All stories

That night

Our first date he took me to the circus. The night was starry and cold and the music crept up on us across the field, where dew soaked into our trainers and we didn’t notice because our hands were almost touching.

He talked nervously, quickly, pointing out this and that as we walked. The colours and smells surrounded us, dazzling us with their intensity, crackling with the static tension of our desire; acknowledged, but not yet invoked. A huge fire danced outside the Orion bar, where he darted in and returned quickly with two steaming glasses of hot mulled cider. Cloves, and flecks of orange peel floated in the cloudy surface and we stared together into the amber brilliance.

Tiny miracles seemed to be taking place all around us. A turbaned man with night-dark skin blew fire from his bearded lips; exotic-eyed women juggled knives, bare-footed and barely clothed; an enormous jewelled elephant strode casually past, sweeping the air this way and that with her enormous trunk. These days you’d never see an elephant at the circus, but to us, back then, it was like magic.

I remember that we shared a sticky pink cloud of candyfloss, I remember that we laughed as some of it stuck in his eyebrows and I remember the electric feeling when our fingers finally entwined, dissolving the coating of sugar and uncertainty. We smiled confirmation at each other and walked confidently into the Big Top. It was full of people, children running excitedly, chattering families and blushing couples, like us, holding hands.

The show was breathtaking. The performers danced and swooped and tumbled in the dazzling lights, fearless and fantastic. The lions roared, the clowns fell, the ringmaster bellowed, the cider fogged the edges of everything and it all seemed like a living dream of glittering lights and sawdust and colour.

When we left the night wrapped itself around us like a cloak and he walked me home, my head full of everything I had seen and tasted and heard.

When I finally got inside, dizzy with the sugar and cider I remember how I leaned against my front door, silently, so as not to wake my parents. It was only then that I realised that my shoes and socks were drenched from the walk through the fields. I hadn’t once felt it, though the night had been icy cold.

I struggle to remember so many of the details now. It was all such a long time ago and he’s not with me, anymore, to remind me. To nudge me in the street, or interrupt a movie, or to squeeze my hand in bed and ask me excitedly if I remember the way the sea looked that time we went to Greece or if I could still recall the time it rained so much we stayed inside for three days straight, eating tinned pineapple and drinking tea.

But I’ll always remember the taste of those cider and candyfloss kisses that night, at the circus.

That time they went dogging was an accident, Stuart recreating a play from his greatest hits - purple orchid and homemade paella, followed by a drive up Bishop’s Hill – their very first Valentine together. Wasn’t his fault times had changed in twenty years, and to be honest, it was a compliment, that man tapping on the window asking if she’d mind taking her top off.

If she bought that then she’d certainly accept him accidentally booking them a weekend away in a hotel full of consenting likeminded adults. The whole drive down all he could think was how best to break it to her, all of his effort wasted when they came down from their room to find the main bar chock full of naked.

Julie with her nails in his arm, body so taut Stuart was sure he could hear it quivering with horror. Or maybe lust? Could it be lust? He sneaked a side glance.

No. Not lust. Definitely not lust.

Julie didn’t need any words, it was written across her face what an utter bastard he was.

Mind you, he was a bastard standing close to a bar at which three slender tanned nakeds were on bar stools, legs crossed and long golden hair down their chests making them almost decent. Stuart almost giddy at the sight of them – they could have been triplets!

Stuart still floating till the centre beauty slid from the stool to reveal a big surprise he wasn’t expecting.

This svelte Adonis said, ‘I am Gustav.’

Stuart smiled weakly at his wife.

‘See, darling. A weekend for both of us.’

Julie said nothing. A sweet smile back at him then shook her hand free. She took hold of Gustav’s hand and led him over to a door close by. Stuart scampered to follow, just in time to peer inside at the sight of his wife, blouse already off, hands twisting for the clasp of her bra.

Gustav’s eyes were smirking, the rest of his body leering. The door closed. There was the very distinct sound of a lock.

Stuart staggered away feeling a though a chainsaw had gone right through his middle and decided to stay there.

One of Gustav’s companions was standing. She ran hands through her hair, sweeping it behind her shoulders to reveal a pair of extremely happy breasts.

She said, ‘I am Ingrid. I am sorry about my brother. What a dick!’

Her companion agreed, ‘Yes, he’s a real big dick.’

‘Please,’ Stuart said. ‘Stop saying that.’

Ingrid said, ‘How about the oral sex? Would that cheer you up?’

Well…it was worth a try…

This was all his dreams come true. What if they were triplets? How’d you like that Gustav? One sister bouncing on his face whilst the other was working her magic at his thighs. It didn’t even matter he was done within twenty-seven seconds, because the sister on his face had gone to the stratosphere within ten.

The sight of both their pert bums heading for the door filled Stuart with sadness. He raised a pathetic hand - ‘You’re not going?’

Ingrid smiled at him. She said, ‘Just me. I’ll let you two be alone.’

The door closed behind her, the lock clicked shut. Stuart’s second lover faced him, hands sweeping golden hair behind the shoulders to reveal a flat chest.

For the second time that evening Stuart faced naked male and felt inadequate. And of all the moves he could have made, lying there fretting over just whose lips had been wrapped around just what body part was not the best of them.

A moment later he had swapped a slim hipped young woman across his chest for a slim hipped young man.

And of all the things he could have started to say, the word “oh” was perhaps not top of the list.