Craig looked down. Jesus, he was covered but that had been… WOW!
I spunked! He texted. After pressing send he immediately regretted the exclamation mark. Sounded weird. Too excited. Ah well. While his heart began winding down he waited for Amanda to confirm that she too was having a massive orgasm. And why wouldn’t she be? He’d been sexting some pretty racy stuff.
When she hadn’t replied for a minute a new less sexy image filled his mind. What if she wasn’t alone in the hotel room like she said?
Craig’s chest prickled. Amanda had gone to Paris with her sister and he’d texted her to see what she was up to and things had progressed from there.
The image now in his mind. Oh god! She was stood around laughing at his texts. Her and her sister. Nearly bent double. Struggling the breathe. Both reading them! Probably in Montmartre.
Craig suddenly felt very ill indeed. He went over the things he’d typed with his thumb. There were only three or four things which would make him immediately commit suicide if they ever made it into the public domain. When he said he’d — oh Christ — to her — no — while doing — no no no — if she — NOOO!
She still hadn’t replied. Nightmare. What a fucking nightmare. He grabbed the kitchen towel and began cleaning the couch. That wasn’t coming off in a hurry. He was a disaster. A pathetic disaster. He loathed himself. How could he ever look at anybody in the face?
His phone chimed and after some serious courage plucking up he looked at it.
That was great xxx — the message read. Yeah. Silly Craig! Yeah! It had been great. What the hell had he been worried about?
In Montmarte, on the cobbled Rue de Steinkerque, Amanda and her sister were absolutely pissing themselves.