Chapter Six
Caroline could not stop shaking with fear and excitement all the way home. Victoria line to Seven Sisters, overground to Edmonton Green, bus to the high street and a short walk back to the house she shared with four other ‘young professionals’, as the lettings agent had called them, an expression Caroline thought profoundly stupid. They weren’t doctors or lawyers or anything that could be counted as a proper profession. They worked in IT, in call centres, in insurance; ironically, Caroline was considered by the housemates to have the most aspirational-sounding job, as writing press releases, even for timber firms, gave her a tenuous claim to be connected with the media.
They worked long days, commuting on three modes of transport twice a day to get to their jobs – apart from Stewart, the smug urban cyclist who did not have showers at work so washed himself with wet wipes in his office’s handicapped loo, something he bitched about every single weekday on his equally sweaty return home – and, after having paid their extortionate rent and Oyster travel passes, they were left with just enough for their share of the utilities and day-to-day needs. None of them could put a penny aside to save for a down payment on a mortgage; all of them were servicing student loans, and the majority had credit card debt accrued at college to pay off too.
The dilapidated terraced house didn’t even, technically, have five bedrooms. Stewart slept in what should have been the back half of the lounge, which had been divided by the landlord into two rooms, leaving the tenants the front part as an abbreviated sitting room. There was only one bathroom, small and cramped on the half-landing, because it had been located above the kitchen to keep all the plumbing close together. The saving grace was the downstairs loo. That, more than anything, meant that they were able to cope with living in such cramped quarters, especially as most of them hadn’t known each other before sharing the house. They’d trickled in through Gumtree ads as one tenant left and a fresh candidate went through a humiliating interview process in order to gain the privilege of paying off someone else’s mortgage on a shabby house in Zone 5 whose roof needed complete retiling.
It was seven by the time Caroline got home to Enfield Drive. Stewart and Marko and Veronika were in the lounge, watching a US comedy they were streaming from the internet. After the flat-screen TV had been cracked in an accident for which no one would take responsibility, Stewart had rigged up a projector directed onto the back wall of the room for streaming. It was effective, if you were tech-savvy enough to know how to make it work. Caroline wasn’t, but she was perfectly happy to watch TV on her laptop in her bedroom, as most of them did anyway.
‘I’ve got champagne!’ she called, going past them into the kitchen, plonking down the carrier bag she had lugged back from the Tesco Express next to the bus stop. She took four chipped tumblers from the draining board and started filling them. Riz clattered downstairs and appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘We celebrating?’ he said, as Caroline reached for a fifth glass. ‘What’s up?’
The sound of the TV show stopped abruptly as she popped the cork: Stewart, Marko and Veronika were on Riz’s heels, everyone crowding into the kitchen at the offer of free alcohol. Caroline, wanting her moment of glory, waited until they all had glasses in their hands. She had given herself the actual champagne flute, the only one in the house. Holding it up, she announced:
‘I’m going to write a novel with Lexy O’Brien! I’m leaving my job and writing a novel that’s going to be published! Under her name, but still – published!’
As she finished, she felt the Taittinger she had drunk earlier with Lexy to celebrate turn over in her stomach, stale bubbles acid and sour at the back of her throat. It was the taste of fear.
‘Oh my God!’ Marko exclaimed incredulously as they all clinked glasses. ‘What the actual fuck! Have you met her?’
‘I’ve been to her house!’ Caroline boasted. ‘I’ve met her husband and today I went to her publishers with her and we’ve been drinking champagne just now to celebrate!’
‘Fuck,’ Marko said devoutly. ‘I would so give her one.’
‘Me too,’ Stewart said. ‘Even if she is getting on a bit. She’s still well fit. Does she look like she does in her pics, Caz?’
‘Even better, actually,’ Caroline said, swilling down the cheap champagne. ‘Her skin’s amazing.’
‘What about her tits?’ Marko said, and sniggered immoderately.
‘You guys,’ Veronika said crossly, her Ukranian accent strong but her English perfect, ‘you’re being so rude! You should tell Caroline how cool this is – she’s going to write a book!’
‘Oh yeah, congrats,’ Stewart and Marko chorused dutifully, as Veronika, beaming, came round the kitchen table to give Caroline a quick hug. Riz, always quiet, clinked his glass with Caroline’s again, his eyes meeting hers momentarily above the rims.
‘Cool,’ he said. ‘Def something to celebrate, yeah?’
Caroline knew exactly what he meant by that, and the champagne was very effective in speeding up the process. After finishing it off and then doing a couple of vodka shots from a bottle Marko had produced from his bedroom to ‘keep the party going’, a mere hour and a half later Caroline was flat on her back on her bed with Riz pumping away diligently on top of her. They usually hooked up more discreetly, well after dark; it was the first time this had happened so spontaneously, and in daylight – or at least dusk.
It had started late one night, when Riz and Caroline happened to be the only two housemates still up, streaming Deadpool in the lounge. The film had turned out to be much sexier than they had realized: the erotic dirty talk and sheer hotness of the two actors, plus the cheap box of wine sitting on the coffee table, had combined to form an increasing atmosphere of sexual tension. Riz had executed the time-honoured manoeuvre of putting his arm casually behind Caroline on the back of the sofa, and, not expecting this at all, she had turned to look at him in some surprise. As his face was much closer than she expected, they had started kissing rather inexpertly, almost out of reflex. After a clumsy makeout session on the sofa the projector had been switched off and, in unspoken agreement, Riz and Caroline had made their way up the stairs and into Caroline’s bedroom.
Since then, the pattern had been for Riz to knock on Caroline’s door a couple of nights a week at bedtime to see if she ‘fancied a visit’, happy to take no for an answer if she wasn’t feeling like it. But she usually was. She liked sex. It connected her directly to her body in a way nothing else did; she didn’t exercise, so sex was the only physical activity that had that effect. Though she would have to admit that for her it was scarcely an athletic endeavour, as ninety per cent of the time she was lying down in order to minimize the swell of her stomach.
Riz never seemed to mind their lack of inventiveness, however. He was just happy, like Caroline, to have a reliable, regular, stress-free source of sex. They had never tried to define what was happening between them, but Caroline thought of Riz as her fuck buddy, remembering the old episode of Sex and the City with that title.
In that episode, however, Carrie tried to have a dinner date with her fuck buddy and it turned out they had nothing to say to each other beyond sex talk. Riz and Caroline were the other way round. They had always been able to chat perfectly easily, sit and share a takeaway pizza for dinner if no one else was around. But the sex banter was non-existent. They fucked quietly, wanting, in silent consensus, to be as discreet as possible for the other housemates. When their clothes came off, the talking stopped.
Besides, Caroline reflected a little gloomily, Carrie’s fuck buddy was really hot. Flat abs, great pecs. While Riz is . . . well, he’s the guy next door, literally. He’d rather sit on the sofa eating Wotsits and Ginsters pies than go to the gym.
Caroline wasn’t a hypocrite. She knew that she couldn’t criticize Riz for his slightly pot belly and plumpish chest, his pimply cheeks and wispy attempt at a beard, when she herself was no hard-bodied Lexy Barbie, with a taut stomach, buns of steel and unfeasibly large breasts. Sometimes, as Riz thrust more vigorously, their stomachs rubbed against each other, sweaty flab against sweaty flab, an audible smack, a visible wobble. Riz never seemed to care, but it made Caroline mortified; when it happened, she would be taken completely out of the moment, trying desperately to suck in her gut, a line burnt into her memory ever since Janice Dickinson had shrieked it at a contestant on America’s Next Top Model.
Though Caroline enjoyed the sex, she never came. She would take care of herself after Riz left. He always licked his fingers and paddled around between her legs dutifully before he busied himself pulling on the condom and getting down to the main event, and though that was fine, it wasn’t going to bring her to any sort of climax. Caroline couldn’t criticize him for that either; if she wasn’t going to tell him what she wanted, how could she expect him to know? And she had always been embarrassed to articulate what she wanted in bed, partly because she wasn’t quite sure what it was. She watched porn, of course, liked all kinds of scenarios, but she had never really clarified what her specific tastes were in real life . . .
Liar, a clear cold voice inside her head informed her. You’re such a liar. You know what you want! Of course you do! The truth is that you think you’re lucky to be having sex at all, and you’re scared that if you ask for something, the guy will get turned off and not want to fuck you any more. You’re a liar and a coward and you’re lazy – you lie there while a guy does all the work, you’re basically encouraging him to treat you like a hole in the mattress – is that what you want?
No, it wasn’t. Not at all.
For the third time that day, she found herself asking the question that was genuinely beginning to transform her life.
What would Lexy do?
‘Fuck me harder!’ Caroline blurted out.
The words flew out much more loudly than she intended. Riz paused mid-thrust, his expression comically surprised.
‘Really?’ he said, sounding nervous. Clearly he did not quite trust this totally unexpected command.
‘Yes!’ Caroline said, dizzy with her own bravery. She was holding on to his shoulders, and she made herself look up into his face, meeting his eyes. ‘Fuck me harder. And squeeze my boobs.’
‘Oh, okay. Like, more porny?’ he asked, sounding downright hopeful now. ‘Just to make sure . . .’
‘Yes! More porny!’
She arched her back, offering her breasts up towards him so there could be no doubt at all that she was giving him full consent. Caroline was lucky enough not to be one of those women who were overweight but who had comparatively small breasts; her bra size was a very respectable 38F, and Riz’s hands could barely contain their fullness as he clasped them with great enthusiasm. Caroline heard herself moan, a guttural, completely uninhibited groan of sheer pleasure.
‘Really squeeze them?’ he asked, wanting to be absolutely sure.
‘Yes!’ she squealed. ‘Do it, squeeze them hard and fuck me hard . . . do it . . .’
‘Fuck yeah!’ Riz said, starting to pump away much harder, much faster, his groin slamming into hers. It wasn’t enough to make her come, but the stimulation against her clitoris was much more powerful, and Caroline’s moans rose in volume.
‘Like that?’ he panted.
Caroline didn’t bother to answer; the sounds she was making could not be misunderstood.
‘This is hot!’ Riz said enthusiastically. ‘Hey, can I talk dirty?’
‘Yes!’ she managed. ‘Please!’
‘I’m fucking your pussy,’ Riz groaned. ‘Oh yeah, I’m fucking your pussy and squeezing your tits, your big tits . . . yeah, I’m fucking you and squeezing your tits . . .’
It was neither subtle nor inspired, but it did the job. Caroline’s body was heaving now as she shoved her torso up towards him, her pelvis into his, trying to maximize the contact, the wildness of the ride; she wanted him to lick and bite her nipples, maybe even pinch them, but Riz was well into his rhythm now and she didn’t want to throw him off by adding extra commands.
‘Fucking your pussy, your wet pussy . . .’ he was chanting now.
The headboard was starting to thud against the wall, on the other side of which was Marko’s bedroom. Normally Caroline would have been mortified at this clear evidence that she and Riz were having sex. She didn’t know if anyone in the house knew that they hooked up every so often, but it had never been mentioned, either because the other housemates were ignorant of it, or because they preferred to turn a blind eye. Either would have been very easy to do: Riz’s slow and steady pumping gently rocking the bed, his muted grunt when he came, Caroline softly whimpering in subdued pleasure, had been the sum total of the noise they made.
Now, however, they were going at it like animals. Caroline had lost all her inhibitions. Their bellies were slapping against each other noisily, their bodies were covered with sweat, and she didn’t even care; she just wanted her tits squeezed and her pussy fucked hard . . .
‘I’m fucking coming – shit, I’m shooting in your pussy so hard!’ Riz yelled, suiting his action to his words.
Damn. It was over. She could have taken another ten minutes of this; she wanted to feel utterly worked over, her body thoroughly fucked. But it was the first time she had truly relished watching Riz’s face contort, his cock buck inside her as the orgasm took him. Before, she had closed her eyes when he came, embarrassed by the sight of him losing control. Now she could tell exactly what an effect she had on him, and it made her excited. The contortions of his features, the gaping mouth, were ugly but as powerfully sensual as the hammer strokes of his groin thudding against hers with the last spasms of release.
You don’t see men’s faces in straight porn when they come, she realized. Because it’s made for straight men, and they don’t want to see other men. They want to see the spunk dribble over the girl’s face or tits. But in gay porn you can watch them come, and I’ve always really liked it – and now, apparently, I like it in real life too . . .
Riz collapsed on top of her, heavy, sticky with sweat. Before, she would have thought it claustrophobic, crushing; now, she enjoyed even this too.
I did this. I made this guy limp and helpless from fucking me. It feels really, really good.
‘Aah, the condom . . .’ Riz complained. ‘Shit, I don’t want to move, but I’ve got to . . . sorry . . .’
Slowly, reluctantly, he rolled off her, sat up, and, carefully sliding off the condom, reached for the tissues by the bed to wipe himself off. This would be the cue, based on their previous encounters, for him to bend over, kiss her awkwardly, and say, ‘Nice one,’ before pulling his clothes on and returning to his own room for the night.
Now, however, he hesitated, still sitting on the edge of the mattress, his back turned to her.
‘Uh, that was good,’ he said tentatively.
Caroline, luxuriating in post-coital relaxation, stretched her arms back above her, her legs out, toes pointed. She had never felt sexy before, she realized. Not till this moment.
‘It was,’ she agreed.
‘It was cool that you told me, you know,’ Riz mumbled. ‘What you wanted.’
Finally! Caroline thought, amazed at how easy it had been, at how cowardly she had been not only with Riz, but the handful of men she had had sex with before him. Wow, what a waste of time and fucks that was!
‘You were great,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘You could maybe lick my nipples next time. Even bite them a bit.’
‘Fuck, yeah. I could do that. You have great tits. I just didn’t know if . . . I didn’t want to, in case you didn’t like it . . . but yeah, it was very hot to be squeezing them. It really got me off.’
Riz turned to look at her, the healthy glow in his cheeks from vigorous activity diminishing the visibility of his pimples, the light in his eyes new to her.
‘Uh, I could sleep here, if you like?’ he said very tentatively. ‘Then we could wake up and do it tomorrow morning as well?’
Caroline didn’t answer straight away, but it was not out of reluctance. She was first taken aback, then hugely flattered that Riz wanted to have sex again so soon. And then she was swept with excitement as she pictured them fucking as the grey light of dawn filtered in through her inadequate curtains. That would make waking up, for the first time in her adult life, something she actively looked forward to doing.
‘But not if you don’t want!’ he said, misunderstanding her silence and turning away, standing up, throwing the tissues in the bin. ‘Sorry – it’s too much – I just thought – but if you don’t fancy it—’
‘No, no! You can sleep here,’ Caroline said, sitting up and not even bothering to pull a sheet over her naked body to conceal her fat rolls. ‘It’s okay! I was just thinking that you could wake me up by, um, going down on me.’
Riz swivelled to look at her once more.
‘Oh!’ he said, his cheeks getting pinker. ‘Yeah! I could do that. Like in the films.’
This was exactly what Caroline had been imagining. It was the scene in romantic comedies where you first saw the heroine’s face in close-up, her eyes opening, looking briefly surprised before a smile blossomed on her face, the sheets pulled up to her neck; then the camera tracked down, showed the outline of a head between her legs, discreetly concealed under the sheet, as the music swelled and the camera coyly angled back upwards . . .
She was embarrassed to admit that her fantasy had such a corny origin, rather than the porn on which, in her generation, it was completely socially acceptable to base your sex life. More than that, actually: positively required, if you didn’t want to seem like a total prude.
Riz didn’t seem to mind the romcom scenario, however. He was picking up his T-shirt and stepping into his boxers with a grin plastered across his face.
‘I’ll go and shower, eh?’ he said. ‘So I don’t pong. And then I’ll get in my PJs and come back. We could maybe stream an episode of something before we go to sleep – that okay? I usually do that to get me nodding off.’
‘Yeah, fine,’ Caroline said; he seemed to have it all planned out. ‘Um, I’ll use the bathroom after you.’
‘Cool. I’ll bring my laptop, yeah?’
Caroline nodded. She had one too, of course, on which they could stream a show, newer and better than Riz’s. But she knew how much men liked to be in charge of technology. The male housemates got genuinely upset if she or Veronika even touched the projector.
Riz shut the door quietly behind him, as if their housemates might be disturbed by the sound, as if he and Caroline hadn’t just made enough noise in the last fifteen minutes to be audible to everyone under this roof. Caroline stared at the ceiling for a moment, processing everything that had just happened. Then she jumped up and started tearing through her chest of drawers, looking for a pretty nightie she could wear to sleep in, already picturing Riz pushing up the hem and getting to work on her with his mouth the next morning. She would shower after him, trim her pubes, maybe even shave them so he wouldn’t get hairs caught in his mouth. She’d slather on her Clinique Happy perfumed hand and body lotion so she smelt nice to sleep next to as well – she should put some on her hand first and lick it before she applied it anywhere near her crotch though, in case it tasted funny . . .
As she extracted from the back of a drawer a silky polyester strappy babydoll nightie she had owned for years, bought for a previous sort-of-boyfriend who’d never even seen her in it, because she hadn’t had the nerve to present herself as overtly sexy in case he laughed at her aspirations, Caroline fretted that she might turn into a monster. All those years of pent-up desire, now surging up! She’d better be careful, she decided, not to ask too much of Riz all at once, in case she put him off . . .
But the next morning, the silky nightie balled around her waist, her hands clutching as much of Riz’s hair as she could grasp, her cries of orgasm rising as Marko, woken early by the racket, started to bang on the wall in protest, no such worries preoccupied Caroline. Riz was not very experienced at giving head, but he was undeniably enthusiastic, and did not seem at all put off by the way Caroline was thrashing her crotch against the lower part of his face.
When, finally, he lifted his head, breathing hard, licking lips smeared with his saliva and her juices, he was delighted to see her roll over, grab all the pillows on the bed and raise her hips to shove them underneath her belly.
‘Fuck me from behind,’ she said. ‘Do it hard and pull me right onto your cock.’
‘Wow,’ he groaned in anticipation, grabbing a condom off the bedside table and unwrapping it. ‘What the fuck’s happened to you? It’s like we’re in a porno all of a sudden!’
And Caroline, bare arse raised in the air, the nightie inelegantly tangled around her breasts, her face shoved in the mattress, her panting breath dampening the sheet as she waited for him to do what she had told him, not caring that her stomach had by no means been flat while he ate her out, nor that his belly was about to slap against her wide bottom with every stroke, could not have imagined any higher compliment.