A Man After Midnight

I hate men. Especially men who wear stupid fucking leather jackets that accentuate their broad shoulders, covering a faded ABBA tee that they stole from me after a particularly hazy hookup where they took my favourite shirt and I had to run home bare chested because they called me at 2am asking for that sweet, sweet peach in the back of his ute (don’t worry, I cringed too). Actually, his words were my peach and even though I’m not his, I wasn’t going to go correct him because as annoying as it sounds, my dumbass loves the way he says I’m his good girl and how he always makes sure to see that I’ve finished (and actually finished, not the flimsy lie I tell other guys so they can stop their pathetic trying) and if I haven’t, he won’t stop until the job is done.

Not to mention that sometimes, after we’re both done and his head is nestled on my chest, one hand around my neck and the other resting on my hip (just the way I like it), he’ll sing to me. Yes. Sing. Or rather, he’ll see what band shirt I’m wearing that night and sing whatever song he knows from them. One time I wore a One Direction shirt and his rendition of History nearly made me cry from how beautiful it was. But because it’s just sex between us, I had to pretend I wasn’t fazed. But damn. I was.

But I swear I hate men. Not just leather jacket wearing, ABBA tee stealing guys that know what they are doing at the back of utes. Or ones that sing like literal fucking angels that make girls swoon so hard. Not that I’d know from experience or anything. All men.

Okay, fine. One man in particular. My current hookup, Flynn, who I met on Tinder four months ago. We exchanged some flirty banter, met in person and got to the sex pretty quickly – no beating around the bush about it. It turned out he was better in the sack than most and he felt the same around me, so we kept each other around. At first, it was just convenience because why would you keep looking for sex if you had someone you already had decent chemistry with and actually knew their way around?

At first, that was all it was – late night calls, Maccas runs followed by a session in his ute in various lookout spots for when our parents were home at our respective houses and then another Maccas run after (we’re big eaters), the occasional day time romp when needed, you know the drill. But then at some point, things shifted – we made plans to hang out and have sex, instead of just the latter. Instead of just Maccas runs, he’d pay for my food to order copious amounts of Ubereats and then knowing how anal I was about my fitness, he’d ensure I burned off the necessary calories afterwards to make sure I didn’t gain weight from that particular binge eating session. On my birthday, he allowed me to be the dom after months of begging him to swap sides, and boy, did we enjoy it. Just little things that shifted and may not have meant much to others, but to me it did. It signified a shift from looking at someone who just provided me with one thing to someone who was starting to give me more than that.

And now, when I look at him with this rush of butterflies in my lower stomach and a slight dampness that I feel whenever I’m in his presence, I wonder how I let myself get to this point of having fucking feelings for someone like Flynn.

Mamma Mia, here I go again…

You’re joking. You’re actually fucking joking that tonight out of all nights, where I’m at a fucking music festival with my friends and out of all the people I could possibly run into, Flynn is here. In the camp grounds since it’s a camping type of festival with a group of girls around him (ugh but also, not surprised), singing ABBA. ABBA. Weird choice since he’s not a huge fan of the band itself but he knows that I am.

My my, how can I resist you Why is it in this exact moment that he decides to look up, and after a moment he finds me watching him – a stupid smirk appearing on his face as he locks eyes with mine.

He knows. He knows that I can’t resist him and yet out of all the songs he could’ve chosen to sing at this dusty ass festival with a roaring campfire and surrounded by random tents, he chose fucking Mamma Mia. Hmm. Maybe the power of my peach is stronger than I thought.

I continue to stand there watching him, ignoring the pleas of my friends to go watch an artist who’s doing a late night set and assure them I’ll find them later, my eyes kept firmly on Flynn’s until he finishes the song. And when he does, he takes no time in excusing himself from his band of admirers and coming towards me.

“Like the song?” He asks innocently, knowing very well what my answer will be as he slides his arms around my waist. Like I’m able to resist him now.

I shrug, allowing myself to rest my hands on his shoulders. “A little pitchy. You could work on your breath control.”

He smirks. “And how do you intend I fix that?”

“Cardio usually does the trick,” I reply, pretending not to notice the way his eyes light up. “I think a good session with multiple rounds of cardio could help with the breath control, you know. Really even it out.”

Flynn laughs, and instead of replying, slides his hands down my waist to interlace his fingers with mine instead. I look down, surprised at the gesture and when I look up, Flynn kisses me, so deeply that for a moment I forget where I am, what I had for dinner the night before and at this point what my name is. Yeah. I’m so gone into this guy that I’m losing all sense of control here.

In my defence, if you kissed him, you’d feel the same way too.

At some point he decides to pull away and I can’t help the automatic pout that I make when he does so. It’s too late to hide it, though, as Flynn’s already caught it and smirks wider than before.

“I think I’m coming around to ABBA now,” he says out of nowhere.

I cock an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Mamma Mia says I can’t resist you and here we are, unable to keep ourselves off each other as we’re both at a festival that we didn’t come together to.”

“The song’s about going back to someone over and over that they were in love with. Not sure this directly applies to us.”

“Peach.” God, I love when he calls me that. “We can’t get enough of each other, we can’t resist each other, and aren’t you in love with me as much as I’m in love with you?”

Nothing can compare to the warmth that fills my body and even though his comparison to us and Mamma Mia are thinly veiled, at best, it doesn’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. In love. Oof. What a feeling.

I wrap my arms around his neck. “If you compared us to Gimme Gimme Gimme instead of Mamma Mia which seems to be kinda sad, tbh, there’s a higher chance I might admit to the fact that yes, I am in love with you.”

“You just want a man after midnight, don’t you?” He accuses me teasingly, but I know that he knows I’m joking.

“And in the morning,” I say slyly. “And the day after that, and the day after that…”

Flynn responds by wholeheartedly kissing me again.