“This is terrible.”
“You started it!”
“Well, had I known you were going to be bad at it, I might have reconsidered.”
Then he took off his shirt and threw it off the edge of the balcony.
“What the fuck!” I said, trying hard not to shriek and to keep my eyes off the muscles of his stomach and the hair on his chest because it was unfair.
“They have to think we’re getting naked,” he said. “We have to sell it.”
“Fine!” And for some reason, I took that as invitation to take off my pants and throw them over the balcony. I was left wearing a thin T-shirt and the tiniest briefs that I owned. Which, honestly, I should have thought that one through, but to be fair, I hadn’t expected to be standing half-naked while faking sex with Darren Mayne when I chose my underwear that morning.
“Oh my god,” someone moaned from downstairs. “They’re tearing their clothes off each other. Why can’t I see it!”
I started spinning the top of the stool, making it squeak really loudly. Darren started clapping in a slow, even rhythm.
“Yeah!” I shouted. “There it is. I’m giving it to you big time!” I understood that this was quite possibly the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but all I could think about was one-upping Darren somehow. Which was probably not the best frame of mind to be in when trying to think rationally.
“Yeah,” he shouted, just as loud. “Fuck me. Oh god, that feels so good. Come on, fuck me harder!”
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” I growled at him, almost forgetting
myself. “I’m going to fill your trunk with my spunk.”
“Holy shit, stop rhyming!” he whisper-shouted at me, eyes wide, hands still clapping together.
“I can’t help it! It just happens sometimes.”
“Control it.”
“I’m trying. No one is good at dirty talk unless you’re in porn. It’s fucking impossible!”
“Holy fuck!” he yelled. “I’m getting close. Come on, fuck me like you mean it!”
“Yeah!” I screeched back. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, I’m going to get you pregnant.”
He started choking again, but was able to force it into a loud groan, his face turning red as he struggled to breathe. “You’re so bad at this,” he managed to say.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snapped at him. “If I’d known I was going to be having fake sex, I would have practiced.”
“Well obviously you need to do something,” he said with a sneer. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned off in my life.”
“Oh no,” I said. “How devastating for me. Whatever shall I do.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled. “Let’s just do a big finish and get this over with. No more talking. Just make noise.”
So he sped up his clapping and I sped up the stool and we grunted and groaned our way to pseudo-completion. At no fault of my own, I found myself staring at his nipples, dark and dusky, peaked through the hair on his chest. And, if I thought about it, I could have sworn that Darren didn’t look away from my legs. Either he had a knee fetish or all the hours on the treadmill paid off, because I saw his skin flush around his neck.
He finished with a loud groan and I might have shouted “Eureka!” We stood there, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, eyes locked on one another from only a couple of feet away.
“Well,” I said awkwardly. “That sure was something.”
He snorted and ran a big hand through his hair. “You need to work on your dirty talk.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I said. “Because that’s never going to happen again. The fact that it even happened at all is something I’m probably going to be struggling with for the foreseeable future.”
“Like it was any better for me,” Darren said.