The Morning After

The unfamiliar bedroom I've woken up in smells musky. The scent of our bodies lingers, and I don't feel one hundred per cent. My head spins as I get up to leave before she wakes up.

"I'm so glad you came to speak to me," she lies in the bed, looking a cute mess. I must've woken her despite my efforts not to. As I gaze at her naked, I brush my long auburn hair back out of my face and behind my ears with my fingers.

Her comment made me laugh a little, more out of surprise. "Why?" I asked as I was curious about her response. You see, I'm shy in every aspect of my life. It takes a while to warm up with people I don't know. I can pitch for business at work in a room full of people, but I'm a bag of nerves looking at their faces. I only do it because of my confidence in my work and the in-depth research I carry out, and if I don't do it, I don't get paid. Therefore, I used the same confidence I had at work to talk to girls. If I don't talk to girls, I don't get laid.

Looking at our clothes strewn across the bedroom floor, that thought crossed my mind.

"Do women approach and speak to you?" she asked.

I let out a snort and laugh. "We talked, didn't we? I see my stockings on the floor and pick one of them up. I quickly check it for ladders, running the thin, delicate fabric through my fingers.

"I know we talked, but you spoke to me first. Do women approach you first? Do they start the conversation?"

I stop and think. I straighten the stocking out, roll it up, and pull it over my left foot's toes. I hadn't thought about it before, but if I don't talk to girls, then no, I don't get laid. I shake my head. "No," I said quietly.

"Hmm." She moves up and sits back against the grey fabric headboard. I glance at her and smile. My eyes are drawn to her breasts, and I must look away.

"Are one-night stands your thing?" She stares at me. I turn to look at her again, her blue eyes fixated on mine, and I look at my foot and the stocking as I pull it up my leg, straightening the top around my thigh. I try to ignore her and pick up the other, but the pause and awkward silence force me to answer, "I haven't met the right lady." I cross my legs and start pulling the other stocking on.

"Or, you frighten people. You have sex early, know what you're doing, and people don't think you're relationship material. There's nothing to build up to. You're all in."

I straighten this stocking around my thigh and look for more of my clothes. "By people, you mean women!" I put her straight.

"Do you see the girls again after your one-night stands?"

I stand, and my head spins. I feel dizzy, but I recover quickly enough. I step forward towards our bras that were nimbly cast off from one another's bodies in the moment of heated desire. I bend to pick mine up, along with my shirt a foot away. I look back over at the blonde in bed. She's tall, all legs, her shoulders, and breasts on display while her body is hidden under the duvet she's pulled up over herself. Her face is pretty; it's plain, not extraordinary, just pretty. I think I remember her looking out of this world last night. She must've taken her makeup off at some point. She becomes restless at my lack of response. "Yes," I reply. I wish she'd stop with the questions as I turn my back to her.

"What do you do, you know, when you see them again?"

I put the tiny silky bra around my waist and grip my shirt in my armpit as I do up a few clips between the cups. I turn and look at her, annoyed. "I don't know. We fuck I guess." I pull the bra up and make it comfy before working on the other clips.

"Would you want more than just sex?"

"Look, love, are you my fucking counsellor, or what?" I snap at her, hold my shirt in my fist, and trace our clothes, her socks, a sock on the landing and another halfway down the stairs. The air has got chilly since I left the warmth of her bedroom, and I want the bottom half of my clothes.

At the foot of the stairs by the front door are my heels and her boots, left untidily on the straw mat. I don't remember getting here, nor what we did together or to one another.

Her hallway wall is peppered with framed photos looking rather twee, I presume the pictures are of her, her siblings and her parents. There's a couple of her and a kid, a girl. The air here smells sweet, and I notice a glass bottle with little sticks poking out of it on the reclaimed wooden side table. The hallway is small, resembling a trendy Kent or Sussex beach hut. I find it dull and uninspiring. I go to the lounge and hear the creak of floorboards in the ceiling above as she gets out of bed. I look at her black leather jeans on the floor and see her tiny black lacy knickers screwed up by a cushion on the sofa. No sign of my lower half anywhere.

She comes down the stairs and leans against the doorframe naked. She's certainly cute and tall. I notice again I like how tall she is. She looks a bit tasty. I flash a smile and pull up the soft cushions, looking for my pants before putting them back.

"That's where you fucked me. On that couch. I'd say between fifteen and thirty seconds after you took the five minutes of fumbling to get my jeans and knickers off. You kept complaining they were too tight, but in the club, you kept saying how sexy they were." She smiles and gazes. "We had some fun, right there."

I look at her and smile, tucking loose hair strands behind my ear. "Where the fuck are my pants and skirt?"

"Coffee? We did come back for coffee, but we never had one." She laughs, unfolds her arms and walks off. I watch her; her arse is cute, and those legs, wow.

"I'd murder one, thanks." I'm getting frustrated. I want to leave, not make friends, she seems too friendly and cheerful, not my type. I like them attractive and aloof. You've fucked me, now leave please, type of girls.

I give up in the lounge and follow her to the kitchen. "Aah." I see my pants on the countertop and my skirt on the other side of the kitchen. She picks my pink pants up and holds them. "Cute, but?"

"But, what?" I look at her.

She laughs. "A silk triangle and string. I bet they cost a small fortune, too, for not very much fabric."

I reach for them and snatch them from her hand. She sniggers and clicks the kettle. The kitchen must be half the downstairs floor space, a big galley style with cooking and cupboards at one end, and a four-seater dining table at the other. It's white and sparkling. The impeccable cupboards are plastic-looking and glossy, probably expensive too. I step into the string and pull them up my legs.

"Are you going to do another striptease?"

"What?" I feel my cheeks burn.

"After you fucked me, we came in here for coffee."

"And!"

"You don't remember?" She walks to the bin and steps on the pedal. The lid pings up with a ting as it hits the wall. I watch as she bends over. I look at her arse and feel myself arouse slightly. I watch as she pulls out a courgette.

"What? I..." panicking, I try to force myself to remember what I did. My brains on a go slow, just trying to get through the here and now and finding my clothes so I can get to the safety of my home and away from her.

She laughs. "You're a fucking wrong'un, you are. But, no you didn't; after you played and showed me what you'd like to do with it, I put it in the bin, you know, just in case."

I blush and push past her to get to my skirt. I sweat quickly trying to work out what I did last night, I still don't remember. I reach for my skirt. "Did I fling this?"

"Yes, a right little show you put on for me. Do you do that for all the girls you meet?" She walks back over to the kettle, opens a cupboard, and pulls out a cafetiere and two thick grey Denby mugs. I notice the mugs and cafetiere, she's not just a pretty face, she has some etiquette too.

I pull the cream skirt up my legs, inching it over my thighs and arse. It's tight and stylish, accentuating my upper legs and derriere. I look at my skirt and feel defeated, there are black marks down it. I lick my finger and try to get them out.

"You look as beautiful the morning after as you did last night." She's watching me, with a smile, she looks bedazzled by me. She's one of them. I try to pick up my pace to leave quickly as I feel myself blush at her compliment. "Thank you. Where's my shirt? I just had it."

She reaches for a pot of coffee and pours the beans into a grinder. I watch impressed. "You grind your beans. I like that."

She laughs. "I like how you grind my bean." And she winks at me. I shake my head, embarrassed, and retrace my steps again.

"You get coy and embarrassed. You're certainly not the same person sober as you are pissed." She shouts after me. I cringe, I hate what I do when I drink. I'm so glad I won't see her again, and next time I won't drink so much. I make a deal with myself: the next time I drink, I'll stop at being merry. I walk into the lounge, find my shirt on the sofa, and pick it up. I sigh at the make up stain on the collar and try and rub it off between my finger and thumb.

I walk back into the kitchen just as the bean grinder starts. It's shrill and noisy, I never realised I had a headache, in fact I think I'm still drunk. I despairingly wrack my brain hopelessly as I try to remember what I did last night. I remember the bar as a photographic image flashes, it starts moving, I'm with my workmates. Yes, I brought a round, well several. They started to disappear, my memory starts to get dark and hazy, and the flashes of memory jump about and become hazy and unclear, vanishing as quickly as they arrived. I'm kissing, I was kissing a lady, it must have been her, fuck, I don't know her name. Shit, I do this every fucking week, it's the same thing.

I cover my ears and rub my temples, the grinder stops, a drawer slams open with a loud rattle, and she grabs a teaspoon. She looks at me, "You look peaky, are you OK?"

I nod, "I'm fine." I'm not though.

She spoons coffee into the cafetiere from the grinder. "Would you like to see me again?" She pours water from the kettle and steam rises heavily into the room, forming clouds that hang and then quickly disappears. She has her back to me her blonde hair is straight and a clean line is cut across where it ends below her shoulder blades, there's not a hair out of place.

"For sex?" I can't remember last night. It was probably not memorable. She probably just lay there, whilst I did the work.

"No."

"No? What then?" Why meet up, if its not to hook up.

She places the plunger into the cafetiere. And turns to face me, she looks serious now. "No, next time we meet, I'd like us to do something that doesn't involve drink, and doesn't involve sex."

I laugh. "What's the point of that?"

"Oh fuck you?" Her eyebrows jump, and I sense a momentary emotion of anger.

"Hey."

"I thought it'd be nice to get to know each other, take things further." She turns soft again, her eyes change to kind and hopeful. I see when she looks at me, she actually looks at me.

"We had sex, how much more getting to know each other do you want?" I laugh at her a little too cruelly, and I immediately feel bad. If she wasn't standing so close to the counter, she would have stepped back as her hands dropped, and she felt for the counter's edge. She shows her emotion through her eyes, her blonde eyebrows change angles as she seems disappointed. She's no poker player.

I shake my shirt, slide my right arm into the sleeve, and then my left. She turns her back to me. "Look, it was fun, I'd better just go. Thank you."

"No, it's OK, stay for a coffee. I've made it now, I'll only have a mug and the rest will go to waste."

I start to button my shirt. "OK. Look, I was rude. I'm sorry, I drunk too much last night, I think I'm still a little pissed." My head starts to spin, and I feel perspiration on my forehead and my mouth sweats.

She turns, looking me up and down. I suddenly see her, I think, I can't make the figure out but she's dressed, smiling and dancing, I'm dancing with her, holding a bottle of wine. We kiss, and I snap back to now. I feel a little queasy and rush to the sink and heave. She puts her hand on my back and gently rubs. "It's my kitchen sink, but if you have to!" She sounds caring as I vomit loudly and the vinegary smell hits me in the back of my nostrils.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry." I vomit again, and a little more, my stomach hurts and my throat burns as my eyes water. She reaches for the tap and runs hot water into the sink as she continues to rub my back.

I hear her giggling.

"What's so funny?" I get irritated, and suddenly, I don't feel pissed; I feel absolutely hanging; I clutch the edge of the sink and lean over it.

"This is a first. A one night stand, a very cute lady puking in my kitchen sink. I have to say, you are not what I expected." She hands me a piece of kitchen roll, and I dab my mouth and spit into the sink.

"Ooh, nice." She rinses my spit from the sinks surface, washes her hand, walks over to another cupboard, and gets a glass. I turn and look at her naked body and her tits. I ignore my immediate sexual thoughts and retreat to my headache. The brightness of the kitchen window begins to blur my sight, so I close my eyes.

"Here, take this." I feel for the glass and take it from her. I sip and rinse my mouth; it's dry and bitter, and I spit into the sink again.

"Oh, spitting again. OK." She sounds frustrated now.

"Sorry." I do begin to feel a little bad because of my unbecoming behaviour.

I hear her say, "It's OK." Her hand runs up my spine, and I shiver and start to feel the sweat.

"Oh, God." Embarrassment and shame sweep over me for a second. I don't feel emotions, really, but negative emotions about myself are often and lingering.

She laughs, and I gulp the water. "Any neurofen, please?"

"I'll have a look. Still want a coffee?"

"A strong one."

She walks off again. I watch her bum and her legs. I was lucky last night. Wow. I smile to myself and try not to be sick again.

She walks back with a small silver cardboard box, "Here."

I take them from her, put my glass on the counter, and fumble the box; she watches me and takes the box back. "Do you want to stay? I'll play nurse?" I look at her face as she looks at the tablet blisters and pops two pills out. "Here." She offers as I open my hand, and she drops them into my palm. I chuck the pills into my mouth and turn for the glass of water.

"I've a spare toothbrush."

"Collect them for your one-night stands?"

She chuckles. "No. You're my first."

I laugh. "I took your cherry."

"No, of course not. But I don't usually do one-night stands. You're my first." She walks around me to the cafetiere and studies it before plunging it slowly. "So, want to stay? We can get pizza later; you can go when you feel a bit better, better so you can face the world."

"You want to fuck me."

She laughs. "I'll only have sex with you if we can do something fun together."

"Fun?"

"Go to the zoo, the cinema. Go for a nice walk..."

"...or get books out the fucking library and read cutesie bloody stories to each other. It's not all blue skies and buzzing bees." I interrupt.

"OK. Stay recover. You can go; we don't have to see each other again. I mean, that was your plan. I'm just another notch on your bedpost."

I watch her and feel sad for her and ashamed of myself. I have sex with these women and just leave. I've never given them a second thought.

She pours coffee into the mugs. "Sugar, milk?"

"No, black."

She picks the mug up and offers me the handle. I take it and sip it. It's hot, strong coffee, bitter and pleasing. "Hits the spot, thank you. Can we sit?"

"Just what the Dr. ordered?" She grins.

I look at her like she's crazy.

She shrugs like I've missed a joke. "Nothing, just a joke. You really don't remember last night? Lounge?"

"No, but... Yeah, wherever."

I follow her into the lounge and sit on the sofa. She sits opposite me, and I rub my eyes and ignore her beauty. "Who's the kid, got children? Divorced?"

"Hey."

"The pictures in the hall?" I nod towards the hallway.

"Oh, me and my niece. She's nine. I've no kids, happy without them. I split with my girlfriend three months ago. You're the first since, and I like you. I'm glad you spoke to me. I wouldn't have had the courage to talk to someone like you."

I look at her. "I'm just a woman. I'm not a fucking Goddess. Look at the fucking state of me. You're on the rebound, too."

"I'm not." She answers calmly. "But, look at you. You're amazing. You're absolutely stunning. I thought I'd won the lottery when you spoke to me. I wanted my friends to see someone like you was talking to me."

I look at her talk and listen. She's very easy to look at. She must get the pick of the ladies, herself. I laugh at her catching up with her lottery comment. "And now you've found the tickets spoiled."

"No. I just need to claim my prize." She smiles behind her mug.

"What?" I shake my head, confused.

"Look, you're probably not interested in me. I can deal with it, but next week. Will you be puking into someone else's kitchen sink, or will you be in the hospital? If not, will it be the following week or the week after?"

"So you have a problem with me having fun. Giving a one-night stand a lecture on morals and behaviour. And what if I am?"

"I have no problem with you whatsoever, but what do you want?"

"Want? I don't know." Seriously, I have no idea, and I don't want to worry about it, let alone discuss it with her.

"Is it just sex? Or, are you looking for friendship or a relationship?"

I catch the word relationship from the multiple-choice she's given and go with that, hoping that this will put a stop to the questioning. "No one wants a relationship with me. It only fizzles out."

"What is a relationship?"

I run my hand through my hair and hide behind a big sip of coffee. I feel uncomfortable, but she has a point. "I don't know."

"Look. You like a drink, we all do. We like sex. But don't you think some of it's a bit muddled up? How many girls have you slept with?"

"I don't know, a few!" I've lost count in reality, and this 'pull' is becoming a nightmare. I wriggle in my seat and want to make her stop. I close my eyes. I see myself dancing, holding a bottle of wine, a flash of me kissing. I open my eyes. "Did we dance last night?"

"You did. I thought you were with your girlfriend. Only when you came over to talk to me did I realise it wasn't."

"A girlfriend?"

"You were all over her with your bottle of wine. The group you were with left, and you came to talk to me."

"Oh shit."

"What?"

"What did the girl do who I was kissing?"

"She didn't seem too happy with you. I thought you'd had a lover's tiff and you were trying to make up or that she was annoyed by your antics."

I start to feel ill and want a hole in the floor to eat me up. I was out with work colleagues last night. It could've been Helen or Vicky. I start to sweat and panic. "Was I drunk?"

"I don't know you very well. You slurred your words occasionally, but I thought you still had your wits about you."

"You slept with me drunk. You took advantage?"

"Oh, right. So I was with my friends, they could vouch for me. You came to talk to me. I was flattered; I fancied you. You tried to kiss me, and I said no. You asked me to go to the toilets downstairs. I said no. Your hands were round my waist, on my arse. I didn't mind, I fancied you. When we were leaving, you were begging me to stay for another drink. You told me I was beautiful and that we'd be good together. You wished you had a girlfriend as pretty as me. You complimented me on my trousers and boots, and we made a bet."

"What was the bet?"

She suddenly looks embarrassed and swigs her coffee. It takes her a long time to swallow it.

"Well? What was the bet?" I sit forward, I feel myself sweat, and my mind is black from the moment I remember dancing with wine and potentially kissing a colleague. I remember nothing until I woke up.