Many single millennial men know that when you don’t fancy going out on a Saturday night, the only other valid option for evening entertainment is Match of the Day and FIFA. As Mahrez curled home a beauty to put me 2-0 up in the final league game of the season, my phone lit up in the way it only does when I’m sent a snapchat.
I paused the game briefly to open the snap. The screen switched to a video of two girls twerking to some random Jason Derulo tune whilst standing on chairs. All of my attention was now fully diverted from Everton at home to my phone.
As the first snap vanished, another arrived, this time a selfie with three girls, all pouting. “Where are you?” I messaged. “In London x,” she responded.
It’s worth mentioning at this point that the girl in question was one I met whilst at university. A northerner I had an undercover fling with, with no serious strings attached. She had since gotten in to a relationship however and was happy – or at least that’s what social media had told me. The fact that she was in London sending her old flame snaps was surprising.
“You going out?” I said.
“Yeah but where’s good to go out in London?”
“Which part of London are you going out in lol, it’s a big place”
My phone rang…
“Hi- yeah, so… we don’t know where we’re going and we need you to tell us because you’re good at this stuff”
I didn’t know quite how to take this, but I went along with it.
“Well you could try Clapham, there’s always a good night there”
“Okay, are you coming?”
“Nah I’m just chilling tonight”
“No comeeeeeeeeee! Stop being boring!”
“I’m not being boring lol I’m not going out with 3 girls and the only one I know has a boyfriend.”
“[redacted] said she’d fuck you…Just hurry up”
The phone hung up. I sat back in my chair for a moment and took in the proposition on the table. I glanced at the time which showed 11:30. If I left at that exact moment I could probably make it in time for it to be a half decent night, I thought.
But before I got too ahead of myself, I still needed to get past my parents, who would no doubt question my motives for leaving the house on a whim at such a time.
“Dad…yeah, I’m just going to Corey’s house quickly, few of the guys are heading over there for a FIFA tournament so thought I’d join since I’m not doing anything.”
“…at this time of night?!”
I shot up the stairs, marvelling at my own ability to connive and slip through the net so consistently. I did have a dilemma though. Nobody dresses up for a FIFA tournament, yet I needed to dress well enough to impress. I threw together a quick (yet unironed) ensemble and sped out of the door, ordering an uber as I paced.
I reached Clapham common at 12:30 and was met by two gorgeous girls and one who was so drunk she would’ve struggled to spell her own name.
“You two need to sober her up, because we’re not getting in to anywhere with her like this,” I said like the sensible young adult I am. A 10 minute session of violently downing water ensued before heading to Aquum, a decent little club on the high street. We got in with no issues to note (funny how easy it is to get in to places when you’ve got three girls on only two arms) before taking up positions by the bar.
Whilst two of the three girls were having a great time and getting moved to by guys left, right and centre, the girl I knew only had eyes for me (absence makes the heart grow fonder it would seem). Although she had a boyfriend, she didn’t really seem concerned about it as she whined up and down on me like some Go-Go girl from Montego Bay. She turned around and pushed her hand behind my belt and down my trousers. In what was a dramatic escalation of events, I grabbed her hand and put it firmly back by her side like something you’d see in primary school. “We can’t do this here are you crazy?!”. She nodded nonchalantly in response and continued dancing.
We all left the club and hopped in the same uber back to one of the girls’ apartments in Vauxhall. We sat in the living room, discussing everything from work/life balances, the economy and how many guys one of the girls currently had on rotation. All this chit chat though was inconsequential, as all I could think about was how legit a FIFA tournament from 12am – 6am would sound.
One girl left and the other went to bed, leaving me and the girl with the boyfriend in the kitchen. “Do you want to come give me a cuddle?” she beckoned. “Mmmm alright,” I said with cautious certainty. As we got under the covers, we started smooching and all the rest of it. “Are you sure you want this?” I questioned, more as a confirmation to the question “are you sure you want to cheat on your boyfriend right now?!” than “do you want to have sex.” “Yes” she whispered back.
After the deed was done I promptly gathered my belongings and ubered it back home, sun-rising and birds chirping. I’ve yet to send that “thanks for last night x” text, and I don’t think I ever will.