Hey, how about we just pretend that it wasn’t actually ages ago since I last wrote a full chapter of Back To Me (aka Anna Triplett’s Adventures in Sex And Stuff) and get back to it?
No, in all seriousness, this is the long-awaited (by probably only two people) third chapter of Back To Me. I will try and do semi-regular updates, but I can’t promise anything for now. This was just scratching at my head, begging to be written.
In all fairness, I should have thought better about going on top.
“Oh God, yes!” he moans, making the walls vibrate with his panty-melting baritone. I like him. He’s the kind of guy that can talk you to orgasm, complete with both an Australian accent and surfer’s tan.
His cock’s great, too. His cock is thick, brutal, big. He’s big and brutal as well. He’s got his hands on my hips, giving back everything he gets. My fingers can barely keep steady on my clit and for a moment I really hope that he’s not going to thrust me straight through the ceiling. I like enthusiasm. I like this guy- coincidentally named Guy.
My back, however, is not liking Guy at all. My back, still healing from the unfortunate incident in the staff room, is hurting from Guy’s sheer ferocity. He’s pumping away, and yes, it’s all fun and I’m close and he’s probably even closer but when I’m more pre-occupied with trying to remember if I’ve got ibuprofen in my handbag it quickly becomes not at all fun.
He comes before I do, and has the kind grace to help me finish. It’s a Saturday night, and I’m off from work. I’ve let myself be tempted out on the pull by a couple of the other nurses, and Australian Guy is the result. He’s taken me back to his flat in Camden, which is small, but nice and doesn’t give you a secondhand pot high. Neither of us are drunk, Guy’s been a perfect gentleman and his is the kind of kiss that you’ll have wistfull, smiling memories off in the days to come.
It’s all good apart from the fact that I feel like I can’t move. And he’s still inside me.
“You okay, babe? That was intense!”
I try, dear God, I try to smile sexily at him. I try, but I’m in absolute agony.
“Yeah. Fine. Okay.”
He smiles expectantly. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”
I know what he wants – I want to get off him too. In fact, I’d quite like to go home and have a nice lie-down.
There’s a silence, one so mortifying that the obvious has a very hard time leaving my mouth. Guy is still smiling, and I am desperate – DESPERATE – to get off his dick and on painkillers. Which would have been so much easier if he wasn’t still hard.
“Unless you fancy a round two?”
“How is that even medically possible?! I mean, are you okay? Are you still in pain?”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh at Mara’s concerned face. “I don’t really feel like talking any further about it, if you don’t mind.”
“But… five times and he didn’t even go soft? Christ, he should see…”
“I think you’ll find he was already very busy seeing a doctor, thank you. Now. Moving on.”
Mara’s a wonderful friend and a wonderful junior doctor to work alongside. She’s also a wonderful baker, and has essentially coaxed this story out of me through her devious skills with cream cheese. I prick my fork into the last of the dense chocolate cake she’s made when she sighs.
“Are you, though? Moving on?”
Suddenly I’m wishing there was more cake left.
“No, seriously, is this you, moving on? The beginning of a new leaf? Chapter one?”
I thought about leaving Mark the Artist’s flat, thinking something like that. And then I did my back in, and then Australian Guy nearly did it in again for me. If this really was me moving on from him, I was making a piss-poor go of it.
“I don’t know. How easy is it to move on from having your engagement fall to pieces? Can’t just be as easy as one-two-shag.”
Mara furrows her eyebrows, mulling it over while she sips from her coffee. “Not likely, no. But there must be some kind of way to get… you know, back to you? Who you were before all this happened?”
“I was with Simon for four years, Mara. I have little recollection of what went on before that, really.”
“Surely that can’t be right? Surely you must remember what you were doing back then?”
“Studying, probably. Trying my best to remember which bone’s connected to which, and such.”
“That’s not what I meant, but I see your point.”
“Good, because I don’t see yours! Going back to me?”
“Yes, back to when you were actually happy. Doing… you know, stuff! Not studying or shagging about, but… you know.”
The conversation stalls on Stuff. I stir another sugar into my coffee, just for the sake of having something to do with my hands. Mara rearranges her jet-black hair into a ponytail, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she does so. Suddenly, it’s like a Eureka light appears above her head.
“Got it! How about we make a list of all the things you want to do now, but couldn’t do before when Simon was still in your life? And then you tackle these things, one by one. Could be sexual, could be creative, could be anything you think of. And if you happen to come across a nice guy, or a nice girl, who you reckon you want to spend more time with in the future…”
“Project Get Anna Over Simon?”
“Yeah! What do you reckon?”
I reckon many things. I reckon that my coffee is now oversugared and going very cold. I reckon that I’ll have to take the Tube home tonight because my bus will probably be late.
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
I make my excuses and leave my slightly befuddled friend behind. I reckon she’ll have forgotten about it by the morning.
Just before I dip into the station, my phone buzzes with two texts. One from Australian Guy, still hopeful for a round six.
And one from Ricky.
Hi Anna. Hope your back’s okay. Would you like to meet for coffee tomorrow?