They started kissing on the futon (of course it was a futon) and it was very, very nice, Ali had to admit. Even more than his broad shoulders and the way he could pick her up and pull her on to his lap, his smell appealed to Ali in a way she’d never experienced before. He wasn’t drenched in some hideous man-perfume called Grunt or Machete – he just smelled good. She pulled his T-shirt over his head and he looked up at her grinning shyly, which was cute as fuck. He seemed a funny mix of confident and boyish. He put his hands on her waist and pushed her top up a bit, stopping just under her breasts, his fingers edging in to that sensitive place. His left thumb wandered further up, grazing her nipple through the cotton of her bra.
‘Where’s your bed?’ whispered Ali.
Tinder Sam hopped up enthusiastically and pulled her into the back room, which was extremely basic. How do guys live like this? Ali wondered. White built-in wardrobes lined one wall, a double bed butted up against another and a single depressing light bulb dangled overhead. Tinder Sam had undressed faster than anything she’d ever seen, his shyness apparently gone the way of his clothes. She liked this lack of self-consciousness. It was kind of unexpected. He unzipped her skirt and pulled her knickers down. He was good at this. Ali giggled slightly but then gasped in surprise as he kneeled and started to tongue her. Fuck, he could be a real potential, she thought, just as her eyes raised and locked on a deeply disturbing sight.
Hanging on the wall opposite in this supremely monastic room was the single interior-design decision Tinder Sam had made in his bedroom. ALove Actuallyposter. Jaysus. What is that about? Tinder Sam was still doing lovely things, but now Ali was consumed by the unnerving thought that Tinder Sam likedLove Actually– liked it so much he had procured a poster and hung it proudly in his room.
There’s not much worse that could be on a boy’s bedroom wall, reflected Ali sadly. Maybe a message written in blood like ‘I want to eat your face’? That would certainly be a red flag too. Though at least something like that would suggest a somewhat original mind with discerning tastes, butLoveFuckingActually? That’s a hard no from me, thought Ali sadly. Better just sex ’n’ go.
And this was when things started to go really downhill. As they were finding their rhythm, and Ali had managed to momentarily forget Tinder Sam’s bizarre predilection for shite romcoms, a strange slippery sensation was kind of thwarting the movement. Initially Ali thought maybe Tinder Sam was a sweater but then realised his back was dry and the moistness was mainly in the legs and crotch area. Ali snuck a look and recoiled. What the fuck?
‘It was like a dirty protest,’ she’d wailed, filling Liv in later over tea and stress-biscuits in the kitchen.
Liv was laughing so hard she was unable to speak. She’d leaned over and peered under the table at Ali’s legs, which were indeed a mess, streaked with unsightly stripes of darker and darker shades of brown.
‘It. Was. Everywhere.’ Ali had covered her face with equally muddy brown hands that must have suffered some contact dirty protesting and was speaking through her fingers. ‘The sheets. Me. Him. Ick. It was an ick-fest.’
‘A shitemare.’ Liv nodded in sympathy. ‘At least it wasn’t actual shite,’ she offered by way of consolation.
Ali looked up – her hands had left even more brown streaks on her face. ‘This is the point I’ve hit with Tinder dates? “Well, at least I didn’t shit myself!”’ she said in a faux-happy voice.
This started Liv off laughing again. She wiped her eyes, gasping for breath. ‘What happened? What did he do?’
At this Ali buried her head in her hands once more. ‘It was a new tan, Chocolate Starfish …’
Liv snorted. ‘Where do they get these names?’
Ali ignored this and continued, ‘I’d put it on right before I left and I didn’t rinse it off cos I was late and I didn’t think it’d matter. Anyway, once we got started with the, ya know, business time, well, it was very hot and –’
‘Moist?’ supplied Liv and they both cringed in unison. ‘Moist’ was their most hated word.
‘There was just a lot of … flesh-slapping, ya know,’ Ali went on, wincing at the memory of Tinder Sam’s face when he’d looked down. ‘Anyhow, the whole thing must’ve, like, activated the tan and it was all lubey and sweaty and brown. Ugh. It was the worst.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Well, he finished.’
Liv snorted at this. ‘Amazing, guys can overcome anything at that moment. You could probably have shown him a picture of a headless torso and he would’ve just kept at it. Did you finish?’
‘Nope, I literally said “sorry about the sheets” and fucked it out of there. And now I must go to bed and pass away from mortification.’ Ali’d grabbed a final few stress-biscuits and trudged towards the door
‘Yeah.’ Liv had nodded sadly. ‘Maybe give yourself a little rinse beforehand,’ she offered with a slight smirk.
‘Fuck you.’ Ali had chucked a biscuit at her. ‘I know it’s funny but it’s also such a shame – before the wholeLove Actuallything and the bed shitting, he actually seemed pretty cool …’
‘So did you hear from him since the date then?’ Liv’s voice brought Ali back to the present and gave her a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Liv’s curiosity about Tinder Sam was outweighing her pissiness about the faux foetus?
‘No, he DM’d me and even tried to instigate a chat a couple of weeks later but I just couldn’t bear to talk to him. I was too morto.’
‘But if he didn’t have a problem with the Tan Ram, then no big deal, no?’ Liv persisted. She was clearly sufficiently distracted from the fake pregnancy for the time being, thought Ali, relieved.
‘If he didn’t have a problem with the Tan Ram then I don’t really know what to do with that.’ Ali laughed.
‘Oh, you reckon he’s … scatty?’ Liv raised her brows and pursed her lips.
‘Shut up!’ said Ali. ‘Look, maybe I was too quick to write him off and now, well …’
‘You need a fake baby daddy,’ finished Liv. ‘Gotcha. All I can say is this will be a disaster. I am honestly concerned for your mental health and I’m going to go Google “psychotic break symptoms” right now.’
