Wednesday 10.30pm

I am on a date, but I don’t want to be. I want to be with HIM. The date is perfunctory: I feel guilty because I blew this guy out last week for the one I want to be with. And there are no clues with the guy sitting opposite me: the fact he is married glares like a neon sign in my brain: stay away. And he’s charming, and interesting but there is no spark.


I leave him and message X. X is telling me he is too drunk to meet now and won’t be finished until 10pm. I’m in two minds about whether to hook up with him – but I want to see him. I get on a train then realise it’s not going to my stop: I get off at a station he comes through and decide to get dinner. I tell him where I am.

In the restaurant I realise how hungry I am and how I’ve not eaten much all day. Two interviews and a lot of brain action is taking its toll: as I eat I realise how tired I am. I laugh at a couple across from me- she is wasted and can barely open her eyes but shovels forkfuls of pasta into her mouth while her companion avoids her.

I finish my meal and wonder about going home. And then he asks where I am.

I wheel out of the restaurant and see him coming towards me. I’ll never forget the look on his face as long as I live: he looks so happy to see me. I break into a grin. We then have a reel around M&S for supplies – he says he’s not eaten either and we grab some cans of whisky and ginger.


On the train home he takes the piss out of me. We crack open the tins and giggle. And I relax for the first time that day.

Back at his I play with the cat, reminding him to get the pizza out of his rucksack. And now I realise how drunk he is: he’s sort of dancing for me in a not very sexy way. He plays me some music and lies on the floor. And then gets up again and pulls my breasts out of my top, nuzzling and biting them. I feel so self conscious- half naked with my tits out – no reader, I don’t know why either. He pulls out his cock and strokes it. I ask him to show me how he wanks. I reach to join my hand with his and then end up with him in my mouth. I want his mouth on my cunt: god I crave it so much. But he hasn’t touched me.

I go to the loo and when I get back he’s asleep on the floor. Snoring. I feel like this is some sort of joke, and consider what I’ve done. I undress and get into bed but that doesn’t feel right either. I have to wake him up.

I half- pull, half drag him to bed. It reminds me of several other terrible exes who drank and doesn’t bode well. He starts to try and kiss me, pulling at my knickers but end up asleep on me. Something inside me chokes and dies.

I manage to push him over to his side of the bed, cursing myself.


In the morning his hands are all over me. I tell him he fell asleep on me but he doesn’t say anything, just nudges my knickers down and pokes his cock between my legs. I’m dry down there and self conscious but we end up fucking in front of the mirror – me on my back head dangling over the side and him looming over me. He kneads my breasts with his hands, and pulls my hand to play with my clit. His face is screwed up in concentration as he pounds away. It looks fucking great and he soon makes me come, watching him thrust into me like that. The image in the mirror is almost better than the real thing.

I forget the events of the night before and think everything will be okay again.

One thought on “Wednesday 10.30pm

Comments are closed.