‘OK, I’m off,’ I said, grabbing my bag and keys. ‘See you later – have fun.’
‘Thanks, Mor,’ said Scarlet, my best friend, giving me a lingering hug. ‘Really appreciate this.’
‘No worries,’ I said.
I stole a glance at Gareth, who winked at me and raised his bottle of beer in a toast. ‘Yeah, cheers, Morwenna. Much obliged.’
It was cold and drizzly, typical Cardiff weather, but my face was burning hot as I walked the mile or so to the town centre. Forget it, I told myself. He’s off limits.
I’d planned to stroll around the shops, continue my ongoing search for the perfect nude lipstick, read a magazine in my favourite little café on the Bay – my usual happy distractions. But I felt irritated, unfocused. Lunch ended up being a hastily grabbed prawn sandwich, washed down with white wine from a plastic stem-glass with a peel-off lid.
I ate it on a bench inside the main shopping precinct, people-watching, trying to occupy my thoughts with something, anything – anyone – else. Not that it worked for more than a minute or two at a time before something or someone brought Gareth to mind. A couple walking by, all over each other. A guy in a red shirt …
My phone beeped. Just Mam texting to ask was I up for a family lunch this Sunday. I tapped out a reply, “Home or pub?” Another beep indicated that my inbox was full. Sighing, I scrolled down, deleting old messages. Then I reached the photo Scarlet had sent me two weeks earlier. For one sensible split second, my finger hovered over delete, but instead I hit select.
Even though I knew what I’d see, had every last pixel of it seared into my brain, a jolt went through my body as the image appeared on the screen. A self-snapped picture of her and Gareth lounging on my couch, both smiling, his arm around her shoulder. Both dressed in red T-shirts featuring a logo in white – a stylised silhouette of a Celtic dragon with outstretched wings. Hers was bright, brand new, cut to fit female curves. His was older, well-worn and faded, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, tight against his biceps. Feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again, I avoided looking right at his face. Then, unable to resist, I drank in every detail of it.
I didn’t even get why I fancied him – he was so far off my usual type, it was ludicrous. Short, stocky, rugged. Rough around the edges. Shaved head. And 45 to my 24. Way too old.
I scanned the picture again, searching for even the tiniest turn-off. The small scar above his right eye? Nah. The receding hairline, betrayed by a few days’ growth of grey-flecked stubble? At least one of us was “losing it” gracefully. I imagined running my hand over the light fuzz, feeling it tickle my palm …
My pussy spasmed, sending a shiver through me. Then I cringed. Argh, get the hell over it, over him. I took a deep breath, pressed delete, only for a dialogue box to pop up. “Definitely delete?” Sighing, I hit “No”.
I’d promised them my place to themselves until five, so I had another three hours to kill. I headed to a small arcade, browsed in a deli, lusted after jewellery I couldn’t afford. Next time, try fancying a rich old git, I thought snarkily. Then I trawled the main drag of chain stores and dawdled over a coffee before finally heading home.
Scarlet was alone when I got in – Gareth had left slightly early to avoid the rush-hour traffic, to my relief and disappointment.
‘Nice time?’ I asked.
‘Brill, thanks.’ She gave me a big, soppy grin. ‘Aww, he’s so lovely. He’s going to take me to Bath for my birthday – champagne lunch, the works.’
‘Cool.’ I tried not to feel too jealous.
‘What d’you buy, then?’ she asked, grabbing at a black paper carrier bag.
‘Oi, nosy!’ I snapped, snatching it away. ‘Maybe it’s someone’s present. Anyway, I’ve got to turf you out now. I need an early night.’
She looked mildly put out that we wouldn’t be sharing a girlie evening in, but she didn’t push it – I was already doing her a big favour. One I hoped I wouldn’t regret.
Once she had gone, I undressed, leaving my clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor. I filled the tub, stepped in, then dropped in a bath fizzer. I felt the bubbles caress my body as it turned the water pink and released its rose-vanilla fragrance.
Usually, I’d have soaked for ages, reading and sipping chilled wine. Now I felt fidgety, unable to relax. I ran my hands over my breasts, slick with scented, creamy froth. My nipples hardened under my touch, my areolae puckering into ridges.
Naturally, inevitably, my mind drifted to Gareth and to what he’d do with my tits. To how he’d cup them, each one fitting perfectly into a large, work-roughened hand. How he’d tease them with his tongue, flicking and licking them in turn, sucking on them … I began to finger my left nipple, rolling and pulling on it as my right hand crept down my body.
I stroked my belly, lower with each sweep, until my fingers brushed the hair at my bikini line. I hadn’t bothered waxing in so long, but maybe he preferred a full bush, I mused, as I pictured him nuzzling my boobs before he straightened up to kneel between my thighs.
My imagination filled in any unknown details. Those shoulders, chunky and masculine. His torso, tapering to a V. No try-hard six-pack, just strong and toned from his decades as a builder, and the amateur rugby Scarlet had told me he coached. Hairy chest, I figured, and my head swam as I visualised his cock, jutting hard and red-tipped from a mass of dark pubes.
I let the milky-pink water drain to expose my naked body. My fingertips trailed over my pussy lips, then slipped down to rub along the sides of my clit. I knew I could bring myself to a come within minutes – but not one that would come close to satisfying me.
I stood up, towelled myself dry, then went through to the bedroom, where I retrieved the black carrier bag. Then, sprawled back on the covers, I inspected my new toys. A “jelly” dildo, crystal clear with small, embedded specks of silver glitter. Eight smooth, symmetrical inches, with a slight bulge at the tip. As a newbie to this sort of thing, I hadn’t wanted anything too … well, cocky.
‘Ooh, I’ve got that one myself – it’s so cute!’ the shop assistant had said, cheerily. Softened up by her banter, I’d fallen for the hard sell, tossing the chrome-look vibrator she recommended into my basket. ‘And you’ll need this,’ she chirped, waving a bottle of lube under my nose. ‘For the dildo. Raspberry flavoured. Tastes like that sauce they put on 99 cones!’
‘D’you sell Flakes too?’
‘No,’ she said, my deadpan tone clearly lost on her. ‘Just Belgian chocolate willies. Cream-filled, half-price.’ They’d do as a daft little birthday gift for Scarlet, I decided. Well, if I didn’t scoff them first.
She added up my purchases. ‘As you’ve spent over £20, you get these free,’ she said, dropping a pack of condoms into the bag.
Now I dumped them into my bedside cabinet. Not required for the sex I was about to have with a lump of rubber – sorry, “seamlessly moulded hygienic hi-tech compound”. Just four years ago, as I’d shopped for hen-night novelties with some friends, I’d denounced sex toys as being for “saddoes and desperados”. How the mighty and all that.
Then again, something had to give, and this was better than shagging Gareth out of my system with some half-cut knuckle-dragger in a pub car park. And if I thought about him for just the teensiest minute while I was getting myself off? I was already guilty of that, so why not rack up a further count or three?
Although my wandering bathtime fingers had got me juicing up nicely, the toy dragged slightly against my skin. It felt huge too. I squirted out a generous glob of the lube – it did taste scarily like 99 sauce – and smeared it over the shaft.
I lay back again, my pussy tightening as I touched it to the opening. Maybe I needed to warm myself up a bit first. Nervously, I skimmed the head over my clitoris and labia. Now it was so slippery I could barely feel any friction but, as I moved it faster, pressed a little harder, it started to build, slow and delicious. I circled it, like I’d do with my fingers. Little random sparks of pleasure shot through my clit, getting closer together, more intense …
Sheepishly, I grabbed my phone and found the picture of Gareth, positioning my thumb to cover Scarlet’s face. Tragic. Then I looked straight at him, felt that familiar jolt. My pussy started to ache, suddenly feeling empty. Gripping the dildo loosely, I let the head slide to my hole, the bulb at the end spreading my inner lips apart. Again,
I pictured him poised over me, cock brushing my outer labia as he dropped a kiss on each of my nipples. Then he reached down, guiding himself into place before …
I shut my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to delay the moment. Then I angled the toy and pushed it in, slowly and gently, relishing every millimetre as it opened me up. I pumped and stirred it around, taking as much of it as
I could, then I pulled it back out, felt the bulb of it stretch my pussy-rim … Then I ploughed it in again.
Another glance at Gareth’s picture and my clit began to throb, every tingle a tiny plea for attention. Reluctantly, I put down the phone and let my hand roam briefly over my boobs before moving it down. As I diddled my nub, the dildo filled and stretched me, intensifying what I felt.
I pressed it against my pubic bone, using my fingers to squeeze and roll my clit against the inch or so of shaft sticking out of my pussy. A sudden spasm arched my body – just how hard could I actually come?
The silver vibrator was within reach. Thighs clamping the dildo in place, I tried it against my hand. Whoa! My clit was twitching even before I touched the buzzing tip to it. Another spasm, then a weird, unfamiliar sensation, one I wasn’t sure I liked – not yet, anyway. I shut my eyes again, imagining Gareth’s hand creeping in between my body and his, to rub and tease. Now the tension in my crotch was really building, gripping every nerve and muscle. ‘I can’t …’ I whimpered.
He didn’t speak, just silenced me with a kiss. I plunged the dildo in down to the hilt, pushing on the very end of it, and played the tip of the vibrator against my clit. ‘Fuck me,’ I breathed and he was coming too, back arched as he thrust in deep, his balls tight and ripe against my pussy lips as he filled me with his warm spunk.
I rode each wave of pleasure as it shimmered through my entire body. Then, suddenly, it got too much. I was spent, too tender to tolerate even the slightest touch. I felt my body buck as I pulled out the dildo, then I stuffed it and the vibrator into my bedside drawer, out of sight, before flopping back on the bed. One tiny aftershock, then another, and then I lay there, flushed and glowing, sated. So physically relaxed I couldn’t move.
Mentally, I didn’t feel quite as chilled. The guilt and awkwardness were sneaking back in. I flipped the phone face-down on the bed so I wouldn’t see Gareth’s picture and especially not Scarlet’s. Then I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
About an hour later, I was woken by tinny music coming from my kitchen. It stopped abruptly, only to strike up again seconds later. Sosban Fach – little saucepan, an old Welsh folk tune. The ringtone of a mobile phone charging on the work surface. I answered it.
‘Hello? Who’s that?’ said a male voice.
‘Morwenna,’ I said. ‘But this isn’t my phone.’
‘I know, it’s mine.’ Gareth. My pussy clenched, still soaking wet from earlier on. He’d mislaid the phone so he’d called its number to track it down – and he wanted to come and collect it tonight.
I had about an hour to get dressed and style my post-nap, post-orgasm hair into submission, and then to wait, chew my fingernails, and get worked up. Even though
I was expecting his knock at my door at any second, I still jumped out of my skin when it came, and my heart began to thud as I saw his brawny outline and red shirt through the frosted glass.
I ushered him into the kitchen, where I’d left the phone charging. ‘Sorry to bother you,’ he said. ‘And thanks for the juice.’ He’d meant the electricity. If only he knew.
‘No bother,’ I said. Though actually, when I thought about it, it was. Not him and Scarlet using my flat – that had been my idea. To give them the space – somewhere secure and familiar to her – and privacy, away from her disapproving mother and gossiping locals, to get to know each other better. Even his calling around this late in the evening wasn’t a problem. No, it was a different kind of invasion – into my head, under my skin, name your cliché – that bothered me.
It must have shown on my face because he looked at me, concerned. ‘What’s up, love?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ I shook my head.
He walked over, gently took my hand. Another spark, another dumb reminder of my stupid, juvenile crush. But
I squeezed back.
He pulled me to him, strong arms encircling my body as his hands stroked my back. He wasn’t much taller than me but my head seemed to nestle perfectly against his shoulder. ‘All right?’ he asked. ‘You just looked like you needed a cwtch.’
I smiled at the word. Welsh for “cuddle”, but so much more. Anyone born west of Offa’s Dyke would insist – very loudly – that it lost all but the bare bones in translation. I snuggled even closer, relishing his warmth, his solid frame against mine. Then he laid the softest of kisses on my hair.
Unable to resist the urge any longer, I reached up … and ran my hands over his head. I’d expected the stubbly growth to prickle but it felt like velvet. He shivered slightly as my fingers found a sweet spot, so I tickled him again. Then we melted into a kiss.
His lips moved against mine, tongue sliding into my mouth. He seemed calm, controlled, hands resting on my hips, while mine were all over his back and shoulders, like I was trying to map every muscle, every contour of him. Making the most of him while I had the chance.
When we came up for air, I pulled away. ‘Sorry, Gar.
I can’t do this to Scarlet.’
‘Do what? Look, love, if I’m too old for you, just say it, OK?’
I glared at him, unable to believe he didn’t get what the problem was. ‘So what am I meant to say to her, then? “Hello, best mate – guess who I’m shagging? Your dad!”’ The father she’d met barely two months ago.
He gave me a wry look. ‘Shagging?’
‘I –’ I shut my mouth, mortified.
‘C’mere,’ said Gareth, pulling me to him. I felt myself shake like a leaf.
‘I’m just trying to be a good friend to her,’ I murmured. ‘Like I’ve always been.’
I hadn’t meant it as a dig, but clearly, it had stung. He stayed silent for a while, then said, ‘I don’t know what Carol’s told you, but I didn’t walk out on her – on them.’
We sat on the couch with a stiff drink apiece as he explained his side of things. How he’d first met Carol, Scarlet’s mother, in a Cardiff pub – her on the rebound, him drowning his sorrows after a Five Nations disaster for Wales. They’d split up after a couple of weeks, and he’d only found out she was pregnant that autumn, when they’d run into each other again in the same pub.
‘She was seven months gone. Huge. I nearly shat a brick – ‘scuse my French – when I saw her. But she was back with her ex, said the baby was his. So that was that.’
As I understood it from Mam, the ex had been just one of a string of men who’d drifted in and out of Carol’s life before she’d finally settled down with Steve, Scarlet’s stepdad, in her mid-thirties. She had been 19 when her daughter was born, naïve and unprepared for motherhood, and that’s where we, as neighbours, had come in – Mam helping out with childcare and me as the surrogate big sister. I’d always been protective of Scarlet, and maybe that was the problem.
She was almost 22 now and I had to stop seeing her as a little girl, treating her that way. I’d seen how tough and single-minded she could be when she’d tracked down Gareth – standing up to Carol who hadn’t even wanted to tell her his name, then searching for him online, eventually making contact via a rugby forum. She might not like the idea of me dating him, not at first anyway, but I couldn’t imagine it wrecking our friendship either. Hell, she was always telling me I needed to get myself out there a bit more, get a bloke or “just a good seeing-to”. Let that come back to bite her on the bum.
A few minutes later, I was contemplating doing something similar to Gareth as my hands stroked his tight, denim-clad arse. I’d kissed him again, clumsily, but we’d soon picked up where we’d left off. Slowly and gently, he eased me back on the couch, only to hear it creak in protest as he shifted his own weight onto it too.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s ancient. Not as old as you, mind.’
‘Bitch,’ he said, grinning.
‘Admit it, you’re senile,’ I teased. ‘Ooh, where’d I leave me phone, then? Or was that accidentally on purpose?’
‘Bedroom?’ he said, refusing to let me wind him up or to dignify my accusation with an answer.
I led him through and we lay on the covers, kissing and letting our hands wander, but it wasn’t until I’d slipped mine under his T-shirt and helped him out of it that he began to undress me, peeling off my skinny jeans and unbuttoning my top. I arched my back slightly, to show off my breasts a bit more. They might not be the biggest he’d encountered – Carol’s were bloody massive – but they were pert, standing firm even when he unhooked my bra.
He sat back, just enjoying the view for a moment before fumbling his jeans open, freeing his stiffening cock. By the time he was naked, it stood rigid. He joined me on the bed again, skin on skin, his body warm and hard against mine as he slipped my knickers down and off. He kissed me and nuzzled my neck, taking things slowly, and I stroked his head again, pressing on it to coax his mouth down to my breasts.
As it latched on to one of my nipples I trailed a hand down over his chest and belly, ruffling the hairs, before curling my fingers around his cock. I felt him tense, then he sucked harder on my tit as I began to palm up and down the shaft, over the rounded head.
He had a hand between my legs now, fondling my mound and outer labia. I squirmed against him, trying to manoeuvre my slit onto his fingers, but he kept me in suspense. I wanked him harder, my other hand cupping his balls and rolling them in his sack, and eventually, finally, he slid two digits into my pussy, his thumb working against my clit.
He brought me to the brink of orgasm then suddenly pulled away. I groaned in frustration and he put a hand on mine to slow me down, obviously close to the edge himself. ‘You got any …?’
‘Top drawer,’ I said.
He rummaged around, smirking as his hand came back out holding the dildo.
I said nothing, just let him find the condoms and roll one on. We kissed again, briefly, then he eased me onto my back, stroking my thighs to splay them. I felt the anticipation in every nerve of my body as he got in between my legs, little spasms spearing my pussy as his cockhead butted up against it. Then he was inside me, filling me with the length of it.
His tongue tangled with mine as he buried his prick deep and stirred it around. I felt him rock his hips from side to side, his shaft stroking and rubbing up against every inch of my pussy. I clung on to him, my fingertips clawing at his strong back and shoulders, legs hooking over his calves, holding him close.
Still he took his time, sucking on one of my nipples and then the other, grinding away inside me. Then he straightened up, paused once again to look at me laid out below him, and grabbed my legs, pulling them up so my ankles rested against his shoulders.
This way he could fuck in even deeper and as he pumped his cock, moving it in circles, his hand crept down and his fingers found my clit. Immediately, I began to moan and felt my breathing quicken, whipping me into even more of a frenzy. I tensed my muscles, squeezing him tight, saw him grit his teeth as he tried to hold back. For a few moments he stopped thrusting, his swollen length hot inside me as his fingers strummed my clit. The tension built to an almost unbearable pitch – then relief, release pulsed from my crotch and through my entire body as I orgasmed.
Still, he teased my clit until I had to beg him to stop. Then as I lay back, a twitching, satisfied mess, he grasped my legs tightly and thrust in a few more times, his cock sinking in to its root as he climaxed.
Once he’d recovered, he got up and poured us another drink, knocking his back in one gulp. ‘Oh dear, I can’t drive home now,’ he said. ‘How sad.’
I thumped him with a pillow then snuggled up.
‘So –’ a thought had suddenly occurred to me ‘– if you thought some other bloke was Scarlet’s dad, how come you didn’t just tell her that when she got in touch?’
‘That time I ran into Carol,’ he said, smiling at the memory of it, ‘I patted her bump and told her if it was a girl, to call her Scarlet. After Llanelli Scarlets. Mostly to wind up the Swansea-supporting knobhead she was with.’
‘So she’s named after a rugby team? Classy,’ I said. Not that it wasn’t obvious when I thought about it – the red T-shirts with the club’s dragon logo. And Sosban Fach was a Scarlets anthem – they’d even topped the goalposts at the home stadium with little red saucepans.
‘I was just kidding at the time,’ protested Gareth. ‘But … I dunno. Maybe Carol felt guilty for lying to me, or she still had feelings for me. Maybe she just liked the name.’
‘Well, it does kind of suit her. Scarlet, I mean.’
‘Yeah, well it definitely got my attention. And when she emailed me a picture of herself, I just knew. Same colouring as when I was her age, same eyes …’
I gazed into his. Pluck the brows, smooth out the wrinkles, and yes. Well, possibly. Then he smiled and … It was just the way they lit up, exactly like hers did. I saw it instantly, would never be able to unsee it now. Great.
‘Definitely the same eyes,’ I said. ‘Just hope it doesn’t freak me out when we’re … y’know.’
‘We can do it with the lights out,’ he suggested.
‘Or with you behind me. Or there’s a blindfold in the drawer,’ I said sweetly.
He paused, momentarily fazed, then gave me a wicked grin. ‘So who gets to wear it, then?’
‘Dunno,’ I said, feigning indifference. ‘You decide.’
I caressed his chest again then let my hand creep down – slowly, to give him time to think about it. OK, the blindfold was really just a sleep mask but so what? Why spoil the fantasies brewing in his mind? After all, my own seemed to be playing out quite nicely now …