Three’s A Crowd

25 Nov

 

Threes a Crowd

flickr image by aussiegall


I first spotted him at my local bar. Dark tousled hair, brooding eyes and a meticulously sculpted physique. He dressed confidently in the cowboy-esque garb of a fitted checked shirt and rustic style jeans held deliciously in place by a brown leather belt. He looked not unlike a character from a Mills and Boon novel over which bored housewives eagerly masturbate.

We struck up a conversation. Phone numbers were exchanged, a hesitant kiss executed, a date arranged.

Shortly thereafter we embarked on a rather low key, though nevertheless boozy first date. It’s not often one meets a potential partner who ticks all of one’s boxes, though my cowboy was certainly doing an impressive job so far. After dinner, some uncoordinated games of pool, countless drinks and spending the majority of the evening pashing like lovesick teenagers, we made the drunken trek to his house.

Once back at his place, I began to embrace the audacious idea of sleeping with him on the first date. It was rather easy to justify such a bold manoeuvre as things were going perfectly thus far. Also, I lived on the other side of the city and it would be near impossible to find a cab to take me home at such a late hour. Besides, I’d just paid to have my bikini line waxed, and it would have been a shameless waste of money not to have someone appreciate the smoothness of my pelvic region.       

I lolled happily on the lounge while he foraged around in the adjoining kitchen, attempting to locate a bottle opener.

His tousled head popped up from the other side of the breakfast bar. “Did you hear something?” he asked, a frown beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. Before waiting for my reply, he raised a finger to his lips, signalling for silence, his head cocked quizzically to the side. “I think there’s someone else here!” he hissed furtively. “They must have broken in! Hide!”

In stark contrast to earlier drunken contentment, my disposition speedily morphed into a bewildered state of terror. Panicking, I heaved myself off the lounge and very nearly gave myself whiplash as I scanned the small lounge room for a suitable hiding place. With an uncoordinated lunge, followed closely by a disconcerting thud, I found myself crumpled in a terrified heap behind the lounge.

Mustering a sliver of courage, I poked my head above the sofa and watched as he stealthily retreated from the kitchen, a frypan raised above his head, ready to strike. He then snuck up the hallway and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Sounds of a scuffle ensued, followed closely by his angry voice proclaiming, “What the fuck are you doing here?” More muffled noises were emitted from the direction of the bedroom before two heavy sets off footsteps sounded in the hallway.

A petite red-faced brunette burst into the lounge room. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her small torso, firmly holding a trench coat in place. Her feet were bare; ten red-painted toenails gleaming. “What am I doing here?” the girl screamed back at him. “What the fuck is she doing here?” One livid arm flung out in my direction, causing her coat to gape slightly. “Who is she?” the girl screeched.

His face contorted into an unfamiliar mask of anger. “She’s none of your business, Laura,” he spat. “I’m sick of this shit. You can’t just break into my house whenever you feel like it. Get out!”

The girl laughed savagely in response. “I’m not going anywhere,” she replied tauntingly. “Not until you tell me who she is!” her voice rose an octave, ringing unpleasantly in my ears. Once again her angry arm was cast in my direction, causing her trench coat to gape even further, a pert nipple escaping the confines of the fabric.

By this stage I was standing awkwardly behind the lounge, beginning to wish there actually had been an intruding burglar, rather than this dishevelled brunette banshee.

“You crazy freak!” he screamed back at her. “I’ve told you over and over again that we’re not together! You’re not my girlfriend! Don’t you fucking get it? I don’t want you letting yourself into my house anymore!” He raked his hands angrily through his hair. “Just get out!”

The girl ignored his angry outburst. “Did you tell her that you fucked me?” she spat vindictively, her arms flailing about wildly, her trench coat gaping even further, rendering the other of her small breasts clearly visible. “Well, did you? Did you tell her how you fucked me last night?” She laughed satanically. “And did you tell her how you fucked me again this morning?”  

His eyes widened in horrified alarm. “Get out!” he roared.

Taking this as my queue to get the hell out of there, I hurriedly collected my handbag from atop the breakfast bar and darted in between the warring couple. “Look,” I began apprehensively, speaking in the direction of the psychotic wild-haired woman, now baring her breasts. “I barely even know this guy. I have no idea what’s going on here. I’m just going to leave and let you two sort it out.” I made my way towards the door, despite having no means by which to get home.

“No!” he cried, “Please don’t go.” His eyes pleaded silently with mine.

The crazed girl ignored me, staring only at him, her dark eyes burning with vengeance. “So did you? Did you tell her that you fucked me this morning?” Her perky breasts jiggled in an almost jovial manner with every angry outburst.

“Just shut the fuck up, Laura!” he screamed back at her. “Please stay,” he pleaded with me once again, directing me back towards the couch with his strong hands.

Knowing I had no way to get home, and realistically no other options, I sighed heavily and settled back onto the lounge.

The slanging match continued with the pair screaming angrily at each other. The same arguments and curse words ricocheted back and forth through the air over and over again. The obviously naked girl, bar the trench coat, would from time to time cover her breasts with the coat only for them to dance free once again with the next angry outburst – of which there were many.

After his repeated threats of calling the police and another ten minutes or so of screaming, she finally left, without so much as a glimpse in my direction. He slammed the door after her, spinning angrily on his heel, before sheepishly coming to join me on the lounge.

Laughter over the absurdity of the situation bubbled up from within me, before erupting unceremoniously from my throat in a fit of giggles.

The cowboy looked at me, a mixture of hurt and confusion on his ruggedly handsome face. “I can’t believe you’re laughing,” he accused disapprovingly.

“What am I supposed to do?” I counteracted. “Cry?”

He went into damage control. “She’s not my girlfriend, you know. She’s just some girl I met at the gym a while ago. We were seeing each other for a month or two, but she was never actually my girlfriend.”

“Wow, that’s reassuring,” I replied sarcastically.

“Okay, look, I did see her last night,” he went on to inform me, in what can only be described as a gross understatement of last night’s activities. “But it was just a casual thing and it’s well and truly over now,” he rushed to add. He then reached out and clasped my face in between his large hands, not unlike a clichéd scene from a romantic comedy. “I’m not after something casual with you,” he cooed. “I’m after the real thing.”

Perhaps he was telling the truth. But at that point it didn’t really matter. I needed a place to stay for the night and his bed was going to have to do. However, I had by now gone off the idea of having his penis anywhere near me, let alone inside me.

We made our way to the bedroom, where I quickly climbed into the large bed (fully clothed, mind you) and snuggled under the comfortable doona. In a last ditch attempt at seduction, the ballsy cowboy slowly removed his shirt and posed in a rather boy-band like stance, his eyes peering at me in what he no doubt intended as irresistible eroticism. No wonder the brunette girl had gone insane with desire – his body was undeniably phenomenal. So much so that there was no way I would be able to have lights-on sex with a man possessing such an exquisite torso, for fear of him seeing my own unremarkable body riddled with generous lashings of stretch marks and cellulite.

I felt a stirring lick of desire from somewhere deep within, that was easily quashed with a flashback to the ridiculous confrontation I’d just witnessed in his lounge room. The magic between us was now unequivocally lost for me. It’s difficult to find a guy sexy after you’ve just been privy to him screaming at a deranged and not-so-ex-lover.

“Good night!” I chirruped brightly, closing my eyes and feigning sleep.

Sneakily peering from underneath my nearly closed lashes, I spied his broad shoulders slump in defeat. He then reached into his cupboard and dressed himself in an unflattering (is there any other kind?) pair of flannelette pyjamas. His atrocious sense of bedroom attire was a blessing, as there was now no way my resolve not to have sex with him would dissolve.

The next morning I readily accepted a delicious cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs, along with a steaming mug of freshly brewed black coffee – no doubt spawned from his guilt over the events that took place the night before. The whole scenario felt as though I had stayed in a hotel that provided a complimentary breakfast, only my handbag wasn’t full of thieved miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner.

As the cab sounded its horn from out front, I made my exit, his departing words an eager request for me to call him in the near future. As I climbed inside the cab, dressed dishonourably in the same clothes from the night before, I flipped open my phone. With swift fingers I scrolled through the contacts until I found the cowboy’s name. The device notified me with a loud beep that his number had now been deleted. I looked up just in time to give the disapproving cab driver a conspiratorial wink in the rear vision mirror as we sped away.    

Dawn says: I know this tale sounds crazily farfetched. But I can say with all honesty that it happened to one of my dearest friends. She called me as soon as she got home and we proceeded to laugh to the point of near urination. You know who you are, Gorgeous.

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