Becky scoffs jokingly as she sips her tea.
“Becky Sedgwick… it doesn’t even sound right does it? Do you think I could convince Danny to take my last name instead? Ha-ha!”
The room erupts with a mix of sniggers and reassuring comments aimed in Becky’s direction. I mask my disproval by taking another gulp of lukewarm coffee. Truthfully, I never liked her first name either. I think it cheapens her glow. It diminishes an aura of mystery about her. A person’s name is the first thing you hear about someone, and I don’t think ‘Becky’ captures her kind, funny and gentle persona. I always silently referred to her as ‘Deborah’. I say silently because how do you tell someone you think their name doesn’t suit them and you think they should change it to a name of your choosing? No, I’ll silently refer to her as this because Deborah is the woman I fell in love with. To me, it’s more than just a throwaway name, it has sophistication, mystery and power. It’s always reminded me of a high-powered businesswoman who intimidates anyone not on her level. I always wished this life for her and was quietly rooting for her but now she’s marrying a fucking painter as she cuts her own work hours to part time in a recruitment role? Nah, Not my Debs. You deserve more my love.
Being the only male in the room, my opinion is somewhat invalid as I’m expected to play along with whatever the rest of the group intend. I can’t pretend I’m not sickened that Debs is getting married but as this is a wedding plan meeting, I have to be here because we’re ‘close’. Ideas are thrown around the room for the remainder of the afternoon along with a few jokes with me being the punchline. I don’t mind though, I’m absorbing the moment and gazing at Debs throughout the endless conversations. I’m brought back into the room by Jen who’s sitting next to me, I feel a gentle nudge in the side of my leg. Jen mutters quietly in my ear.
“Chris, what is it you’re staring at? Do you want to marry Becky, is that it?!”
“Fuck off – I’m just tired… can’t help but feel like I’m in a trance.”
Jen was joking but I had to shut that down quickly. I snapped quickly just to divert any attention in my direction. There were rumours from years ago that I wanted Becky due to a kiss on the cheek at a new year’s eve party which in a silly drunken mindset, I turned at the last minute to kiss her on the lips. The amount of grovelling I had to do to prove that’s not true. That’s the issue with rumours, people believe what they want to believe. In this instance, it happens to be true, but I can’t let anyone know that – especially Becky or else it will ruin everything. I’m kind of glad Jen brought me back to reality; it urged me to leave as I think I’m close to outstaying my welcome. I abruptly announce I’m leaving which is met with confusing looks from everyone in the room. I must be careful because if Jen caught me looking, who else did?
I pull my hood over my head and pop my earphones in. I don’t live too far but it’s enough of a distance to warrant music to be played. I seem to measure distances by how many songs I listen in that duration rather than actual time and for this journey, I’ll let Charles & Eddie soothe me. That one song ‘Would I lie to you?’ What an absolute masterpiece. It doesn’t matter how many times it’s played; it always hits just right. It’s the ‘WOOO’ That gets me every single time before the last chorus of the song. It sends chills down my spine, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up and generally brightens my mood. Charles & Eddie have a fantastic archive but this one song stands out strong amongst the others – like I say, it just hits perfectly. I opt to listen to this song 3 times on my walk home rather than shuffling through my playlist – it feels like I need to shake the feeling of anxiety I felt at Becky’s, so this song is just the cure I need.
Once I’m home, I’m secure and no longer on edge. It’s like my sanctuary where I can be my true self. No lies, no covering up and no burying my love for Becky – I just feel safe. The image of her today is burned onto my mind. Tights that highlighted every curve on her sensual body, a plain white vest top with nothing on underneath showing me her beautiful nipples through the material and her gorgeous blond hair brushed to one side. She joked about her hair being messy but it wasn’t. It was just perfect. That’s the thing about Becky – she doesn’t realize how beautiful she is. I’ve often thought about expressing my love to her but thought against it. Now I’ve missed my chance and fucking Danny is marrying her. He’s just some fucking painter who does odd jobs to keep his gambling problem afloat. I’d show her what a real man is and how to treat a lady if she’d have me.
In my sanctuary, I feel completely at home, not judged and not watched. I remove my coat and head straight to my bedroom. I fumble in my wardrobe around the top shelf searching for a particular item. I know exactly where this item is, but I always feel overcome with glee whenever I lay my hands on it. It’s a sports bag, not unlike any other but has a certain texture to it that’s unmistakable. I throw it onto the bed and lay down next to it whilst neglecting to close my wardrobe door. This is my collection. This is my drive and this is my terrible secret that no one must ever find out.
Inside the sports bag is a collection of Becky’s underwear I’ve taken throughout the years. I’m at her house quite often so it’s quite easy pickings. I must be extremely careful though, that’s how the rumours started. Becky once noticed her favourite pair was missing and I was the only person who’d been in the house other than Danny. Her friends caught wind of this and started the rumours that I took them. I of course managed to de-escalate these claims and eventually it became forgotten about in time and wrote-off as a mystery. If anyone found these, I’d be fucked and everything would be ruined. I lay next to the small pile of underwear and hold them up in the air, stretching the material to its limit. Oh, to imagine the perfectly bronzed skin that’s caressed this very material drives me wild. I place my favourite pair inside the palm of my left hand as I tug at my trousers, pushing them down below my knees with my right hand, exposing my already twitching cock. I wrap my palm around the base of my dick and gently begin to stroke myself, becoming increasingly more excited as I do so.
I lick my licks in preparation for the scent I’ve encountered so many times prior but continue to be excited by after all this time. I press the centre of the underwear against my nose and inhale deeply. OHHH IT’S FUCKING BLISS. I’ve never washed these or any pair of Becky’s underwear for that matter – they all still have that sweet, familiar and sexy scent of her. My mouth waters as I jerk my cock in a more fluid motion, tugging hard at the end. I can feel the wetness oozing out of the end and over my knuckles as I inhale Becky’s scent once more. I tried my best to get a dirty pair, but I couldn’t through fear of getting caught rummaging through dirty washing. If they smell this good when they’re washed, imagine how strong a pair would smell that have come straight from her body!
I stop momentarily to pull out my phone. I have a secret folder full of pictures of Becky in her bikini from previous holidays, stories she’s put on Facebook of her in the tanning studio showing off her legs, anything that bares naked skin, I have a collection of. I open and enlarge a photo from last years holiday – she’s laid on a sun lounger with a cocktail in one hand and waving at the camera with the other just in a red bikini. She looks stunning. She has the perfect body that I just want to wrap my arms around and take her for myself. Her breasts not too big but not too small, they’re perfect. Long, tanned legs that meet her tight red bikini bottoms stretched over her beautiful pussy. Oh how I’ve longed to see what that looks like and even more so, what it tastes like. On the other end of her legs are the cutest little feet I’ve ever seen, the sun glistening from the top with toenails painted red to match her bikini – she likes to colour coordinate like that – it’s just how she is, that body is to die for. I begin stroking myself faster as I enlarge the photo to display Becky’s feet. No, fuck that, DEBORAH’S feet. My Debs! Fuck, I’m about to come! I moan louder with every stroke as I press that same pair of underwear firmly against my face, rolling my tongue over the crotch and breathing in as deep as I can. I come hard as I do so, moaning between each stroke my tongue gives the material. I sigh with relief as I watch the last of the come ooze out of the end of my cock, landing in an already formed pool on my stomach. Fuck, I’ve never came that hard before and it was all for Debs…
I lay still for a moment as I watch myself twitch. I’m past feeling any shame as this is a nightly routine for me. I just wish I could feel her tender skin pressed against mine just once. I’ve thought about telling her time and time again, but it’s never come out right and I end up changing the subject quickly. That’s the part that hurts me the most – not telling Debs… uhh I mean Becky how I truly feel. I clean myself up and prepare for another lonely night in front of the television. My filthy little secret is once again tucked away in the wardrobe for the night.
I fall onto the sofa where I allow the soft texture to consume my body. Sinking deeper into a very relaxed state, I open a bottle of spiced rum and begin to suckle straight from the bottle, stopping at brief intervals to gasp for air. I love the stuff but it still burns when I take it neat. I opt to watch compilations of old Nevermind The Buzzcocks on TV. I prefer the early series. The ones with Mark Lamarr were just unmatched. It felt like a true panel show with up and coming stars at the time along with witty humour. I liked Simon Amstell as a presenter too but for me, that’s when the show decided to shift its focus from music into just saying anything for a punchline. I watch with glee as I reminisce through the years of music – all the while longing for those days back. I can’t find full episodes, so I have to make do with short clips to entertain me tonight. Related video after related video, sat perfectly still just consuming this bottle glued to my hand. I don’t know how long I’ve been sat in the same position for but it’s beginning to go dark outside. I should take myself off to bed but I’m quite enjoying my own company and being eased off to sleep by the voices of yesteryears.
The next time I open my eyes, It’s morning. I have no idea what time it is, but I’m convinced someone is battering my door down. I belch loudly before pressing my hands either side of my head in order to contain this mother of a headache I feel. I belch loudly and taste last nights rum at the back of my throat.
BANG BANG BANG
Fuck. I wasn’t imagining it. There’s someone thumping at the door. I quickly look at the time before steadying myself to my feet. 8:43am. Shit, I must have been out like a light. I peer out of the window rather than answering the door straight away – this can’t be good news whoever it is. I can’t actually see the persons face but I can just about make out the figures in the reflection of the cars across the street. It’s Becky. She’s at the door and has brought that fucking painter with her! He’s never been to my house before and part of me wants to pretend I’m not in just for that reason alone – I don’t want that no user bastard in here! What if he somehow finds my sports bag? Or worse yet, what is Becky finds it?!
The banging at the door remains consistent, with no sign of letting up anytime soon. My head can’t take this, this is all too much. Reluctantly, I open the door whilst pressing my hand against my head – a subtle hint that I’m hungover and to please go easy on me – whatever it is I’ve done.
“Chris, lad.”
Danny says as Becky marches past me without saying a word, heading straight for the kitchen. I’m tempted to just close the door now, to leave Danny standing there like a complete idiot – to let him know he’s not welcome in this house. By the time I thought about it, he’s followed Becky and joins her in the kitchen, waiting for me to follow suit. I sheepishly enter the kitchen to see Danny smoking a cigarette and Becky pacing up and down.
“Have I done something to you?” Becky asks with a sincere and direct approach.
“Done something? No, why? What do you mean?”
“Well, what was all that carry on yesterday? You just upped and left. You couldn’t wait to get out of there. You’ve been acting like this for months now.”
“Acted like what, sorry?”
“Like a selfish fucking cunt! Why does everything have to revolve around you? I’ve put up with so much from you - we all have! This is mine and Danny’s wedding, it doesn’t involve you directly so why are you being so hard work? Aren’t we allowed to just be happy?! Don’t you want that for us?”
“I want you to be happy more than anyone. I’m sorry if it came across that way when I left yesterday, I really didn’t mean to. Becky, believe me I’m ecstatic for the pair of you. I’m sorry you’ve caught me at a bad time I’m so hungover. I went out last night.”
“Whatever it is you’re going through, we’re always here – you know this. We’re never going away, and we’ll always support you but that doesn’t give you the right to be so selfish. That’s why we’ve come round – to see what the hell is going on. We’re getting married next week so whatever this is you have going on will have to wait until after the wedding.”
A few more minutes spent convincing Becky that nothing is wrong. All the while, Danny chugging away at his cigarette, saying absolutely nothing. I’m just met with disapproving looks between each draw. Once the situation has been de-escalated, Becky flicks the kettle on to make us all a tea. There’s a painful atmosphere still looming even though I’ve managed to assure them both that nothing is wrong. The atmosphere is broken by Danny. He licks his lips before asking in an arrogant manner:
“Are you bringing anyone to the wedding, Chris? A plus 1?” He scoffs as he asks this. God, I really do detest this man.
“I am, actually.”
Fuck. I only said that to get one up on Danny and shut him up. I can expect the inevitable questions. I decide to start rambling on about this made up woman sprung from my imagination, taking sips from my freshly made tea – courtesy of Becky.
“Yeah, it’s not been long at all, but we met online. Went out for a few drinks, had a great laugh and just last week went to the open mic night down the riverbank club – she loves music too. She’s kind, funny, gorgeous and just an absolute sweetheart. I was with her last night actually. Her and a few mutual friends. She’s… she’s very special. It’s early days but I think this could be the start of something great!”
“Ohhh I can’t wait to meet her. What’s her name? Do you have a photo?” Becky interrupts as she takes a seat. There’s only one name I can tell her, surely.
“Deborah. She’s called Deborah and no she doesn’t actually have social media and we both deleted our dating accounts. Ah, you’ll meet her at the wedding!”
What a web of lies I’ve constructed for myself here. I only said it to get these two off my back and move the conversation along but now I’m expected to bring this person along to the wedding. I pour my heart out once again describing Deborah – even referring to her as ‘Debs’ a few times. Fuck, if only Becky knew what I really meant but it would ruin everything, not just the wedding.
Once I’ve fallen a little deeper into my farfetched tale of my made-up love life, Becky’s thirst for ‘outing’ me seems to have been quenched as she’s reassured that nothing is wrong. They both leave, reminding me of the times to be at the church as I won’t see them until the day. I give her a hug and gentle kiss on the cheek and even refer to her as ‘Mrs Sedgwick’ in a playful manner before shaking Danny’s nicotine-stained hand.
The front door slams shut, and emotion hits me like a train. I feel so empty, hollow and hurt. There’s a pain in my stomach that’s rising through my chest. It’s like I can feel my anxiety and pain growing inside me, consuming me and eventually, smothering me so much it brings me to my knees. I weep for her, I really do. I’ve not known pain like this before. I managed to keep it together in the presence of their company but now I’m a shell of a man. Broken and beaten by my own emotions. This is too much to take all at once. We’ve all heart of suffering from a broken heart but this feels like my heart is genuinely broken, like it won’t work anymore. I just want it to go away. I throw myself in a shower, still fully clothed from the night before – I just want to wash it all off.
The next week feels like eternal torture, like my mind can’t sway from the impending ultimate heartbreak I will witness in front of my very eyes. I toyed with the idea of running away and never return and sometimes when the pain became too much, I even contemplated suicide. How did I let it get this far? How did I bottle my emotions up so much they physically hurt me? Running away would only get me so far and would forever stain mine and Becky’s relationship and suicide, well, that would ruin Becky’s life forever by doing it just before her wedding. In the end, I learnt to accept this will be a bitter pill to swallow but it’s something I must do to move on with my life – I attend the wedding.
I’m obviously by myself without a date but my excuses are at the ready – ‘She couldn’t make it’ or ‘She went back with her ex’ – Yeah, that one is better. It gets people off my back whilst also generating sympathy for me. The church is full of familiar faces, all with an impatient smile, waiting to see the bride. I can’t think of anything worse than seeing the bride. The strong pain once again rises through my body like an ever-growing plant, eager to consume me whole. The ceremony begins.
Have you ever watched someone you truly love with all your heart be taken from you right in front of your eyes? I ache throughout my whole body as Becky walks down the aisle, each step coming closer to my direction before inevitably passing me by to stand at the altar. My heart races as a single tear rolls down my cheek. I’m enduring this pain for Becky and for Becky only. My god, she looks beautiful. The dress is gorgeous and really makes her glow. She’s the star of the show, the one we all came to see and the one who gets to live happily ever after.
I watch with a heart torn to pieces as she offers her hand in marriage and imagine myself in Danny’s shoes, reciting vows in my head I had made up this week.
“I welcome you with open arms into my heart. My one. My only. My Love. My sister.”