One Take Only

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  I needed to get laid. Not by him. Someone more on my wavelength. Tattooed and pierced in all the right places.

  Stop thinking about his cock!

  “Things are officially off with Holly,” he replied. “She posted some stuff I’d left at her flat.” He threw a piece of driftwood and Reggie set off after it, yanking his lead from my hand. “I was very confused when an envelope arrived containing a toothbrush and three condoms.”

  “Ever the light traveler,” I muttered, trying to hide my gag reflex at the mention of the word condoms and the connection I made to Will having sex with someone who wasn’t me.

  “Back on the market and I’ve lost my Tinder pal. Stace is officially off the market. She wants to concentrate on her career at the same time as sleeping with a male escort.” I laughed as he shook his head. “I liked comparing notes.” He glanced to me. “Stace had just as many weird dating experiences as I had. It made me feel less pathetic.”

  “Maybe keep off Tinder a while,” I replied. “Let something happen naturally. See what life can bring.”

  Me?

  No. Nope. Not gonna happen.

  “Oh yeah?” He sighed. “That doesn’t seem to work out either.” I watched as he followed Reggie towards the tide, Cher daintily walking alongside him.

  “What about Catwoman?”

  He looked back at me from over his shoulder and adjusted his glasses. It was his nervous trait. One that I realised I’d admired for years. “That was mad, wasn’t it?”

  “You almost had my eye out.”

  “Of course I did and you loved it.”

  “Pah! I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole,” I lied.

  “I AM the barge pole!”

  It was the first time we’d talked about that night. But it wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it. Daydreams would usually involve me biting his arse cheek then sucking it to calm the sting.

  “Loving the look,” Will said, pointing to my chest.

  “Thanks.” I smoothed down my transparent rain mac and smiled. “Practical, yet still allows you to see what’s underneath.”

  “My kind of garment,” he replied.

  “Not quite Catwoman.”

  “Still great for…wiping things off,” he said.

  “Ah, the cleanliness of rubber, so that’s your kink?”

  “Ha. So. Ha. Funny,” he deadpanned before holding up his camera, focusing in on the dogs. “You know, Reggie isn’t going to stay still enough to get a good picture. Can we try to tempt him with a dog treat?” Click. “But Cher is all over this photo shoot. I’m convinced he posed with a kicked-out leg a second ago.” I pulled a tiny feather boa from my bag and draped it around Cher’s neck. Will crouched and squinted into the camera’s viewfinder revealing his laughter lines like a peacock displaying their feathers. Rah! Why did I like those lines so much? “You did not just do that.” Will laughed as I adjusted the boa. “That’s the definition of camp right here.” More snaps, more crinkles, more butterflies. I tried to control my breathing, make a plan of action in my head.

  Limit the times we see each other.

  Act normal.

  Keep up the snark.

  Encourage dating.

  Reactivate his Tinder profile.

  Do not picture his cock!

  We all knew how that was working out for me.

  “Reggie, I need more commitment from you. Give me your best grimace.” Ah, I loved watching him. Concentration and humour never looked so good. He was still crouching, and his bum wrapped in those grey jeans was more of a vision than the stunning orange sunset spilling over the waves.

  Stop flaunting your best asset, dammit! Stop flaunting…you!

  “Like what you see?” Will asked, still focused on taking shots. How he noticed me checking him out I’ll never know.

  “What are you talking about?” I rolled my eyes as he laughed. It was a mask, to cover up an overwhelming urge to run away before I suffered an injury or created one just as painful.

  Don’t fuck us up, don’t fuck us up.

  This was everything I loathed. The myth that men and women couldn’t be friends without wanting to bang or banging and losing everything, relationship in the dirt. No, that wasn’t going to happen. I was just using Will as a projection of the frustration of my piss-poor sex life and natural desires.

  It’s been a while. Will’s there. Just like a shower head or a trusty vibrator. Projection. Nothing more.

  “Fancy dinner later?” Will asked. “I’ll treat you to something deeply satisfying. Something I know you can’t resist. Something that tickles your fancy.”

  “Sorry, what?” I started losing vision in one eye. Sweat beaded down my neck.

  “Banoffee pie,” he replied. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  Holy big banana.

  I gathered Reggie and Cher and started power-walking towards the steps. I needed to stick to my original plan. Create distance. Stay away. Keep our friendship intact.

  “I need to go.” I shouted over my shoulder, nodding to the brown paper bag I’d left at his feet. “There’s the lemon drizzle cake and a meatball sub. My way of saying thanks for the pics.”

  “You didn’t give me answer,” Will hollered behind me.

  “Ask Stace,” I replied, creating that distance. “I’m sure she’d love to.”

  2

  Skye

  “My two favourite people!” Dr Chris greeted me with four air kisses and stepped back, inviting me in. Her home was one of my favourite places to be. It was bright and vivid, gilded golds and bright pinks. Everything clashed yet fitted together perfectly. “How’s my baby?” she said, letting Cher lick her mouth. “Did you work it, honey? Oh, my goodness, I can’t wait to see the pictures!”

  “He was a natural.” I looked up to find the large oil painting of Cher sitting on Dr Chris’ knee. He was wearing an angel costume with a rainbow halo and Dr Chris was wearing a trilby, cravat and a diamond necklace a la Quentin Crisp. “Or maybe he’s been coached?” Dr Chris let out a raucous laugh as she sat down on a throne she used as an armchair. I chose the velvet chaise lounge and smiled as she poured me a cup of tea in a china cup decorated with tiny roses.

  “How are the preparations going for your new venture, darling?” She plopped two sugar cubes in my tea.

  “Good. Excellent. All on track.” She eyed me from over her teacup. “As soon as I get the photos from Will, I’m going to make flyers and hand them out at the next big event on the beach. It’s one of those Ironman competitions.”

  “Marketing is big business, darling. You need to stand out from the crowd. Give them something to entice them. Attach it to some baked goods. Knock up a cake, some brownies. Those strapping young men will need a sugar rush when they come in from the sea and ta-da! They’ll notice that little flyer and your phone will never stop!”

  “That’s a great idea,” I replied.

  “I’m not just a pretty face, dear.”

  I met Dr Chris three years ago when I started volunteering at the LGBTQ+ sexual health clinic in Brighton. It was a cause that was close to my heart. They were advertising for volunteers to hand out safe sex kits in the local clubs and bars. As I’d worked as a dancer a few years prior, it was easy for me to get into clubs across the city until eventually we were volunteering at Pride and other LGBTQ+ events during the year. Soon we were offering safe sex kits in gay bars, hotels, dance clubs, saunas, and cruise clubs. Most Saturdays I was handing out condoms and lube and offering sexual health advice.

  Stacey was a huge champion for volunteer work, and I would be lying if I said she didn’t inspire me, but there was another reason for my dedication to the cause.

  “Darling,” Dr Chris said, taking my hand. She patted it and took a deep breath. “It’s coming up to Elliott’s anniversary isn’t it?” I nodded, fearing a sob would escape if I opened my mouth. “I didn’t want you to go away today without me acknowledging it and saying I love you, I’m here for you and Elliott wo
uld be so proud of everything you’ve done in his name.”

  “Three years,” I managed to get out. “Can you believe it?”

  “Time passes us by, Skye. Blink and it’s gone.”

  “Isn’t it frightening, though?” I replied.

  “Terrifying,” she nodded. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I replied, and it wasn’t necessarily a lie or fabrication, but I did make a habit of moving on from Elliott-focused conversations. Helping out at the clinic gave me focus, something else to concentrate on apart from the sadness of losing my brother when he had his whole life in front of him. Volunteering was my energy, my air, my relief. I could do something to keep busy, avoid thinking about my loss and help others so they never found themselves in the same place as Elliott did. A hatred, a self-loathing that no one should feel about themselves.

  “I liked him a lot,” Dr Chris said. “Although it was brief, I thought he was a lovely young man.”

  I’d taken Elliott to the clinic three weeks before he died. He had come out to me one evening, when he returned home from a club, dazed and confused after his drink had been spiked. The clinic ran support groups for young people coming to terms with their sexuality and I thought it would help. I already knew Elliott was gay, and I supported and accepted him fully. What I didn’t know was how hard he was finding it to come to terms with it himself. It was only after his death – through his suicide note – that I understood the depths of his unhappiness. Years of bullying at school. His first sexual experience that went disastrously wrong. A best friend he fell in love with but knew would never reciprocate as he watched him dating the popular girls in school. It was another rejection on top of the rejection from our mother. Coupled with the loss of our grandmother, it all became too much.

  I found him face down on his bed. He looked so peaceful and still. Will was with me, having just returned from a night out of stand-up comedy and drinks. Never had I felt the preciousness of life more than I did in that moment.

  “He was a beautiful person,” I said, remembering his big smile and his eyes that reflected his mood. “I know he’d want me to help other people struggling like him.” And I had. At the clinic and during support groups. I saw too many people who were struggling to come to terms with their sexuality. Not just young people but members of the LGBTQ+ community of all ages who just couldn’t accept themselves for who they are. Their struggles only spurred me to do more. I volunteered more of my time and set up a buddy project linking young people to others who needed support too. It made me feel closer to my brother like I was doing something good in his memory. Making his short life matter. All in Elliott’s name.

  “I wanted to talk to you about possibly setting up another support group, or perhaps a steering group,” Dr Chris said. “I’m finding during clinic that I have more conversations with young people about porn and their expectations of sex through watching it.” She tapped her spoon against the cup and Cher woke with a start. “Babycakes, Mummy is sorry.” She lifted him up like a tiny Simba, inspecting him before returning him to her knee. “It’s really rather disturbing and terribly sad.”

  “You don’t agree with porn?” I asked.

  “I do agree with porn, dear. My goodness, I have quite a collection!” I laughed. “But what concerns me is the many different types of porn. It’s a multi-million-pound business with every fetish and kink catered for. Stuff you wouldn’t have thought of. Everything exists, Skye. Young people are impressionable, and porn is so widely and readily available. The swipe of a screen and you can access positively anything when you’re sitting on a bus for heaven’s sake! In my day you would have to go to a seedy back street sex shop and pray that you wouldn’t be seen coming out with a brown paper bag under your arm.”

  “So, how does this relate to sexual health?”

  “Expectations, darling. If you’re young and curious, porn will be the next step. And if you’re watching something where there are multiple partners, one after the other, gang bangs, rape scenes, bestiality, you name it, impressionable minds may believe that’s what sex is. They get a skewed view of loving relationships, of what boundaries are and should be. I’m not saying promiscuity is shameful, my dear, but not looking after your sexual health certainly is.”

  “Hard agree,” I replied. “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course.” She pushed a macaroon towards me. “Let’s treat it as a research project. Watch some porn, talk to people at the clinic, get some different perspectives. How can we approach this positively and without judgement? Skye, I know you’ll handle this with sensitivity and passion. You, my dear, are perfect for this commission.”

  “Commission?” I shrieked. “I thought we were treating this as a research project?”

  “Don’t pretend this isn’t causing some excitement for you, darling.”

  “It is,” I laughed as I stood up and threw my bag over my shoulder.

  “Are you off, dear?” Dr Chris asked.

  “Yep, I’m going home to watch me some porn.”

  “That’s my girl!”

  I didn’t make it home to watch porn. On the walk back to the flat after leaving Dr Chris, I was reminded that Brighton has an abundance of sex shops catering to many tastes and levels of kink. Hardcore shops were hiding from the main shopping streets, softer core shops were mingled in with hemp stores and vegan cafés. One store in particular, called Religion, was popular for stocking plastic willy straws for hen night capers, but descend into the back and you would find studded whips and crystal cock rings. Inside, it was decorated with a decidedly naughty religious feel. The cash register was sitting on an alter with a golden crucifix. Hanging from it were squishy cocks and knitted vaginas. I studied the displays, laughing at the funny magnets and love coupons and turning on the vibrators that were there to be touched and played with. Going further towards the back of the shop, through the racks of naughty nurse outfits and bondage-inspired dresses, I found another door.

  “Can I help you?” I turned to find a guy wearing a black shirt with a dog collar and leather trousers decorated with silver studs. He had a large ring through his nose and a dangly diamond in one ear. I almost applauded him for wearing the highest red stiletto heels yet still managing to walk without grimacing.

  “Yes, actually, you can. I’m doing some research. Have you worked here for long?” I asked.

  He looked puzzled but answered anyway. “Getting on for three…no, four months.”

  I pointed to the closed door. “Is that where you stock the pornos?”

  “Yeah. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

  “I’m more interested in talking about your clientele.”

  “OK.” He looked slightly alarmed as I took his elbow.

  “Like, who buys porn films? It’s easy to find porn online, I would have thought there’s not much demand for physical copies now.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he replied, opening the door and allowing me to go through first. “We stock films for all tastes and new titles arrive weekly. People have favourite actors or directors and we have their latest. We also have an option to watch before you buy. He pointed to two large flatscreen TV’s mounted on the wall with a pew in front of it. “Veeery popular. We have another shop that is more bespoke. There’s a cinema next door where we hold premieres or show particular tropes. A lot of our clients have collections. They perhaps like vintage, more classic porn or exclusive porn they won’t find on the internet for free.” He switched on one of the TV’s and a male couple were in the middle of frantic and heavy anal sex. “Can I ask why the girl with the bubblegum hair has so many questions?”

  I was transfixed with the images on the screen. This was hard, physical sex. Dirty talk, filthy words. Vintage. The use of a huge dildo. Leather caps, moustaches and plenty of grunts.

  “I can change it,” he said as he watched me cautiously, reading me, perhaps confused. “What are your tastes?”

  I thought for a second. “S
how me your most popular film. The one most watched or purchased.” He flicked on the other TV and a woman started moaning. There was a guy fucking her in the front, one fucking her from behind, she was sucking a guy off and had two guys in her hands. They were stood over her on either side and all I could think about was male dominance and how small and unprotected she must have felt with them standing over her. This wasn’t hot. This was…disturbing.

  “This is by far the most popular. Hard core. Not to all tastes,” he said.

  “What’s the age range for who buys this particular film?”

  “Ooh, I don’t know. All ages but probably on the younger side.”

  “Why do you think it’s so popular?” I asked.

  “The pop shot at the end,” he replied before forwarding the film.

  “Pop shot. You mean the cum shot?” I’d heard the phrase before, laughed about it, seen a few myself.

  “Ready for this?” he asked. I sat down on the pew as he played the film. The five guys all declared that they were ready to cum and one by one they removed themselves from wherever their cocks happened to be. A clear bowl came into view and each one shot their load into it, creating what could only be described as a bowl full of spunk. I covered my face as the woman started to drink it, moaning and spilling it down her chin like she was savouring a cold glass of milk.

  “Jesus, what the fuck?” I gasped, peeking out from between my fingers. “What the actual fuck?”

  “I know.”

  “It’s not nice,” I said, grimacing. “Not nice at all.”

  “Not all porn is nice.”

  “I don’t feel turned on at all,” I replied, holding my stomach. “In fact, I think I’m going to puke.”