Chapter 7
CJ
Gustavo is a man who just won’t quit. Within thirty seconds of pulling CJ into his apartment, he has stripped her naked – barring her shoes.
Gustavo likes CJ to keep her socks and shoes on when they fuck, cosplaying some version of Wimbledon glory with a changing-rooms happy finish to celebrate.
He, himself, stays mostly dressed too, and it’s always been this way.
They met on the tennis courts, paired off for mixed doubles, and in the couple of times a season they play a match together they often end up exactly as they are now: shagging. But partially clothed.
‘Sim, yes, sim,’ Gustavo moans, as CJ works a hand in his shorts from where they’re origami-ed on the sofa, Gustavo himself watching her boobs, occasionally reaching out for a tweak or a honk.
He’s a tits man, huge fan of nipple play, and he’s fun.
He’s a fun guy to bump into at the lawn club, fun to chat with, fun to play with, and when they hook up, fun to get naughty with too.
And he’s handsome, all bright eyes and perfect pink pout.
There’s something feminine about him, with his long lashes and petite little nose.
CJ looks at his feline features as she pleasures him, admires his beauty. ‘Porra sim,’ he whispers. Fuck yes.
It isn’t long before Gustavo climaxes, making a mess over himself and CJ’s hand. He sighs, satisfied, and grabs his sports towel to wipe himself off.
‘Your turn,’ he says, when he’s done. ‘Come here.’
But CJ isn’t feeling it. She was happy to please Gustavo, turned on to know she could make him do that, climax that way, but now he’s done she feels done too. She doesn’t want his mouth on her, doesn’t want him inside of her. She’d actually just like to get home.
‘It’s OK,’ she says, pushing his hand away. ‘Today was for you. I really do have to get back.’
Telling a man you don’t want him to make you come when you’re already in your (partial) birthday suit can have two reactions: utter dejection, because what’s wrong with the way he makes you come, huh?
You saying he ain’t man enough for you? And two, which is the reaction Gustavo gives: a relieved shrug.
He got his, and if you don’t want yours that’s no skin off his nose.
CJ admires this uncomplicated part of his nature.
It’s what every friend-with-benefits needs, in order for the relationship to be a good one.
Get it printed on a T-shirt … FUCK BUDDIES: IT JUST AIN’T THAT DEEP.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ says CJ, already gathering her clothes. She pulls on her sports bra – no mean feat when it’s damp with sweat. It bunches up under her armpits, and she has to give it an inelegant tug to get it over herself.
Gustavo watches her, amused. ‘It is almost as sexy to watch you get dressed as it is to take your clothes off in the first place,’ he observes sardonically, absent-mindedly reaching for his phone.
CJ pulls on her thong, her shorts, her T-shirt, notices he’s opening a dating app already. Good for him.
‘See you next time,’ she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
‘See you next time,’ Gustavo says.
CJ heads for the 15E bus as she leaves Gustavo’s place, the stop down by the water, pulling out her phone to text Miguel that she’ll be about half an hour – she doesn’t want Jorge to go to bed without her, so his uncles are keeping him up late.
It’s not ideal, but CJ is a single mother who needs a life – imperfect compromise has to be her true north if she’s to navigate it without losing her mind.
CJ didn’t agonise over using a sperm donor to get pregnant, didn’t draw up pro and con lists or spend nights staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, wondering if going it alone was the right thing to do.
She was raised pretty terribly by her father, a man who had left Portugal in the eighties to learn English in London, eventually meeting CJ’s mother, getting her pregnant and following her ‘home’ to Essex.
Her mum did a runner when CJ was a baby – folklore has it that she went to Tesco one day and then never came back.
The entire wider family of her mother’s siblings and CJ’s grandparents pleaded ignorance.
Her dad moved them to Nottingham after that, too embarrassed to come back to Portugal, too mad to stay in Essex, but either way, determined to leave their history behind.
If her mum ever tried to make contact after that CJ doesn’t know of it, but she does know that when, as an adult, CJ sent messages to Instagram and Facebook accounts bearing her mum’s name they both went read but unanswered.
Screw her, is CJ’s bottom line on that. She was hurt and angry and confused for her whole childhood – was it her fault her mother left, and her father had to raise her alone?
He fed her, clothed her, made sure she had a bath sometimes, and left a book on her bed about periods when she was fifteen, which was much too late, but he wasn’t emotionally there, wasn’t accessible to her like the dads in books or on TV, the ones who made dens and played sports with their kids.
Her father proved that you could physically stay in somebody’s life but that didn’t mean you were still really in it.
Perhaps he had his own heartbreak to bear, but that shouldn’t have become a kid’s problem too.
As far as CJ was concerned, she essentially raised herself, even if she could hear him snoring in the next bedroom.
CJ knew she’d never commit the sins of her own family when becoming a parent – and she had known, just always known, that she’d be a mum herself one day.
Her own upbringing never put her off kids: it made her determined to prove it could be done, and done well.
And as she got older and saw more people online documenting solo parenting journeys (social media was a force for good, once upon a time) it became an obvious choice for her.
She’d never let her kid down, and in doing it alone would never have to risk subjecting her child to being left – physically or emotionally – by anybody else.
It was safest to do it alone, in fact: that way, she had control over all the variables.
That Miguel and Todd want to be as involved as they have been, is icing on the cake.
Whilst they live with her Jorge has more love than he knows what to do with, and CJ feels sure that as a child-free-by-choice couple, Miguel and Todd will always treat Jorge even better than a nephew.
A dad might leave. Two gay uncles will stick around forever. She’s hacked it.
It’s Miguel and Todd who encourage CJ to go on dates, keep playing tennis, take a run or go to a kettlebell class.
They do school drop-offs sometimes, and pick-ups too, randomly take Jorge to the park if she’s making dinner (or make dinner whilst she takes Jorge to the park).
They dote on Jorge, and CJ knows it makes her more patient, kinder, that she gets time to herself.
It couldn’t be working out better, really.
She had the money for a three-bedroom flat after her dad died (because Lisbon real estate used to be cheap) and a steady job – so she had a baby.
But occasionally – very, very rarely – she does feel bad that she’s sneaking home smelling of semen, like mothers can’t also be sexual beings.
No rush! texts back Miguel. He’s playing Lego with Todd!
CJ slips her phone away and perches on the bus-stop bench, facing the water.
She takes a deep breath, admiring the space where the sky melts into the sea – those Lisbon shades of blue again.
She has never once regretted moving here.
England had nothing for her. Her dad was an idiot to have stayed.
Because Lisbon? The food, the weather, the pace people live their lives …
it’s brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant.
‘Hic!’
CJ looks to her left, pulled from her thoughts. It’s fucking Ash, the girl from CoLab who weaponises her crying. Ash recognises CJ in the exact same moment CJ’s face falls at recognising her, expressing her surprise with another – apparently quite drunken – hiccup.
‘Hello,’ Ash says frostily, trying to pull at the lapels of a cardigan she isn’t actually wearing – she’s in a three-quarter-length-sleeve Breton striped T-shirt, and long navy shorts.
Her words come out slurred, and CJ is amazed at her own confusion that a pretty posh girl could be drunk.
Aren’t posh girls uptight prisses who don’t let a drop touch their lips?
Or they get ‘squiffy’, not annihilated. CJ has to say, though: it doesn’t suit her, Ash, to be flushed in the face and glassy-eyed.
CJ wonders if it’s actually her first time being drunk.
It kinda seems that way. She’s not hiding it well.
‘Hi,’ replies CJ.
Ash sits beside her on the bench.
‘Well, at least I know I’m in the right place,’ Ash says.
‘I was going to get a taxi, but then I thought no, Ashley Jane, you’re doing so great!
You can get a bus like a local person! You’ll figure it out!
’ She hiccups again, eyes going wide like it’s a jolt to find she can’t control it.
‘Obviously I’m absolutely rat-arsed,’ she adds, for the avoidance of doubt.
‘Which is another good thing, actually, so don’t be all … you know … urm …’ She waves a hand.
‘Judgemental?’ CJ supplies, half amused and half horrified on behalf of this mess of a woman. It’s not the first time CJ has dealt with guests from CoLab who can’t handle their booze, and it certainly won’t be the last. But Ash? CJ had assumed a woman like her would be above it.
‘Whatever,’ says Ash, squinting in the distance for their ride. ‘Oh!’ she says, pointing. ‘15E. There we go!’ She frowns, thinks for a second. ‘Was I saying something? Hmmm. Never mind. Can’t remember!’