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.
After our last date had gone so spectacularly wrong I’d blasted out of there and then, less than twenty-four hours later, blasted out of town. Yes, it was that bad of a date. So bad I honestly believed I would never set foot here again.
But, as ever, the joke is on me because here I sit, behind a bush outside of the very flat I ruined everything in, watching Courtney jog up to the front door with her phone in one hand and a bottle of prosecco in the other.
I glance at the unfamiliar watch on my wrist exactly half an hour after she closes the front door. As I do, a car pulls up outside of the flat and a guy in a green checked shirt and blue jeans hops out. Ugh, look at him. Fucking arrogant little prick. He’s bouncing from foot to foot, grabbing the pizza box from the back seat and whistling in that way overconfident young dicks do when they think they’re going to get to laid.
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly floor myself when he licks his thumb and forefinger, smooths his eyebrows and then finger-shoots his reflection in the car window. God, what I wouldn’t give to smack him in the head. I can’t, though. I can’t let him see me.
Once he’s inside I sneak to the window. It’s dark out here so they can’t see out, but I can see in no problem. While they eat, drink, and flirt, I watch Courtney being gorgeous. That pink and white gingham dress of hers has always been one of my favourites. That’s why she’d worn it on our date. The sweetheart neckline showed off her tits and she knew that made me hard. She knew that her stocking tops showed when she sat down and that that made me even harder still.
I consider unbuttoning my blue jeans so I can rub one out while I watch her laughter make her tits jiggle, but the asshole opposite her would totally put me off my stroke. Besides, crunch time has to be close now.
Just as I have the thought, Courtney knocks her glass over. Asshole jumps up, whips his shirt off and tries to clean her up. Their eyes lock, they both hold their breaths, and then it explodes out of them in a kiss so desperate you’d be forgiven for thinking they’ve both gone insane.
Courtney throws herself onto the sofa, leaving her date on the floor. Her thighs part, her arm flattens her dress against her belly and she gives him a show. Such long, elegant fingers. That’s why she plays the piano so well. It’s also why she brings herself to orgasm so damned quickly. I watch her slide those digits into her cunt, three of them, right to the knuckle. She grinds the base of her thumb into her clit as she fucks herself, uses her free hand to untie the bow between her tits so she can pull her dress down.
Young dude on the floor is licking his lips, but he doesn’t move. He’s dumbstruck. Pussy struck. Lovestruck. Despite the heat in his eyes, I can see how much he adores her.
Courtney comes again, and I feel my cock twitching. I watch her pussy pulsate and, to my surprise, I double over in a dry orgasm. Unexpected and entirely unwelcome. I don’t want to be mellow when I confront the ass who’s going to be running out of this flat in less than three minutes. I want to still be angry.
Courtney roots around in her handbag and whips out a condom. Her date looks sheepish because in his haste he left his protection – bought specially for the occasion – in the car. She crawls over the carpet, unbuttons his jeans and tugs them to his knees. Condom between her teeth she looks up at him with burning eyes and moves her face closer to his cock. Her lips bounce off the tip and then…
I cringe so hard I’m convinced I’ve given myself a hernia. Damn, I can’t watch this. I close my eyes but there ain’t nothing wrong with my ears. Courtney is squealing. Young stud is howling ‘no, yes, no, fuck, shit’ over and over. And, despite the seriousness of what’s coming next, I’m chuckling as I get up and head to the front door.
The door swings open and I’m standing face-to-face with young stud. With myself. Younger me stares in disbelief. His mouth goldfishes and he shakes his head, trying to get his brain to catch up and offer him an explanation as to why his mirror image is standing opposite him with one hand on his hip and the other pointing over his shoulder into the flat he himself is running away from.
“Get. Back. In. There.” Each stern word I spit at him is accompanied by a jab of my finger. “I know you’re embarrassed. Fuck, I still die whenever I think of my spunk coming from nowhere and splattering all over her face like that.”
I stop talking, letting the cringe roll through my body, sniggering when I see his body shudder in sync with mine. He looks over my shoulder with the eyes of a hunted animal, and my snigger turns to a sigh.
“But here’s the deal. If you go back in there and apologise, explain yourself, and then ask if she wants to see you again the worst that’ll happen is she’ll say no, and you’ll feel like a schmuck. But if you pack up your stuff and go hide at Mums, well… it’ll take you about six weeks to realise what a cowardly fuck you are. You’ll come back, ready to make your apologies, but it’ll be too late. You leave now? Courtney will be fucking Alfie by this time next week.”
Woah! I knew my best friend, Alfie, would be the right button to push but I didn’t expect this much fire. I didn’t think I was capable of it. Younger me hardens his jaw, balls his fists and marches back inside. I wait, straining to hear either him begging for forgiveness or Courtney yelling for him to fuck off, but what I hear makes me grin.
Courtney is laughing.
A flicker of her smiling up at me with jizz on her chin passes through my mind. An image of her nipple inches from my nose follows, and then a barrage of images of her dancing, cooking, eating, sleeping, laughing, crying, coming, flashes behind my eyes. A montage of moments – memories – each one as magical as the next.
Wrapping my left hand around the doorknob to shut the hopefully happy couple inside, I hear an odd chink. I peer down and smile at the gold band on my ring finger. It hadn’t been there when I’d strapped on the time travel watch I’d agreed to be a guinea pig for. Even though I’m thinking of younger me when I mutter, lucky bastard, as I hover my finger over the button that’ll take me back to my own time, I know who I’m really talking to.