Letters to Claire

I'd come to town for a second cousin's wedding. The event had been much what one would expect of a country wedding; there was a church, a priest pontificating about the sanctity of marriage, and a lot of free beer.

There was fuck all accommodation nearby, so my friend Ryan and I had agreed to split a twin share room in a local motel. He was living and working in Roma, I was living and working in Ipswich, and neither us were keen to go and stay with our families after a night on the booze. We were mates from way back and had gone camping and hunting more times than I could remember, so a night spent in close quarters shouldn't have been an issue.

It was a woman that caused the problems. There are roughly two types of women in the world; those that will cause you trouble and those that won't. Ryan's woman was the former, something everyone -- including him -- knew, but she'd been his first in every sense of the word and even though Georgie was nuttier than squirrel shit, she still had a hold over him. He'd been working away for a good three months since he'd seen her last, but all she'd had to do was smile at him.

Combine free beer, the presence of an ex-girlfriend, horniness and loneliness, and the result is probably obvious. At quarter past eleven Ryan, Georgie and I all headed back to the room which had been booked for two but would soon host three.

I was very much single. I'd peaked early, marrying at twenty, becoming a father at twenty-two and then, regrettably, a widower two years after that. A year after Claire had passed, I was no longer sunk in a quagmire of grief, but had instead found a level of acceptance with the world. Oftentimes, I'd catch myself turning around to tell my wife something, having completely forgotten that she was dead, but I can only assume that was a natural habit of someone who'd thought the absolute world of his spouse. Every time someone had commented that I'd married young, I'd secretly thought 'yes, but I married right.'

Our motel room was clean, tidy and reasonably modern. Ryan and Georgie stayed out the front to have a cigarette each, but I've never smoked, so I went inside, pissed and took off my suit pants, shirt, shoes and socks. I pulled on an ancient pair of soccer shorts and a tee shirt that had probably come from Kmart, and tried not to look in the mirror. I was twenty-five but could pass for thirty. My hair was already thinning around the sides and I had a thirty-eight inch waist when I probably should have only been a thirty-four.

I went and laid down in bed, wishing I'd had an extra drink or two and bought some Valerian with me. I'd had trouble sleeping after Claire passed, and my GP had recommended it. It worked surprisingly well, particularly combined with a double shot of bourbon. For months there had been at least one night a week where I poured myself a strong drink, popped a few capsules, then toddled off to bed.

Ryan and Georgie remained outside, talking and smoking. Everyone has that one mate who won't give up on a woman even though everyone else knows he'd be a million times better off and happier without her in his life, and every man knows that saying a word against her is absolutely pointless. You just have to buy your mate a beer and listen to them talk about how it all went wrong when it does, inevitably, does go pear-shaped.

It's not that Georgie's pretty. She's not. She's okay, but you wouldn't turn your head to watch her go by. She works in a good enough job, and she's got a wide circle of friends, but she's a princess and a drama queen and it's these latter two points the explain why she keeps stringing Ryan along -- in between screwing other blokes.

Some mates and I once did the sums and realised that amongst six of us men, you could combine any two of our salaries and it still wouldn't match Ryan's. He's a grader operator and he's exceptionally good at his job. He gets flown here, there and everywhere. Oftentimes he tries to turn work down, because Georgie's thrown a crumb his way and he wants to see if there's more on offer, and when that happens, the rate of pay he's offered increases. In a sick way, the stupid little bitch has probably been partly responsible for his outrageous income.

Because Georgie likes nice things, and she also enjoys the fun and drama of stringing Ryan along, she'll play hot and cold. In between, as mentioned earlier, she dates other men. Then she rings him to tell him.

No, I don't understand why he puts up with it. Trust me, none of us do. Nor do we understand why he wants to marry her, because he's actually had other girlfriends, girlfriends that are prettier, nicer and better at keeping their legs closed than Georgie, and yet Georgie still captivates him.

Tiredness had almost overtaken me, and I was on the cusp of sleep when my two room mates decided to come inside. I kept my eyes shut. Do you ever know what's about to happen, and just sit there, praying it won't, even thought you know it will?

My room mates switched the light out and Georgie undressed. I knew that's what was doing, even though ankara masaj yapan escort I didn't turn around, because Ryan was imploring her not to, telling her that I might wake up and see them.

'He'd probably enjoy seeing me naked,' Georgie giggled.

I didn't correct her.

'Just get into bed,' Ryan replied gruffly. 'I've missed you.'

It was like porn, only bad. It made me think of my teen years, when my father, who was single, decided I was old enough to understand sex and sexual desire, and started bringing his pick-ups home. I saw my first naked woman when she walked out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, not knowing I was at home. That alone would have been awkward enough, but I grew up in a country town and I knew who the woman was; the recently divorced mother of one of my school mates.

The bed creaked as Georgie climbed in alongside Ryan. They started to kiss, and I didn't need to look to know he was running his hands over her body, traversing paths he'd crossed a thousand times before, squeezing her flesh and pinching her nipples.

He barely made a sound, but it was the changes in his breathing and the gentle rustling of sheets that told me things were progressing. They broke apart and I heard Ryan undress himself. His clothing was thrown onto the floor, before he returned his attentions to Georgie. There was more kissing and fondling, and I could already pick up a change in the scent and humidity of the room.

'Lie on your back,' Georgie whispered.

She was quiet, but so was the night. Ryan rolled over. The sheets shifted, and I heard Georgie settle herself between his legs. She was going to blow him.

My cock was throbbing. I didn't want Georgie, but I wanted someone. I wanted sex. I was facing away from the couple, and I opened my eyes and stared at the wall, wondering how it had come to this, wondering how I was widowed and sharing a country motel room with an old friend who was getting his dick sucked by a woman he should have told to fuck off years ago.

It went on an eternity. Blow jobs have a sound to them. There is the wetness of spittle, the sliding of hands, and the quiet curse and groans of the man who's enjoying a hot mouth and a smooth hand working his erection. I couldn't ignore it. I wished I could, but I couldn't.

'Wait, wait, that's enough,' Ryan muttered. 'That's enough. Get on top of me.'

'I'm so horny. I want to come so badly.'

'I love you. I want you to come, too. Get on, princess, and fuck me.'

Fuck, I wanted what Ryan was getting, albeit from someone -- anyone -- other than Georgie. I wanted a woman to suck my dick, tell me she wanted to come, and to screw me. The motel room was tiny, and I thought I could pick up the scent of Georgie's pussy. It had been a damn long time since I'd had my head between a woman's legs, but I've always had a good sense of smell, and I was confident of what I was smelling.

It wasn't that I enjoyed listening to them fuck, it was simply some bizarre trick of nature that listening to sex made me want it for myself. After they'd finished, I'd probably go to the bathroom and finish myself off.

Georgie mounted Ryan. She moaned loudly as she eased him inside her, and I tried to imagine she was anyone but who she actually was, so I could feel less shithouse about having a hard on.

'Shhh,' Ryan warned her. 'You'll wake him up.'

'He's already awake.'

I froze. For a few seconds I didn't move. I could feel the weight of their gaze upon me, as they paused, mid coitus, to either confirm or discard Georgie's suspicions.

I remembered they were looking at me, and if I wanted to keep up the charade, I needed to breathe. I tried to inhale and exhale in the slow and steady rhythm of someone who was fast asleep.

'Neal,' Ryan hissed.

I ignored him.

'Neal,' Georgie cooed. 'Neal, I'm fucking Ryan. I'm...'

She broke off as Ryan clasped a hand over her face.

'Cut it out,' Ryan ordered. 'If you wake him up, you won't get to come.'

'If I wake him up, he might give me an orgasm,' she teased.

Ryan's voice was thick with irritation and hurt. 'That's not a joke, George. Come on, just fuck me. Kiss me. Just for once in your damn life pretend I mean something to you.'

My eyes clamped shut. Jesus Christ.

'You know I love you,' Georgie told him.

He groaned. 'That's my girl. Now fuck me. Fuck me until you come.'

It wasn't a quiet fuck. It was noisy, both verbally and in terms of bed squeaking. I was still almost unbearably hard and was glad that I was facing away from them so Georgie couldn't see any signs of my lust. If anyone would notice, it would be her, and I had my suspicions that she had her eye on me the whole time she was fucking Ryan. The last thing I wanted was the stupid mole getting the idea in her fat head that I was aroused.

'Fuck me harder,' Georgie pleaded. 'Oh God, Ryan, fuck me harder.'

'If I fuck you harder, I'll come, George. If you want to come, get mecidiyeköy escort off me and sit on my face.'

'Gross,' she complained. 'I'm not doing that. Just fuck me hard and try not to come.'

Ryan fucked her harder. The noises the bed was making were now quite loud, and if I hadn't already been awake, I probably would have been wrenched from my slumber.

Georgie again begged Ryan to go harder, and he again warned that if he did, he'd come.

'Just fuck me,' Georgie moaned. 'Just fuck me.'

Ryan fucked her hard and fast. Sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, and my friend began to grunt and groan.

'Don't stop and don't come,' Georgie hissed.

Ryan didn't stop, but he did come.

'Oh fuck, I'm sorry,' he groaned. 'George, George, I'm coming babe, I'm coming.'

I would have come by then, too. Foreplay, oral sex, and a good ten minutes of lovemaking would have been too much stimulation. Add in a little alcohol and a partner I loved and I would have had no chance of holding off orgasm.

George wasn't so understanding. While she was still riding his cock, she decided to start searching for her next sexual partner.

'Neal,' she said. 'Neal, I know you're awake. Do you want to finish me off? Because I'm ready to come, damn it.'

'Holy shit, shut up,' Ryan demanded. 'George, I told you this was going to happen. Let me finger you.'

'I want to be fucked, Ryan, and Neal will be able to fuck me.'

My God she was a messed up human being. My erection started to wilt as adrenalin began to course through my veins. I knew then and there that this wasn't going to end nicely. She'd been tormenting him all their lives, and she was half sloshed and obviously in the mood to step things up a notch.

'Neal,' Georgie repeated.

'Shut up,' Ryan hissed.

'But I want sex!'

'You had it! I told you to get off if you didn't want me to come!'

Georgie climbed out of bed.

Ryan hissed at her to get back, but she just giggled. I froze good and proper this time. Please, I thought, please don't touch me. Please just be going to the bathroom, or try to find your clothes so you can go outside and have a fag instead of an orgasm.

All the praying in the world didn't save me.

Georgie came over to my bed and slid underneath the covers. She was hot and sweaty and very much naked. I felt her breasts press against my back and her hand move over my arms. My skin crawled. I wasn't ordinarily a picky man. I'd normally consider a good ninety percent of women between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five fuckable. But Georgie was in that other ten percent, and besides which, I just felt completely shit about the situation she was putting Ryan in.

'Stop,' I croaked.

'Ha! I knew you were awake,' she giggled. 'Roll over. I want to fuck you.'

'No.' I cleared my throat. 'Georgie, don't be silly.'

She kissed me. She smelt like Ryan, of his sweat and his... yeah... doesn't bear thinking about that one, does it? Oh sweet merciful Jesus, come and save me, I begged. Or Ryan, get up and do or say something.

'I want you,' she whispered.

'Georgie,' Ryan said, having finally found his voice. 'Georgie, leave him alone.'

'No,' she giggled.

I lost my temper.

'Get out of bed,' I demanded, moving away from her. 'You're out of your fucking mind.'

'What, you don't like sloppy seconds? I heard a story from Ryan once, about you and Sean taking a woman home and spit roasting her.'

Thanks Ryan. Thanks a fucking lot, mate.

'Get off me,' I ordered, getting out of bed. My erection was now ninety percent gone and completely unnoticeable. 'I'm not hard, and I don't want to have sex with you. Go and... go and let Ryan finish you off. He started it, he can finish it.'

She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. 'I can't. He'll be crying by now.'

She spoke as if it were inevitable, as if she was used to behaving like this, and accustomed to Ryan's reactions. What should have been a simple, boozy night out was now completely fucked up and all because of this stupid fucking trollop.

I absolutely exploded. 'Get the fuck out. Seriously, get up, get your clothes on, and get out. I'll call you a taxi.'

'You won't get a taxi out here for at least an hour, probably two,' she said.

I went around to where her clothes were on the floor and threw them on the bed. 'Get dressed. I'll take you outside and we can wait together.'

Georgie looked at her clothes. 'You seriously want me to leave?'

'Are you completely fucking delusional?' I shouted. 'Get your fucking clothes on. Then get out of here.'

Georgie glared petulantly at me. A sneer formed on her lips. 'As if I'd have actually fucked you.'

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. My fucking god she was stubborn.

I grabbed her arm and forced her to look at me. 'Listen to me, Georgie, you are going to put your clothes on and get mersin escort out of this room right now. The party's over.'

She knew better than to argue. She dressed quickly and put on her shoes. I didn't see what Ryan was doing, because I didn't want to know. I didn't want my suspicions that he was, as Georgie claimed, crying, confirmed.

Georgie and I went outside.

'Call a taxi,' I ordered.

She spat on me. That's right, spat on me. 'Get the fuck away from me. I actually felt sorry for you when Claire died, but now I know it was probably a lucky escape for her. How often did you hit her, Neal? How often did you hit her the way you hit me?'

'I didn't hit you, Georgie, and I sure as shit didn't hit my wife.'

'You grabbed my arm.'

I didn't need this bullshit. 'Call a fucking taxi. Now.'

Georgie sneered at me as she dialled a number. I glanced over at the screen. It wasn't a taxi she was calling, but one of her friends. Mercifully for me, her friend had also attended the wedding, was still awake, and hadn't drunk too much. I overheard her tell Georgie she'd be here to pick her up within fifteen minutes.

I decided to wait with the drunk little bitch as we waited for her friend to arrive. Neither of us said a word to each other, but Georgie smoked two cigarettes, being careful to blow the smoke in my face. I hate the smell of cigarettes.

It was a damn long fifteen minutes.

Eventually, the car showed up and Georgie ran over, as if she were running from a burning building and not from a man she'd propositioned half an hour earlier. I saw her talk to her friend. I saw the friend and Georgie look in my direction and shake their heads.

Oh for fuck's sake. I'd had more than enough.

I tried to open the motel door, but it had automatically locked shut. I knocked. Ryan opened it. I didn't look at his face; I didn't need to know if he had been, as Georgie claimed, crying. It's a terrible thing when a man cries. It's bad when women do it, too, but it's worse when men do it, because you know shits really fucked up and he can't deal with it in any other way.

'Sorry,' he apologised, seemingly incredibly depressed.

'No worries, mate. She was just drunk.' I slipped inside. 'These things happen, right?'

'Yeah. She's an idiot when she's drunk.'

I went back to my bed and laid down. I stared at the ceiling through the darkness as I heard Georgie's friend's car leave.

'I still love her,' Ryan said numbly. 'Claire always treated you well. Why d'ya reckon Georgie treats me like shit? I'd do anything for that girl, anything.'

Fuck me swinging. 'Yeah, I dunno mate,' I replied.

'Were you awake when she was fucking me?'

'I woke up when you two were going at it. It was the bed. It was squeaking.'

'Yeah, sorry about that. She wanted me to fuck her harder. She told me not to come, but I came. It's just fucked.'

'Everyone comes earlier than they want if sex starts taking a while.' I yawned. I was shattered. 'Maybe find another woman.'

'I can't. I can't, you know? Because Georgie knows who I really am. And she's honest. Other women aren't honest. They'll turn to me after sex and say 'that was great', even though I know it wasn't great, or say 'you're so cute'. Look at this fucking rig of mine, mate. It's not a pretty sight. Why bullshit? Georgie might be a bitch, but at least she's honest.'

I didn't understand that, not at all. But how do you tell someone that maybe a girl did enjoy sex, or did think you were cute? I've seen women gush over some pretty ugly babies. It isn't inconceivable that they might find someone they loved attractive.

If I'd had a partner, I wouldn't have had to share a room with Ryan, and I wouldn't have had to witness that night's events, and I would have been light years' happier. I'm going to sound like an arsehole, but I was really past caring about his self-inflicted woman problems. He had the money, the means and the ability to find a better girl, and he knew Georgie would never love him, but still he foolishly persisted.

I'd much rather have gone to bed with a lady friend, someone who like me was slightly drunk and exceedingly horny, someone who smelt nice and felt soft and who smiled at me as I took her clothes off. I'd have been happy to nod and agree with the gossip she repeated, until I was sick of hearing about someone's sister or cousin or the inappropriate outfit a complete stranger wore, and kissed her so that she'd stop talking.

My motel pillow was too flat and too hard, and if I'd come with a woman, that probably wouldn't have mattered, because she would have packed pillows from home. Comfy pillows that smelt like washing powder, and I would have said 'do we really need to bring all this shit' even though when push came to shove, I was glad she'd packed absolutely fucking everything, because it was nice for her to have something decent to rest her head on as I was nailing her.

During the past twelve months of widowhood, there had been casual sex here and there. It had always been to dispense with lust and semen and nothing more, but as the pain of my wife's passing faded, a persistent longing for a girlfriend had started to surface. I wanted someone to cuddle up to after sex. I wanted to feel a woman's head on my chest and to try not to squirm as she played with my belly hair. I wanted someone to love.