AFTER MAKING FIRM PLANS FOR tomorrow and leaving Camden’s flat, I couldn’t wait to postmortem things with Belle. Growing up, I never had friends to confide in so she has certainly become my sounding board. Plus, since she created the Penis List with me, it’s only natural that she earns some dirty details.
“Oh my God, you look different,” Belle says as she slides into the velvet green booth of our favourite pub in Bethnal Green, Old George. It’s a renovated 18th century pub with exposed brick, mismatched furniture, and a cool, dark atmosphere. The hipster bartenders with swirlie mustaches fit right in with the vintage décor.
“I do not look different, do I?” I hold my cheeks because I can feel the heat of my blush.
Her dark eyes widen. “I bet if you stood up and walked, you’d look like one of those cowboys from Brokeback Mountain.”
I frown. “Why would you say Brokeback Mountain?”
Her shoulders lift. “I dunno. It’s the only cowboy movie I can think of that has a lot of riding.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
I shake my head at my severely strange friend and hand her my glass of red that I ordered while waiting for her.
“So how was it? How did you leave it? How big is he? Did you spend the night? Or did you go home right after?” She takes a big gulp and hands my glass back to me while gesturing to the sever to bring another.
“Down, Sheba,” I jest. “Let’s start with what’s most important.” I lean in and whisper over my wine glass, punctuating every word, “The sex was intense. Intensely good. Intensely fun. Intensely hot. Intensely overwhelming. Just…very intense.”
Her eyes are on fire with barely contained excitement. “Sounds intense.”
“But it was also sweeter than I expected.” I take a sip, contemplating everything in my head. As mind-blowing as everything was, he did confuse my Penis List a bit.
“What do you mean?” Belle asks.
“He was gentler than what I expected. I’m not complaining, but in the hospital, he was all cocky, arrogant, demanding playboy. This morning when we did it, he was patient, calm, and attentive. There was no spanking or throwing me up against a wall…or anything horribly naughty like I thought a typical Penis Number One would be like.”
Belle rolls her eyes as a bartender hands her a glass of red. She doesn’t even look up. “I wouldn’t have wanted that to happen during your first time anyway, Indie! That would have been terrible. You have to build up to that stuff.”
“I know. But I just…I don’t know…There were moments he looked at me as if…”
“As if what?”
“As if he was deeply connected to me. It was…unnerving.”
Her brows lift. “The guy is good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s a master. Only the best players know that if you can make a woman feel more than just the physical during sex, it makes everything better. He’s obviously very experienced.”
“Well, that’s what we wanted, right?” I ask, feeling a strange pull in my belly at the fact that I’m reading into him so much. Even if the way he’s doing it with me isn’t unique, I’m not complaining. I checked a very important box today. And by box, I mean my vagina.
“Right! This is all good. This sounds perfect. So how did you leave it?”
“Well, we sort of fooled around afterwards in the bathroom.”
“You slut! Continue.”
I laugh. “The bathroom stuff was hot. Like, crazy masculine hot. He talked dirty and only used his hands on my clit, nothing more. I thought I was going to pass out.”
“I’m hating you a little bit right now.”
Ignoring her remark, I add, “After all of that, I was sore, so we both agreed a night apart would be good. But we made a date to see Tower Park tomorrow and continue our arrangement there.”
“Like screwing at Tower Park?” She starts to giggle when I smile and nod. “This all sounds perfect.”
“It kind of is. But God, it’s so hard. My vagina is like…awakened or oversexed or something. It’s tender and I’m hyperaware of it, which only makes me want to have more sex.”
Belle shoots me a knowing smile. “You’re like how a person is when they first get Netflix. They can’t stop binge-watching all the shows. It’s quite cute.” She giggles again affectionately.
“He got weird at lunch, though. His sister stopped by unexpectedly with food. I thought it would be awkward, but she was great. He was fine at first, but then he got cagey. He kept eyeing my coffee. At first I thought maybe he was against caffeine because he’s so dedicated to his health, but he had a cup, too. He kept staring at me over the rim of his mug the entire time. I can’t wrap my head around it.”
Her nose scrunches. “Was it a sentimental mug?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s odd. But he still wants to screw you at Tower Park?”
“Yeah.”
“Then that’s all that matters. Forget the rest. You’re in it for the sex. Not the coffee.” She winks naughtily at me.
When I get back to my flat, a strange sensation overcomes me.
I kind of miss Camden.
It’s so stupid because analytically I know I don’t want anything more from him. We’re just screwing. But he’s so much fun that I can’t help but wish he were here.
I grab my mobile to send him a text.
Me: So teach me about this sexting that all the kids rave about.
Camden: Who is this?
Me: Shut up.
Camden: Gran, I told you to stop making me explain the millennials to you.
I burst out laughing so loud that I cover my mouth in embarrassment, even though I’m lying here by myself.
Me: Your gran sounds more fun than mine.
Camden: Actually, I never knew her. She passed away before I was born.
Me: That’s too bad. But if all grans are like mine, you’re not missing out. Mine was glacial cold.
Camden: Luckily you turned out pretty hot regardless.
I smile.
Me: So back to this sexting…
Camden: I think I can teach you better in person. Maybe I should come over.
Me: No way. My vagina can’t take it.
Camden: No funny business. I promise. I’m saving up for Tower Park.
I hesitate to respond. I want him to come over. I want him to come immediately. But this is all supposed to be about sex, and if we’re not having sex, there’s absolutely no reason we should hang out. I can’t get wrapped up in Penis Number One. I have goals and a list and more penises to try in the near future.
Cam: Get out of your head, Specs. We have five days. We should be able to do with those days as we’d like.
I bite my lip.
Me: Okay.
Thirty minutes later, a rather cosy looking Camden Harris stands on my doorstep in sweats and a soft white T-shirt. His blonde hair is smooth and floppy on his head. His eyes are blue and warm as they drink in my own cosy pyjamas that consist of leggings and a pink camisole. Just looking at him, I already regret the pain between my legs and the fact that we can’t have sex again yet.
He grins lasciviously and props himself on the doorframe. “I knew you couldn’t say no to me. I’m too irresistible.”
“Oh, shut up,” I growl and close the door behind him.
He hands me a bottle of Prosecco and I get us situated on my Murphy bed with some crisps, drinks, and a DiCaprio film on the telly.
I set pillows up behind us on the wall so we’re sitting up, and I adjust my glasses before taking a drink.
Camden watches me carefully. “How many pairs of eyeglasses do you own?”
My brows lift and touch my basic wire frames I currently have on. These are my nighttime eyewear—the ones I leave on my bedside table every night. “I think twenty now. I had twenty-one, but a patient broke a pair last month when I was setting a bone.”
“Ouch.” He winces. “Good thing you had a spare.”
“Yep,” I grin and nibble on a crisp.
“Is there a reason you have so many?” He takes a sip of his drink.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, but it’s daft.”
He frowns and a low rumble comes from his chest. “You say a lot of things about yourself are daft, do you know that?” His eyes pin me with a serious glower.
“No.” I frown back.
“Well, you do, and you should stop because I never agree.” He angles toward me and bends his large leg up, watching me expectantly. “Now tell me why you have so many eyeglasses. I’m sure there’s a reason.”
“All right.” I pull my glasses off and stare at them while I speak, a bit disarmed by his adamant interest. “So in school, there was this girl named Sinique Simon. Everyone always wanted to be her. She could sing like Beyoncé and spoke like four languages. She could even do the splits so far that she touched the bottom of her foot to the back of her head.”
“Impressive.” His eyes widen as I slide my glasses back on. “You should give it a go.”
I whack him on the arm and an involuntary smile spreads across my face. “I can see why your sister hits you so much.”
He chuckles. “It’s all a part of my charm.”
“Anyway,” I continue, “Sinique always wore the coolest sunglasses, even in class. And I guess it was sometime after med school when things started to change for me. I felt different on the inside, so I wanted to represent that on the outside.” I adjust my frames again with a sheepish smile. “It’s silly, but I didn’t want to blend in anymore. I wanted to have oodles of glasses so that every day I could select a pair that suited my mood.” I shrug.
He reaches out and tucks a piece of wayward hair behind my ear, and I feel warmth radiate between us. His face is serious when he asks, “What made you feel different on the inside?”
I swallow, my cheeks heating a bit with embarrassment. “I suppose Belle, maybe? My friend from the club. She’s a doctor, too. I met her in med school and she was always urging me to try new things. I didn’t have anyone like her in my life before.”
He glowers at my last word but doesn’t push it. “Well, they all suit you.” He leans in to drop a soft kiss on my neck and murmurs, “You’re very colourful, Indie Porter.” He lingers for a moment, running his nose along the length of my collarbone. When he finally pulls back, he sighs as if he’s just feasted on the most delicious bouquet of flowers.
The look in his eyes makes me squirm. It’s completely open and unprotected, devoid of any Penis Number One characteristics. We need to get back to our arrangement.
“So when are you going to teach me about this sexting?” I ask, turning on my side to face him. “This isn’t a movie and cuddle date here. I have goals with you, you know.”
His brows lift. “I’m great at scoring goals, Specs. Don’t you worry.”
I giggle.
He looks forward and adds, “And sometimes being spontaneous in life can be a great adventure. You don’t always have to stick to a plan.” He turns to watch me for my reaction but apparently isn’t happy with what he sees. Rolling his eyes, he sets his tumbler down. “Get out your mobile.”
I could almost giggle with excitement over how this could go. He slides down the bed on his back, his mobile clasped in his hands. I mirror him so we’re lying beside each other but both focusing on our mobiles.
I get the first text.
Camden: What are you wearing?
I giggle. “Well, have a look, why don’t you?”
He smirks and shakes his head as he waggles his mobile as if that’s the only way we can communicate right now.
Camden: I’m in my boxers.
I read the text and, out of the corner of my eye, see him slide his sweats off and yank his shirt off over his head. He’s now laid out, chiseled and gleaming in my dim lamp lighting.
Me: I’m in my knickers.
I too slip off my leggings. Then I sit up and pull off my cami. I reach behind myself and glance over my shoulder to see if he’s watching. I’m pleased when he is as I unclasp my bra and fling it to the floor.
He inhales sharply when I lie back down and squeeze my breasts together while gripping my mobile.
Camden: How do your breasts feel?
I huff a soft laugh and then bite my lip. Closing my eyes with embarrassment, I steel myself to reach down and cup one breast in my hand. I roll my nipple between my fingers and hear him tsk between his teeth.
Camden: Are you wet?
Oh my God.
Not wanting to be too chicken, I grip my mobile against my chest and slide my free hand down inside my knickers. I swipe a few times and feel my arse rise off the bed with excitement.
“Yes,” I groan, closing my eyes and picturing him.
“Mobile, Specs.” His voice is coarse and laboured as he watches me.
I nod and pull my hand out and bring it back to my keypad.
Me: I’m soaked. Are you hard?
I watch in gleeful delight as his hand reaches down into his boxers and pulls himself free. He is long and proud as he strokes himself, the tip glistening with promise. I immediately want to wrap my mouth around it, but I have a feeling if I do, I’ll lose the game.
Camden: You make me harder than any woman I’ve ever met.
Me: Bet you say that to all the girls.
Camden: Touch yourself again.
I slip my fingers inside of myself again, and it becomes a huge battle between closing my eyes in ecstasy or watching Camden’s ripped arm pump himself faster and faster.
Me: I want to taste you.
Camden: I can still taste you from last night.
Me: I want to fuck you again.
Camden: Soon, Specs. Very soon.
I grind into my hand and flick my clit the way I remember Camden doing to me this morning. The sensation causes me to cry out as I feel the build coming.
Camden: I’m going to come on you.
His text is the dirtiest thing he’s sent me so far, but the hope of him ending this texting and actually touching me excites me so much that I respond immediately.
Me: Yes, please.
The bed dips as Camden moves to straddle me. I slide up the wall so I’m no longer lying flat, allowing him to rub his crown between my breasts. I squeeze them together with my biceps to form some pressure around him while his other hand drops his mobile and reaches to find my aching centre.
Two fingers disappear inside of me and I moan, grabbing hold of him in my hands and taking over the movement in front of me. He gasps at my touch and uses his thumb on my clit, doing that firm sideways motion again.
“Oh my God, Cam,” I exclaim, pumping myself against his hand. His fingers on me are so much more effective than my own. I cry out another time when my release catches me completely off guard. “Yes!”
I grip him so hard in my hands when I orgasm that he yells, “Fuck!” Then his warm release spasms all over my chest.
I open my eyes and look up to find Camden with a sexy smirk on his face as he gazes down at the display he’s made. His fingers slip out of my centre and he sits back on his haunches.
“Another shower?” he asks, waggling his brows.
I giggle and shake my head. “Ye think?”
