Confession

I go out for a drink with my ex, Noah. We rarely do that, but we’d bumped into each other the other day and we made a date.

We go to a local bar. I meet Noah there.

We sitting at the tables in the back of the bar. All the tables are full, pretty much. It is kind of busy for a Thursday night.

Noah can really put the alcohol away, he always has, and when I am with him, I tend to as well. Mostly because Noah keeps buying me drinks.

I wouldn’t say that alcohol makes Noah loud, as he tends to be loud anyway, but alcohol makes him louder, sure.

We’d been talking about the dance parties we used to go to. And how much fun we used to have together. 

Noah comes out and says, “You have the best cock of all his boyfriends.” Just like that. Over the crowded bar. 

We’d had more than a few drinks by then. Noah says it loud enough for the couple next to us to look over. She smiles. He doesn't. She looks down at the front of my pants.

I stop myself from spontaneously covering my crotch. Just. Is that an instinct for protection?

I look at the couple. I try not to laugh. I look back at Noah.

“It's got just the correct amount of girth.” He smiles. He drinks his beer.

“Shhhh.” I put my finger over my mouth. I try not to blush. I can't. I don't know what to say. I stutter.

“What about your other boyfriends,” I ask.

“What about them?”

“Well, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Did Michael Brown have…” I hold up my little finger. Michael brown was after me, and while I was attracted to his dark Italian’esque looks, he certainly made no secret of not liking me.

“You don’t expect me to confirm…”

“Yes, I do.” I held up my little finger again.

“Yes.”

“Yes, to? “Again, I held up my little finger.”

Noah nodded.

“I thought so. He was always way too aggressive, and for no reason.” I was please with that piece of news.

“Ah Michael,” says Noah.

“Ah, Michael,” I say.

“How’s Scott?” I ask. Noah’s current boyfriend, who I can take or leave. Just a little too opinionated is Scott for my liking.

“Scott is out of town.” Noah smiles again. Is his grin just a little wonky? Or is it the eye?

Good old Scott. Developer. Luckiest son of a bitch who ever lived. His first resort, up north, on entirely borrowed money, was a financial gold mine. 

Scott gets really antsy when Noah starts calling him Blake, whenever I'm around. Last time at his birthday weekend, I thought it had gone really well, I hadn't heard Noah call him the wrong name once. On the terrace, goodbye breakfast, Noah passes his fish dish to me, he can't finish it. “Give that to Blake... um... er...” he grimaces.

We stared at each other. Scott was behind me. I didn't want to move. Noah pushes the plate at me. I spin around and Scott is waiting with arms out and mouth open.

“This is for you,” I say.

“That's the eighth time I've counted, how about you?” I hand him the half-eaten plate of snapper.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Noah doesn't find it funny when I bring it up over beers. I laugh about it.

“That's not funny.” He smiles. “Seriously, I've got to stop doing that. I tell you.”

At Noah’s last birthday, right at the end, I snuggled into him and danced dirty, just for a minute. Noah was drunk, Scott was watching, I wondered how far I could push it. I knew Noah would respond, just because we've known each other since we were kids in school, practically. He knows, and I know, that nothing is in a cuddle from me to him, other than friendship.

But, you know, does Scott?

Sure, we were a couple. Sure, everyone wanted us to stay together. But that was a long time ago.

Sure, his mother said,

“Well, you know which one I'd prefer...”

...when Noah got... what?... committed to Scott. 

“Ay,” says a mate Bradley, who over hears, playfully chiding Noah’s mum.

But that was all kids’ stuff, childhood sweethearts, we were far too young. Truthfully, that was a whole other life time ago.

We danced close. I thought we fitted. I've got lifetime status. Can you say the same thing? I thought, as I looked over at Scott. He only glanced twice. He kept chatting to Audrey... looking like he was having fun. But I could see him looking.

To Scott's credit, he didn't even seem to stress. He continued chatting; the smile didn't leave his face. But he was keeping his eye on us, just out the corner, I could see that.

“You have got the best cock,” he whispers. That’s so we aren't gazed upon as drunks, again, by the slightly up-tight couple, who are both drinking their drinks through straws.

“Well, to tell you the truth... I've never had any complaints.”

“Listen to you,” Noah says. He has the most beautiful smile, he always has.

“I knew Michael wasn't doing it for you,” I said. “You always looked in need. You always looked unsatisfied. Pissed off, even... back then. Michael hated my guts?”

“I'm not saying anything bad about Michael.”

I hold up my little finger. He nods. I chuckle.

“Hard act to follow,” he says. He sips his beer. “I'm only talking about size. Don't praise yourself in any other department... er...” he says.

We gaze over our beer glasses, as we drink.

“It was hot in there.”

“We need more beer,” says Noah.

“I don’t think…”

But Noah has left for the bar.

When we get up to leave, I realise how drunk I really am. I am glad I can walk home, it will do me good.

Noah is looking at me like he is really pissed.

“Well, nice chatting,” I say.

“Yeah, nice to catch up,” says Noah.

“I’m pretty fucken smashed though,” I say. “You aren’t driving, I hope.”

“No, I’ll get a taxi out the front.”

A taxi pulls up as soon as we step onto the footpath out the front of the bar.

“Nice seeing you,” I say.

Noah opens the car door and then turns back to me. “You wanna come with?”

“No,” I say.

“Scott’s away.”

“Good for Scott.”

“I’m lonely on my own.” 

I suddenly think he is trying to make eyes at me, but he just looks like he has something in his eye. I am equally shocked and amused. “Get in the car.”

“Oh, it would be like old times.” He is starting to slur.

I laugh out loud. “Get in the car.” I am beginning to speak through gritted teeth, I can even hear it.

“Last chance.”

I lean in close so the taxi driver can’t hear me. “You are drunk, and you are not thinking straight, get in the car.”

He runs his fingers down my chest, I assume, in a seductive way, “You disappoint me.” I just find it kind of revolting.

I give him a shove. He slides arse first into the back seat of the taxi. He stares out at me at the car window like a frozen moment as the taxi drives away.

I turn and start to walk.

My coat flaps open. The wind blows. The footpaths are, relatively empty. The breeze refreshes me. I smile about both instances, more or less, in exactly the same way.