Samantha groped for the light switch in the unfamiliar bedroom without success, she'd dumped her coat on the pile along with everyone else when she arrived and was now rummaging for it in the dark. 'This has to be the crappiest party I ever been to' thought Samantha gloomily, 'why did I even bother to come?' which, she admitted to herself, was a pretty dumb question. She had come because Simon, her bastard, slimy, cheating ex-boyfriend, just might have been there.
She had arrived, half hoping, half fearing that he would be and had done a quick, nervous reconnoitre of the room, not certain if she spotted Simon whether she'd duck out or have the courage to confront him. As it happened she didn't need to make that decision, he wasn't there. At least the person she really, really wanted to avoid hadn't been there either, but she had known that before she came. India Prentiss, another ex, in this case an ex BFF who was currently sharing Simon's bed, was holidaying with her parents at their villa in the south of France.
The usual crowd had been at the party along with a sprinkling of new faces, once Sam knew the coast was clear she had picked out a good-looking guy standing on his own near the bar and began to chat him up. He was intelligent, amusing and well-spoken and... on his own? Really? she should have known better; well-dressed men with perfect hair who can actually dance are invariably gay and just as she thought she was getting somewhere his boyfriend arrived and the conversation came to an abrupt end.
'Oh bugger it' thought Sam philosophically, 'at least that saved me from making an even bigger fool of myself'. The noise of the party drifting up the stairs was getting louder, the sound of other people having a good time, laughter becoming raucous as the adult beverages worked their usual charm. Her coat still evaded her and feeling a bit dejected Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and took out her mobile phone. At least leaving early meant she'd be able to get an Uber without any difficulty, turning it on she was greeted by a smiling Simon screensaver.
'Bastard, bastard, bastard' she muttered, angrily rubbing the screen as if to erase his features, raging to herself 'you selfish, inconsiderate, low-life cheating...' but then stopped, sighed, and looked again at the image. There had, she ruefully admitted to herself, been compensations.
'Samantha's bit of rough' her mother had labelled Simon disparagingly and it was true, he lacked a posh accent, GCSE's and probably drank red wine with fish but what he did possess was a talent for football. Spotted by a scout when he was ten Simon had been enrolled in a sports academy, progressed rapidly through a series of youth teams and was now playing for a League 1 club.
Football bored Sam but long hours in the gym had given Simon something which didn't bore her at all; stamina and a hard, muscular body. The enhanced sex drive may have been a happy by-product of the high protein diet but it was there along with a self-confidence that made him a bit special.
They had met at a party much like this one six months ago; noisy, crowded, the music too loud and the lights too dim. They had both been drinking and it was a simple case of lust at first sight. Simon was the tallest and by far the best dressed, best looking guy in the room, he had 'designer stubble' and Sam immediately began to wonder what it would feel like if he kissed her?
Simon's interest had also been based on physical attraction, mostly Sam's generous breasts displayed to full advantage by her low-cut dress. They had tried to talk but, having got as far as exchanging names, they gave up the unequal struggle against the pounding music. Simon leaned across and shouted in her ear, 'let's go out to my car', slightly surprised at herself Sam had nodded, put down her drink and obediently followed him outside.
It might have been because he was such a good-looking bastard or maybe the punch had been more potent than she realised? and she was definitely impressed by the car - a brand-new Range Rover -- whatever the reason, twenty minutes later Samantha had meekly acquiesced as Simon had undressed and made love to her in the warm darkness on the back seat. It was just like Proust and his bloody Madeline cake, now every time Sam caught the scent of leather she was immediately transported back to that night, to his hands freely roaming over her body and luxurious upholstery of the Range Rover.
Looking at his photo on her 'phone she remembered his confident whisper as he unhooked her bra strap, 'I reckon I'm going to score, what do you think?'
'The arrogant jerk! Why hadn't she just told him to take his bloody ego and stuff it...' except that by then his thumb was teasing her nipples in a way that made them stand to attention and send shockwaves all the way down to her toes and straight back up to the tingling centre of her world... When he pulled her dress up and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants she had unhesitatingly raised her hips off the seat so that he could pull them down and off over her feet. Moments later, positioned between her open thighs, he had grinned and said 'this is where ball control is really important' she only had a moment to think 'what's that about?' before her attention was fully focused on other things.
Sam could never 'cum' the first time she had sex with a new boyfriend; yes, it was enjoyable but something always seemed to hold her back from fully committing herself to the act. But not that night, God no, Simon took her to the edge, held her there until she was begging for release, then sent her over into an orgasm so intense that she screamed out loud... and he did it three times. By the time he'd finished Sam could hardly walk straight, had used up a pack of tissues trying to dry herself (and the upholstery) and was wishing she'd brought a spare pair of pants.
They'd gone back to the party and Sam had immediately dived into the toilets, pulled a yard of tissue off the roll and stuffed it down the front of her knickers, she had a feeling there was lot more of Simons 'genetic material' still to appear. They'd danced, laughed trying to shout over the music and exchanged telephone numbers but it was still early when Simon pointed to his Rolex (fake? It certainly looked real enough) and mouthed 'early start', he'd kissed her and was gone, Sam was suddenly left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.
Now, sitting alone on the edge of the bed in the dark room Sam suddenly realised she had unconsciously begun parting her thighs at the memory of Simons fingers touching her 'down there', she closed them hurriedly, angry at her body for this craven betrayal.
She hadn't really expected to hear from him again after that night, 'be honest' she told herself next morning standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, 'you do not get to be that good without loads of practice, he must have had hundreds of women, you're just another notch on the bedpost'.
With a sigh she had critically reviewed her assets through the fog of a hangover. 'Just about acceptable' she thought glumly; the report card ranged from an 'A' for intelligence (really? after last night?), looks? well, discounting the dark rings under her eyes, maybe an 'A' minus, although snub noses and freckles didn't feature much in Vogue. Hair? Okay, honey-blonde but at best a 'B' since no amount of expensive shampoo could persuade it to 'shine and bounce'... Body? Oh, probably another 'A' although, as an ex-boyfriend had once teased, 'built for comfort rather than speed' which hadn't stopped the bastard enjoying the ride. Say an overall score (she winced at the word) of 'A minus', there was one 'D' but that was her cup size so it was actually a plus.
'No' she told herself resolutely stepping off the bathroom scales, 'it was just a one-night stand, he'll have forgotten me by now' so she was more than a little surprised when Simon had called later that day and asked her out, so surprised that she had agreed to meet him before she could think of a reason to say 'no'.
Sam didn't think of herself as 'easy'; okay, there had been that one time when she had sex on a first date but that had been at the end of a long, romantic evening of being wined and dined in a very expensive restaurant by a guy she'd met on a singles site. He had been handsome, attentive and charming and, as she discovered later, married. That night Sam had allowed herself to be seduced with only a token show of reluctance, but sex with a stranger who she'd known for less than an hour? In the back seat of a car? No way! Sam still couldn't quite bring herself to believe it had happened. And it was not going to happen again, ever. Okay, she'd meet up with Simon but it was only going to be for a drink, no more, there was absolutely no way the evening was going to end up in anyone's bed.
Sam chose her wardrobe with care, something attractive with being too provocative? Aiming for sexy but not cheap she went with a midi-skirt and a loose fitting, high-necked blouse, tight enough to hint at her charms without it being too obvious (although he'd had a pretty close look at all she had to offer less than 24 hours ago). But tonight Sam was going to be an ice-queen, polite but distant, there would be no flirting.
The evening turned out to be... different. A slightly defiant Sam had arrived at the Café early only to find Simon already waiting, she realised she'd been half-hoping that he wouldn't show. 'Damn' thought Sam as she walked over, 'he looks even better than he did last night'. In a decent light she could see he was younger than she'd thought, the eyes were grey and the handsome, tanned face was framed by thick, well-cut hair. The cream, tailored-fit shirt emphasised the broad shoulders and narrow waist.
Simon stood up as she entered, moved round the table and gave Sam a chaste kiss on the cheek before pulling out a chair for her. There were the usual, slightly stilted formalities, polite enquiries as to well-being and would Sam like a drink?
Sam chose white wine and Simon ordered a diet coke, both of which arrived with commendable promptness and Simon, after an awkward moment said. "look" and paused. 'Here it comes' thought Sam, bracing herself for the inevitable indecent proposal. "Look" repeated Simon, "about last night, I'm really, really sorry I came on so strong, truth is, I don't drink much and some clown must have spiked that bloody punch with vodka. I'm not really that kind of guy."
