Addictive - Sex Stories

Addictive

... alcohol as they could to make the place their comfort zone. He shouldn’t have been there. He stood out like a zebra in a field of horses. Jeans, t-shirt, leather waistcoat, the tattoos snaking up and around his arms like they were a part of him. I always hated tattoos. Tramp stamps. I hated the way they looked, the dark ink, the ugly designs. And yet, his didn’t look so bad. Maybe it was because there were so many of them. Sleeves, covering his bare arms to such an extent that you couldn’t see a square inch of his skin. Ugly and yet so beautiful. He didn’t sit down; he just stood there like he was prepared to wait all night for an answer. I waited for him to walk away, to take his offer back and give it to some other girl but he didn’t. I swallowed hard. There were no words I could bring myself to say. Why did he want me anyway? He and I were polar opposites. His kind was meant to hate my kind. Surely he should be with some indie-pop kind of girl, the ones with blue hair and piercings and buckets of self-esteem. But he wasn’t. He was standing in front of me. Me, with the natural hair and only one set of earrings. Me in my work clothes, modest and efficient. He must be after something else. But what? There was nothing. I was average. There was nothing special about me. “Why me?” I said finally, and my voice was too loud, too clear and telephone-like in that noisy, crowded bar. “Why not?” he replied and there was no humour on his face, nothing to gauge from his expression. ...

... I looked across the bar at my friends, the way they flirted with a bunch of suits from another office, the hidden meanings behind everything they said. I knew from experience they’d be exchanging pleasantries, complaining about their jobs, the men would be boasting about the money they made. At least one of the men was probably already married, but none of them cared. At the end of the night they’d all swap phone numbers and then forget about each other. It was the way things worked, everyone too scared to tell the truth, to admit to what they really wanted. I swallowed my drink as slowly as possible as if to put off the decision. It was a goddamn stupid thing to do. You don’t go home with strange men. You don’t even talk to strange men. He could be anyone. I should have said no. I should have apologised for wasting his time. I should have gone and sat with Flo and Clara and made small talk with the other guys. But I didn’t. I went home with him. There was so much in my mind, I felt numb. Nothing mattered. The people, the buildings, the traffic, the street signs, all a blur of activity. His flat wasn’t special. The elevator didn’t work. Up the stairwell. Counting the stairs in my head. Floor B to C to D to E to F. Top floor, obviously. It wasn’t the kind of building where the top floor is the best. Not like a penthouse thing. No, living at the top meant more stairs to go up. His door always got stuck, he explained. He shoved his weight against it a good few times before it ...