The Naked Cleaner

by Sophia Soames

  I text Jonas on automatic, then cringe at myself again. The last thing I need is for Jonas and Clara to turn up and sit on my sofa feeding me fucking muffins, and looking at me like I am a loser. I already know I am a loser thank you very much.

  But, I got laid. Well. Heavy make-out session. Snogging. Teeth. We both came. Sex? It smelt like it in my room when I woke up this morning. I’m pretty sure my bed smells of Louis.

  I need to work.

  I don’t. I go and get my little wanking lunch box out of the fridge and pour myself a large glass of water like I have no control over my own actions. Then I eat the seriously disgusting stuff in the box, as I sit at the table reading the Financial Times app. Then I sigh at myself and throw the unwashed plastic box in the damn cardboard monstrosity that festers on the floor in the kitchen. I drink my water.

  He still doesn’t come back.

  Instead, I sit down, and I make him a goddamn-amazing website. A fancy one too, with automatic invoicing, and pricing and links to a little handy Excel pop-up boxes to calculate fees with potential payments from the council and discounts for multiple bookings. I make a little graphic with a broom that swishes little dust particles around the screen when a new page loads. It makes me smile.

  I’m pathetic.

  Then it’s seven o’clock and the world is still turning. I eat my bloody dinner without turning on the lights. I finish off the last of the contact forms. Change a few graphics around and adjust the photo box where a few nice stock photos of sparkling clean homes complete the aesthetics. Not a naked cleaner in sight, and I have changed the company name to Ramsdahl-Soto Complete Solutions. Much more grown up and professional and doesn’t hint at any cocks and butt cheeks. Although I have put the Naturist Society logo in there for reference, and the appropriate links. I also need to research Louis’s qualifications to ensure it all adds up, but I’m sure he will help me with that. If I ever see him again.

  Jonas texts something about getting myself checked out for stomach ulcers. I half-heartedly text back.

  I get dressed. Then get too hot and throw my joggers off until I am back on the sofa watching some hockey match in just a T-shirt and socks, wondering if I should jerk off on the sofa, because I just got a whiff of Louis from the blanket, and to be honest, I want to cry.

  I want him. I want him here. He’s not coming back.

  I wasn’t that pathetic last night, was I? Should I have blown him? I would have, but it’s kind of, we were kissing so much and I never really. Really? Maybe I disappointed him. Maybe I bruised him and marked him and scared him. Maybe he looked at himself in the mirror and saw the state I left him in and went, Fuck no!

  I am drilling myself into a right state there on the sofa, cringing and wanting to cry and contemplating calling Jonas and deciding to be all adult and survive this little blip in my great quest for singledom.

  I miss him.

  I barely know the guy and I miss him.

  My finger hovers over the contact details and I open up a blank message.

  To: Louis.

  Then I don’t know what to type.

  I miss you please come and cuddle me!

  I delete that.

  Do you want to watch some more of that wanky show?

  No, no, NO!

  Thanks for yesterday.

  I’m not sixty, and I am not polite. Delete, delete, delete.

  My fingers hover over the screen and come dangerously close to the little handset button. I shudder. Then. No, no, no! I panic-press all over the damn screen then manage to get the call to disconnect. And then he rings me back. Almost like he was sitting there with his damn phone in his hand.

  “Hello?” I reply, all flustered. I’m supposed to say Andreassen Solutions. No. It’s after office hours. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  “Hi.” He says quietly.

  “You okay?” Thankfully my brain is working. Phew.

  “Yeah, just finished my mum’s yoga class. Just need to hit the shower and then….”

  “Is it naked yoga?” My mouth is stupid. I am stupid.

  “Of course, it’s naked yoga. The class is full, there are currently sixteen naked people having green tea in my mum’s studio in our basement, Pontus. I’m number seventeen and I can’t stand green tea. Hence I have left to have a shower.”

  “Oh.”

  I’m so stupid. Why can’t I think of anything to say? I am picturing him naked. He is naked right now. He is going to soap himself down in the shower and I am not there. He is not here.

  “You can come here and shower.”

  Yeah. Smooth Pontus.

  He laughs, just softly.

  “Do you miss me?”

  “No.” I don’t even sound cocky. I kind of whine the word out.

  “You miss me.”

  “I’m not allowed to watch the rest of the damn show without you.”

  “So… You only want me for my TV-show-watching skills. Or company…” He goes quiet. Then he sighs. “Sorry Pontus, I get all flustered talking to you. My mouth says stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

  “Why are you nervous?” Says the guy who is about to piss his non-existent pants right here on the sofa.

  “You!” He almost shouts. “I want to come and sleep in your bed and have masses of sex with you, but you haven’t even responded to my texts and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on and I can’t read your mind and I’m crap at this, all of this.”

  He runs out of steam and I hyperventilate.

  “Please.”

  MY. STUPID. MOUTH.

  “Please what? ‘Please fuck off, Louis,’ or, ‘Please come and fuck me, Louis?’ I can’t read minds. I need you to tell me because I am going crazy here. Absolutely crazy.”

  Breathe, Pontus. Breathe.

  “I… I missed you today.”

  Charming Pontus.

  “Answer the fucking question, Pontus. Do I mean anything to you? Or was last night just a clusterfuck of a mistake?”

  He sounds desperate. Pathetic. Sad. Distraught. All kinds of messed up and my heart is jolting in my chest and I kind of want… to hug him.

  “I need a hug.”

  Right there. Pontus Andreassen wins all the nerd-of-the-year awards. Fucking hell.

  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  He hangs up. Just like that.

  Oh fuck.

  What did I just do? Did I just admit to wanting him to come? Did I agree to bottom? What was that? He’s coming here in twenty minutes, and I am not wearing underpants. And I burst into tears. Because that’s been a whole day of holding it all in and now, I am falling apart.

  He just kind of shouted at me and I think he missed me, and now he is coming here and I need…

  A hug.

  Louis.

  My head examined.

  Honestly. Seriously? What the hell am I doing?

  Chapter Ten

  Louis

  He’s been crying. Oh fuck, I’ve made him cry, and it’s obviously obvious because his face is all wet, like he has tried to splash water on his face to dull the swollen redness and puffy eyes, and it’s all so obvious, it makes me want to cry myself.

  And on top of it all, he just stands there with his arms hugging his far-too-skinny body in that threadbare dressing gown and I just…

  I think I’m in love. I am crushing. Infatuation is a thing.

  I just stand there like a fool, staring at him, and he doesn’t even move. Almost like he is frozen in place, as his whole body is shivering with unease.

  “You have been crying.” I say softly. “Please tell me it isn’t because of me. I don’t want to make you cry.”

  Honesty is a powerful tool, my mum always says. For me it’s a bloody curse.

  “Of course, it’s bloody you, and it’s bloody me and…” He stomps around in a circle and I take that as a cue to push in through his door and slam it shut behind me. I turn the lock. Put the chain on. I’m staying. I’m not leaving again until the two of us have sorted
out this charade of emotions and innuendo and fucking horniness that is pulsating through me.

  “Take off your clothes.” He says, sternly. “I can’t deal with you with all this… these… things on.”

  See? Infatuated. I love that he prefers me naked. I prefer me naked. I can think when I’m naked. I think I’m less weird naked. I mean I can’t hide anything behind my skin. It’s just me. And he is still stomping around on the floor as I shred my clothes faster than light. Step out of my joggers and toe my socks off. They’re crap socks anyway. I should bin them.

  Then I stand there like a fool as he still paces the floorspace. In his dressing gown. And there is a t-shirt underneath. No socks. Bare legs. Hair sticking up at every angle.

  “I need help here.” He says, almost aggressively, but I am learning to read him now. He just talks like that when he’s frustrated. Scared. I think he is shit scared.

  “I’m really frightened that I will mess this up, Pontus.” I start, keeping my voice calm.

  “When it’s a business deal, it’s simple. It’s like a well-rehearsed script. They need things. I offer things. They want to pay nothing. I want profit. We negotiate. I throw in freebies. They ask for more. I remove things they need. They back down. We make a deal. Sign contracts. I deliver. They evaluate. I fix it. Everyone is happy. “

  He stops pacing. Thank god, because he was making me dizzy just watching him.

  “You and I have been negotiating.” I start. I don’t know how to word this. How to make any sense of what I am trying to say. Well, I am lying. All I want to say is, come on babe, just drop the clothes and go fuck your bed into splinters.

  I’m not saying that out loud. Phew.

  “You’re okay.” He says.

  “Gee, thanks, Pontus.” I laugh. He is ridiculous.

  “You’re… like… you make me feel less weird. Because you are weird. And I am weird and together, we make weirdness… Okay. I think. Fuck I am talking out of my arse. “ He paces again then stops right in front of me and his face instantly turns scarlet.

  He wants to say something.

  “I can see the steam coming out of your ears. You’re thinking too hard. Overthinking everything. I like you. I think I’m crushing on you. Hard. Like I want to be with you and make you happy, and you let me take care of you, and it’s amazing when you smile, and then we get on and laugh and it’s perfect, and then you go all grumpy on me and I get scared that you don’t like me and it’s all in my head, and then last night was amazing and all I want to do is pick you up and slam you into the wall and kiss you, and then we should fuck. I’m only being honest here, because I think if we fuck, we will get some of this crazy sexual tension out of the way and then... then we can figure this out. And by the way, I am staying tonight. Don’t even think of throwing me out. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

  “It’s my flat, I can throw you out anytime. And call the police if you don’t leave.”

  His face is purple. And I laugh. In his face. Because he is ridiculous, and his eyes are wet and I am all mushy and emotional and I think I will one day love him so much that my heart will explode. His little wrinkles under his eyes and his flushed face and the ridiculous dressing gown and all. And I am standing here stark naked letting him just say all these stupid things. Because he’s funny and sarcastic and… mine. It’s a scary thought. I think Pontus is mine. He’s mine.

  “I think you are my person.” I say. Loudly, as I stare at him.

  “Jonas always said you were.” Pontus almost whispers. “He said we fit like a glove. I never thought he would be right. Jonas is full of shit.”

  “Jonas is hilarious.” My mouth is talking crap but at least Pontus is standing still. Right in front of me. A tiny tear of wetness balancing in the corner of his eye. I reach out and stroke it away. My person. My Pontus. I know I am getting all overemotional and I’m tired and honestly? I’m exhausted after this last week. Trying so hard with Pontus and feeling like a failure most of the time. And now I am here, stripped bare of everything. I even told him we should fuck.

  He moves, his hands shaking as he does it, but he reaches down and unties his dressing gown belt, and me? What do I do? I rip the damn thing over his shoulders and then I yank his t-shirt over his head like a bloody lunatic.

  But there he is. All naked. Much better. Oh yes.

  I don’t know who is making the moves here, but he’s in my arms and I am in his, and his face is in my neck and there is skin everywhere, and oh fuck, I like this. I like this a lot. Just letting my hands roam over his body, stroking his back and cupping his arse. No underpants in the way. No bloody fabric and elastic to negotiate. I love skin. Warmth. The curves as it hugs the bones underneath. The warmth and the subtle movements of his pulse. The way his chest rises and falls against my own.

  My hands travel upwards until I can cup his face and guide it to where I need it. Where I can look into his eyes and talk to him. I like talking. I should shut up, but I need words. I function better when I have words.

  “What do you need, Pontus?”

  He blushes again. Like his face could blush more. I love it. I love that these things embarrass him and turn him on in equal measure, because just look at him. And there is a boner happening against my thigh and I love that too.

  “I need... You.” He stutters out. “Haven’t done this for a while so… you know…”

  He was all confidence last night, humping himself into oblivion against my fist. Now, he’s as shy as a virgin.

  “Are you a virgin? I mean, you have had anal sex before?” Me and my fucking mouth, because now he is squirming in my arms, and I almost violently hug him, letting my lips kiss his head like I am peppering him with love bullets. I need to calm him down and not put pressure on him. I need to make him relax. I need to make love to him, not fuck him up. I have done that before, not talked about the important things and ended up in a fucking shitheap of embarrassing squirming when things don’t work out.

  He doesn’t speak so I just shush him and hold him and rock him against my body and he seems to calm down, his body now limp against mine as I almost slow dance him into the bedroom.

  “We are not going to fuck. We are going to lie here, under the covers, and we are going to cuddle.” I state firmly.

  “I want to fuck.” He squeals. Then he buries his face in my neck again as I try to push him into bed, then I stumble and kick him in the shins and we end up in a right tumble, but in the end, we’re all snuggled up as I fold the edge of the duvet under his chin.

  “We can fuck. But not until you tell me what you need, because I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to do something wrong.”

  I’m going to win awards for being sensible at this rate. Well, maybe not, because I am still touching him all over and now I have found his balls, which I am gently rolling between my fingers. Like a normal person would. Well, again, maybe not. And he is humping a little against me and there is something wet smearing against my stomach and he is making tiny little whispery sounds that I wish were louder. I want to make him moan. Scream. Shout. Beg me.

  “I’ve never… you know. Topped. Bottomed once and it was awful. I… I know it can be really good. I… Fuck, Louis, I’m shit scared.”

  I love that he’s honest. I love this. I think I love everything right now as I roll on top of him and kiss the living daylights out of his mouth.

  I’m into this. I’m into this far too much, because he just said he’s scared and then I go full hulk mode on him.

  “Sorry,” I pant, “I just needed to kiss you. Because you are mine and I will take care of you, and I am just as scared as you, baby, because I need you to look after me too. I’ve had sex. I have had really good sex, and I have had bad sex too, and I promise you, baby, I fucking swear, you and I will never have bad sex. Even when it goes wrong and we laugh about it, it will NEVER be bad. I will never hurt you, or make you do something you don’t want to do. Just say no, or stop and I w
ill stop. Be honest with me, and I will be honest with you. I love fucking, and if you let me, I will make you love it too. Okay? Promise.”

  “It’s a big promise, especially for someone... who… like me.”

  He’s going to make me cry, because I can see it. All the fear. The hurt. The need. He’s just like me in so many ways.

  “I’m… yours.” Is all I can say. Because I am a little intense right now, and he is fucking beautiful and I kiss him. With my eyes closed. I kiss his lips and his cheeks and his neck and his mouth, and he clings to me and wraps his legs around mine and I just…

  It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To have someone love me back, like this. Because even though he doesn’t say it, he shows it. His hands and his heart and his breath and the way he can’t bear it when I let go of his lips. He lunges back, biting at my bottom lip to make me stay and I grind my hips against his, whining softly in frustration.

  I need inside him.

  I don’t want to go too fast.

  I don’t want to scare him.

  “Have you got lube, baby?” Way to go for going slow. I'm doomed.

  He reaches in under the pillow and produces a brand-new bottle. Cellophane still intact. Like he planned this. Sneaky little fucker.

  His cheeks are flushed again and his lips chapped, looking like my horniest wet dream. He’s like every wet dream I have ever had.

  “Slow.” He whispers and I kiss him, carefully and gently.

  “I will never hurt you. Just love you.”

  Fuck, my brain is fried. Did I just say that?

  “I want this.” He says. “Please make it good.”

  “You are beautiful.” My mouth says back, as my hands are lubing up everything. It’s spilling between my fingers and it’s on the sheets and his legs and I am now at an awkward angle trying to hold myself up and not squash him underneath me and fuck, we need a condom. Have I got condoms? What am I thinking?

  “Here.” He says, ripping one open. Where the hell did that come from?