Chloe had told me she couldn’t come around because she ‘had a little crush on me.’ I decided to play the game. Now knowing she loved the troubled bad boy (her ex was a violent alcoholic) I told her she was speaking shit. I claimed to be suffering a mental illness and to have gone off my meds. I said, come around or I will block you forever. Could such an approach possibly work?
She immediately agreed to come around.
Things went better than previously – she was happy for me to get my kit off but she determinedly kept her bra and shorts on when things got hot and heavy. She did not offer to do anything for me and finally went home intact. We parted amicably.
Sensing things were iffy at best, I had put in a little groundwork in the interim and had many dates set up. One was with a woman who, by chance, lived very close. We met at a cafe and were very quickly back in my bed, on the very same sheets I had failed to wash since Chloe had been there last. The new lady wouldn’t take her pants off either but she had a good reason: her period had just begun. She satisfied me by other means and we agreed to give it another go at the end of the week. This girl needs a name, I suppose. Let’s call her Melanie.
Melanie didn’t last the week and instead came over a few days later. I asked how much blood there was and she said ‘only a bit’, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Towels were put down, the deed was done and the sheets were unscathed. I took the condom off in the bathroom and rinsed it twice, then once inside out (my habit to avoid the theft of sperm, my most expensive possession), then wrapped it in a tissue and threw it in the bin.
The sink had blocked. Congealed, bloody, vaginal discharge circled hopelessly, without prospect of escape. I looked in the cupboard and found that I was out of Draino.
Melanie washed and departed. If she noticed the mess in the sink she didn’t mention it.
Too late to sort out the drain situation, I sank into bed and set my alarm. There was a message from Chloe. She said she wanted to come over and talk to me, just for a short time.
Should I reply? I haven’t been dumped for years, might be fun. I could just ignore it and she’ll go away.
If I do let her come around the blood in the sink might just win her over . . .
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