“Good morning, Tamara, what can I do for you?”
“I felt the baby move.” My heart rate accelerates. As much as I hate the circumstances, I’m gonna be devastated if this baby turns out not to be mine.
“That’s fantastic. How are you feeling?” I nod to the barman to pour me the same again and take a seat on one of the stools. There’s a woman with jet black hair and bright red lips sitting further along the bar staring at me. I turn my back. I don’t need her ‘come fuck me’ look right now. She ain’t bad looking, but she’s not on Georgia’s level. Nobody’s as beautiful as her. I run my hands over my unshaven chin and think about how she felt in my arms last night.
“Are you listening to me, Cam?” God, this woman has a whiney voice. Fuck, what if it’s a girl and sounds like her? Why can’t it be Georgia who’s carrying my baby, if that is, this is my baby, because I seriously have no idea how this happened. I’ve only ever had sex without a condom with two women in my entire life; my wife, and once with Georgia in my office. The last time I’d ever had my hands and mouth on her, it was fanfuckingtastic. I shift on the bar stool as I feel myself grow hard thinking about that night. It was wrong. She was married and I never get involved with married women, but fuck, no matter how much time passes, I’m hard whenever I’m around that girl. She just has something that calls to me and I can’t resist her and I know she feels it too.
“So will you?”
“Will I what?” Fuck off, woman.
“Will you be home by Thursday, so you can come to see the consultant with me?”
“No,” I lie “Take the nurse with you. I want to know everything they say.” We still don’t know if everything is going okay with the baby’s development. Tamara was hitting the Columbian marching powder to the tune of fifty quid a day for the first three months of her pregnancy. I’d sent her to a specialised rehab clinic where both her and the baby were weaned off the shit over an eight week period. And I’m now paying for a nurse to be at her side twenty four seven, just to make sure she doesn’t slip off the wagon, which is what she keeps threatening to do whenever I try and get through to her that we’re not and never will be a couple.
“When will you be home then, Cam? We’re missing you.”
“You and the nurse?” I’m such a comedian.
“No, Cameron, me and the baby.”
I take another gulp of my drink. “Tamara, the baby has no concept of who I am, now. Do what the nurse tells ya. Take your vitamins and attend your appointments. I’ll talk to ya later in the week when you’ve seen the doctor.” I end the call, finish my drink and try Georgia again. Fucking woman is so stubborn. “Pick up, Kitten. For fuck’s sake, you’ve made your point. I know you’re pissed off. She ain’t my girlfriend and I don’t even know if it’s my baby. Let me explain for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna tie you to my bed and make you listen when I get home. Just you fucking wait.”
As I end the call, I notice Dracula’s sister is now sitting next to me. Her lips are far too big for her face, obviously pumped full of whatever women have their faces pumped full of to make themselves look ridiculous and about twenty years older than they really are these days. I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to work, but that’s the effect they always seem to achieve.
“What d’ya want?” I ask her, annoyed at her invasion of my space. Although if she’s up for it, I could actually put those lips to good use. I’ve got a massive hard on thinking about Kitten and I really don’t fancy having it squashed in my jeans for the next twenty four hours. My phone bleeps with a text message. When I open it, I see it’s from Jodie.
‘Revenge… What a great feeling’
For fuck’s sake, what does that mean? Fucking women.
Morticia’s hand is squeezing the top of my leg as she leans in and says, “My, aren’t you popular.” I look from her hand to her mouth.
“Darlin’, you have no fuckin’ idea. Now, either get yourself in the bogs and give me a blow job or fuck right off to where you came from.”
She pouts her already pouty lips. I look over her face. Her makeup looks like it’s been laid on with a trowel. I fucking hate too much make-up on a woman; swearing and too much make-up are two things I can’t stand. Kitten was wearing too much makeup on Saturday night. Don’t get me wrong. She still looked fucking gorgeous; she always looks gorgeous, but when she showered and took it all off, she looked stunning. She takes my breath away. Even just thinking about her, I can feel my chest, and my balls for that matter tighten. Fuck, fucking woman.
“And what’s in it for me?”
Shit, I’d forgotten about Morticia Adams next to me. Her hand is now rubbing my cock through my jeans, which is now like a battering ram, thanks to thoughts of Georgia showering, taking off her makeup, her clothes. I finish my drink. “What’s in it for you, love, is a mouthful of my spunk; spit it, swallow it, rub it in your wrinkles, I don’t really give a fuck, now make up your mind, or fuck off.”
She gets up from her stool and says, “Meet me in the disabled toilets in a couple of minutes.” Fuck that. I ain’t waiting. Two of us in the one carzey, everyone’s gonna know what’s happening anyway.
“Go,” I say to her, “I’ll follow.” She takes three steps and I get up. She looks over her shoulder and shakes her head, but I really couldn’t give a fuck. I follow her down a short walkway and into the thankfully empty toilet. I lock the door behind me, and as I turn, she tries to kiss me with her trouty lips. “No, love, straight suck, no kissing.” She huffs as I push her down onto her knees. I undo the button fly of my jeans, but get no further when she pushes my hands away and pulls my cock from my boxers. God, that feels better.
“Wow,” she says, “someone’s pleased to see me.”
I shake my head at her. “Not pleased to see you, sweetheart, just missing someone else, badly.” She looks down at the floor and I wonder how many times I can insult her before she gets off her knees and walks away. I should feel bad, but I don’t. She offered. She’s the one who’s happy to be kneeling on the floor in a disabled toilet, when I’ve promised her nothing in return, so I don’t. I don’t feel any kind of sympathy for her.
I grab the hair at the back of her head and fuck her face until I come, all the while thinking of my Kitten and how she only ever took the tip in her mouth. If I ever pushed in too far, she would gag. Even giving a blow job, she’s elegant and classy and I love the fuck out of her. She’s nothing like the woman in front of me now, swallowing my cum, with lipstick and that black shit women put on their eyes all over her face. I pull out of her mouth with a pop, wash my hands and my dick in the sink, and leave her on the floor of the toilet. Luckily, as I head back out to the lounge, first class passengers for my flight are being called to board. I get in my nice, big comfy seat and send a text off to Georgia. Fuck, I’m gonna lay my cards on the table. I’m a mug, where she’s concerned. I can’t help it.
I love the fuck out of you.
I will talk.
You will listen.
We will be together.
I’ve waited long enough.
No more fuckin’ around, Kitten.
This Tiger’s about to roar.
I hit send and have a little chuckle to myself, ‘this tigers about to roar’. What the fuck was I thinking? If Benny or my brothers see that, they’d be on the floor laughing and they would never let me live it down. Oh, well, it’s done now. Let’s see what her response is, if any. Fuck, I hope she replies, or just reads it even. I just need her to know. Fuck, I should’ve just been honest with her Saturday night instead of playing games and waiting for her to blow smoke up my arse and tell me how much she wanted me. The lack of sleep, alcohol, the release of tension from the very average blow job I received all mean that I’m out cold before the plane even takes off.