It was drizzling as my car glided silently out of the city, and by the time the wheels crunched into my driveway the rain was beginning to pour. I gathered up my small mountain of bags and ran towards my door as fast as my binding skirt would allow. Once inside the door I tore off my skirt which was beginning to feel like a sausage casing and hurled it into the washing basket on my bedroom floor. Slowly I climbed into my slouchy, over sized pyjama shirt, and began to examine the contents of the pile of shopping I had dumped onto my couch. My outfit seemed a little too casual to be wearing whilst pouring over my gifts, so I dug through my wardrobe for a hat box containing an elaborate head piece, one that I had once won “Best Dressed” in. Sure, it was best dressed at the pub, but that is hardly the point. Placing it on my head, I looked like Bugs Bunny in mourning.
I opened a tube of dark lipstick, the same colour and consistency as blackberry jam and carefully smoothed it over my lips. I dabbed a fine silvery line along my eyelid and added another slick of mascara. The look could only be described as Taylor Swift goth realness, but it worked for my evening of sitting at home watching RuPaul’s Drag Race and eating seedy Mexican food. Having ordered my meal, I settled in front of my television ready for a night of a whole lot of not much. My phoned chimed next to me with yet another message from Simon, who was rapidly turning into the human equivalent of the love heart eye emoji. “Thank you for your time this afternoon. I am very impressed, and from the approving looks from other men and the opposite from their female companions, I felt honoured to be out with you. I hope we can meet again for a slow dinner. However i’ll leave it in your hands x”. I considered for a moment whether it was best to walk away now, with a loaded bank account, enough makeup to gag a drag queen, and a belly full of cheesecake. Or, do I see where this goes?
I decided to see where the rabbit hole would take me and texted back “No, thank you for this afternoon, and thank you for my presents. I had a lovely time and would love to get to know you better. I am free for dinner on Wednesday night, please let me know if this suits you”. My phoned buzzed again almost immediately, confirming that Simon was also free on Wednesday night, and we settled on an upscale french bistro that my limited means had kept me away from. The intercom to my apartment buzzed, signalling the arrival of a Mexican feast and the ceremonial loosening of my pants. As I lifted the lid off of a cheesy tray of rice and beans, I received another message though the sender gave me pause.
It wasn’t Simon, but it was equally problematic.
The first time I met him, he threw me over his shoulder and began to march out of the bar. Since then, it had been an excruciating game of peekaboo texts, and mostly polite public interactions (not counting the time we had been kicked out of a friend’s bathroom in various states of undress). “If I turn right, i’ll be home and in bed within the hour. If I turn left, I will be at your door in 20 minutes. What think you?” Cheeky bastard.
I looked at my ever cooling dinner, and then back at my phone. I could just have a quiet night, and draw out the chase little longer. I wouldn’t have to brush my hair, or reapply my makeup. I could have a peaceful night solo.
“I’ll see you in 20 minutes” I wrote back, like the complete tit that I am. My dinner was relegated to the oven, and my tired body thrown into the shower. From under the hot water, I thanked the universe for remembering to shave that morning. I applied minimal makeup and retrieved a pair of black lace french knickers from my bedside table. Lest I look too ready, I pulled on another, slightly cleaner pyjama shirt as I heard a gentle knock on my door. There he was, messier than his usual carefully dishevelled look, slightly wilder. I saw a flicker of my own nervousness reflected in his eyes, before he smiled and strode into my apartment. The door was barely closed as he reached to unbutton my shirt. I tugged his white singlet over his head and was momentarily taken aback by the expanse of his chest and broadness of his shoulders, I had never noticed how powerfully built he was before. He moved my underwear to one side and pressed his fingers inside of me, before lowering his mouth.
After all of the weirdness and repressed sexuality of the past few weeks, the levee inside me broke.