A finger is pressing between the curves of my buttocks. He is fingering my ass with the same rhythm he is fucking my pussy. I am screaming. The people we left behind in the bar can probably still hear us. And he is going faster. Part of me wants to shout at him to stop, it doesn’t feel like my body can take anymore, but with every thrust I am yelling at him to fuck me harder. I am scratching his back. I am pulling his hair. I can feel another orgasm spreading through me and I want him to come with me. I rip at his shirt and pinch as hard as I can on his nipples, I lean forward into him and bite as hard as I can down on his neck. And we come. One wild animal howling out its pleasure into the dark night air.
“I love you,” he says.
“I think you might be better than OK,” I say.
And he is laughing kissing every part of my face. And I am so happy. Darren Harris loves me. Darren Harris is inside me. And me and Darren are together now. And forever.
In her fantasy life Clarice Clique likes whore-red lipstick, leather boots, corsets and demanding doms. In her real life she goes for walks in the country, bakes lemon crunch cakes and plays scrabble. Clarice Clique has published one novel, Hot Summer Days, with Pink Flamingo Press.
You can read her most recent story in ‘The Bad Girl’s Sweet Kiss’ found here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0049H963C or http://www.xcitebooks.com/category-208/9781908006639.html