Page 77 of Am I Allergic to Men?
As I lie here, I think about how many times I may have done this, on a variety of beds with different people, and I won’t lie, it actually arouses me. A lightbulb flickers away inside of me. Not to remember but to think what is now possible. Thanks, Jill.
I’ve not changed. I’m still a nosey bitch so instead of lying here I get up, put some knickers on and head to the kitchen. Pedro is not big on snacks and this is a reason why we would never have a future together. I pour myself a glass of water and sip it as I walk into the living room. Pedro does do plants though and throws, so many throws, like a true student. And books, many books, their spines bent back and withered. I sit down, boobs out, on a very uncomfortable sofa to take it all in. It’s like a version of my house share without the charm, the nudists or the ladders. My eyes are suddenly drawn to a book on the shelf that seems to be a photo album so I sit on the edge of the sofa and run a finger down the spine to remove it from its place on the shelf. Pedro on his travels. He doesn’t wear bad denim all the time, he wears short shorts and goes up mountains and likes a picturesque backdrop to show how he conquered those mountains. How does one do that with your pubic hair situation? He must chafe like hell. He also likes his photos of nature. Seriously, who takes this many pictures of trees unless they have some sort of bark fetish? Does he look back on these and go, Oh, I remember that oak from that hill I climbed in Bologna. What a trunk.
However, after a while, the pictures start to change and a young lady with brown curly hair and hazel eyes suddenly appears in the photos. They like a sunset and a selfie at dinner, these two. She is very present in all these photos to the point where I go to the bathroom and open a cupboard. That’s women’s moisturiser, that’s women’s shampoo for frizzy hair, that’s a lady shaver. I go back to the bedroom and open a drawer. Pedro, there are women’s undergarments in this drawer. You absolute helmet. I stand over the bed, wearing only my knickers, the photo album in hand and drop it with some force over his crotch. I don’t worry too much because his pubes will absorb most of the force.
‘Oooof…’ he says in grunted Spanish tones. He observes me standing there, seemingly not too bothered about having my tits out in his room. ‘Are you going?’
‘I am.’
‘I had fun, can I have your number?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, it’s 0781… you-have-a-girl-friend…’
He looks down at the photo album and twigs why I may be a tad confrontational.
‘Oh, we broke up.’
‘Which is why her pants are still in the drawer. Unless they’re yours but hell, I don’t judge.’
He pats the space in the bed next to him, beckoning me to sit down. I don’t move.
‘They’re not mine. They’re…’
‘Your girlfriend’s.’
‘Seriously… we’ve just broken up. She hasn’t had time to move her things out. Please, stay…’
He continues to pat the bed like one would for a dog, encouraging them to jump up.
‘You fell asleep and… you have a girlfriend…’ I say, collecting my belongings from around the flat.
‘I don’t…’
But before he has the time to answer, a door opens and a voice rings through the flat.
‘Pedro! Pedro? Are you here? My lecture got cancelled.’
You do.It’s the look in his eyes that catches me first, they almost drain of colour, the whites of his eye glow, every sinew in him stiffens. He suddenly scrambles around in his bed, rearranging the sheets and throwing my bra at me. I catch it like a pro but the panic doesn’t seem to flow through me as much.Pedro, she’s home! How are you going to get yourself out of this little pickle?
‘Please, put some clothes on…’ he begs.
You see this scene in the movies quite a lot, don’t you? The wife comes back early and the husband who has his secret lover in the bedroom has to make a mad scramble to put his dick away and hide said lover in a wardrobe or under the bed or push her out through some open window so she can scale down a drainpipe. They are scenes masked in shame and secrecy. But maybe this girl deserves better. I roll my T-shirt on very slowly and Pedro stands up to try and throw a sheet over my body like a toga. How many other people have you shagged behind your girlfriend’s back, Pedro? He stuffs my coat in my bag and takes the used condom and places it in one of his coat pockets. Mate. That’s really grim. Use. A. Tissue.
‘I’m making tea! Do you want tea?’ rings a voice from the kitchen.I’ll have tea if you’re making.I hear her talking to someone on the phone. We don’t have a lot of time, Pedro… do we? He goes to the window of his room, which opens out into the street.
‘Please… Please… I beg of you. Please, Lucy.’
‘Did you not want my number then?’
‘I will pay you to move quicker.’
‘I believe that’s called prostitution. I’m offended.’
‘She will kill me, please… don’t do this…’
‘Do what?’ I stare at him for a moment. You cad. How many times have you done this? In the actual bed you share with your girl? The girl you’ve shared all those moments and pictures with. How long will you keep doing this to her? All the way through university together? Through a marriage? After you have kids? This girl deserves better. I’m not leaving out of a fucking window. I put on my clothes, stuffing my bra in my bag, and barge past him, sauntering through the flat until I find the girlfriend in the kitchen, dunking teabags in and out of mugs, AirPods in, chatting to someone animatedly in Spanish. Pedro chases me down clumsily like he’s escaping a hurricane. Mate, you have no idea.
‘Hi! I’m Lucy…’
