hips, the barely noticeable tilting of her pelvis, he was inside her. His face changed instantly, transformed by that expression which made Sarah briefly love every man she fucked: shock that he was inside her, mixed with gratitude that she was allowing him to be. With most men the expression appeared at the moment of penetration and then morphed into a look of triumph or resolve. But this lovely, soft bellied, father of daughters remained shocked and grateful almost to the end. Then, in the final moments, he was, as they all were, overtaken by the need for it to be finished, and his face turned ugly in its greed.
Sarah came, as she usually did, because she knew how her body worked, how to position herself, how to tense and relax, clench and release, how to keep a man from coming until she was done with him. Mr Carr – another man who had learnt from his daughters how to undress a girl without messing up her hair – had taught her all these things, and she was grateful for this every day of her life. But he also taught her that an orgasm was nothing; it was a sneeze or a good cry. So although she sought out sex like the drug it was,and although she came and came and came and came, what she hoped for was always the other thing: the merging into one, the making of the beast with two backs. Every man, every time, she waited for that moment of transcendence, the melting of self which allowed the absorption of another’s melted self; she wanted so much for Mr Carr to not be the only one who could reduce her like that. But after seven years of determined fucking she was beginning to lose her faith. Sweating and gasping beside her was another man who had been tried and enjoyed but who, in the end, had failed to be anything but a good fuck.
After the man left, Sarah smoked her last three cigarettes and drank the two flat beers she had opened earlier. She pushed aside an overdue electricity notice to get to
The House of Mirth
, which she carried into the bedroom. She was more than halfway through; hopefully sleep would come early tonight. But less than an hour into her reading, the light bulb blew. She thought about getting up and changing it, but decided it was too much effort. The last line she had read echoed in her mind:
There had never been a time when she had had any real relation to life
. She lay awake most of the night listening to the rats squealing and scratching in the alley below her window.
On the previous Saturday night, when she was supposed to be at a party with her old school friends, Sarah had stayed up all night fucking an eighteen-year-old professional dancer. On Sunday, she slept and studied and took her phone off the hook. Yesterday, Monday, she went to uni and then to work and then had sex with the man who’d driven her home. So it wasn’t until Tuesday morning that she answered her phone and was screamed at by Jess for missing the party on Saturday night. Sarah had a headache and was running late for uni, so to shut Jess up, she promised to meet them at the pub after she finished work.
She spent the rest of the day regretting her promise and arrived in a bad mood, expecting to be bored, and without bothering to change out of her stinky work clothes. She was relieved to find that Jamie was there, less happy that Shelley was with him, and astounded that Jess’ boyfriend was hot. She wished she had taken the time to change.
‘Finally we meet,’ Mike said, taking her hand and kissing it.
‘Finally? I’ve only known you existed for three days.’
He held onto her hand. ‘But I’ve known about you for months. Jess talks about you all the time.’
Sarah raised her eyebrows at Jess, who was glowing. Well good for her. She turned back to Mike. ‘So I suppose you think I’m a nerdy slut with terrible housekeeping skills.’
He laughed. ‘You’re not?’
‘Occasionally. But sometimes…’ She pulled her hand free and twirled around. ‘…I’m just a simple, hard-working waitress in desperate
Sarah came, as she usually did, because she knew how her body worked, how to position herself, how to tense and relax, clench and release, how to keep a man from coming until she was done with him. Mr Carr – another man who had learnt from his daughters how to undress a girl without messing up her hair – had taught her all these things, and she was grateful for this every day of her life. But he also taught her that an orgasm was nothing; it was a sneeze or a good cry. So although she sought out sex like the drug it was,and although she came and came and came and came, what she hoped for was always the other thing: the merging into one, the making of the beast with two backs. Every man, every time, she waited for that moment of transcendence, the melting of self which allowed the absorption of another’s melted self; she wanted so much for Mr Carr to not be the only one who could reduce her like that. But after seven years of determined fucking she was beginning to lose her faith. Sweating and gasping beside her was another man who had been tried and enjoyed but who, in the end, had failed to be anything but a good fuck.
After the man left, Sarah smoked her last three cigarettes and drank the two flat beers she had opened earlier. She pushed aside an overdue electricity notice to get to
The House of Mirth
, which she carried into the bedroom. She was more than halfway through; hopefully sleep would come early tonight. But less than an hour into her reading, the light bulb blew. She thought about getting up and changing it, but decided it was too much effort. The last line she had read echoed in her mind:
There had never been a time when she had had any real relation to life
. She lay awake most of the night listening to the rats squealing and scratching in the alley below her window.
On the previous Saturday night, when she was supposed to be at a party with her old school friends, Sarah had stayed up all night fucking an eighteen-year-old professional dancer. On Sunday, she slept and studied and took her phone off the hook. Yesterday, Monday, she went to uni and then to work and then had sex with the man who’d driven her home. So it wasn’t until Tuesday morning that she answered her phone and was screamed at by Jess for missing the party on Saturday night. Sarah had a headache and was running late for uni, so to shut Jess up, she promised to meet them at the pub after she finished work.
She spent the rest of the day regretting her promise and arrived in a bad mood, expecting to be bored, and without bothering to change out of her stinky work clothes. She was relieved to find that Jamie was there, less happy that Shelley was with him, and astounded that Jess’ boyfriend was hot. She wished she had taken the time to change.
‘Finally we meet,’ Mike said, taking her hand and kissing it.
‘Finally? I’ve only known you existed for three days.’
He held onto her hand. ‘But I’ve known about you for months. Jess talks about you all the time.’
Sarah raised her eyebrows at Jess, who was glowing. Well good for her. She turned back to Mike. ‘So I suppose you think I’m a nerdy slut with terrible housekeeping skills.’
He laughed. ‘You’re not?’
‘Occasionally. But sometimes…’ She pulled her hand free and twirled around. ‘…I’m just a simple, hard-working waitress in desperate
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