Page 49 of The App Trap
I told him about Harry, and that I was probably supping in the Last Chance Saloon with regard to the old dating game. The bell was rung, the glasses were being collected, the Ubers were being ordered etc. etc.
“Well, good luck, mate. Now where the fuck has that Eric twat gone? He’s supposed to be staying at ours tonight. He lives out in Narnia or something, and can’t be arsed to get the last train. He gets a pass from his wife about once a month, and this is it.”
I made my disapproval clear with a face scrunch. We were in the bar for another hour, and Eric had completely disappeared. It was only until we went upstairs that we found him––attached to the face of some poor female human being. Someone that shockingly seemed quite attractive.
When he disengaged, he greeted us with an,‘Eyyyyy!’and Finn went into command mode to get him out of the establishment and into the Uber we’d ordered, which, according to the slow-moving slug on my phone screen, was three long minutes away.
Eric dismissed our feeble pleas for him to come with us and insisted on going somewhere else with his new lady friend. In the end, the overall sentiment was ‘fuck him’, so we left the bloke to it.
Of course, I presumed that he was heading for a whole world of trouble. At the very least, he was going to have to deal with the emotional turmoil of having to live with cheating on his wife. At the other end of the scale, there wasthe possibility that his wife would somehow happen upon a trail of deceit, and that would be that.
It turns out, the latter happened sooner than anyone would have predicted. The next day, Eric phoned Finn in an absolute flap, asking to stay at ours for a ‘few days’.
Apparently, what had happened was this:
Eric had gone back to the woman’s hotel and had attempted to have sex with her. However, the nine pints of watered-down Heineken that he’d consumed had made sure his struggling erectile tissue would not allow this to happen. He’d then left the hotel at 8am and instantly realised he’d left his phone in her room. Of course, he didn't even remember her name, let alone the room number. He had to wait in the hotel reception until she came down, so that he could retrieve his phone, which of course had a hundred missed calls and,‘Where the fuck are you?’ texts from his wife.
However, the texts and missed calls had suddenly stopped at 10am for some reason. Well, the reason was this:
Eric’s wife had made the genius move of picking up their iPad, which was linked to the same iCloud as Eric’s iPhone. Then she logged on to the Find My iPhone app, clocking that he wasn’t where he said he was…and the rest, as they said, was ‘Eric is super-fucked.’
Obviously, the phone was flashing up in a Central London hotel room––stationary for hours.
Had Eric returned home without the phone and pretended it was stolen, he’d probably have been fine. But because he came back with it, questions were asked, and Mrs. Eric erupted and kicked him out on his skinny arsehole.
Nobody was ever happy with their lot, were they? According to Finn, Eric’s wife was gorgeous and lovely inevery respect, but it just wasn’t enough, was it? Even for a ratty little twat like that.
It made me think… is this chase for the perfect man worth it? What does it actually take to make someone happy? Even when you have it all, you just want more. Sure, I’d love to be with someone like Harry, but in five years, would I just turn into another Eric?
I mentally splashed water on my face, and told myself to stop analysing everything so much. So what if thingsdidgo wrong in five years? There would be a million more apps and we’d all be a billion times shallower by then. And I’d be 35ish.
Anyway, I had one more night of supposed freedom before I was to meet Harry, and this one was set to be a belter.
Chapter
Fifteen
Friday
Tonight was not to be a date as such. I was going out with Ben, who was about to help me scratch an itch that I had had for a long time. Actually, that was a bad choice of words, considering where we were going.
Like everyone (I was guessing), I had always fantasised about multiple sexual partners at the same time. Anyway, the long and short of it was that Ben intended to take me to my first and probably last swinger’s night.
Obviously, he was an old hand at this. I’d seen the details on the website, and apparently, you could just turn up and get signed in by a member.
Ben and I had never had sex, and I’m 100% convinced that I was friend-zoned (largely due to the fact that he told me this several times). Still, with the help of a few Whisky Macs, I reckoned I could smash through that barrier in this particular scenario. There was undoubtedly some form of sexual chemistry between the two of us, and maybe tonightsomething might happen, particularly as we were masquerading as a couple. So, of course, the lube and condoms were loaded into my man bag.
The party was in Kent and in a place which was only accessible by driving. They didn't serve alcohol as it was a ‘bring your own booze’ type affair. I decided to drive in the end, so that meant no drinking, although there was the option of hiring a tiny cabin for £40. Still, at least not drinking phased out any risk of ‘whisky dick’.
I was determined to make the most of tonight. I had no idea what to expect, so I was extremely grateful to have a chaperone. Ben looked smokin’ hot. He was dressed in tight leather trousers, a frilly shirt, leather collar and long Gothic coat. I couldn't keep my eyes off of his thick, solid oak-like thighs in the passenger seat of my car. I was up for all sorts of mischief this evening. He was pretty relaxed, chewing away on what smelled like Juicy Fruit tabs for the whole journey.
After driving down country lanes that became narrower and narrower the further away from London we travelled, we finally arrived at the sex club. It was a huge mansion with an electric gate and everything. It looked like the bee’s bollocks.
We pulled into the car park to find a few people milling outside, smoking and vaping on the veranda. There were no labels attached to tonight’s event with regard to sexuality, so everybody was there to simply devour whoever they fancied. I have to say, it was all deliciously hedonistic. Let’s just say I was well up for it.
There was a group of guys hanging out on the veranda when we walked up to the main building, who all seemed to be a lot older than us. They were dressed wearingnothing but towels. I should have mentioned that it was very parky as well, so the fact that there wasn’t a goose pimple between them meant that they were probably as hard as the erections that one or two of them would be walking around with in the not-too-distant future.
There were a couple of ladies out on the porch, also skimpily clad, trotting around in their corsets and heels. I sensed that all my inhibitions would have to be left in the car park if I were to integrate successfully here.
