Submit by Sonnet

Author:Sonnet [, SONNET]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2024-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

I woke up early the next morning as a shaft of light fell through the curtains onto a pile of intertwined limbs. Max and Amani looked incredibly peaceful. I could already feel the physical resettling, the feeling from deep within that everything is going to be OK, that humanity is basically good if you see it up close and naked, rather than on the news or social media. It’s like a big, soothing exhale, which I so often get the day after a fun, sexy encounter. I gently extracted my dead arm from under Amani’s tousled head, and tiptoed to the kitchen, chuckling about the piles of bondage equipment we seemed to have left strewn around. I ground coffee beans and boiled the kettle, then slowly spiraled the water over the coffee and watched it bloom. Touch, sight, smell, taste: hand-drip is the most sensory way to make coffee. You can only do it slowly, and you’re forced to notice every detail. I remembered I had pains au chocolat in the freezer, so I turned on the oven. I didn’t want to wake Max and Amani, so I sat on the kitchen counter, looking out of the window at the birds. They seemed so much louder and active during lockdown—happier without the traffic. I wondered how many other new couplings, throuplings and beyond were happening within the households and buildings I could see. It was nice, I thought, to appreciate the people right in front of you.

I brought the coffee and pastries back into the bedroom. Max and Amani were sitting up, chatting about what a dickhead Matt Hancock is. I put the tray in the middle of the bed and sat crossed-legged at the bottom. I dropped melted chocolate on the sheets, and Amani spilled her coffee; Max said the sheets were in a worse state than the Turin Shroud at this point.

People are concerned that sex changes things between people. I think it does, but for the better. We were closer to Amani after that night, but it didn’t make anything awkward. It never happened again, and Max and I never told anyone about it; I’m not sure if she did. We sat chatting in the garden as we had before. Occasionally, if no one else was around, we would reference the night we’d shared, giggling. She seemed, like us, to treat it as a fun activity with friends, not some big drama. When the world reopened, she moved abroad, but occasionally she comes to flat-sit for us when we’re traveling and she wants to be in London. We tell her she knows where the strap-on lives, should she need it.

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