This piece is a direct follow on from the last extract posted, “Dating Older Men” which can be read here.
Fuck. He wished he’d at least come up with something to say. Fuck fuck and double fuck. Seriously, what the fuck?? That had NEVER happened to him before. Or if it had it had been when he’d been in no fit state to remember it, and neither had his partner or partners. Christ, was he really getting that old that the little blue pills were beckoning already? No, he couldn’t be, he told himself. It wasn’t like the little bastard had been quiet since he met Marianne. In fact, ever since he’d broken up with that last blonde tart he’d only been with for publicity purposes, he’d been up and down like a pole dancer on fast forward.
He was nervous about this whole thing with Marianne, nervous about letting another person into his life and his headspace, nervous about how strongly he felt about someone who was so much younger and whose world was so alien to him. The one thing he hadn’t been nervous about was being able to please her in bed. If he had one talent, that was it. Or, so he thought, but in the end the little bastard hadn’t even managed its most basic function.
He just refused to believe such a perfect night had ended like that. Seriously, what went wrong? Yes, he’d sneaked a few shots before going out to meet her, but Dutch courage didn’t count as real drinking. And yes, they had polished off an uncertain number of bottles of wine in the restaurant. But it wasn’t like he’d never had sex drunk before. In fact, it was a rare thing for him to have sex sober. His bed felt cold and empty now that she’d left it, but he was glad he didn’t have to meet her eye. He was mortified, probably far beyond what he should be. He’d call her in the morning, he decided. He didn’t know if he was looking forward to it or dreading it, but he had to. He desperately wanted to see her again but he also desperately wanted to be continents away from her forever so he that he would never have to face up to tonight’s crushing mortification – the papers. Shit! He could feel his heart start hammering in his chest and blood pumping around his temples. He thought he had had every possible humiliation published in the news of the screws by now but “WASHED-OUT ROCKSTAR CAN’T GET IT UP” would be a new one. The very idea that Marianne would sell his humiliation, or anything about him for that matter, to the papers was surprisingly painful. She wouldn’t. Would she? No, she wouldn’t. She didn’t even know who he was. He was going to tell her, just – how?
He looked down at it and had a bit of a feel around. It didn’t seem any different to how it usually did. Like, it hadn’t shrank or anything. It didn’t look like it had drooped or wrinkled or gotten old. It didn’t look sick, at least as far as he could tell. Maybe he should go to the doctor though, just in case. You don’t want to be taking any chances, do you, with that? It might be handy to have a few pills handy anyway, just in case. He could hide them. Mark knew, as soon as that idea occurred to him, that it wasn’t happening. The idea of sitting in a waiting room and having to admit to anyone who didn’t absolutely need to know it that he wasn’t up to the job anymore, especially when it was someone as beautiful and young as Marianne, was so embarrassing he could already feel himself retreating back into his shell. He’d probably end up with some wrinkled old octogenarian doctor who would take great pleasure in false camaraderie with him. “Gets a bit harder at our age, doesn’t it? At least with these it can,” he’d guffaw as he banged a bottle of pills down in front of Mark. Oh god. No. Just no. Maybe he needed to wank a bit more. Once they’d arranged the date two days ago he’d been trying to save it all for tonight. But maybe that meant he was out of practice. Maybe he needed to wank more now he was with her, the way you step up your workout if you have a race coming up. That was probably all it was, he decided. No way he would let himself think was getting that old. No fucking way.
He hoped she got home safe. He was tempted to call her now to get the awkward phone call over with but she was probably asleep. And if she wasn’t, she might not want to talk to him now. He wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut – he really wanted her to know that his frightening sexual failure was all him and not in any way her fault, but it had come out so wrong. Why did he always get it so wrong these days?
He hoped she wasn’t too cold and wished he’d asked her to stay so he could at least wrap his arms around her and feel her soft skin on his chest during the night. Besides, if she’d stayed his morning glory would hopefully have given them both a great start to their Saturday .Unless his early riser was going to go into early retirement now as well, which it might well do. The whole world was doing anything it could just to spite him these days.