One Take Only

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  Was I?

  “Is that…Adrian’s poster?” Will asked, still peering into the screen. I tried to hide my giggles when I realised Catwoman was his one of his colleagues’ girlfriends. “Where are you?”

  “Erm…” Catwoman stuttered, and I almost told her to wrap this up because if I continued to stare at Will’s bootay I would be in serious, mind-blowing, never understanding myself again trouble. “Is it? Oh, I’m…not…sure.” In perfect comic timing, the piece of fabric on the wall fell completely, revealing a Jimi Hendrix poster and wooden letters spelling out June and Adrian.

  “You told me you’d separated!” Will shouted.

  “Look, Will…I’ve got to go,” she replied and on the final word she disappeared.

  “Fuck me,” Will said, blowing out a breath as he rubbed the back of his head. He stood up slowly, more of his body coming into my eyeline. Twisting. Abs. Turning. Pecs. Rising up into full view and all I could think of was the word majestic. Like a glorious male Aphrodite rising from the sea. A magical image. Overwhelming and powerful. My vision had gone hazy. My body no longer strong. Where the fuck had he been hiding this body of steel and granite? More importantly, why hadn’t I noticed that I could easily rake my nails over his stomach and play a nifty little tune?

  Let me try.

  Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head? Or the full six-minute version of Bohemian Rhapsody? Twice.

  “Will?” I squeaked out before clearing my throat.

  “Yep.”

  “You appear to have no qualms in showing me that you have you a considerably…prodigious…cock.” He looked down, I followed, my eyes unable to move away from every beautiful line and ridge. The prominent vein running from the underside to the front was taunting me, teasing me to keep my eyes there saying, Don’t you dare to look away! He was erect. Semi definitely. Half-mast would cover it. The head big and bulbous. Red and purply tinges proceeding to pink. Nice sized balls. Trim. Tidy. A couple of steps forward and I could have my hand wrapped around it nicely.

  “Skye,” he said, quietly, soft.

  “Yes.” I forced my eyes away, meeting his. Clashing together in a mind-fuck. What the hell was happening? My nerdy friend who went to watch The Avengers with me because no one else would, my quirky photographer who would travel to Brighton from London just to taste my new bakery creations was suddenly making the ache in my lady bits surge. My eyes fell back to his cock. Well done, you, I wanted to say, but instead I sighed like I was having my hair played with and a head massage thrown in.

  His hand came into view, covering himself, only just, and not before I realised that half-mast was now most definitely full sail.

  “Which bit shall we deal with first?’

  “Bit?” I mumbled, still staring at the scrumptious pink head sticking out between his fingers.

  “The fact that I’m in your flat unannounced or the fact that I’m in your flat unannounced and naked?”

  “Sorry, what?” was all I could manage.

  “Just so you know, Stacey leaves a key for emergencies in a cake tin in the café,” he said. “Next to the board games. That’s how I got in.”

  “You consider this an emergency?” I gasped out.

  “Not exactly. I thought you’d gone to Liverpool with her.”

  “Nope, still here and obviously, I’m part of some kind of…penis emergency.”

  He laughed lightly before picking up his t-shirt from the floor and wrapping it around his waist. White t-shirts appeared to do nothing to cover colossal dicks. I could still make out that teasing vein.

  “She’s just a friend.”

  “It’s none of my business,” I replied, but somehow it felt like it was.

  Why?

  “I just…wanted you to know.”

  “Just a friend who watches you pleasure yourself?” I asked. “That’s never happened between us.”

  He looked shocked. Wide-eyed. So much so, I almost caught his eyeballs in both hands.

  “She was at a Halloween party downtown,” he replied. “Catwoman,” he added, as if I needed reminding.

  “You don’t need to tell me you have a thing for costumes.”

  “It was probably the…latex,” he mumbled.

  “Remind me not to wear my gimp outfit the next time we go for lunch.”

  “I would attempt to brush off that comment, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if you turned up wearing a hot pink one with a zip across your mouth.”

  “It’s lilac and the zip is elsewhere.” I shrugged as he grinned. “Well, what a night it’s been,” I said handing him more clothes, avoiding cock contact. “I’ve been educated in just how substantial cocks can be. Lucky me.”

  “You’ve never seen one this big?” I rolled my eyes in an act of I-don’t-give-a-fuck, but it resulted in a surprising need to squish my legs together. Since when did eye-rolling tug on your libido? “Cocks come in all different shapes and sizes. Don’t you know that?” I did, of course I did. I wasn’t a virgin wallflower. OK, so running a café, building a business empire and trying to recover from a nasty taste of grief had recently taken over my sexual desire, but it was definitely still there, simmering under the surface until tonight when it boiled over under the force of the giganto cock that happened to be attached to my nerdy friend. And why was he asking me this? Were we sailing on the sea of flirtatious banter? Because right now, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to sink or swim.

  “Skye,” he said, laughing. “I’m happy to never speak about this again.” My head shot up and he quickly held up his hands. “Well…only if that’s what you want.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “Why would I want to talk about this?” I grimaced as I threw him a box of tissues from the sofa. Part of me wanted to push this, see how far he would go. Was I imagining the buzz in the air? The fizz of the unexpected. The excitement of sex and early connections. “Unless…”

  “What?” He swallowed harshly.

  “Unless…you do?”

  “What part of it exactly would you like to talk about?” I dropped my eyes, couldn’t help it. The white t-shirt still clung like a second skin. Delicious bumps. Hard length. Unmistakable. I licked my lips. He copied. His tongue tentative and I wanted to know how tentative it would be if it was touching other places? I was sure I heard my name, a whisper, a wish. We sighed. We stepped forward. I grazed my hand along his thigh. Softly. Cautious. A hiss. His. Did he want this? Did he feel it too? Or was he in the same place as me? Questioning everything but willing to try?

  Our mouths were open, parted, ready. So close.

  And then the phone rang.

  We stared at each other as it went to voicemail.

  “Skye, darlin’ it’s only me, Stace. You didn’t pick up your phone. I’ve been trying for the last fifteen minutes. You OK, hun? Oh, by the way, Will called me. He’s at a party. After some woman dressed as Catwoman. He’s into her, I can tell. He had that dirty laugh he gets when he hasn’t had any for a while. Looks like he’ll be having a good night tonight! Ring me when you can, or I’ll worry. OK? Laters, babe.”

  He dropped eye contact first. Was he embarrassed at Stacey’s reminder that a few minutes ago he was asking Catwoman to take off her outfit? Or was it shock at our near miss? I chewed my cheek and broke into a smile, lifting my eyes to the ceiling and laughing about how close we’d been to wrecking our relationship.

  Lust had a lot to answer for.

  It could cloud your thoughts.

  Twist situations into more and almost breaking them.

  Friendships should never cross the line. Ours never had. Not once. But that was before I’d seen him naked. Yummy and tight. Washboard abs I wanted to play a tune on. With my tongue…Fuck.

  I needed to move this on.

  Friends, friends, friends.

  “Will?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t come into my flat again without asking me, OK?” He nodded. “You can do anything when you’re here, you know that, but please don’t s
it on my sofa with your bare arse and your cock in your hands.”

  He laughed as I made my way to my bedroom, stopping and starting down the hallway, wondering if I was making a mistake or saving a friendship? And where the hell would we go from here if I chose either option?

  Friends, friends, friends.

  “And we’ll agree to never bring this up again?” he shouted.

  “Yes,” I replied as I stilled my hand on the door handle to my room. I heard him quietly say, “That’s a shame,” and that forceful shiver that ran over my shoulders and through my spine? I tried hard to ignore it.

  1

  Skye

  One month later…

  Skye

  I loved Brighton in the mornings. It was always an eclectic, exciting place, but the morning brought out the characters. Eighty-year-olds braving a morning swim dressed in Victorian swimwear, with handlebar moustaches and spotted frilly caps dotted all across the tide. Rollerbladers zooming along the sea front, some with a boombox resting on their shoulder playing AC/DC and The Clash. The Italian stuntman juggling knives, wearing black trousers, a sparkly waistcoat, and nothing else. Dog walkers, runners, people on their way to work. A melting pot of people who fascinated and enthralled.

  I’d lived in Brighton for most of my life. Born and bred, part of the paintwork as memorable as the green railings arching along the beach. I started life in a mobile home park opposite the Marina. My mum was eighteen when she became pregnant but still went off to college, then uni and into a fashion career. She wasn’t physically present in my life aside from a few visits throughout the year, often selfishly timed with big social events in Brighton. My grandmother wanted her to make something of herself and agreed to care for me as she carved out what could only be described as a fluid career in design. I wasn’t sure if my grandmother’s vision for her daughter included never really bothering about her quirky daughter, but it wasn’t something we often talked about. Mum went on to have another child, my brother, Elliott, who came to live with us when he was a toddler. Mum had just discovered the joys of France and all that came with it. I was reaching my early teens and found myself becoming a mother figure to him as my grandmother’s health deteriorated. She passed away when he was fourteen, a critical time for a teenager to lose someone so close when he was already wrestling with the rejection of his incubator –also known as our biological mother. His words, not mine.

  Elliott and I stayed in the mobile home after her death. We grew closer and as he threw himself into school and the night life Brighton had to offer, I spent my days and nights juggling three jobs. In the day I worked in the café that would eventually become Turnip the Beet. Early evening, I cleaned the school where Elliott was a student, and late evening, I was a dancer in an LGBTQ+ club in the middle of Brighton. Gay culture was huge here. We flew the rainbow flag high and proud. Despite being exhausted and running on adrenaline, I did it all for Elliott. The kid deserved the best and I gave him what I could. That particular time of my life has blurred edges now, my memory choosing to shut out a lot of it. All I knew was, despite the trauma of those years, they also brought me some good. I met Stacey, my best friend and chosen family member and she…brought Will into my life.

  “Where have you been?” I asked as Will approached. He had his camera slung over his shoulder and was carrying the world’s largest coffee. “Fuck’s sake, Will. I’ve been waiting ages.”

  “Oh, good morning to you too. Did you forget that I’m up at the arse crack of dawn to do you a favour?”

  “I’m paying you!” I replied.

  “The promise of a lemon drizzle cake does not equate to payment,” Will replied. “I need dollars.” He started sliding imaginary bills from the palm of his hand, coffee threatening to spill. “Show me the money.”

  “Urgh, you’re so annoying,” I said, shaking my head. “And late. And you have porridge on your chin.”

  “I love doing things for you,” he said, swiping his hand across his mouth, smearing it further. “You keep it interesting because you never know what you’re going to get. Jokes, homemade cakes, maybe even a bit of verbal abuse.”

  “You love me really.” I smiled. “Here, you can be in charge of Cher.” I handed him the sparkly lead that was attached to a tiny Chihuahua.

  “Cher? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Absolutely not. He belongs to Dr Chris. She was happy for me to bring him along for the photo shoot.” Dr Christine, formerly Christopher, worked at the local LGBTQ+ sexual health clinic where I volunteered. She was a formidable character, wearing dresses and chandelier earrings way before she had her full gender transition. She knew the community well, being part of it herself, and was passionate about sexual health and equal rights. We clicked immediately, and Cher, her dog, was my first grooming client. I laughed as I patted Reggie on the head. Stacey’s huge English Bulldog and the tiny dog next to him did have a slightly comical look. I started to wonder if bringing them together on this photo shoot for my new business was a mistake.

  “Cher and Reggie,” Will said, looking at them side by side. “Don’t go getting any ideas, Reg.” He pointed at him. “You’ll break Cher if you get frisky.”

  “Reggie isn’t gay,” I replied, pulling the Bulldog who was stubbornly fixed to the pavement. “But Cher is.”

  “Ah, so it’s Reg we need to protect.”

  “If Cher attempts anything, I’m not sure Reggie will notice.”

  “Poor guy,” Will replied before whispering, “Dick issues.”

  “Don’t listen,” I said, stroking Cher’s ears. “In comparison to Reg, yes, he has dick issues but when getting it on with another Chiuhaua or…small dog equivalent, he’s positively staff like.”

  “Good for him,” Will said. “There’s something I don’t have to worry about.” He strode out onto the beach, but not before he made a throw-away comment that stopped me in my steps. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  Gah!

  We hadn’t spoken about the night I caught Will masturbating in my living room. It wasn’t a topic you easily brought up in conversation. Or perhaps we were avoiding it just like you would a missile bomb. Because essentially, that’s what it was. The night two friends almost took it further, blowing everything apart and bursting our friendship at the seams. Neither of us wanted to do anything to jeopardise what we had. We were proof that men and women could have a friendship without sex getting in the way.

  But why then couldn’t I stop visualising his cock?

  “Right, what are you thinking? Big guy at the back, Cher in front?” he asked, moving on from the dick visual he’d handed me on a plate.

  “You’re the photographer,” I replied with a shrug.

  I am not affected, I am not affected.

  He laughed. “I’m a journalist for a photography magazine.”

  “Exactly. You take pictures.” He fiddled with the edge of his glasses and I wondered why his eyes were suddenly so memorising. Had I noticed them before cock (BC) or after (AC)? With his glasses on, his eyes became bigger, flecks of gold, eyelashes magnified. He was magnified. Maybe I was looking at him through a different lens, now? A gilded magnifying glass with a rose handle where everything became instantly brighter and more intense. Stop it, Skye. Keep to arsey banter. “Go on then, get snapping.”

  Will had offered to take pictures I could use as promotional shots for my dog grooming business. I was thinking business cards, website, flyers. Stacey had come up with an amazing name based solely on her mother’s Liverpudlian accent and a play on words. Vanity Fur was born. Logo designed and ready to go.

  I’d barely had time to breathe since deciding to sell the café. It sold quickly, being snapped up by a couple who had no experience. Me being me, I agreed to help them out by guiding them into running a busy café in exchange for staying in the flat. It seemed like a fair deal but now that things were moving with the new business, I was wondering how it would all fit together.

  And still think
ing about Will’s cock.

  “How’s Stace?” Will asked, bringing me back to the beach instead of my filthy thoughts.

  “Goo-goo eyed.”

  “I guess drooling over an escort is better than a financial analyst.”

  “Just,” I replied. Stacey had just dumped her cheating financial analyst and interviewed a male escort for an article in Upfront, the women’s magazine she worked for. It was clear that he’d left an impression. All over her libido.

  “Why don’t I get assignments like that?” Will said. “I could do with some excitement.”

  “Are things definitely over between you and Holly?” Will had an on-and-off relationship with a woman he met on Tinder. The last I’d heard she’d called him emotionally constipated and they were officially off again. For some reason I felt happy about this development. A flutter definitely occurred in my cold heart and I spent the rest of the day wondering why I felt so conflicted and confused. Ah, there was nothing like cock to bring you some clarity. Good cock could help with comprehension and lucidity. Will’s appeared to have an extra superpower to pinpoint the obvious. I had to face it. I’d been hibernating feelings for Will long before his big D entered my life. The big D just made me admit it to myself. The word friendship had been a great place to hide behind. We’re friends. Let’s not do anything to jeopardise that. Ignore his cute glasses and ability to make me laugh until my cheeks ache. Those voices in my head had always been there, but I’d tried to drown them out. I liked him, but I also needed him. He provided stability to my life that otherwise felt like I was forever balancing on tripwire. A relationship featuring bumping body parts could ruin it, so I ignored them.

  Now, I’d crossed the friendship line, cock and all, and what started as whispers, was ending in shouts.

  But…I find him irritating!

  In a charming way…

  He was preoccupied with women who were no good for him; he wanked over Catwoman. Yes, he’s got a heart of gold and he’s been there for me when I needed him – big time. He’s changed my tyre in the rain more than once and bled my radiators on a breezy winter night but...Oh fuck, why did everything associated with our relationship sound dirty?