laughed, and so did Dan, although Dan was shy and said little. Brenda watched Pete’s fingers working the hash, crumbling it into the cigarette paper beneath.
‘So he talks about you onstage, then?’
‘He talks of little else.’
‘How does that feel?’
‘Well, it can be quite helpful. Whenever I’m wondering how our relationship’s going I can just go along to one of his gigs.’
Pete laughed.
‘But seriously though…’
How does that feel?
Brenda couldn’t remember when she had been asked so simply. She was more used to people covering their embarrassment by telling her how she probably felt.
‘
That must be weird for you
.’
‘
It’s very flattering, I imagine
.’
‘
You must love it, secretly
.’
How does that feel?
‘It’s a bit weird, I suppose. But I mean, it’s flattering in a way. I suppose I like it, deep down.’
Pete nodded. She could tell that he had seen through the inauthenticity of her answer, the automatic nature of it. Brenda realised she needed to do better.
‘The truth is, I hate it but I’m intoxicated by it. I know it’s destructive, but somehow I can’t look away. And when I tell him to stop it, he doesn’t believe me because I don’t entirely know if I want him to stop it, because I like the attention and if he stopped then I suppose I worry, deep down, that I won’t exist anymore. Or that I won’t matter at least, and I want to matter. I have an ego, even though it’s not me on stage. It makes me feel important, but at the same time I know it’s doing damage to my… my… me.’
Pete stopped crumbling hash for a moment and blinked a couple of times.
‘I’d hate it. Just, properly hate it,’ Dan volunteered. ‘If I was going out with someone and they did that, I’d dump them immediately.’
Brenda absorbed this somewhat damning assessment of her relationship, but she didn’t really care what Dan thought. All her attention was focused on Pete who just steadily continued preparing the joint. Brenda watched as his tongue slid over the gummed side of the paper to moisten it before sticking it down and she felt hopelessly turned on. She could feel the tightening between her legs. He exuded some kind of sexual health and strength, some kind of goodness, that fitted with this place, with its green smells drifting through the open window, mingled with salt from the sea. To have sex with Pete tonight, here in this place, seemed like the right thing to do. The healthy thing to do. The natural thing to do. To reject it would be to reject nature. At least, that’s what Brenda was telling herself and there was no-one here to tell Jonathan.
She recalled a sleazy old man chatting her up in a bar three years before, when she was in the death throes of her university relationship.
‘You’re a sexy little bitch, aren’t you? But then, you know that, don’t you?’ he had said, three double gin and tonics to the good. ‘Let’s go to my flat and fuck. It’s enormous, and so is my cock.’
‘But I have a boyfriend,’ Brenda had protested, thrilled by the sheer force of his directness.
‘Well, where the fuck is he then? Not here, that’s where.’
Brenda had seen the logic, but declined anyway, though she sometimes wondered, given that the university relationship was now long over, whether she should have gone with this man, just for the experience alone – it would have made a great story. And as for Jonathan, she asked herself now, ‘Where the fuck is he then? Not here, that’s where.’
Pete lit the joint.
The three smoked in silence and then Dan made his excuses and went to bed. Brenda took a long drag and leant back gently as Pete moved his arm up to the back of the sofa, creating a nook for Brenda to drop into. They lay like that, quietly, for some time until Pete stroked her hair, moved his fingers down over the side of her face and then ran his thumb along her lips. She tipped her chin upwards and Pete kissed her softly. The tenderness of
‘So he talks about you onstage, then?’
‘He talks of little else.’
‘How does that feel?’
‘Well, it can be quite helpful. Whenever I’m wondering how our relationship’s going I can just go along to one of his gigs.’
Pete laughed.
‘But seriously though…’
How does that feel?
Brenda couldn’t remember when she had been asked so simply. She was more used to people covering their embarrassment by telling her how she probably felt.
‘
That must be weird for you
.’
‘
It’s very flattering, I imagine
.’
‘
You must love it, secretly
.’
How does that feel?
‘It’s a bit weird, I suppose. But I mean, it’s flattering in a way. I suppose I like it, deep down.’
Pete nodded. She could tell that he had seen through the inauthenticity of her answer, the automatic nature of it. Brenda realised she needed to do better.
‘The truth is, I hate it but I’m intoxicated by it. I know it’s destructive, but somehow I can’t look away. And when I tell him to stop it, he doesn’t believe me because I don’t entirely know if I want him to stop it, because I like the attention and if he stopped then I suppose I worry, deep down, that I won’t exist anymore. Or that I won’t matter at least, and I want to matter. I have an ego, even though it’s not me on stage. It makes me feel important, but at the same time I know it’s doing damage to my… my… me.’
Pete stopped crumbling hash for a moment and blinked a couple of times.
‘I’d hate it. Just, properly hate it,’ Dan volunteered. ‘If I was going out with someone and they did that, I’d dump them immediately.’
Brenda absorbed this somewhat damning assessment of her relationship, but she didn’t really care what Dan thought. All her attention was focused on Pete who just steadily continued preparing the joint. Brenda watched as his tongue slid over the gummed side of the paper to moisten it before sticking it down and she felt hopelessly turned on. She could feel the tightening between her legs. He exuded some kind of sexual health and strength, some kind of goodness, that fitted with this place, with its green smells drifting through the open window, mingled with salt from the sea. To have sex with Pete tonight, here in this place, seemed like the right thing to do. The healthy thing to do. The natural thing to do. To reject it would be to reject nature. At least, that’s what Brenda was telling herself and there was no-one here to tell Jonathan.
She recalled a sleazy old man chatting her up in a bar three years before, when she was in the death throes of her university relationship.
‘You’re a sexy little bitch, aren’t you? But then, you know that, don’t you?’ he had said, three double gin and tonics to the good. ‘Let’s go to my flat and fuck. It’s enormous, and so is my cock.’
‘But I have a boyfriend,’ Brenda had protested, thrilled by the sheer force of his directness.
‘Well, where the fuck is he then? Not here, that’s where.’
Brenda had seen the logic, but declined anyway, though she sometimes wondered, given that the university relationship was now long over, whether she should have gone with this man, just for the experience alone – it would have made a great story. And as for Jonathan, she asked herself now, ‘Where the fuck is he then? Not here, that’s where.’
Pete lit the joint.
The three smoked in silence and then Dan made his excuses and went to bed. Brenda took a long drag and leant back gently as Pete moved his arm up to the back of the sofa, creating a nook for Brenda to drop into. They lay like that, quietly, for some time until Pete stroked her hair, moved his fingers down over the side of her face and then ran his thumb along her lips. She tipped her chin upwards and Pete kissed her softly. The tenderness of
Similar Books
