Somebody That I Used to Know
“Homeless, dumped and fired. Sorry I took “voluntary redundancy”, i.e. leave, or we’ll fire you because the company can’t afford to keep you or the rest of hundred people we’re offering voluntary redundancy to.
“My life couldn’t get any worse right? Oh yeah, I lost half my friends, and my parents wouldn’t speak to me. I’ve followed my life plan since I was twelve years old. I used my £25 birthday money and opened my first bank account to save for university. Then I watched my best mate, George, who was born on the same day as me, waste all of his birthday money on CDs from HMV and the biggest McDonald’s ever.
“At university, I met my fiancé, ex-fiancé, Brian. We were studying accounting, and it was his ultimate dream to be a wealthy accountant. I was interested in psychology, but that didn’t fit into my long- term plan of comfortable job, married by twenty-five and first child by twenty-eight so I chose accounting. George rolled his eyes when I told him I’d applied to study accounting. He nearly disowned me when I told him that Brian and I were an official couple. “University is about sex and having lots of it,” he’d shouted down the phone as in the background giggling ladies had screamed his name at his sixth party that week. Maybe university life was about sex for lots of people, including George, but I had a plan.
“Over time, my plan got harder to stick to. I didn’t have the wedding ring or baby by twenty-eight, but as Brian said, we were both completing our qualifications to be certified accountants. We were climbing the ladder. “There isn’t time to do everything,” he reminded me at an old school friend’s wedding as we’d watched George avoid the advances of one of the bridesmaids. It was George who’d sat with me when Brian was called into the office late that Saturday. I’d drank a lot of tequila, cried on his shoulder about not loving Brian that much anyway and then he’d held my hair back as I’d chucked up the contents of my stomach behind the marquee. I’d refused to talk about it after that, assuring George that I did love Brian and it must have been the evil drink talking. But he knew me well enough to know when I was honest. I should have done something about it then.
“Instead, I’m thirty-one, Brian and I have decided we don’t love each other and I’ve moved out of his apartment. Our friends have picked sides, even though it was amicable, and my parents aren’t speaking to me because I’ve diverted from the plan and it must be my fault “because Brian is just the best, isn’t he?”. He was sensible, good at saving and had a brilliant job. What more could a woman want?
“Sex! I haven’t had sex in a year, and before then it was mediocre. That’s what a woman wants; incredible, mind-blowing, headboard breaking sex. The sort that makes you scream if you’re a screamer, that makes you take a photo of yourself in the toilets at work because you’re soaking wet, and that makes you stay in bed all day because you need to do it again and again. But that doesn’t exist beyond books. Right?
“And now, thanks to my godfather who is a university chancellor I’m back at university studying Sports Psychology and living in halls. Over the last week, I’ve felt ancient around these freshers. I reckon at least twenty of them have propositioned me, but I’m way too old to sleep with them, aren’t I?”
“That’s great, lovely, but why are you telling me this? I asked if you wanted another glass of wine,” the Aussie bartender, who’d been supplying all I needed to drown my sorrows that night, stated. Glasses clinked together as he tidied up the now quiet bar. It was depressing to be alone in a bar at eleven o’clock on a Sunday evening, but I was too drunk to care. I toyed with the hem of my wrap around summer dress. It hit just above the knee, except when the wind got up, and I flashed anyone lucky enough to be watching. That might explain the come-ons I had today. Maybe if it blew up in front of the bartender, it would turn him on. I contemplated giving him flash as a taster. “Except now I’m cutting you off. No more alcohol for you, in fact, it’s time you went home.”
“You don’t want to have sex with me either?” I slurred before pursing my lips and giving him a wobbly-eyed wink.
His eye roll wasn’t subtle. “I’m gay, and even if I wasn’t, you’re way too drunk. Is there someone I can call to get you home safely?”
Who did I have? Not Brian, not my parents, and hardly any friends. They’d all be in bed getting ready for the Monday morning grind. One name popped into my head, and I slid my phone over to Scott, the bartender with George’s name and number on the screen. Scott’s sleeves rose slightly to show his tattooed forearms.
“Oh, I like those,” I’d whispered before I dropped my head to my arms and let my eyes drift closed. My dark wavy long-bob hid the world from my eyes. I was so tired. It had been a manic couple of months since the worst day of my life, and now it was the end of Freshers week. I was exhausted keeping up with eighteen-year-olds while wondering how my life went so wrong. The chatter from the remaining patrons lulled me to sleep.
The next thing I remembered was the voice of an angel whispering in my ear. “Grace, can you hear me? Wake up, Grace.”
With his soft home counties accent, he called my name a bit louder. I let out a breath that made my full lips vibrate noisily. Then I drifted off and returned to the lovely dream I’d been having about a sexy, straight bartender who held me against the wall with his thick tattooed forearms.
“GRACE!” the angel had turned to a devil and was hollering in my ear.
I lifted my head slightly and side-eyed the devil. A grin spread across my face when the fluffy, brown hair came into view. “George, you’re here. When did you get here?” My enthusiasm was like that of a teenage girl at a pop concert. I turned to the barman. “Aussie dude, meet my friend George. He’s the tallest man in the world. How tall are you, George?”
“The same height I’ve been since school,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t notice. I coughed into the sleeve of my denim jacket. Gross. When did my mouth fumes get so bad? My stomach dropped as I reached for my wine glass. Damn, it was empty.
I remembered I was talking to someone about my bestie. Of course, the hot bartender. “George peaked early. When we were at school people called us Midget and the Giant. Cause I’m 5 foot nothing to his 6 foot 4. Take off your shoes, and I’ll walk around in them like we used to. It will make Aussie Dude laugh. He needs a laugh; he’s had a hard day. This crazy drunk woman has been telling him her life story.” I giggled at myself.
What did they say about men with big shoes? Oh yeah, they had big feet. No, that wasn’t it. Something about their dicks? I side-eyed George’s crotch. It had to be massive. Why didn’t I know, though? He was my school bestie who at parties I’d share a bed with. He was too busy getting with any female with a pulse to look at tiny, yet curvy me. I’d once been in bed pretending to sleep, after my eighteenth birthday, when he’d had sex with some guy’s older sister on the floor. He thought I was asleep, but I could see what was happening through the reflection in the mirror. I’d never told him about that. He’d kneeled against her as she played with her clit, whispering filthy things as he thrust into her. As she’d screamed his name, he’d covered her mouth, probably worried they’d wake me. But it was his eyes tightly closed and teeth clenched as he came that I’d stared at. I’d wanked over that memory a couple of times at university, even after I met Brian.
George was squatting so that he’s grey eyes were level with mine. All my accounting friends had wanted to fuck him at some point, including my very married boss, but he had kept them at bay. From what I could gather, George had semi-regular secret hook-ups that had no connection to his everyday life. And these days if he wasn’t busy working he was busy exercising. He’d decided to do an ironman competition and was working to be at his peak fitness. “Grace, sweetheart, have you been telling the poor guy about your plan?”
At the reminder of the plan, my face fell. Oh no, I was going straight from happy, annoying drunk to maudlin drunk. “I told Scott that I broke the plan. Everything is broken, Georgey Boy.” I liked to call him that sometimes because I knew it annoyed him. It tended to be a drunk thing.
I dropped my head against the bar, not caring about the bang it made as it hit the wood. Surely that should hurt? I caught Scott’s whispers as he caught George up with what I’d told him. George knew most of it, and he’d been the one who’d convinced me to go back to university. Maybe I should take a leaf out of his book and be shagging my way around uni, but they were all so young! They didn’t even know how good Craig David was the first time around or what a pager was. I laughed loudly to myself, but I wasn’t sure why. I was bladdered. I sensed a couple of people looking over, but I ignored them and played with the cord from my burgundy dress instead. The V at my chest wasn’t low enough to be indecent. How low would I have to bend to show George my boobs? Would he even care? I was too horny, and he was my bestie. I flashbacked to him having sex on my floor. If he was as good at it as I remembered when he was eighteen, he must be Cassanova now. Maybe he’d be the one to give me that one-off experience?
“Okay, Grace. I’m not taking you back to uni now. You can stay at mine,” George helped me off the chair. I got a whiff of his hair, it smelt of grapefruit and was damp at the ends. Had I got him out the shower? I must have been horny because instantly I imagined him soaping himself up as the water cascaded down. What was going on in my head?
My feet hit the sticky floor. What had happened to my heels? As I looked up, I found myself staring at George’s chest. I reached out a hand. When did his pecs get so hard? Even his t-shirt couldn’t hide it.
“Damn, George. You’ve been working out.” I stroked a hand down his chest to his abs and giggled when he sucked in a breath.
“Looks like I’m going to have to deal with you the same way I did when we were at sixth form,” he said with a smile. He took my hand in his, and before I had the chance to ask if we were going to dance, he tossed me over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Midge.”
Ah, the sweet version of my nickname from school. “Don’t forget my purse, Big G,” I chuckled. At school, I’d started calling him Big G when he called me Midge. Our mates thought it was because I’d seen his cock, which according to his exes was big, girthy and every woman’s dream. “Or my shoes. And don’t let anyone see my knickers, they’re my favourites, Big G.”
I giggled again.
“Why do you keep laughing?” he replied, popping a hand on my bum to keep my dress down while striding to the door. The heat from his hands caressed my bum. I gave Scott a wave as we headed outside. The rumble of traffic filled the air.
“Because Mr Strong Man, I’ve just realised I’ve never seen the real Big G close up and I’m wondering how big he is. Can I see it tonight? I’m sure he’d cheer me up,” I tried to coo.
He gave my bum a tap, and I covered my mouth to hold back the moan.
“No, Grace, you can’t see my dick tonight. I’m sorry you’re not having the best time at the moment, but I think it will improve. And just so you know, I’ve missed drunk you. You’re always the most innocent, so when you get drunk, it’s even better. I’m glad you’re not with Brian, he didn’t deserve you,” he replied, but I wasn’t listening. There was something in the way he’d tapped my bum and then said dick that made me ache to have him inside me. Would he spank me if I asked nicely?
I don’t know if it was the thought of his dick or just the alcohol, but I must have passed out soon after with his voice repeating the word dick over and over in my head.
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