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Cleo doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s easier for guys, because they can rely on being talented or funny, whereas women have more pressure to be hot to make it in entertainment. And besides, a lot of fangirls still thirst over those gamer YouTubers,” Cleo points out. “I know I’m making generalisations, but the truth of the matter is that everything is about appearances, and to pretend it’s not is naive.”
I think it over as I finish off my sandwich.
“What?” Cleo asks. “Do you disagree?”
“Not exactly,” I say after swallowing. “Sure, looks are important for profit or popularity. But not all the time.”
“I think it’s important all the time,” Cleo says decidedly. Her eyes go distant. “People treat you better when you’re pretty.”
Neither of us say anything for a moment. I lose myself in the memory of sneering faces. Of a voice whispering in my ear, thick with contempt. You’re cute when you—
“Hopefully that changes,” I say eventually.
Cleo’s lips pull into a smile. Something about it feels patronising, but I’m probably overthinking things, like usual.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask.
“Sure,” Cleo says.
I put my empty dish away and we move to the couch, Cleo snuggling beside me. After searching through a streaming service’s catalogue, we decide on an adaption of a British mystery novel we’ve both read.
It’s pretty good, though I’m distracted the entire time by Cleo’s body heat and the soft press of her arm against mine.
An hour into the film, she kisses my neck, and I startle.
“Sorry,” she says. “Did you not like that?”
“No, I — I was just surprised.”
She smiles and kisses my neck again. Am I meant to keep watching the movie, or do I do something in return? It’s not like I can kiss her back in this position.
That’s when she reaches for my hand and brings it to her boob.
“Is this…” I begin, suddenly nervous, “is this okay?”
“Why else do you think I moved your hand there, dummy?” she asks, her giggle muffled against the underside of my jaw.
So, I squeeze, ever so slightly. Cleo kisses up, past my chin, and meets my lips, and I kiss her back.
The movie’s still playing, and I’m wondering whether I should turn the TV off. Before I can, Cleo climbs into my lap and slides her hands up under my shirt. Her fingers drag over my stomach. It feels nice, though not as nice as I would’ve thought. It’s not like she’s giving me goosebumps, not like the way it happens in the books. Instead, I’m wondering what she thinks about what she’s feeling. Am I too soft? I don’t have a six pack, like Lucas. Am I too small? The clothes I wear make me look bigger than I actually am.
My tongue tastes like her lip gloss, and I’m getting a little hard, but it’s an anxious kind of hard. Like when you want to jerk off, but your entire family is in the house and you’re all too aware that your mum could burst into your room any second and ask for your washing.
Should I try to make my boner go away? Or should I try to get fully erect? A pretty girl is in my lap. I should be hard. I don’t want to offend her.
Alright, Charlie, think of really hot things—
That’s when the front door swings open. Lucas walks in wearing a black singlet and gym shorts. His defined biceps and strong calves are on display, and his hair is shiny with sweat.
Cleo looks over her shoulder. When she sees him, her lips part.
Lucas notices us, and a range of emotions pass over his face before his expression shutters, so I don’t have a chance to read him.
“Um,” I say. “Cleo, this is Lucas, my flatmate. Lucas, this is Cleo, my girlfriend.”
Neither of them move for a minute, then Cleo delicately gets off my lap and pats her clothing down. I quickly move my hands to cover my half-formed erection, and Lucas’s eyes narrow.
“Hello,” Cleo says, walking over to Lucas, her shoulders back and head tilted up. “It’s nice to meet you.” She flashes him a big, charming smile.
