The horse-drawn carriage was really cliché, but still kind of fun despite being really cold and smelling strongly of horse shit. (Also, I don’t think they’re used to going that far from the town centre. So as we left the hotel we got some nasty looks as cars passed us.) The carriage wasn’t opened, but looked a bit like a London funeral carriage, enclosed with a roof and dark windows.
We were barely away from the hotel when Goatee suggested that we join the Victorian version of the Mile-High Club. I rebutted his idea. Even though the windows were dark, people could still see in. Plus, I’m sure the driver would know if the carriage started rocking in a funny way.
Goatee then asked if I would take my underwear off … watch the Opera commando style. I agreed as I really couldn’t be bothered to argue.
The Opera House is amazing. Goatee was annoyed that we couldn’t get box seats, but I was terribly happy to be there. After popping to the loo and putting my tights and knickers in my handbag (it was going to be a cold taxi ride home), we settled in.
We saw the comedy Der Rosenkavalier by Strauss. I’d never seen an opera before, so I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to follow what was going on, but it was fine. The acting, the voices, the costume, and the synopsis in the programme were ample information.
Goatee kept his hand on my thigh, right below my skirt line, the entire performance. We took a regular taxi home (as opposed to a horse-drawn carriage), and his hand went further up my skirt. In the elevator up to the penthouse he fingered me, and we had sex up against the wall of glass that was the windows to the penthouse. He pulled my skirt up and did me from behind.
Honestly, I didn’t enjoy it, and he could tell. I was just too self-conscious, and I was afraid people would see. Also, why does it always have to come down to sex with him?
Afterwards, I went into the bedroom without saying a word, and he called his brother to see if he wanted to come up for a whiskey.
GoateeBrother came around and they sat in the other room talking. I don’t think they knew I could hear them. GoateeBrother asked Goatee why he was dating me. He prefaced it with ‘She’s really lovely, don’t get me wrong. But she’s so much younger than you.’
I listened pretty intently as I had been wondering the same thing.
Goatee’s answer: ‘She’s young enough that if I decide it’s just a bit of fun then there’s no harm. Women my age are looking for a commitment from the start; I don’t have to worry about that with her. But, if it does turn out to be serious, she’s still young enough to have children. I wouldn’t mind having another family.’
GoateeBrother asked about the sex, to which Goatee answered, ‘That’s the biggest reason. If I can go the rest of my life without seeing sagging tits or cellulite I’ll die a happy man.’
I felt disgusted. I was nothing more than a potential baby making machine. And what if it was really serious and we had children? Wouldn’t I get ‘sagging tits’ and ‘cellulite’ then? And, he thinks I’m young enough to be ‘a bit of fun’ without there being any harm? Being under 25 years old doesn’t mean I don’t want a commitment. And, he’s the one that’s always pushing the relationship farther than I want it to go.
Goatee came to bed a few hours later. I didn’t sleep that night, but I pretended to. The next morning I got up before him and went and lie down on the sofa in the other room. I was still annoyed. But more importantly, I’d gotten ill.