Virtually Perfect (19 page)

Fast, deep thrusts, moaning, contracting around him again.  Ben struggled for breath, thrusting quickly, holding her by the waist, raising his hips into her in one final deep thrust.  He heard her cry out again, pulsating around him.  Ben's groan echoed.  His body shuddered beneath her. 

She slumped down on him, breathless, exhausted; sweating, shaking all over.  He could feel her heartbeat thundering against his.  He teased back the loose wisps stuck to her clammy brow, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest.

He wanted to speak.  He wanted to say something, but every time he tried, he was like a gold fish gasping for air.

'...I've never done that before,' she murmured eventually.

She could still feel him throbbing inside her.

'Cowgirl?' he said, drowsily stroking her shoulders.

'...No,' said Eve.  'Without a...  you know.'

'Bareback?'

Eve's eyes opened.  She peered up at him.  The porn industry lingo made her distinctly uneasy. 

Ben felt her pulling away from him, felt himself sliding out.

'I'm clean,' he told her flatly.

Eve smiled and nodded, attempting nonchalance.

She's hiding again. 
She'd turned her back on him, tugging at the duvet, rolling back the corner.  She was desperate to put a barrier between them. 
Going back into her shell.

Eve felt his arm around her waist.  A second later she was on her back, lying across his warm, clammy chest, hairpins digging into her scalp.  Ben's tired eyes gazed down. 

'I had all the tests,' he said drowsily.  'They all came back negative.' 

Eve's eyes softened, the fear fading a little.  Ben stared down blankly, stroking her ribcage. 

'Waiting's the worst part,' he murmured.  'Have you ever Googled
blue waffle
?'

Eve stared up at him.  She could feel trickles of warm fluid running down her inner thighs.

'Are you OK?' he asked.

It seemed a bit late to be having this conversation.

'Yes,' she nodded.  'I still have the results.  I can show you, if you like.' 

That was exactly what it said: 'ALL OK', a cryptic text saved on her phone.   She doubted his experience was quite like hers, sitting in some ropey plastic chair at the GUM Clinic, surrounded by spotty teenagers, staring at the stained carpet.  The HIV and Hep C test was the worst.  The nurse fucked up when she took the bloods.  Eve's inner arm turned black from her wrist to her bicep.

'No,' said Ben, smiling down, stroking her hair.  'I mean do you feel OK?' 

She smiled and nodded.  He paused, his brow tightening a little. 

'...I thought you just said you always used condoms?'

She shrugged.

'I could have put five on the last bastard,' she shrugged.  'I still wouldn't have trusted him.  And you can still get it through... well, anyway...  I'd better go and clean myself up.'

She sat up and kissed him, then hopped down off the bed.  One of the black stockings had slipped from the clips of the suspender belt, sliding down to her ankle.  She kicked it off.  Ben watched her naked white bottom bounce off into the bathroom, hands reaching behind her, unclipping the bra.  He heard her turn the shower on.  She didn't shut the door.

Mr Bojangles was crying outside.  Ben put his briefs on and let him in.  They lay on the bed together, Bo on his back, Ben stroking his stomach.  Bo was purring again, nuzzling Ben's hands.

'Do you want something to eat?' Ben called, once the water had stopped.  He caught a glimpse of her through the steamed up shower door, just a fuzzy, peach blur.

'What, you mean... go out again?'

'No.  I'll get them to bring something up.' 

He reconsidered.

'...Unless you want to go out?'

'Christ no!' she echoed back.  'You order.  I'll eat anything.  I'm starving.'

He smiled to himself.  He wasn't going to argue.  He'd seen her with a menu before, he didn't have that kind of time.  Ben was hungry now, his stomach was growling and gurgling.  He hauled himself up and wandered to the lounge, picking up the phone. 

Eve stepped out of the shower cubicle, drying herself with a fluffy white bath sheet.  She slipped on one of the dressing gowns hanging on the rail.  She stood at the washbasin, pouring cleanser onto a wad of cotton wool, smothering the white lotion all over her face.  It smelt of cucumber and green tea.  She had her eyes closed, lotion caught in her black lashes, sweeping wads of cotton wool across her brow, cheeks, nose, chin, neck, lips, eyes.  She removed the last traces of the evening's makeup, followed up with toner, tightening her pores.  She swept up the heap of dirty cotton wool pieces in her hands, flipping the pedal of the chrome bin with her big toe, tossing them into it with a metallic thud.  She twisted off the lid of her moisturiser, working the light cream into her skin in deft little circles.  She smiled at Ben in the mirror.

'You like watching me, don't you?'

Ben smiled back, shrugged, nodded.  He came up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, leaning his chin against her cheek. 

'I hope you don't mind me saying this...' His voice was deep and husky.  'But that was the best sex I've ever had.' 

She smiled shyly back in the mirror.

He was right.  It felt the same for Eve too.  She'd never felt so connected with another person.  With her exes, it had been a case of 'brace yourself Sheila' and ten minutes staring at the ceiling.  A quick fumble at the end to get her off, if they remembered.  Usually, they didn't. 

And yet when he said it, the way he did, she felt a pang of disappointment.  It sounded so much nicer in Italian.

He pressed a kiss against her temple, held her for a second longer, then wandered off to the shower.  Eve watched him peeling off his black briefs.  He looked back, flashing a smile.

They slouched together on the cold leather sofa in their dressing gowns, Bo stretched out in front of the wall fire.  Eve rested her head on Ben's chest, their legs entwined as he lazily flicked through the channels.

A bloodcurdling scream came from the TV set.  A blonde woman appeared with a swollen belly, an masked Asian man peering between her bent knees.  A hospital ward, lots of people in green.

Eve's eyes swivelled upwards, caught Ben's, then flicked to the door as there came a loud knock.   

'I'll get it,' he said quickly, rubbing his head and jumping up.  Eve grabbed the remote and turned over.

He reappeared with a sheer blue and white striped carrier bag.  Eve sat up, quite perplexed.  He reached inside, pulling out a package and presenting it to her.  The bag floated down to the coffee table as he took out the other package for himself.

'Don't let it get cold,' he said as she sat staring at the warm heavy parcel in her lap.  She began unfurling the white paper.  'I hope you like chilli sauce.'

She turned to him.  He held the pita tentatively, biting into it, ribbons of lettuce raining down on the paper spread across his knee.

'...How the hell did you get that in here?'

He just smiled and winked, still chewing, lips closed. 

She liked the way he ate.

It had been years since Eve had had a kebab.  She wasn't quite sure why.  She'd always liked them; she'd never been a calorie Nazi.  It suddenly dawned on her.  The kebab is the remit of the tipsy reveller, usually accompanied by violent swaying from side to side and spilling the contents all over the floor.  When she'd lived in Clapham, she'd been on at least two a week. 

She never went out anymore.

'Do you want a drink?' asked Ben, getting up. 

'Yes please,' said Eve, covering her mouth as she chewed. 

Ben contemplated leaving the remainder of his kebab on the coffee table, until he spotted a rather alert looking Mr Bojangles.  He changed his mind and took it with him instead, much to Mr Bojangles' chagrin. 

Room service had been whilst they were out.  Ben grabbed the Champagne from the bucket and tore off the gold foil.  It was still cold.  He untwisted the wire cage over the stopper.

Eve flinched as the cork popped.  She smiled as she heard Ben swearing quietly to himself; the patter as it overflowed onto the carpet.   She should have offered to help him, but she couldn't put the kebab down.  She wasn't sure whether there was something special about this one, or if it was just because she was sober.  The meat was moist and tender with light fresh spices, not the dried out, gristly cardboard she remembered (and she'd liked that well enough).  The pitta was soft and doughy, the salad crisp and fresh.  Chunks of beef tomato that tasted of sunshine, peppery shredded cabbage, zingy chilli sauce, cooling swathes of mayonnaise.  Ben stood in front of her, holding out her glass. 

'You liked that then?'

She looked up still chewing; smiling, nodding, crumpling the paper up into a ball.  He took it from her, handing Eve her Champagne then leaning down, kissing away the dot of mayonnaise from her top lip.

They flicked through the channels again. 

'What kind of films do you like?' she asked. 

'I don't know.  Anything really.  Action mostly.'

Eve raised her eyebrows as he took a wrong turn, landing on a dodgy channel.  A peroxide blonde in pigtails, a nurse's hat and a g-string, grinding up and down above an 0898 number.  He embarrassedly flicked back through the channels.

'Do you watch porn?' she asked quietly.

Ben sighed.

Here we go...

He spotted Denzel Washington lecturing Ethan Hawke. 
Training Day
.  He plumped for that, tossing down the remote.

'I was single for a year,' he said bluntly.  'I'm not really into one night stands.'  He took a gulp of Champagne.  'I think that answers your question.' 

Ben raised his glass again.  There was going to be an argument, he just knew it.

'Redtube.' 

Ben spluttered.  He wiped his mouth, his eyes bouncing back to Eve. 

'It's OK,' she went on.  'but it gets a bit repetitive, don't you think?'

'...You watch porn?' he said doubtfully.

'Is that not allowed?' replied Eve.  'Only for the storylines, of course,' she said with a smirk.  'Man comes to fix photocopier, secretary drops pencil, bends down to pick it up...'  She gave Ben a knowing look.  'A librarian putting her books away, on the bottom shelf, obviously.  The caretaker comes to fix a lightbulb...' 

Ben's eyes widened, he'd seen that one. 

'...There's definitely a theme.  But what's the deal with lesbians?' she asked playfully.  Ben just stared back.  'I don't understand why men are so fascinated with them.  The sight of two gay men at it doesn't turn me on at all.  Honestly, I've seen stacks of them, but—'

'Do you still watch it?' Ben asked quietly.

'Not for a while now,' she said.  '...What about you?'

'The same,' he said brusquely.  'Let's keep it that way, shall we?'

He was jealous; a little possessive.  Eve liked that.  She didn't bother to explain how she knew about Redtube.  She didn't tell him how been trawling her internet history after Dan had been on there and come across a video entitled
Naughty Bookworms
.  It was interesting that Dan went for the intellectual type, when he himself was as thick as pig shit.  The girls in the video were almost certainly astro physicists or majors in political science.  You could tell all that from the glasses. 

It's a curious thing, the way men consider that, for them, watching porn is the norm, but for a woman, it's a little bit freaky.  That when a girlfriend has a problem with her fella watching naked ladies she's neurotic; controlling, but when the boot is on the other foot, a man can get equally pissy over the idea of his gal getting off over somebody else.

Eve smiled to herself. 
That was easy. 

She peered up at him.  Perhaps it wasn't as easy as she'd thought.  He seemed a little turned on.

'Where's the strangest place you've ever had sex?'

'...Oh no,' she sighed.  'I'm not playing this game.'

'Why not?' he said, flashing a grin.

Eve just shook her head. 

She looked up at the flatscreen.  Denzel Washington had a naked Eva Mendes face down on the bed.  Ben's hand shot out, he covered Eve's eyes.  She laughed.  He tweaked her nose, pulling her back against him.  She raised her glass so that it wouldn't spill.  They winced as her head fell back on his thigh, the hairpins digging into them both.

'Take them out,' he told her, taking her glass. 

She craned her neck, pulling them out one by one. 

'...I don't like to do that,' she told him.  'It's always a mistake.  When you start to talk about what happened in old relationships with somebody new, it's never very long before one of you hurts the other one's feelings. 

'If you start talking about the good times or say anything nice, it makes them feel insecure.  Before you know it, it's turned into a huge pissing competition.  Who can hurt the other the most.'