Dancing With Himself

When I get home the light in the kitchen is on. It’s Tuesday so the scent of Chinese spice is strong in the hall. I expect Alan to be by the sink, cursing out our son because he can’t find the steel soap stone to shift the whiff of garlic from his hands. Thomas is always misplacing that bloody thing. But the kitchen is empty. Where have they gotten to?

I give the chicken that’s marinating in a glass bowl a quick shake. Smile at a note from Thomas telling me he’s staying with Julie tonight, so that’s his whereabouts solved. Then I open the kitchen window so that the cat can get in for her six o’clock feed. Continue reading “Dancing With Himself” →

Taking My Own Advice

If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d ever come back to this town I’d have laughed in their face. I would have laughed hard and would still have been laughing when the dust kicked up by the screeching of my motorbike tyres billowed into their mouths to choke them.

You know what would have been even funnier than that? If someone had said the reason I’d come back would be Courtney. Continue reading “Taking My Own Advice” →

Awakening the Wet Dream

If I was less drunk I might have been self-conscious about the headboard smacking off the wall. I might have made an effort to cover Adam’s mouth. And I would definitely have opted to wear a condom.

But, as being drunk goes, I’m probably the worst I’ve ever been, and I’m giving my date such a hard, bareback anal fucking the headboard has been knocking holes into plaster for going on half an hour. Adam’s been hollering ‘Oh God, fuck yes!’ so loudly I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Almighty descended from heaven in corporeal form, just to tell him to shut the fuck up. Continue reading “Awakening the Wet Dream” →

Almost Cold

Every now and again, I don’t hear your alarm. It goes off at 4:45 whenever you work days and I usually grumble quietly, nudging you to try to get you to turn it off quicker. But sometimes I’m so deeply asleep I don’t even stir. You get up, stretch, knock over your roll-on deodorant in the dark and mutter for fuck’s sake while you retrieve it from under the bed.

After your trip to the bathroom you get dressed, jangle your keys and money into your pockets before snuffling out a soft laugh because I’m either lying with my bum in the air, or my arm draped across your bedside table, or with one brave foot jutting out from my cocoon if it’s a chilly morning.

And on those mornings when sleep chooses not to let go of me, I’m oblivious to it all. Continue reading “Almost Cold” →

Poseidon

“Just the one, today, love! Scribble your name in the box there for me, would you?”

The delivery guy handed me a little tablet, and a plastic pen dangling on a springy coil. As usual, my signature was hastily done and barely registered by the device, but who gave a fuck about that? I shoved the thing back at him and all but tore the package from his hands, saying thank you despite the fact that the door had already slammed in his face.

I know, that was super rude of me, but I’d been waiting weeks for this thing to arrive. Continue reading “Poseidon” →

That Thing She Does

I don’t know why she still does this to me.

Partners come and go. They always have and always will. Some of them leave a lasting impression, whether it’s something as simple as introducing you to your favourite position to be fucked in, to the big stuff, like helping your heart heal after some careless fucker broke it. They teach you, and help you grow. Continue reading “That Thing She Does” →

Last Man Standing

“Okay, we’re gonna play a game!”

I paused for a second or two, teeth poised not a centimetre away from my slice of pizza. Polly was on her feet by the day bed looking as excitable as a puppy. The other guys glanced at her, then away, getting on with what they were doing. I did the same, ripping into the pizza and chewing while I watched Vince play on the Wii. Continue reading “Last Man Standing” →

Laundry Day

Bare legs on an unmade white bed

Have you ever choked on your heartbeat? Has anything ever caught your breath right at the end of an exhale, making you feel faint? Nauseous and weak, like your legs are suddenly too jellylike to support your weight?

This happened to me not two minutes ago, right on the other side of the door I’m standing outside of. I’m still suffering from a riotous pulse, burning lungs, shaking legs and an ache so strong in my groin it might well kill me. Continue reading “Laundry Day” →

What Bad Girls Do Best


Image used with permission of Molly’s Daily Kiss

He’s at it again. The guy next door. Every Friday it’s someone new. Two weeks ago it was the purple haired geek who serves popcorn and hotdogs at the cinema. Last week it was a bronzed, toned metalhead from the local gym.

Gods, the noise they’d made! Never had a one night stand sounded so much like a pissing contest. They’d vied for power, for volume, for dominance. Just when one seemed to have accepted that they were there to bottom for the other there’d been a series of crashes and yells, swiftly followed by the one who was no longer in command groaning and begging for reprieve. He’d taken the upper hand in the end, though, naturally. Continue reading “What Bad Girls Do Best” →