#im not usually this type of man enjoyer so i have no idea. any experts who would like 2 weigh in welcome

[beastcouture]

what is the category name for this type of video game man

[tcswritings]

Messages. (WIP/unpolished)

:: updated on 07/18/2019 ::

The day after the party. Orla is thinking many thoughts.

*****

It had been a bit more than six hours since he left and when she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hands on her body as well as his unsteady breath against the skin of her neck and how strands of blonde hair had tickled her face every now and then. 

What truly made her stomach flutter though was thinking back to all the brief moments when his eyes had met hers, when they shared sweet looks, to make sure the other one was feeling just fine, comfy and secure.

Biting her lip, she couldn’t help but smile to herself for the dozenth time that afternoon. Sleeping with someone wasn’t new to Orla and while she wouldn’t call herself an expert in the field, she had more than a basic idea of how these things worked and how to make them enjoyable for both parts. Last night, however, she had found out that sleeping with a friend was in no way comparable to anything she had experienced before and she also had to realise that the things she knew weren’t exactly helpful in that matter - she had felt like a clueless, giggling idiot anyway.

It hasn’t been bad, though, not at all. Quite the opposite, actually, but Orla couldn’t stop asking herself if people writing books and movies about friends falling in love had ever fallen in love with a friend themselves - there were usually big talks about how knowing each other inside out makes these things oh-so-much easier and friends would just switch to being lovers as if it was the most natural and uncomplicated thing ever and Orla couldn’t comprehend it at all. What happened last night was probably the most exciting and amazing moment of her young life so far and nothing made perfect sense just yet - it had all happened so fast after all.

That was not the only thing on her mind, though. There was something else, something far more essential.

She lay flat on her bed and stared at the ceiling and she had been doing that for the entire day, more or less. Ever since Mick had left the house she had been wondering. Wondering if what they did was right, if they should have waited until they had figured out at least SOME details (considering the well-known fact that sex had also great potential to mess things up), if they would do it again, when they would do it again and, most importantly, what they even were now, because if there was one thing certain it was that they had left their strictly platonic friendship behind.

Before he left, Mick had kissed her goodbye and he had also promised that they would meet up tonight but there hadn’t been any sign of life from him ever since and Orla had long started wondering if he had given it a second thought and maybe - she cringed at the mere thought - even changed his mind.

She reached for her phone for the umpteenth time (the last time was about five minutes ago) and unlocked it, only to feel the familiar little sting as she couldn’t spot the highly anticipated red little bubble that alerted her any time she had new messages.

Instead, she got the impression that her messenger merely laughed at her now:

No new message, girl.

Nope.

Not a single one.

Stop waiting.

He doesn’t care.

Just accept it already.

Orla sighed and tried to shake the weird thoughts off as she snuggled into her pillow a little more. She was being silly and she knew it. Those might be legit worries if it was any other guy she had just met the other night but the guy in question was Mick and Mick wasn’t like that. He was always true to his word and as she knew that he had some things to do today - and she knew that way before that unexpected and pleasant turn of events last night - she figured that she would just have to be patient.

How about you just text him, Dummy? her messenger now suggested, probably as a little gesture of reconciliation for sparking her mopey thoughts a minute ago. Or maybe just call him? It’s 2013, gals no longer sit around waiting for a man to make a move, we make shit happen!

Orla pursed her lips as she opened the messenger again. She didn’t even have to scroll; Mick was the first to show up in her chats as they had send each other a few texts at the party last night while they were wandering around apart from each other, trying to find a private spot where it would just be the two of them but they hadn’t been very successful.

She chuckled as she read his last few lines again.

SAT, 03-16-2013

1:17: kitchen again?

1:18: NO DONTCOME hERE someone puked in here

1:19: Im gonna go upstairs

1:25: where are you

1:25: WHERE

1:25: are

1:25: YOU

1:26: thou shalt answer

1:27: Im desperate

1:29: IM LOST 😂

1:30: this house is HUGE

1:30: almost LIKE oUS

1:30: OURS

1:32: oRLAA

‘Adorable’, Orla thought, smiling. They had found each other just a bit after that last message and they had managed to share at least one more passionate kiss before they had to jump apart once more as they got disturbed by a little group of drunk idiots - she couldn’t even remember who - staggering into the room.

She chuckled as she began typing.

Hey handsome 😘 I was just wondering whether we could

She stopped. Too casual. This wasn’t asking for getting a snack during lunch break after all. Orla hit the delete button and pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘Maybe I should google for some reference’, she thought. ‘How to properly address your childhood friend with whom you had sex last night.’

Or, well, maybe not.

I just saw this ad for porch swings and I thought I could get one so we can

God, no. 

You like big butts and you cannot lie… 😜

NO! (She could very well imagine the face he would make if he read that one, though.)

If choosing what to wear is what’s taking you so long to get back to me I’m happy to inform you that I fancy the kind of activity which doesn’t require any apparel at all so stop making a damn fuss 👀 💋

Smart. Playful. Sexy.

But no.

Please don’t change your mind about us and come back here, I miss you!

Woah. Needy, much?

“Aaaaah!” Orla cried out in frustration as she tossed her phone to the side, slumping back into the pillows. “This sucks.”

Only a few moments later she had another thought. Couldn’t it be that Mick was going through the very same thing right now? That he was sitting on his bed or his couch, or maybe in his kitchen just in this moment, long legs up on the other chair, chainsmoking, like he did so often when he felt lost, typing some words into his phone every few moments, only to delete them again because nothing he came up with felt appropriate?

Maybe Mick was just dying to hear from her all the time. Maybe he was just as insecure as she was and when she thought back to the party as well as to what happened after it, right here, she suddenly felt very silly for even thinking that he might want to back out. The way he had looked at her as well as his body language had spoken volumes after all.

Orla swiftly reached back for her phone and opened the messenger once more. Sometimes the best way to overcome awkward situations was to be honest and straightforward. Once she was done typing, Orla hit the send button and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.

*****

“I can very well remember the last words Ethel said to me and they were sure words to live by.”

Terry Irvine, a stocky, balding man in his fifties, made a pause, heavy with meaning, as he looked around the tastefully decorated room, feeling deep satisfaction as he saw that everyone was listening to his words with rapt attention.

“She said ‘Lives are like rivers, Terry:” he went on, “Eventually they go where they must. Not where we want them to.’(*)“

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what she said.” Connor O’Loughlin scoffed quietly. “A mean old bitch will suddenly start crackin’ wise proverbs after she spent her lifetime just spattering shit at any given occasion.”

Mick bit his lip as he tried not to laugh at his younger cousin’s remark and he wondered whether anyone in his room actually liked ‘Aunt’ Ethel as the few memories he had of her certainly weren’t the best. She had sometimes looked after him when he was still a kid and as far as he could remember, she never allowed him to do anything besides sitting still while reading bible verses together and she also made him eat the worst, greasiest porridge that the world has ever tasted and the mere memory of it made his guts turn.

Friends and family were gathered together today, mourning Ethel’s recent death, but Mick felt rather indifferent about her passing; he was merely here to do his parents a favour who claimed that they had always been particularly fond of the old hag and while that might even be true, he couldn’t help but feel that they also wanted to represent the family business which, considering the estimated average age of the majority of people in the room, was actually a clever stroke.

“... and I’m sure that Ethel is smiling down upon us just now, as she sees all her friends and family joined together in love and harmony, thinking of her and the wonderful things she has done for each and everyone of us...”

Not only was he not listening, Mick also still had other things on his mind. Far more important and definitely nicer things. (No offense, Ethel.) He made a little step back and once he was sure that no one was watching, he reached behind his back and grabbed a handful of bread cubes from one of the bowls on the buffet table, still looking at Terry addressing his audience with his pompous speech as well as his grossly overstated gestures and expressions. That speech would last for an eternity, Mick just knew it, and he didn’t feel like starving, especially not now that his life had seemingly taken a really great turn.

“... I ask you now to observe one minute's silence as a token of our respect and sympathy for our sweet Ethel...”

Mick pushed the image of Ethel’s wrinkled and actually not-so-sweet face aside. Happily munching his bread cubes, he now recalled the memory of a pair of pale blue eyes looking at him from under the longest lashes he had ever seen. Orla O’Connell’s gorgeous, freckled face became clearer and her red-tinted lips smiled sweetly at him as Mick’s mind once again drifted off to last night, to their very first kiss on the porch swing and the ones that followed, to the moment when he had brought Orla home and when she had insisted on him staying and when she had started undressing him in the hallway and how they had barely made it to her room where they would eventually-

“Oy, creep, what are you grinning at?!” Connor’s sister, Delilah, now hissed at him, interrupting his pleasant thoughts and nudging him with her elbow a little harder than necessary. “Stop eating!”

“Ow! I’m hungry, fuck off.” Mick spat back. “Terry’s at the top o’ his game, it’ll take ages until they open up the buffet.”

“Disrespectful freak.” Delilah muttered, shaking her head and crossing her arms. She was usually all bark and no bite, Mick knew, but very irritating nonetheless.

Terry now directly looked into Mick’s direction and cleared his throat. Mick stared back at him, swallowing down his bread crumbs, suddenly seeing the many irritated faces staring at him, among them the horrified expressions of his parents.

Oh.

It was actually the second time that day someone had caught him with food and he usually would have laughed at the coincidence but considering that he was at a memorial service, he decided against it.

“Sorry!” he called.

Terry closed his eyes and sighed. “Now, one minute’s silence, please.”

Mick bit his lip. Thanks, Delilah. While he usually hated being made look silly, nothing could ruin his mood today, not even his uptight cousin. Granted, it probably was a little inappropriate to think of the things he had just thought of again at a memorial service but then again, no one could read his thoughts and wasn’t death also about celebrating life, after all?

Just as Mick’s mind wandered back to all the moments he had celebrated life with Orla last night he could feel his phone buzzing in the pocket of his suit jacket. Making sure that everyone else was still busy remembering Ethel, Mick stuffed the last few bread cubes in his mouth, pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and when he saw that the new message was from the person he hoped it would be from, a stupid-but-blissful smile spread across his face. He unlocked the screen.

I want dinner and I want to see you. Not necessarily in that order. And yes, this is me asking you out on a first real date. 💖 

Swiftly scanning the room for possible watchers again and seeing that everyone was still caught up in one minute’s silence, Mick eventually looked back down on his phone, hit the reply button and started typing.

hi gorgeous

kinda in the middle of sth here but Im gonna call ya once I get out

He pressed the ‘send’ button. Not keen on provoking another awkward situation like the one that had just happened, Mick wanted to put his phone back but as he felt another buzz, he was too curious.

What kinda thing? Was that a ‘yes’, by the way?

ethels memorial service

What, Ethel died??? 😱 😱 😱

yeah last monday

You could have mentioned that at some point?!?! 😨

its fine no one actually liked her and she was old

OMG MICK WTF!!!

Torn between the excitement about meeting Orla later and the fear of getting another weird look from Terry who had just picked up his speech again, Mick eventually decided to put his phone away for now.

what

its true

talk to you later

It just occured to him that he still hadn’t let Orla know what he thought of her suggestion. Rolling his eyes at himself, he dug out his phone once more.

and yeah

that was a yes

😘

*****

Some miles away, Orla frowned at her phone’s screen, feeling mild irritation but, above all, a great rush of joy. She would call Mick out later for merely casually mentioning that he was going to be at the memorial service of a family friend that day (and also for that rather insensitive remark about no one liking said family friend, no matter how much of a truth it was) but joy had overwhelmed her. He said yes. He wanted the date.

*****

(to be continued…!)

(*) A proverb by Richard Russo, author and screenwriter.