Truth or Dare

Matt

I woke up early and went to my new gym, a vast hangar on the ground floor of a student-housing block behind the railway station. I spent half an hour on the treadmill, lifted some weights and then showered before walking home.

At several points that morning, I had re-read Jess's and my own messages from the previous night. The intensity remained but I wasn't sure how to move forward. All clarity had evaporated and, as my feet thumped the treadmill, the last few messages pulsed through my mind. Jess had been hesitant, slow to respond and seemed regretful.

I stumbled, gripping the side-rail to regain my balance. There didn't seem to be any warmth in her goodbyes, despite a promise to message each other in the morning, and there had been no sense that a new phase in our friendship was beginning. Instead, it felt more like an aberration, a reaction to Izzy's rejection and Jess's vaguely specified problems.

I tried to focus on the gym TVs but my eyes kept flicking to the clock in the corner of the screen. It was after ten and Jess still hadn't messaged me, which I took as a sign that my doubts were well-founded. As I moved onto my weight training, my stomach was knotted and the strength frequently drained from my arms.

Complications arrived on my journey home. Izzy texted to say that she was sorry about last night, and that she had reconsidered. She wanted to meet for a coffee and explain how it was all about her ex-boyfriend who was messing her around, offering to get back together and then getting cold feet.

I liked Izzy. She was attractive, smart, incisive in her conversation and interested in enough of the same films, music and books as me to generate friendly argument. We had shared a brief kiss after the cinema and had parted with an implied promise of more when she returned from visiting her parents, down south.

Then came the incomprehensible silence, followed eventually by rejection and now an old boyfriend that apparently she couldn't let go. None of this sat comfortably with my image of her. Having pulled over my car to respond to her text, I left the conversation unfinished and continued driving home, tense and distracted.

Shortly after arriving, a short message arrived from Jess saying "Hi, that was, erm, different last night!" The knots in my stomach tightened further as I tried to parse seven short words into something less transient, more distinct from a reaction to sharing an unusual meal.

I tried to compose a reply but the words wouldn't come to me. Our casual friendship, based on a small collection of shared interests and a large collection of shared friends, had never felt complicated before. The main attraction, other than reduced taxi fares, was the sense of ease I felt around her. She made conversation flow in enjoyably meandering fashion, with no pressure on me to fill empty spaces with new topics. Moreover, while I found Jess attractive, I knew I was neither a romantic nor a sexual interest for her, so I felt little pressure to analyse or calibrate our interactions to some end-goal.

Now though, I sat at my computer desk, scrolling through a night of messages, trying to separate flirtation from amusement, friendship from desire, and arousal from attraction. The stories from school, about her getting herself off in my bed while I slept on the floor below her, and my confessions about her desirability when travelling home after parties -- those stories caused me particular trouble; not least because they painted our friendship as one of suppressed desire rather than casual conversation.

Had she masturbated in my bed because I was nearby or was that incidental? Did she mind that I had fantasised about her as a teenager? Was she happy to regard it as fantasy alone? I tossed my phone aside in frustration and tried to focus on the essay for my postgraduate studies that I had planned to write over the summer.

Jessica

It had stopped raining. I was walking along the sea wall and had left my phone at the hotel. Matt hadn't replied and watched pots and all that. Still, I didn't understand his silence. I felt the previous night had stripped away years of reticence and that he would now respond to my attention. Our goodbye was awkward, but what did he expect? You can't cuddle and share the moment when talking via text. I had been clear though that I wanted to touch base today. Before leaving the hotel, explanations for his silence had rattled around my head as I scrolled vacantly through job sites. More than once, I screamed silently and raked my fingers down my cheeks, incapable of focusing on one problem at a time.

Out on the seafront, things felt clearer. I could separate my emotions about Alex, my quasi-eviction and Matt from practicalities about where to live and what job to apply for. Leaning on the railings overlooking the beach, I scraped a pebble against the cracked white paint that coated the metal. My eyes fixed on a dirty orange patch that had rusted through from the iron beneath. A gull squawked to my right. I watched it peck at a discarded chip tray and saw that the pebble-dashed promenade was scarred with the initials of some long gone couple who had passed by before the concrete had set. I made my decision. I had paid for two nights at the hotel, but did not want to stay there. The Edinburgh that had once seemed romantic with its hum and history now seemed sallow. I would take a late afternoon train and I would get off at one of two places.

The sense of purpose made me walk more quickly back to the hotel. I even took the stairs two at a time on the way to my room. I switched on my laptop to book the train tickets. Then I grabbed my phone to call my Dad, explain my plan, and ask if he minded paying for the journey. Still nothing from Matt. My choice of two places was starting to look like one.

Matt

More than three hours had passed since Izzy and Jess had messaged me. Concentrating on my work had been difficult as an unsettling mix of confusion, arousal and irritation kept intruding on my thoughts. I had written and rewritten the same introductory paragraph twenty times, moved on to other sections, returned to it, rewritten it again, made further edits, and it still felt lumpen and vague. Banging the desk in frustration, I grabbed my phone and sent a short response to both, telling Izzy that I would call her later today and going along with Jess's fickle apathy.

It didn't work, of course. Instead, of clearing my head, I started to glance continually at my phone, waiting for a response. I still couldn't square Izzy's explanation with the sharply analytical person I thought I had met. Nor could I escape the realisation that, even if Jess hadn't sounded so apathetic about the night before, it wouldn't have helped. If she had said it was an amazing experience and that she was desperate to repeat it, I would have clammed up, elated but wary and uncertain about what she expected from me.

Tapping the frame of my keyboard was a nervous tic of mine and, my nails were now scuffing the plastic. After days of waiting on Izzy, my ability to rationalise delayed responses and indirect language was strained and, like a child who had broken his toy, I was staring resentfully at my phone as if it was responsible for not providing me with the answers I wanted.

I considered going back to the gym to distract myself, but other postgraduates I knew tended to work out on Saturday afternoons and I wasn't in the mood to talk. Instead, I went to the kitchen, made some lunch and stared intently at people in the street, channelling my irritations into a critique of innocuous behaviours. The children were chasing a ball that was closer to the road than I would allow. The women in running gear were walking up the hill and talking rather than jogging. The teenage couple in scruffy clothes were stopping on the pavement outside my house to share a kiss. I took out my phone and sent a second message to Jess.

Jessica

Dad agreed to buy the train tickets. I stuffed my few belongings into my suitcase and made sure I hadn't left any toiletries in the bathroom. Glancing back at the bed, I left the room and checked out. An hour later, I sat watching coastal scenery on an over-crowded train as it headed south.

I didn't really want to listen to music but the woman next to me kept trying to start a conversation. My monosyllabic replies seemed only to encourage her, even though there were people she could talk to crammed into the aisle. So I put my headphones in, switched on Phil Selway, and faced the window. Resting my elbow on the seat-arm and with my chin on my hand, I shut out the cattle market throb around me.

The satisfaction granted by deciding to leave Edinburgh was brief. A morbid album, the oppressive carriage and Matt's silence fragmented my sense of purpose. Doubts seeped through the cracks. I swallowed, sniffed and dragged my sleeve quickly across my cheek to remove a sudden tear. While I reached into my bag for a tissue, the woman threatened to try again at conversation but I turned away sharply.

Immediately, I spun back towards her, ignoring her smile as I extracted my phone from the tight pocket of my jeans. The signal is patchy between Edinburgh and Berwick and four messages had come through at once. One from my mum, asking whether I wanted dinner tonight. One from Alex, asking if I wanted to meet her and Tom for a drink. The other two were from Matt.

Huddled in my window-facing sanctuary, I screwed up my eyes briefly to drive back tears and anxiety. Then I opened the texts. Matt's first message said "Different is one way to put it."

The second, sent twenty minutes later, said, "What are you doing today?"

It wasn't much but a brief warmth pulsed from my heart, through my stomach and into my legs. I told Matt I was on the train, travelling towards Kings Cross but unsure where I was going. Unsurprisingly, he asked what I meant. I suppose I had intended him to. I explained that the hotel was depressing me, that I would probably spend a few weeks at my parents while I tried to find a job and get my head together. I also said that my dad was on my back and I didn't want to see them before I had a plan. Inevitably, he noticed that I hadn't answered his question.

He replied, "So are you going to see a friend in London or something? I didn't know you knew people down there."

I took a deep breath and sent back, "I don't. Well, one or two people from uni have moved there, but no one special. Actually, I was wondering if I could stay with you for a few days. I haven't seen you in ages and I just need to be somewhere I feel comfortable. Somewhere I can find space to think."

Matt

At first Jess was typically, frustratingly, vague but she followed it up with sudden clarity. It was impossible to imagine that she planned to visit me for any reason other than to continue what we had begun. Years of assuming she had no interest in me transformed into a fiery certainty of a new era in our friendship.

Then the doubts began. Jess had simultaneously implied that I was someone special and that she had missed seeing me, while also suggesting I was safe territory where she could be comfortable and focus on her problems. There seemed, after all, little prospect that she was visiting to cement and develop our newfound intimacy.

Despite the ball of excitement shrinking away, the sense that things were as they had always been was also, in its own way, comforting as we would still be spending time together as friends. Perhaps she could help me to pick apart what was going on with Izzy. I told Jess she was welcome to stay and asked when she would be here and whether she wanted me to buy any special food for her.

After making the necessary arrangements, I saved my work, shut down my computer and tidied up the house. It was a two bedroom Victorian terrace; nothing special but it was homely and as much as I could afford on a doctoral studentship. Jess's train was due at 16:36 and, when I had finished preparing the house, it was time to go to the station. Izzy had been texting me all afternoon and her messages seemed oddly fraught for someone with whom I had only shared three dates. She still wanted to see me again and was insistent that only her confusion about her ex had caused her to say otherwise. When I suggested she might do better to get closure from him before starting something new, she tried to call me three times. Unfortunately, I was driving into the city to collect Jess by then and, glancing at the dashboard clock, I worried that I might be late so I didn't stop to take the call.

While trying to shut out the incessant ringtone, I wondered how I should greet Jess. At school, we had never hugged but she had been more tactile on the few occasions that I had seen her since. There had been hugs hello, hugs goodbye and occasional kisses on the cheek, which had left me with that strange sense of intimacy mingled with inconsequence that I always felt after physical contact with people who put no stock in it. After last night, the reverse seemed true. Any physical contact was likely to be loaded with meaning and I decided to let her take the lead, although, on reflection, that would have been the case anyway.

Jessica

Matt saying I could stay with him was my clearest moment of happiness in weeks. Fussing over the details of food and meeting places felt like a familiar landmark in a foreign city. I stretched out in my seat, thrust my hands out of my sleeves and ran them through my hair. The woman next to me and several people who had been standing in the aisle had left the train in Newcastle and the carriage was quieter now. I stood-up and went back to the luggage rack to get my book and make-up bag from my suitcase. I wanted to tidy myself up and relax a little. My hair was roughed up from my hoodie and resting against the window. Worse, I could see in my reflection that my make-up was stained with tears.

After making myself presentable, the journey passed quickly as I read. No one came to sit next to me and I was able to spread out a little. As we left York and started on the final leg to Leeds, I checked our messages to confirm that I had given him the right time. Scrolling back, I re-read our conversation from the night before. The arousal crept back into my body.

My eyes darted around the carriage. I was half-embarrassed and half-thrilled at re-reading in public Matt's instructions on how to bring myself off. Shielding my phone with my hands, I opened his pictures, flicking briefly between his face and that shot of his torso and bulging boxers. Then embarrassment got the better of me. I clicked to the home screen and put my phone on the tray table.

I tried to return to my book but couldn't concentrate on the stilted prose. I was sitting with my back to the window and my feet were up on the seat, slightly moving against each other. I glanced across the aisle and then squeezed my legs together, relaxed them and then dropped my hand between my thighs, pushing the heel of my palm down discreetly.

The warmth rose in my chest and I knew my cheeks would be flushed. I imagined leaning back against Matt's chest, his arms around my waist and his hands drifting down my body while I pretended for him that I was trying to read.

The man in the seat opposite was focused on his laptop and, between the seats, I could see an elderly couple behind me who were exchanging pleasantries while staring stoically out of the window. I pressed my hand down again, trying to stimulate myself by working it subtly back and forth on my jeans. The refreshments cart was coming down the aisle, stopping to serve passengers. The man opposite was digging in his pocket for change in preparation. Frustrated, I moved my hand underneath my hoodie and the tank top beneath. I tried to convince myself that people would assume I was just warming it up. Resting it on my stomach, the heat from my soft skin only increased my arousal. Keeping my eyes on the people around me for signs of awareness, I slid my hand downwards.

Slowly, my little and ring fingers crept under the waistband of my jeans, leaving the rest of my hand spread sideways across my tummy. Making sure again that no one was looking directly at me, I stretched my little finger out, away from my hand and down inside my jeans. I let it slip beneath my underwear and swirled it slowly in the thin strip of hair that I had left there. The contrast between the heat from inside me and the cool skin of my finger delivered a wave of tingling sensations across my crotch.

I tried to keep my breathing level but knew that anyone watching closely would be suspicious. I was biting my lip, my neck was red, my feet kept moving across each other and there was an unusual intensity in my eyes. I returned to the image of leaning back in Matt's arms. I imagined turning my head to kiss his neck while his fingers moved downwards, spread my lips and slipped inside me. At the same time, I darted my eyes away from the man opposite to avoid making eye-contact as he waited to buy his drink.

My hand moved down further inside my jeans. My little finger could now reach top of my lips. I stretched it out to brush briefly against my clit, my breath catching as I did so. I left it there for a few seconds, touching but not moving. I watched the world flash past outside the train while pinpricks of pleasure spun through my nervous system as the juddering of the railway sent tiny vibrations through me. I felt sure someone nearby must know what I was doing, but I couldn't draw back.

I started to rotate my fingertip over my clit, slowly but firmly. I tried to keep my breathing level but its fluctuations sounded thunderous. Then, simultaneously, the woman tugging the refreshment cart drew alongside me and the tannoy announced that we would shortly be arriving in Leeds. Feigning drowsiness, I stretched my legs out into the footwell, letting my hand free itself as I did so. I sat upright and casually bit the side of my thumb, as if removing a hangnail. Briefly, I did the same to my little finger, curling my tongue around it to clean off the glistening wetness I had left there.

Matt

I parked and walked quickly from the station car park to the concourse, cursing the ticket barriers that stopped me from meeting Jess on the platform. The Edinburgh train was arriving on the other side of the footbridge and I tried to spot her as people started to disembark and drag suitcases, pushchairs and bikes through the doorways.

My eyes flicked from carriage to carriage, searching for Jess's blonde hair, short stature and bouncy gait. It seemed like tens, perhaps hundreds of people had left the train but, as the numbers petered out with no sign of her, I wondered if she had changed her mind and got off at York to see her parents. My shoulders slumped and I stopped craning my neck to see across the station. I turned to the side and pulled out my phone, planning to call Jess to see what had happened. Instead, I found a message, sent a few minutes earlier, which said, "Just approaching Leeds now. See you shortly!"

As I read it, I felt a tap on my shoulder, followed by a short, sharp, "Hey!" and then, "Stop checking your email!" I spun around to see no-one and was poked in my other side where, turning again, I saw Jess, bright-eyed and grinning.

She wrapped her arms around my chest in a tight hug saying, "It's so good to see you."

I hugged her back more tentatively and she laughed as we stepped apart. Apparently, as always, I had crushed her head into my chest rather than hugging her. I pointed out it was her fault for being small, to which she stuck out her tongue, took hold of her suitcase and asked, "So, where's the car?"