Stories We Ruined Together

That weekend my uncle's birthday took me away from my town, and from Ed. A family occasion I would normally dodge, easily and without feelings of guilt -- but this time we all knew it would be his last birthday. It was unspoken but everyone knew it. And I felt I had to be there, knowing I would regret missing it. He was one of the kinder relations, although chronically unreliable and absent for huge chunks of my life. I spent Saturday travelling and sitting in his living room with my parents and my aunt, little half-cousins running around, unrecognisable tome, and I suppose I was the same to them. I didn't resent being there, even though I wanted to be back home, with Ed. We messaged, he sent me funny pictures of himself larking around in the storeroom of the supermarket, posing with his favourite cereals, even a selfie with a regular customer he had befriended. A sweet looking elderly lady, with a beautiful smile. I wondered what his family was like. I hadn't really asked, yet. But there would be time to. What would he be like as a family man? As a father? I tried to dismiss that thought-- we'd only just met after all. But it kept drifting back in. I wanted to understand him more, I wanted more knowledge of Ed, I wanted to hear about his family holidays, his school, his parents, all of it.

I travelled back on Sunday, and Ed was off on Monday so I called my manager and begged for a last-minute holiday, citing fatigue after the trip, and really laying it on about the kids running round and my Dad repeating the same old stories, because my manager has an exhausting family and can sympathise with all that stuff. He let me have it, and I called Ed to make some plans. Ten am on Monday found us at the park, the big one a mile or so out of the town centre, walking slowly round the perimeter of the duck pond. They had a luxurious home there, all that water, then all the grass and bushes and tress (do ducks like trees?), and lots of people coming by to feed them. Ed had come ready with a bag of frozen peas, which he explained were better for the ducks than bread. He held them in his bare hand, which I thought must have been freezing, because mine were gloved up and tucked away in my coat pockets, and still feeling a little bit nippy.

"Are your mitts not hurting like hell?"

"I'm fine, I can feel a thing."

"That means they're just about to drop off," I warned him. "If you can feel some pain, you're okay. Once you start to feel alright, that's when you know you're in real trouble."

"Are you talking about hands, or about life in general?"

"Ah, that's good. That's very clever." We located our first victim - a proud looking mallard stood apart from the rest, on the path, gazing out at the pond. Ed tore open the bag and we threw a few peas in his direction. One of mine struck the poor guy on the beak, and he turned our way, as if to say yes, I see you, with your cheap peas and your desperate need for my approval. And I'll eat one or two, if only to keep you from mental breakdown. And he did, although he appeared reluctant.

"See. They love it. They love the peas."

"He doesn't seem to love it. It's more like he's doing us a favour by eating it."

Ed tried to take my hand out of my pocket to hold it, but there was no way I was exposing it to the air, on this cold morning well below zero Celsius. I pulled his hand in with mine instead.

"Are we going to tackle number two on your research list?"

"What was that?" Isaid, playing dumb.

"Rosie tells a boy about all of her biggest insecurities."

"Ah." I looked back to the duck, but he was in no mood to help me out. Probably angry that we hadn't given him lovely tasty bread. Did I really want to go through this right now? There might be no better time. "Okay, but we should alternate, and see how we go."

Ed nodded. I couldn't imagine him being seriously insecure regarding anything, this would probably be a piece of cake for him. "That's fair. Okay, sometimes I wish I was tall. Most men are taller than me, and mostly I don't care, but sometimes I'd just like to be a bit taller. And it annoys me because there's no logical reason."

"Cool. I guess that's probably a common one. It's good that you can see how silly it is though." We had completed our loop of the big pond, and Ed led me across the grass, between the rows of trees. It wasn't getting any warmer.

"Your turn."

Which to admit to first... "I don't like my voice. I really, really don't. It's so...I don't know, it's really low, isn't it? When I was growing up I feltlike all my friends had these high, feminine voices and then mine was always just kind of... flat."

"I don't think many people like their own voices. I like yours though, I think it's lovely. if that helps at all."

"It does a bit. Although I suppose I have to get over whatever my own personal issue is with it, in order to let it go."

Ed looked up to the branches above us, bare of leaves, waiting out the winter. "Yeah I think that's true. Everything other people tell us is just... words from the outside. I wonder if anyone ever actually manages."

"I bet someone has, somewhere. You seem pretty chill about yourself."

He squeezed my hand, ensconced in the pocket. "I'm not too bad, generally. So, another one... sometimes I think I'm a bit boring."

"Boring?"

"Yeah."

"You're not boring. Why do you think that?"

"Well, only sometimes. I don't know, I'm not loud, and entertaining, I'll never be the life of the party. And that's fine. But sometimes I sort of wish I was."

"I'm glad you're not like that. I had a friend who always tried to be the centre of everything, and it's a bit tiring. I like people who are secure enough to not need the limelight."

"Me too," said Ed. We passed a few teenagers drinking on the grass, with a strong smell of weed. It was impressive, that they could bare to sit still for an extended period on a day like this. Or maybe they were completely wasted, and hadn't noticed. "Next."

"My figure isn't very "in" at the moment, and that bothers me a bit sometimes. When I spend too much time online. I haven't got big curves, or muscles, or... anything really. I'm not anyone's dream girl."

Ed pulled me to him, released my hand so that he could put his arm around my waist. "You're gorgeous." We stopped and kissed, until one of the teenagers yelled something (probably encouragement), and then we walked on, out the other side of the row of trees, back to the path. Hardly anyone around, saner souls were safe indoors, here were only the dog-walkers, keen runners, and the fools.

"Anyway," he said, "Not everyone's into the same thing. It just seems like that sometimes, when you pay too much attention to what's being said on social media and stuff." Things I knew, but was happy to hear anyway. I told him that it was his turn. "I don't really have anything else," he said apologetically. "Just those two little things. Not that I think I'm perfect or anything, I know I'm not, not by a long way, but I don't have much else that actually bothers me. You go again and I'll try to think of another one."

I turned my thoughts over. There was one beneath the surface that I had never really put into words, not even in my own mind. Something important, but nebulous, vague, and all the more threatening for that. "I worry sometimes... I worry that under everything, under all my appearance and my manners and all of that... that I'm ultimately not loveable. Like, no one can really love me once they truly know me. That the more they see, the less they like me. That they all get bored, or I disgust them, and that's why everyone quietly drops me, or betrays me, and there's no way I can get away from that, no way I can become someone else."

"You don't need to become someone else."

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe."

"I bet most people feel like that, deep down."

"I bet you don't."

Ed frowned, and gave me a little squeeze. "I don't know if I do or not, to be honest. I've never really thought about anyone loving me."

"Ed, sorry, but that's absolutely tragic."

He laughed, loudly, breath clear and stark in the freezing air. "I didn't mean it to sound so dramatic. All I mean is that I've not given it much thought."

I didn't say anything to that. I was relaxed, I enjoyed the rest of the walk, glad to be there, glad to be out, to be with him, to exchange these strange fears. That day is one I can still remember with fondness, if I try hard, if I successfully let go of all the pain and resentment. Which from time to time I do manage. That day is gone but it will always be with me.

For a couple of days we couldn't see each other, busy busy busy. But we messaged a lot, and planned to tackle the next item: Rosie uses a toy while the professor watches. Less than a week ago I would have felt that this was an impossibility, that I definitely wouldn't be able to do something so... open, in front of another person. Reveal myself to that crazy extent. I was sure that many, or even most, long-term partners hadn't even seen their significant other do that. But now, closer and closer to Ed, I believed that I could do it. With him it seemed possible. Even desirable, in some weird way. I wanted him to see me, to see everything of me.

***

He met me in town right after I finished work on Thursday, and we followed his phone's lead through the streets of the centre, out of the centre, towards a small industrial park which houses a variety of businesses that don't require good footfall to survive. Places people visit very deliberately, that they will go out of their way to arrive at. A bulk-buy pet food vendor, a seller of vintage toys, washing machine repairs. And the sex shop. Neither of us had been there, and there was something of the giddy school-kid in our poorly-hidden excitement. I looked around, ridiculously, before we opened the door, as if someone I knew might have followed us.

The lighting was nice. That's what I noticed first. Soft bulbs of violet, enough to illuminate the products but just dim enough to make you feel safe from scrutiny yourself. And it was larger than I'd expected. With several aisles. Ed nudged me and pointed to the one furthest on the right. Nightmarish costumes of black leather and metal, to me a million miles from appealing. I shook my head vigorously. Ed took my hand and led me down the aisle on the left instead. It was lingerie mostly, for women and for men, all tiny pieces of thin material, a lot of it sheer, displayed on mannequins. Or I should say only the necessary part of the mannequin -- waist, crotch, and the very beginning of the legs. Occasionally the full torso, when a bra was also on display. Some of it looked nice, I made a mental note regarding a black set which for me hovered perfectly between showing and withholding -- because what's the point in wearing something that makes absolutely everything visible? Ed clearly had no interest in the men's options, and I didn't blame him. The male dolls looked almost ridiculous, in speedo-inspired scraps filled unrealistically with massive bulges -- like old-fashioned coin purses stuffed with bunches of grapes.

We rounded the next aisle, still not speaking, just a nod to the middle-aged man at the till, who briefly looked up from his magazine to give us a smile. Now we were looking at what we'd come for. Toys. An incredible array of them -- from the basic to the frightening via the mystifying. My experiences had been limited to a small vibrator a friend gave me for Christmas, at university. I'd had some fun with it for a while, until I got a new boyfriend and then I'd forgotten it completely and lost it somehow.

"What was the toy that Rosie uses?" Ed asked me quietly. "I can't remember."

"It was like... a dildo." I felt silly just saying it.

"Okay. Well there's plenty of those here." He picked up a box. It had clear plastic in order to display the thing itself. Massive and, inexplicably, lime-green. And with a series of ridges and dots. Hideous and fascinating, like some sort of giant radioactive centipede.

"No way," I said. He chuckled and put it back.

"So you want something that says 'first time'."

"Yeah, exactly. Her professor knows she hasn't done anything like this before, so he gives her something nice and simple, something she can explore herself with."

"While he enjoys the show. Men, eh?" He shook his head, in mock disgust.

"I know, right? A load of pigs."

"How about this?" He handed me another, this time it was of realistic proportions - smaller in fact. Pale pink. The shape was smooth, suggestive of the appendage it imitated but without shooting for complete anatomical accuracy.

"Yeah, that's good. It's sort of... classy."

Ed nodded. "That's exactly what it is."

"Do you think he'll let me take it home for a test-drive, and then bring it back tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. I can't see any issue with that. Just tell him you'll give it a quick wipe afterwards, should be no problem."

I laughed and turned to head for the till, but Ed took me by the elbow and steered me the other way, saying that he wanted to see what else was available. And so for a few minutes we browsed the various implements on offer for stimulation, penetration, flagellation. I took a vicious looking whip from its display perch and asked him if he would like me to beat him until he could no longer sit in his seat at the supermarket checkout, and he politely declined. On the next aisle the blindfolds reminded me of the final experience on our list, but I decided to concentrate on one thing at a time. No rush at all. I wanted this book to be my best. And I wanted to enjoy the process.

Paying wasn't as awkward as I'd feared. The man was nothing but professional, and I knew that this was his bread and butter, and besides, what were purchasing was probably a long way from being really kinky from his professional perspective. Exciting enough for me though.

In no rush, we sauntered back the long way, and stopped at a pub a mile from my flat, where they do good pies. Tucking into them in contented silence, we allowed the satisfaction of a job well done (or well half-done) wash over us. This was one of the few pubs around that actually lit a fire in the winter, and our table was close enough to take advantage of that. The place was half-full, with that contended English winter feeling of everyone purely being glad to be indoors, out of the cold, with a nice drink and maybe something satisfying to eat. I submerged a chunk of carrot into the gravy of my pie, and munched it down with gusto. Ed grinned and did the same. We were most of the way through the bottle of red. This felt like absolute luxury for me -- maybe some people existed who could take it for granted, for whom a nice meal out with someone they had strong feelings for was a normal thing, nothing to shout about. But I did feel like shouting about it. To the rooftops. Look at me! I'm here with someone I actually connect with! Obviously I didn't do that, I didn't start yelling in the pub. Instead I put my hand on the table, for him to cover it with his, which he did, and I kept eating.

We lingered for a while after finishing. Just enjoying the fire, and talking about our lives. I asked him about his housemates, and he explained that Gareth and Mary were in their late-twenties, and stuck in the rut of an on-off relationship, which meant that he was caught in the crossfire quite a bit. He was careful to emphasise that this was not particularly intense crossfire, that they were kind people who at worst raised their voices or did a bit of sulking. And most of the time not even that, most of the time they were a happy couple. The three of them went for walks sometimes, or to go see music, but Ed also liked to give them space, and to have time on his own. Gareth was a programmer with a tattoo addiction, and Mary was a bartender obsessed with photography. I said I'd love to meet them sometime and he said that could definitely be arranged.

We got back to my flat around nine pm. I got the music streaming going again and put on some nice calm dreampop, the sort that makes me feel I'm in another reality somewhere. Ed took the dildo from the discrete box and discrete paper bag we had been provided with, and waved it suggestively at me. I pulled a face, a scared face. And I was, still, a little bit scared. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to know what it would feel like for my character, Rosie, to expose herself like that. And yes, I wanted to put on a little show for Ed.

I led him into the bedroom, and we shed some of the winter layers. I was down to my nice navy work trousers and white blouse, very professional and quite cute, I felt. He watched me, and was about to unbutton his shirt when he seemed to remember what was supposed to be happening, and he took a step back.

"Go ahead."

"How shall I do it?" I asked him, with a nervous smile.

"Slowly."

"That's your only advice? Hey, close the curtains please." He did so, and disappeared for a moment, returning with a chair from the kitchen. He closed the door and sat on the chair, gestured for me to proceed. "You're enjoying this already."

"I am. Please don't rush. I remember in the scene Rosie takes off her clothes very very slowly."

When he said that it hit me that this would be the first time he actually saw me unclothed-- when we'd got all handsy in bed we had done so under the covers. Even when I'd straddled him he wouldn't have been able to see much, in the dark. This would be it. Well, I was ready. I'd trimmed everything I wanted to trim, I'd taken a good long look in the mirror the night before and assured myself that I looked good, despite the lack of big curves, that I could get Ed's desire going in a very serious way.

"I have a rule, okay? All of the time while I'm doing this, you must shut up, and avoid at all costs any form of laughing. Agreed?"

Ed nodded solemnly. "Agreed."

***