Chapter 2: Lunchtime Confessions and Wet Panties
The bistro hummed like a living thing. Golden candlelight swam in the depths of Lisa’s wine glass, casting liquid shadows across her stunned face. Kathy watched her friend’s expression fracture, the careful ‘supportive listener’ mask dissolving into something raw and entirely unfamiliar.
“You what?” Lisa’s whisper was sharp, cutting through the gentle clatter of the kitchen. Her fork slipped from her fingers, hitting the porcelain plate with a discordant ring. She didn’t seem to notice.
Kathy took a long sip of her rosé, the cold liquid doing nothing to douse the low, persistent heat in her belly. The memory was a physical presence in the booth with them. The scent of Brian’s skin, the punishing give of the silk sheets, the shocking, fluid evidence of his release she’d felt for hours afterward. She leaned forward, the candle flame reflecting in her dark eyes.
“I’m serious, Lis. I didn’t think it was physically possible. It was… transformative.” She kept her voice low, a confidential murmur layered with the ghost of sensation. “The stretch was brutal. Beautiful. He pinned me down and just… took. And I took it. All of it.”
Lisa shifted in the booth, crossing her legs tightly. A flush crept up her neck. “Okay, stop. My God. You’re actually glowing. It’s obscene.”
“He asked me where I wanted him to finish,” Kathy continued, ignoring her. She traced the stem of her glass. “And I heard myself beg him to come inside me. I’ve never said that. Not to anyone.”
“Kathy.” Lisa’s voice held a warning, but it was thin, undercut by fascination.
“It wasn’t about him. Not really.” This was the truth that had crystallised in the silent, pre-dawn hours as she lay beside his sleeping form. “It was about the vacancy Daniel left. Brian filled it. Literally. It was a physical exorcism.” She shrugged, a gesture meant to seem casual that felt anything but. “It was the most alive I’ve felt in months. Maybe years.”
Lisa finally picked up her fork, pushing roasted vegetables around her plate without eating. “So, what? You’re seeing him again?”
“He texted. This morning.” Kathy didn’t mention the hollow panic that had lanced through her alongside the thrill when she saw his name on her screen. A simple message: ‘Still feeling you. When can I see you again?’
“And?” Lisa pressed.
“And I want to.” Kathy took a breath, the next words poised on her tongue, dangerous and electrifying. “But differently.”
The bistro’s noise seemed to recede, the world narrowing to the flickering candle between them. Lisa looked up, met Kathy’s gaze, and understanding dawned—a slow, widening of her eyes. She uncrossed her legs.
“Differently how?”
Kathy’s smile was small, playful, but her heart hammered against her ribs. “I want to watch. I want to see what it looks like from the outside. To see another woman trying to take what I took.” She let the idea hang in the fragrant air. “I want you to be there.”
Lisa’s breath left her in a soft, shocked puff. She said nothing. Her knuckles were white around her fork.
“Think about it,” Kathy murmured, the daring of the proposal fueling her. “No strings. No boyfriend drama. Just an experience. A story. He’s… capable. Believe me.”
The images cascaded behind her eyes, not fully formed, more sensation than sight: Lisa’s pale skin against Brian’s, the contrast; the sight of that formidable thickness stretching someone else; the shared, breathless agony of it. It wasn’t about sharing him. It was about owning the memory, curating it, becoming the author of her own descent instead of just its subject.
Lisa finally took a gulp of wine. A drop escaped the corner of her mouth. “You’re insane. You’re heartbroken and you’ve gone completely insane.”
“Probably.” Kathy admitted. “But are you intrigued?”
Lisa was silent for a long moment, studying her friend. She saw the shadow of the old Kathy, the one who’d cried over spilt milk and stolen book ideas, but overlaid now with something harder, needier, shining with a reckless kind of agency. This wasn’t a plea for permission. It was an invitation to a fire.
“What would… what would even happen?” Lisa’s question was barely audible.
“I haven’t worked out the logistics.” Kathy’s laugh was a short, nervous burst. “His place. That bed. You’d come over. We’d have a drink. See where the night goes.” She leaned closer, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He fucked me so deep I saw stars, Lisa. I came so hard I couldn’t see. I just want to watch that happen. To hear it. To know it’s real.”
Lisa’s thigh brushed against the table as she shifted again. Her face was a masterpiece of conflict. Curiosity warring with propriety, friendship with a dark, blossoming interest. She finished her wine in one go.
“He’s a stranger,” she finally said, the practical anchor.
“He’s a photograph,” Kathy countered. “A perfect, temporary composition. And I want you in the frame with me.”
The waiter appeared, a silent phantom offering dessert menus. They both shook their heads, a synchronized movement. When he left, the silence between them was thick, charged.
Lisa reached for her purse, her movements deliberate. She pulled out a tube of lip gloss, applying it with a steady hand Kathy knew was a lie. She snapped the cap closed.
“Send me a picture of him,” she said, not meeting Kathy’s eyes.
A triumphant, nervous thrill shot through Kathy’s veins. “Really?”
“Not of that,” Lisa said quickly, a horrified laugh escaping her. “Just… a picture. Of his face. I need to know what the man attached to this mythical cock looks like.”
Kathy nodded, already pulling out her phone. She found the one she’d taken sneakily the morning after, Brian asleep in the tangled sheets, the city dawn etching his profile in blues and greys. He looked younger in sleep, but the strength was still there in the line of his jaw, the broad slope of his shoulder.
She slid the phone across the table. Lisa picked it up, studied it. Her expression was unreadable. She held it for a long time.
“Okay,” she said finally, putting the phone down as if it were hot. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. “Okay.”
It was enough. Kathy signaled for the check, the matter settled in that fragile, unspoken space between them. As they stepped out into the cool evening, the city sounds rushing back, Kathy felt the narrative of her life twist, veering off the well-trodden path of recovery and into something wilder, more uncertain. She had set something in motion. The thought was terrifying. It was all she could feel.
The city air was a cold slap after the bistro’s wine-scented warmth. Lisa hailed a cab with a sharp, decisive whistle Kathy had never heard her use before. The yellow car veered to the curb.
“Get in,” Lisa said, not a question. Her voice was tight.
They slid into the cracked leather backseat. The cab smelled of pine air freshener and old cigarettes. Lisa gave her address, then stared straight ahead at the partition. The silence was a taut wire between them, vibrating with everything unsaid. Kathy watched the neon blur past, her own reflection a ghost in the window.
“You’re really going to do it,” Lisa stated flatly, finally turning her head. The streetlights strobed across her face, highlighting the tension in her jaw. “This isn’t just post-breakup crazy talk. You’re planning it.”
Kathy met her gaze. “Yes.”
Lisa nodded once, a sharp, downward cut of her chin. She looked back out the front windshield. “I need another drink. At my place. Now.”
Kathy’s phone buzzed in her clutch. A text. She didn’t need to look to know it was him. The vibration seemed to echo in the small, moving space.
Lisa’s apartment was a curated echo of her personality—clean lines, soft textiles, everything in muted greys and blues. It felt like a sanctuary. Kathy felt like she was tracking mud through it. Lisa went straight to the kitchen, returning with an open bottle of bourbon and two tumblers. She poured three fingers into each, no ice.
“To transformative experiences,” Lisa said, her tone acidic. She clinked her glass against Kathy’s and drank half of it in one go.
Kathy sipped hers, the liquor burning a path down her throat. She waited.
Lisa paced the length of her rug, the glass clutched in her hand. “What’s the endgame here, Kath? You get off on watching your friend get railed by some human horse you picked up in a bar? You write a little story about it?”
“It’s not like that,” Kathy started, but the protest sounded weak, even to her.
“Then what is it?” Lisa stopped, her eyes bright with alcohol and intensity. “Because it sounds an awful lot like you using me as a prop in your revenge fantasy against Daniel. Or your audition for ‘Sluts of the City.’”
The words stung because they carried the barb of truth. Kathy put her glass down on a coaster, the click too loud. “It’s not about him. It’s about… ownership. I felt something with Brian. Something brutal and real. I want to hold the lens on it. I want to control the narrative.”
“By handing the narrative over to him and me?” Lisa fired back. She finished her drink, poured another. Her hands were steady now, her decision solidifying with the alcohol. “You want to watch. Fine. But understand what you’re asking. You’re asking me to be vulnerable in front of you with a man whose only qualification is a massive dick and a talent for fucking the sadness out of you.”
The crude summary was devastatingly accurate. Kathy had no defense. She simply looked at her friend, her accomplice in so many lesser adventures. “I’m asking,” she said quietly.
Lisa studied her for a long moment. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, watching it cling to the sides. The anger seemed to drain from her posture, replaced by a weary, curious resolve. She took a slow sip.
“Okay,” Lisa said.
The word hung in the quiet room. Simple. Final.
“Okay?” Kathy repeated, her heart thudding.
“Yeah.” Lisa put her glass down with deliberate care. “But I set rules. My rules. We meet for a drink first, all three of us. In public. I need to look him in the eye and know he’s not a psychopath. And you…” She pointed a finger at Kathy. “You back out at any second, for any reason, we’re done. No questions. No judgment from me. But if we go through with it, you stay. You watch. You don’t get to run away from what you asked for.”
A cold thrill, equal parts terror and anticipation, shot through Kathy. She nodded, her throat too dry to speak.
“Text him,” Lisa said, folding her arms. “Now. While I’m still drunk enough to think this is a good idea.”
Kathy’s fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone. Brian’s last message glowed on the screen: ‘Still feeling you. When can I see you again?’
She typed, her thumbs clumsy. ‘Friday. My friend Lisa wants to meet you for a drink first. She’s curious.’
The response was almost immediate. Three dots appeared, pulsed, then his reply came.
‘Curious is good. I’m curious too. Name the place.’
She showed Lisa the screen. Lisa read it, her expression unreadable. She took a deep, fortifying breath.
“Tell him The Alibi. Nine o’clock.” Lisa’s voice was all business now, a layer of control sheathing the wildness of the agreement. “And for god’s sake, tell him to wear a shirt. A nice one.”
Kathy relayed the message. Another instant reply: a thumbs-up emoji. Then, a second later: ‘Can’t wait to see you. Both of you.’
The finality of it landed in Kathy’s stomach like a stone. It was done. The plan was a living thing now, set in motion. She looked at Lisa, who had retrieved her bourbon and was staring into the glass as if seeking answers in the dregs.
“Thank you,” Kathy whispered.
Lisa didn’t look up. “Don’t thank me yet.” She finally met Kathy’s gaze, and the fear in her eyes was a perfect mirror of Kathy’s own, mixed with a dark, glittering curiosity. “We might hate ourselves in the morning.”
“But we’ll have a story,” Kathy said, the writer in her clinging to that single, fragile thread of purpose.
Lisa nodded slowly. A faint, brittle smile touched her lips. “Yeah. We’ll have a story.”