This post is my entry for Charlie Powell’s ‘Polished’ competition. The challenge was to write a piece of erotica based on the name of a nail polish from Charlie’s collection. I was given ‘Eternal Optimist’, and the story I wrote is inspired both by that, and by one of Charlie’s own stories from a few months ago. Enjoy!
Some days you win, some days you lose. And some days are a fucking disaster. Actually, in my case make that some weeks.
It’s not that I’m bad at gambling: more that when things go south, they have a habit of going quickly, and I can’t seem to get off the train before it crashes.
Ok, maybe I’m bad at gambling.
But come on, who wouldn’t roll the dice and try their luck when Spring is in the air, the Guinness is flowing, and the Cheltenham Festival is in full swing? The first day wasn’t even that bad: only £40 down, and a champagne buzz that gave me the balls to end things with Julie once and for all. Eight months of infrequent sex, followed by five months of no sex, had ensured that horses were all we really had left in common, and I didn’t see that as much of a foundation for the future. I needed more, and I told her that. Told her I wanted someone who would burn for me and make me burn for them. She looked at me blankly and went back to the Racing Post.
Maybe I didn’t do it right though, because after that, karma seemed to bite me on the arse with a vengeance. I completely struck out on Wednesday, saw a lucrative accumulator fall at the last on Thursday, and by the time the Gold Cup winner had been fêted by the adoring crowd on Friday afternoon, I was not only single and sexless, I was in a two-grand hole for the week.
That’s when I saw her. I was counting out twenties in front of Big Frank – the only bookie I really trusted by that point – when she marched past me, a slick-haired city boy on her arm. She was a blur of tits and boots and long brown hair, and all of a sudden I forgot about everything except my twitching, stiffening cock. It didn’t matter where they were going, because the jut of her chin alone told me exactly what they were going to do when they got there, and I knew I had to see it.
“Ok, that’s two hundred quid you’ve got on the table there. Jesus, are you sure you want to do this? You know I’m always happy to take your money, but even I’ve got a heart.”
“Frank, something tells me this is going to be my day after all. Just give me the slip – I’ll be back in 20 minutes to collect my winnings!”
I snatched the piece of paper out of Frank’s hand and tramped through the grass toward the jockeys’ car park. Right now it was the quietest part of the course, and sure enough there she was. Well, there they were. Her tights stretched between her ankles; his steadying hand on the small of her back as he fucked her hard. Their mouths opened and closed, but even though they were only 20 metres away from me, the sound was swallowed up by the buzz from the grandstand.
He shuddered against her as he came. The blood was thumping in my head: something about the way she threw her head back, lost in her own arousal, made me clutch the fence-post I was standing by for support. He slapped her on the arse and jogged back to the comfort of his corporate box, leaving her slumped against the railing, undone and undone.
I toyed with my belt, trying to ease the pressure on my cock. The head nudged hard against it, and I was torn between wanting her to look over – needing her to look over – and just slinking away from it all. From her. From Cheltenham. From myself. I’d made enough bad decisions over the course of the week, and the odds didn’t exactly feel like they were in my favour this time either.
The cheers only registered as the tannoy crackled into life.
“Confirmation that after a photo finish, the Foxhunter Chase Challenge Cup has been won by number 13, Eternal Optimist, at 25-1. Second was numbe…”
25-1. 200 quid. Five fucking grand!
The world came back into focus just as she raised her eyes to meet mine. I think one of us blushed, though I’d like to blame that on the alcohol. I took one step forward, then two, then three. She smiled, and shielded her eyes against the late afternoon sun as I got closer.
Maybe my luck was changing after all.