Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) (22 page)

‘I lied! I didn’t… didn’t look at the reviews properly.’

‘Really? You don’t say?’ Jamie wipes his eyes. ‘I’d love to have seen them though,’ he continues, and makes writing gestures with his hand. ‘
If you only see one movie this year with a man slapping his penis on a girl’s head, make it this one! Five stars!’

This sends me off into another gale of laughter and we only sober up enough to leave the cinema when the woman from behind the counter comes storming round the corner, telling us to be quiet.

With our movie going experience cut short, we elected to visit the nearest pub… where Jamie proceeded to mercilessly tease me about taking him to see a porno flick.

After I rubbed his nose in his total lack of driving ability the other day, I guess it was nice for him to get his own back.

‘Now Laura,’ he said, leaning forward and taking my hand. ‘If that was your way of saying you like having your feet sucked, you could have just told me, you know.’

‘Sod off.’

‘And indeed, if it makes you feel sexy, I can go buy a sausage and smack you over the head with it, if you like. It’s not quite the same thing, but this is only our fourth date.’

He spends another fifteen minutes at this before I get bored and shut him up by moving my chair right next to his - and favouring him with a lingering kiss that definitely wakes
his
sausage up.

Frankly, I wanted sex there and then, but if there’s one weapon a woman has in her arsenal when it comes to assessing a man’s worth, it’s seeing how he reacts when you hold off getting naked and sweaty for just
a little bit longer…

We parted company in the car park after virtually dry humping against his Mondeo for ten minutes.

Any of the mouth breathers watching Bound Together would have probably enjoyed what we were doing even more.

…provided we both put buckets on our heads, I suppose.

As I drove home, I knew that the next time I’d see Jamie would be when I’d finally go all the way with him. I just had to decide the best way for that to happen on my terms.

As ever, love and miss you, Mum.

Your very distracted daughter, Laura.

xx

Jamie’s Blog

Tuesday 6 September

Good grief, it’s hotter than a mustard
vindaloo
out there.

This is not the weather you’d expect for September in the
UK
, but then if you want a predictable climate, this ain’t the country to be living in.

The unseasonable warmth was an appropriate backdrop to the consummation of my relationship with Laura McIntyre on Sunday night.

While the country was sweating thanks to the clammy Indian summer, we were sweating for much more enjoyable reasons.

Don’t fret, I’m not dumb enough to write about it here without having run it by Laura first.

I’m smart enough to know that telling the world about your first sexual encounter with a new woman without getting her permission isn’t likely to win you many brownie points.

She’s given her blessing… and actually said she was looking forward to reading it.

No pressure there, then.

Turns out she writes a diary herself, though she’s very cagey about it.

…my mind’s afire with curiosity.

I got the idea that Laura might be ready to go a little further than the public display of affection stage when she suggested I come over to hers for the evening.

When a woman invites you into her home it tends to suggest things are proceeding in the right direction.

While I didn’t count my chickens before they’d hatched, I did make sure a fresh condom was secured in my wallet, just in case.

I won’t lie and say that my heart wasn’t beating faster than usual as I rang her doorbell. I was really looking forward to having the opportunity to, well… ring her doorbell.

‘Evening handsome,’ Laura says with a cheeky smile as she opens the door.

‘Christ, you look incredible,’ I reply.

This is no word of a lie.

Laura is wearing the classic ‘little black dress’.

If someone has invented a sexier outfit than this, then I certainly haven’t seen it… especially when the woman wearing it has a figure to die for.

To trot out a hackneyed expression:
there she stood with all those curves and me with no brakes.

I stop speculating about what she might be wearing underneath the dress, otherwise I’m likely to spend the next five minutes on the doorstep staring at her and dribbling.

I hand over the bunch of flowers I’ve just picked up in Tesco and give her a kiss.

Stop making that face.

Tesco flowers are
perfectly
acceptable in my book - provided it’s a last minute thing.

It only occurred to me that I should buy her some as I walked out the door.

Admittedly, I should have thought of buying a bunch a lot sooner and visited one of the local over-priced flower emporiums, but at least I didn’t pull into the nearest Shell forecourt and pick up a bunch that stank of petrol.

Originally our plan was to get take-out, but Laura surprises me by stating that she’s cooked us a spaghetti
bolognese
.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says when she sees the look on my face. ‘I made sure the mince was fresh and cooked properly. We’ve got two toilets though, just in case.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Got us a movie to watch afterwards as well. My flatmate’s out, so we can watch it in the lounge.’

Movie?

Lounge?

These are not the things a horny gentleman wishes to hear on a night he’s designated for first time
rumpy
pumpy
.

Watching a movie (along with eating a meal) will fill up a majority of the evening, leaving little time for hanky panky.

Maybe this is Laura’s plan though.

Perhaps she wants to take things slow, and not jump right to the
winky
wonky.

…yes, I did make that last one up.

This turn of events does not meet with approval from my penis. He’s not happy in the slightest.

My stomach is quite content however with the smells emanating from Laura’s kitchen.

I go into the lounge and sit at the table while she dishes up the meal. We chat about our respective days through the serving hatch as she wrestles with the pasta.

I offered to help, before you accuse me of being a lazy misogynist, but she told me to stay put.

This is probably wise as the last time I was let loose in a kitchen I nearly killed the both of us.

To head off any thoughts you might be having of a repeat performance of fajita night, the
bolognese
is fabulous and there are no unpleasant after effects (other than my need to break wind expansively later that evening).

We continue to chat about nothing in particular over the meal, though I have to admit to being somewhat distracted by the soft whispering sound her stockings make every time she crosses her legs.

‘What movie is it?’ I ask.

Please be a short one. Please be a short one.

‘
Slumdog
Millionaire. I’ve never seen it. Have you?’

‘No, but I’ve heard good things about it.’

Mainly that the bugger is a good two hours long,
damn it
.

‘Great!’

‘Completely devoid of slapping penis, I’m led to believe.’

We clear away the plates and settle down to watch the flick.

To be fair to Danny Boyle’s tale of life in the Mumbai slums, we did manage to get through a whole thirty seven minutes before turning our attention to more exciting activities.

While the acting, storyline and cinematography are all very nice, they really can’t compete with a beautiful woman in a tight black dress, who’s had three glasses of wine and is feeling frisky.

By the time
Slumdog
(I never catch his real name) starts getting close to winning the million rupee jackpot, I’m getting pretty damn close to scoring a jackpot of my own.

Upon discovering what Laura has underneath her little black dress, my penis goes on a metaphorical victory lap and high fives my testicles: Black stockings, black frilly knickers and suspenders with red bows – it’s every red blooded man’s dream.

I’m not sure she’s so enamoured with my Primark boxer shorts, but at least they were clean on that day, which hopefully counted for something.

Ten more highly enjoyable minutes go by before Laura says something that sends my penis off around the track again for another lap.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she whispers into my ear.

As this isn’t a bad romantic comedy from the eighties, I don’t attempt to pick Laura up and carry her. I let her climb the stairs under her own steam – which is fine by me, as I’m right behind her and get a good eyeful of her bottom. She hasn’t pulled the dress back down properly, so the tops of her stockings are visible.

My penis is now pulling champagne corks and jumping up and down on the podium with the national anthem playing in the background.

It’s baking hot in her bedroom so Laura throws open the windows, letting in a pleasant breeze, only slightly blocked by the curtains she pulls to prevent the neighbours getting a free sex show.

It’s still fairly early in the evening so I can hear voices coming from the gardens of nearby houses.

Within a minute of hitting the bed I’m naked apart from the budget Primark pants.

Laura allows me to divest her of a majority of the lingerie, to her apparent relief.

‘This stuff looks good, but it’s a pain in the backside when it’s hot like this,’ she says as she rolls one stocking down her long, tanned leg.

‘Mmmm,’ is about all I can manage. My brain has pretty much frozen solid watching the stocking as it makes its way down her thigh.

There’s a moment when you’re in bed with someone for the first time when you realise that you’re completely naked in front of them.