what I looked like?
He turned to her, reached to brush her cheek with his index finger, tracing the cheekbone. The light glinted on her eyes. He leaned to kiss her cheek, his hand on her arm, but she was resistant. He withdrew and settled on his back. You’re not good at relaxing, she said.
He didnt reply, then was stretching as far as he could, pushing down as far as he could, feeling a reaction to this at the ankles and over the tops of his feet and lower limbs, stretching out his toes, pushing up his hips. A couple of moments later he changed position, changed it again, then moved onto his side away from her. He was wishing away the erection. His feet had come out from under the duvet so that would help. How could she even think he was sleeping! It was just ludicrous. Did she not bloody
who cares. He was tired; tired and weary and needing to sleep, he really did need to sleep. He had an early start. Why could he not sleep? Surely he was past this stage in physicality for christ sake! Maybe it wasnt a stage. Eternal erections. All these years and still governed by that bloody drive to wherever, who cares. The gap between their bodies was less than ten inches – ten centimetres. That was a reasonable estimate. Definitely not ten inches, but the warmth, her very presence. Did she expect him to ignore that she was there lying beside him? It was stupid.
She really did not want sex.
That is how it was and he had to accept it. He had accepted it. She didnt ask him to keep on the boxers but she kept on her bra and her pants so that was that. By invitation only. He had to keep them on. Although it was his bed!
Mind and body. His mind was willing but his flesh was weak. In principle he did understand. He did. It was just this damn body of his, it seemed unwilling to accept reality. He grinned.
There was a twitch from her side as if she had felt his facial muscles move. Very interesting that she should ‘feel’ the face muscle but not a full-blown hardon. Life, who cares. But why had she come to bed with him? It was difficult to believe she would, unless – unless what? He had to get used to the idea. And sleep, if he could sleep, he just couldnt sleep. How could he with her there! My god. But would he scream? Do males scream? Of course they do. If not the precedent was his, to be his his his, all his.
The unmachoness. So what, bloody nonsense.
Wearing his shirt too! Ah well. An old one. Did he have new ones? She chose it. He offered his entire wardrobe! She chose the old shirt, a comfy old effort he should have dumped years ago – although he did like it, a good old shirt, and she chose it! He grinned again. That was typical. How like a woman! Just like so amazing at times how they seem to know certain things!
His bloody neck was sore. She had the big pillow. He only had two on this bed, the good one and the bad one; the bad one was like a handkerchief or something, he would have been as well with nothing at all, but it made it difficult lying on his side. The best way was on his back but he didnt sleep on his back. On his front was difficult because of his nose getting in the way and most of all the lower regions. But even the nose. How could ye forget the nose. The nose aye gets in the way. Lie on yer front and forget about it. Yes but how can one, one cannot fucking forget it, then it pops and blood everywhere. His was a bleeder. Forget noses.
He thought the erection had gone but it hadnt.
Do erections ‘go’? Where do they go to? What happens to the unused physicality, unused energy? Is something absorbed? What about the sperm that does not ejaculate, does it just get sort of submerged or kind of thinned out and then
Shut up ya fucking fool.
But it is true that we cannot survive without them but for 99.999% of the time they get in the way, they just get in the way. One might be glad to do without them. Except do what without them?
He was not bothered about not having sex but there was a physical reaction against it. Nor could he ignore her body. He stroked the curve of her shoulder. He wished for a pencil for a go at drawing her shoulders and neck, the hair straggling at the nape. She shifted onto her back and he withdrew his hand. Do you never sleep? she asked.
Her name was Fiona and she was powerful. This had not occurred to him. She came to his bed on the understanding there would be no sex but how could ye take such nonsense at face value? Can women do this? It was just crazy. He was to keep on the boxers. Utter madness. Maybe she regarded them as a kind of chastity belt. Of course these boxers were more like whatever. Where the hell had he bought them anyway? The January sales at Lidl.
How could he go to bed with a woman in the expectation of not having sex? In the name of god. This was not like going to bed with a long-term girlfriend for christ sake they had only met!
Exactly. So why would she have come to bed with him if not on a certain understanding? Jesus christ what time was it anyway!
He must have left his damn watch on the kitchen table or someplace. Usually it was next to the bedside lamp. Probably it was about three o’clock. But it could have been later. There was light but this was early June.
He heard the sound of her breathing; a murmur. Was she sleeping? Maybe she was. Maybe she truly was. He raised himself up onto his elbow to see her, and he could in this particular light and she looked good. Man, she did. She just looked good really, the shape of her shoulders and neck and just her body, her hair and so on, just everything. He kissed her on the nose, softly, his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek. Was she beautiful? Actually she was. She seemed to be. He tried to remember her completely. He couldnt: not completely. He entwined her hair with his fingers, twisting it and turning it.
Definitely she was awake. And cleared her throat as if to speak. He whispered, Shh, and started massaging her scalp. He wondered if she was smiling. It felt like she was, but maybe not. She might have been strained. Her eyes were shut. Then they were open again, and maybe she smiled. He stopped the massaging.
I wonder if they all got their taxis, she said. Sometimes they’re hard to get at this time of night. Although there’s usually plenty around here. How long has yer phone not been working?
He had moved from her and was lying on his back again.
Eh? she said. Has it not been working for a while?
Yeah. He shrugged. No I mean.
Why dont ye get it sorted?
Get what sorted?
Your phone.
I need a new one.
Why dont ye get one then?
I’m waiting for my stocks and shares to come in.
She paused a moment then slapped him on the shoulder. It took him by surprise. Hey, he said, that was sore.
I dont like it when you’re sarcastic. She slapped him again, and again it took him by surprise. He was taken aback and it must have shown. But he could see her smile, and whatever it was – maybe that combination, hitting him with a smile on her face – the reaction was immediate god almighty, the proverbial knee getting hit by the proverbial fucking hammer, doi oi oing. From nothing to full, raging bloody hardon. She didnt realise the effect she had, she didnt realise, effect she was having! Christ! He moved suddenly to grip her by the shoulders in a sort of pretend-manner moving onto her as though to pin her down. He leaned to kiss her on the lips his body against her not pressing in but touching the length and she would have noticed how hard he was. She must have. She couldnay not have. That was impossible. His eyes had closed. When he opened
