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One small room at the inn

Rubbish lesbian is sharing a double bed. With a work mate. Oops

Sarah Westwood

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 17:10:55 GMT | Updated 4 years today

I turned up late to a hotel with a female work colleague to find there was only one room at the inn - a small double. Since I was in charge of the booking it's entirely my mix up. We're going to have to share it, or 'bunk up together', as my mum would say. The colleague in question knows I'm gay and it's never been a big deal, but I can tell that the prospect of being horizontal together for twelve hours, in a room with a travel kettle, might change that.


The easy conversation we were having at the desk petered out pretty quickly with the words, "one small double", and now we're in an awkward stand off. I'm worried that if I appear too be too fine with the situation she might think I made this mistake on purpose and it's a seduction ploy. So I've adopted a theatrical look of annoyance. She, on the other hand, is trying to appear completely unconcerned in an attempt to avoid being uncool.  "I'm fine if you're fine." "I'm absolutely fine. If you are?" "I'm totally fine - if you're fine."  "It's all cool with me." This tedious display of nonchalance continues for ten minutes until the receptionist tires of it and throws a key in our direction.


When we get to the room things go from bad to worse. It's tiny. To be in this room is to be on the bed - it's basically a bed in a box. It's getting late, so the first hurdle we face is transitioning into our pyjamas without nakedness. If you've ever tried to do this you'll know it's basically like auditioning as a Quick Change Act for Britain's Got Talent - within seconds you're out of one outfit and into another. But in my experience when you try to remove clothes quickly you're more likely to get a foot caught in a trouser leg and be hoping around with your butt hanging out; not to mention the difficulty of attempting to remove a bra by dragging it out through the very small tight opening at the top of your blouse. 


I decide the best course of action is to take myself and my pyjamas to the bathroom so she can change in private. But once I've changed I'm trapped in there wondering how long to leave it until I come out. I don't want to barge out and catch her with one leg in and one let out of her pants, or worse, so I'm mentally estimating her undressing time. I give her 10 minutes - enough time to have changed and boiled the perfect egg for good measure.


Then it's bedtime. I don't want to negotiate which side of the bed she prefers because it sounds like I'm trying to establish a routine. Instead I get in quickly, feign a yawn, and then lie rigidly, pretending to be asleep for an hour, and clutching onto the edge of the bed with my finger nails so that I don't accidentally roll into the middle and touch her bottom. 


The following morning as I re-enter the world I'm temporarily discombobulated - I'm no longer on 'my side' and I'm being spooned. Good God. How do I slip the spoon to save her the blushes? It's like that scene in Indiana Jones - I need to replace the weight of the statue with a bag of sand. I'm just reaching around for a 5' 7" bag of lard when she awakens. There's a brief moment of silence while she gets her head around the logistics. Poor thing. She's going to feel terrible because technically the spoonee in this situation takes the lions share of the embarrassment. But as I slink into the bathroom I catch her looking at me funny and a thought occurs to me: she thinks I backed into it.

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