Gwen isn't totally happy with their sex life
Lance is panting, sated. I lay there, staring. Frustrated. Again.
Damn him. I wonder what the women I see stumbling over themselves to catch his eye would say if they knew what a selfish lover he is. How… barely adequate he is in bed.
It's not like I'm difficult to satisfy. It just takes me longer than 30 seconds to get there.
Lance starts snoring now. Splendid. So glad he's nice and relaxed and spent and cozy and sleepy.
Why did I let him seduce me again? I was going to break up with him, and he was looking at me with that blasted smolder of his, and then he started kissing my neck.
Stupid, traitorous neck. He knows that's my weak point. So I thought I'd give it a go.
But that's the problem with dating a man who is less than satisfactory in bed. You walk around perpetually horny, buying a lot of batteries.
But now I remember why I was going to break up with him. Well, one of the reasons. I've got a list.
Fuck it. I'm going home.
Getting up, I pull my clothes back on. I look down at Lance.
"Lance," I say, poking his shoulder. "Lancelot."
"Hmm?"
"I'm going home. And I'm not coming back. I'm sorry. I... I can't do this anymore. Goodbye."
"What? Gwen…" he sits up. Kind of. Come on, make an effort, man. I pause in the bedroom doorway.
No? Lovely. I'm gone. As I close the door to his apartment behind me, I actually hear his snoring resume.
Asshole.
At least my vibrator satisfies me. And it has an 'off' switch.
Two weeks later.
Gwen, you need to get laid, they said. Meaningless sex; you'll feel better, they said.
I hate clubbing. Gwaine dragged me out. Percival was on call so he had to stay home, and Gwaine was bored. That's dangerous for someone like Gwaine, and he decided I was his 'project' for the night.
I practically begged him to take me to one of his favorite gay bars. No luck. "Can't get you laid in one of those places, darling," he said.
I sighed and let him drag me to some trendy new club. The kind with the roped-off doorway and a huge bouncer holding a clipboard. Gwaine practically started salivating when he saw him. Probably because he looked remarkably like Percival. Gwaine likes them huge and muscle-y.
"Down, boy," I muttered. "I can't believe you talked me into this dress," I say, yanking the top up and the bottom down. It's deep burgundy, tight, strapless, and short. It belongs to his sister Morgana, who is every bit as ostentatious – and as gorgeous – as Gwaine.
"Well, I'm just hoping that someone talks you out of it later."
We reach the front, and the bouncer makes no attempt to hide the fact that he is checking me out. I feel as though I'll have to retrieve his eyeballs from my cleavage before long.
"Come right in, sweetheart," he says, unclipping the rope from the pole. I grab Gwaine's arm and pull him with me.
"Thank you," I say.
"Thanks, sweetheart," Gwaine tells him. I yank his arm harder.
It's impossibly loud inside with lots of colored lights. People are drinking colorful drinks from glasses with flashing lights embedded inside.
Gwaine looks like a child on his first trip to Disney World. I sigh inwardly and resolve to make the best of it.
"Here, take my seat," a man seated at the bar stands, offering me his stool.
"Um, thanks," I say, grateful to be off my feet. These shoes are nearly as bad as the dress. How do people wear this stuff?
"Arthur," he says, offering me his hand. I take it.
"Guinevere," I say. Why did I introduce myself as Guinevere? "Gwen, actually."
"May I buy you a drink, Guinevere?" he asks. He hasn't let go of my hand.
I glance at Gwaine. He nods encouragingly. Arthur notices him then. "Oh, sorry mate, is she with you?"
"I'm the gay best friend," Gwaine introduces himself.
"Of course you are," Arthur nods. "What would you like to drink?"
"Cosmo," Gwaine announces.
"Gwaine, he was talking to me," I say. "I'd like a vodka lemonade, thank you."
Arthur smiles, orders both drinks, and… doesn't pay for them. I raise my eyebrow at him questioningly.
"This is kind of my club," he says, leaning in close to speak directly into my ear. I don't think he wants it advertised.
"It's very… loud. And flashy," I say.
"I know. It's what the kids today like, though, right?" He grins at me.
I didn't notice it was so warm in here till just now. I also didn't notice Gwaine disappearing into the crowd.
Arthur sticks around, standing close. Apparently he wants to chat. Okay. We chat. I nurse my drink. I'm not much of a drinker.
The deejay plays a slow song, and he drags me to the dance floor. He holds me close enough that I feel slightly lightheaded and wonder what kind of pheromone he has embedded in his cologne.
The deejay plays a fast song, and he drags me from the dance floor. "I can't dance that way," he says, his lips brushing against my ear.
My seat at the bar has long been usurped, and he looks down at me, holding my hands in his. "Let's go someplace quiet. Well, more quiet than here."
"Oh, are you going to take me to some seedy back room so you can have your wicked way with me?" I ask, smirking at him.
"No, I'm going to take you to the diner on the corner and buy you pancakes," he says, grinning at me.
I laugh suddenly, surprised. He's really very sweet for someone so ridiculously handsome and wealthy. I've learned that he's both. "I need to tell Gwaine."
"He's over there," Arthur points. Gwaine has crashed a bachelorette party and is now wearing a tiara and drinking his drink through a straw with a little plastic penis for a tip.
"Oh, Lord…" I roll my eyes. "I'll send him a text."
Arthur takes my hand and leads me from the club.
"Can I get French toast instead?" I ask, and he laughs.
Three hours later.
"Oh, God… oh… oh my… oh!" I am screaming in ecstasy for the third time now.
Damn. Damn. Lance who?
Arthur curls me into his embrace, gently sweeping my hair away from my face so he can kiss me.
"Goodness," is all I can manage.
"What's that?" he asks.
"Wow."
"Um, thank you?"
I smile. "No, thank you. That's… three more orgasms than my ex ever gave me."
"Oh, my God," he says, sitting up slightly. He actually looks a little horrified.
"Truth," I say, crossing my heart. He snatches my hand and kisses my fingers. "One of the top things on the list of Why I Broke Up With Him."
"Good. No excuse for that kind of behavior," he says, tutting like a disapproving nanny.
"What behavior?" I ask, baiting him a little.
"Not satisfying a beautiful, sexy woman like you. It's a shame and a waste. I mean right now, all I can think about is giving you another one just to hear you cry out my name like you did before."
Again: Damn.
"Was he… small? Maybe secretly gay? Or just a douche?"
I'm laughing now. "Well, I don't know about the second option, but the third is a definite, and the first? I thought he was fine, but… you're definitely bigger." Shit, I'm blushing now.
"I'm bigger than most men," he says casually.
"And how do you know this?" I ask, raising my eyebrow suspiciously.
He lays back down and pulls me against him so my head is on his (unbelievable) chest. "Because I walk around with a tape measure in my pocket and ask random men if I can measure their junk." I start giggling, and he continues. "Sure, I've been arrested a few times, but it's a hobby."
I'm laughing now, burying my face in his shoulder. Suddenly I find myself on my back.
"You have got an incredibly sexy laugh, Guinevere," he rumbles down at me, capturing my swollen lips with his.
It will make you feel better, they said. Who would have imagined that they would be right?