For 24 hours, there was a condom inside me.
It was a condom my new work colleague and I had torn the hotel bed apart looking for, to no avail.
Unbeknownst to me, it took a vacay in my vajayjay the next day, while I nursed a hangover on a flight home from a conference in Hawaii. And I still wonder, if it was that condom, lined with his DNA, that planted the seed of obsession in me; one that would grow like a persistent weed, destroying everything in its path.
See, not long after I made a very pleasing arrangement with Country Boy (read: we agreed to meet up every couple of days to f*ck, because, #girlsgotneeds), a new guy moved into the cubicle beside me at work.
John was 25, recently relocated from the UK, and had a bumbling British accent reminiscent of Hugh Grant in Four Weddings & A Funeral. Other than that, I knew nothing about him. So obviously, I had to have him.
Things worked in my favour then, when we were summoned to attend a work conference together in Hawaii. Cue the trying on of impossibly small bikinis in change rooms with lighting that makes you want to cry, the booking of salon appointments to wax all pubic hair back to a prepubescent state, and a nine-hour plane trip.
“That was a long-arse few days!” I complained, plonking myself on the bar stool next to John at the end of the last day of the Hawaii conference.
“Yeah. Thank God for the free alcohol!” he quipped back with a dorky smile.
John wasn’t conventionally attractive. He looked a little like a gangly teen, still growing into his limbs, and generally unsure of himself. Still, we were in HAWAII, and, THAT ACCENT.
“Do you know what the plan is tonight? Like, what we’re all doing?” I asked, grabbing a glass of pre-poured wine off the bar.
“I think after dinner most people are going back to their rooms. But a few of us will kick on. I heard someone say something about a strip club,” he smirked, a twinkle in his emerald green eyes.
Six complimentary Rieslings and one buffet dinner later, we were indeed, sitting in a Hawaiian strip club. It was the first time I’d ever been in one, and, TBH, it was actually kind of awesome. There was a surprisingly refreshing variety of shapes and sizes of bodies having dollar bills flicked at them. And, maybe it was the sense of body empowerment in the room, or the sexy music blasting through the club, but a few minutes after ordering our drinks, John and I were making out like horny teenagers.
“Let’s go back to my hotel room”, I whispered into his ear, urgently.
“Do you have a condom?”
“Actually, I do!” he answered – a tinge of pride in his voice, as he triumphantly tapped on the wallet in his back pocket.
My lady parts were already tingling in anticipation. John was my conquest, and I was about to have him.
Back in the hotel room, he tore my clothes off like they were wrapping on his presents on Christmas day, then grabbed me roughly and flipped me onto my stomach, entering me from behind.
