It came down to this. The surfer guy had ravished her. And he’d had the muscles, the stamina and the animal mindset to do it. He had wrecked the frugal interior of his beach cabin. She had treasured vague abdominal pain for three days after and missed it when the pain had subsided.
She didn’t mention if she had come. She didn’t mention how many orgasms she’d had. None of that. She focussed on the parts where he had thrown her around as his personal sex toy.
‘You know what I hate about our Belgian guys? They go down on you, lick your pussy for two minutes and then stare up at you like a stupid little dog looking up at its master waiting to hear if they are doing a good job. I mean, that’s bloody annyoing. Just do it and get on with it!’
He felt as if ‘guilty as charged’ had been written all over his forehead in fleshy letters the color of moist pussy lips.
‘Uhu, exactly’, he said as if he had a frustrated pussy himself. He was starting to have blue balls. Perhaps he should explain that concept to her.
‘So what about you?’, she asked. ‘What’s the best sex you ever had?’
He couldn’t get used to the fact that she was so easy going and sort of brazen.
How did he end up here exactly?
She had come knocking at his door to ask if it was ok for the students to smoke in the small back court yard. He’d been dissapointed. Smoking was a big turn off for him. He’d said, yes. He preferred them smoking there. He’d had very sensitive smoke detectors installed in each room. And it wouldn’t be the first nor the last time that their screeching sounds woke him up in the middle of the night when one of his drunk students or one of their visitors had lit up.
‘Do you want to come with us?
She had been the new spokesperson of the group. This year they were all fresh out of high school. That happened a lot. Students changed places every year for some weird reason. A 75 year old fellow landlord in town had told him it used to be different. They rented a place and slugged it out there between them and the books, all four or five years. People didn’t change all the fucking time back then. ‘Nobody has roots any more’, the old guy had said.
Pieter looked at the girl, in the middle of the smoke eager students on his door mat and felt his stomach cramp up at the thought that she too might move by the end of this academic year.
‘Sure I want to join you’, he’d said. ‘I don’t smoke though’
He had told them all the pointers he told all new students. Out there on the small court yard, filled with ash trays and plants left behind by other students and old rusty garbage bins. He had told them about the nicest restaurants for dates. The one cinema that programmed more than the usual Hollywood crap. Where to sit below the stars and down a bottle of cheap wine. One by one they had left. One to a birthday party. One to skype with her parents. And the others to play video games or something. That too was new. Student rooms had turned into these cocoons packed with the latest technology in the entertainment industry. The study books had accomodated accordingly. They had become thinner.
The girl had stayed. Old fashioned name. Carol.
He’d been in a melancholic self-pity mood and had told her how he felt he hadn’t achieved anything in life. Apart from getting a university degree and having the good sense to turn his inheritance into the easiest way of making a living.
‘I have made a living for myself, but not a life’, he had said. Cursing himself inwardly because he was well aware of the fact that remarks like that torpedoed any possible male sex appeal.
When it had gotten dark, they had put candles outside. They had talked about trends in journalism. They had both read the book ‘flat earth news’ and had both lamented the fact that journalism had turned into stale ‘churnalism’.
Eventually he had said: ‘Well, it’s easy to hate the media, but it’s wrong, it’s lazy, we shouldn’t hate the media, we should be the media’
That remark had gotten him an invitation to come up to her room and uncork the Bulgarian wine.
And now he was here and their sides were touching, his balls were contracting painfully and he was expected to talk about the best sex of his life.
He wanted to go into a story with dazzling poetic layers that would turn her female meat cave into a geisher of hot pheromones, but all that came out was:
‘First times, first times with women you barely even know. I lose all interest after ten times. Max.’
She laid one arm round his shoulders and shook him hard, cheering: ‘you’re a guy, it’s ok, baby, you’re a guy. You do not want what you have got. You are such a guy!’
He took advantage of all the shaking to slip down and lie stretched out on the bed. He poked her in the side. She giggled. He poked more. She put one knee hard on his chest. He freed himself and started wrestling with her. It took him a long time to pin her down. He blamed the wine and his lack of exercise. When he heard her laugh it was like his sadness fell from him, like taking off a heavy rain soaked coat.
They both had to catch their breath. They were lying next to each other now.
‘That was fun’, he said, in a cheerful voice he didn’t recognize.
‘Yes, it was’, she said. ‘Very. I have the coolest landlord in town.’
He got a big grin on his face.
‘But that’s like saying you are the virgin king of the geek squad chess club, isn’t it?’
She laughed so loud it hurt his ears a bit. His grin got bigger. The alcohol had finally taken away his inhibitions and he grabbed her tiny waist towards him. She put her head on his chest. He buried his nose in her sun ray curls and sniffed. Gave a small peck on the top of her head.
Then he heard him blurt out one of the weirdest things he’d ever said to a girl.
‘Let’s have sex, lots of sex, but never ever technically with each other, never technically with each other, let’s have sex through lots and lots of others, let’s live all of our phantasies with others as our stand-ins and always keep the fire burning between us.’
He was surprised that he was expecting her to say yes and she did.
‘I just got very wet’, she said.
Then they both fell asleep.