Last night I brought her back to mine,
“I’m too tired” I said,
“You look drunk [my name], you should probably go to sleep.”
I finally feel relaxed. I did’t have to go through with it. She looked at me like I’d just shot her down.
“Bugger” I thought, I just did. I hand over some pj’s to compensate. She looks down at them.
“a bull? you’re making me wear a fucking t-shirt with a bull on it. Jesus [my name]” I quickly realise by the tone of her voice that this is no ordinary question. Oh no. It’s a statement.
I jerk away and in my stupor it only leads to a stumble, right onto her. Shit, it’s too late, our lips have met. This only happens in Dawson’s Creek. Joey should know full well by now it’ll never work out. Our meet-and-greet could not have gone any worse. She is saying “Hello!”, but I only nod in acknowledgment. It was as distasteful as not brushing your teeth for four days and running your tongue long them. Furry. Remind me next time to take someone back, not of the same height. If only I’d fallen on her forehead instead. Shame. Maybe next time? I hope to God that she doesn’t roll over in the middle of the night and try and kiss me.
No, of Course, I’ll just do that thing I am so good at: Pretending. To. Be. Asleep. I think it works a little too well. Sometimes.
Because we kissed at the party, do we have to continue? I like you, but you’re a nice girl. Nice girls aren’t going to pin me, I won’t get any bruises. There won’t be any power struggles, biting, scratching. Just slow sex. Nice? Well, I’d rather save up my money and go to The Fat Duck instead of blowing my dough on two mediocre dinners (no-offence Hung Lam, but Heston is a Hero). You know the cinematography will be beautiful and just like A Prophet, unfortunately, it’ll just be too long and you’ll get bored. The main character, well he’ll just lose your sympathetic eyes.
So no, I did not feel “the sun, the moon, the mountains (or even) the river”.
Good night nice girl. We all know your dreams will be nothing but sugar and spice.
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