In at the Deep End

by Kate Davies

  I started to contradict her – I was pretty proud of the lesbian sex I’d had – but Sam was looking at her phone.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, glancing up, ‘I’m meant to be meeting a friend now – but I’d love to buy you a drink sometime, if you like.’

  ‘Great,’ I said.

  ‘Have you got your phone? I’ll give you my number.’

  I was collecting numbers wherever I went these days. I hardly knew myself.

  I looked around Sam as she typed her number into my phone, wanting the others to notice that she had chosen me. Me!

  I drop called her and we said goodbye, and then I just sort of stood there for a minute, everything brighter and louder and more exciting suddenly. And then the others ran up to me, practically rubbing their hands together.

  ‘Did I just see you give Sam your number?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, as casually as I could.

  Cat shook her head, apparently very proud of me. ‘Mate,’ she said. ‘You fucking did it.’

  ‘You’re going to have fun,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘With Sam,’ she said.

  ‘Have you …?’ I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘When I first came out,’ said Rebecca. ‘She’s really good.’

  ‘Oi,’ said Bo, who had been listening to our conversation.

  ‘What?’ said Rebecca. ‘She is!’

  You might think I’d have been put off by Rebecca’s revelation, but I wasn’t. I hoped Sam would fuck me, teach me all about lesbian sex and send me on my way a seasoned lesbian, capable of discussing my past conquests in Dalston clubs with people I’d only just met.

  Sam texted me that night as I was getting into bed. Sleep tight, beautiful Julia … I’m free next weekend if you are. Sam x

  I crafted a reply that was neutral and noncommittal but open to sex: Yeah sure. Maybe next Saturday? Julia x

  She texted back straight away: Brilliant, babes. I’ll think of somewhere good to take you and let you know. Looking forward to it … will be thinking about it all week. She put a kiss emoji at the end of the text, which gave me a bit of a thrill.

  I closed my eyes and said a silent thank you to the universe. When I’d been sleeping with men, theoretically at least, I’d gone three years without so much as a bit of half-hearted fingering, and here I was, about to have sex with my second woman in as many months.

  10. A SEX-CUPBOARD STAPLE

  That March was the rainiest on record, and there was a leak in our terrible flat’s terrible skylight, but my swing dance classes and my new friends and the prospect of a date with Sam made the world seem sunny and the flat seem like a luxury apartment designed for Chinese investors. The Monday after I met Sam, I cheerfully put a washing-up bowl underneath the skylight and left for work, smiling at people as I walked to the Tube. My anxiety had a purpose now; it was excitement making my heart race, not nameless dread. But by Thursday, I still hadn’t heard from her. She had told me she’d be in touch, so I didn’t want to text her first. I spent my days listening out for her text, snatching up my phone whenever it buzzed in my pocket, keeping it in front of my computer screen at work so I wouldn’t miss anything. The only texts I got were PPI spam, or Alice telling me to buy milk, or Ella asking What’s happening?? When’s the date????

  Then on Friday, during a briefing about the new measures to tackle childhood obesity, my phone lit up with a text from Sam. Tom’s eyes flicked towards it. I pulled it under the table before he could read it.

  Still up for meeting? What’s your address? I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow.

  I had never been picked up at eight before.

  Smriti was saying something impressive about ‘horizons of expectations’ and everyone was nodding, so I nodded too. Owen looked at me and raised his eyebrows in a question.

  ‘Sam,’ I mouthed. ‘My date.’

  ‘Nice,’ he mouthed back.

  ‘Everything OK, Owen?’ Tom asked. ‘Anything you wanted to share with the group?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just – I agree with Smriti, really.’

  ‘About …?’

  ‘About what she was just saying.’

  I was nervous about the date, mostly for sex reasons. Jane had done much of the doing when we’d banged, and we hadn’t used any accoutrements. I had started watching The L Word as research, and from what I’d seen, I was worried that lesbian sex might be quite accoutrementheavy. I was hoping that things like dildos were for advanced-level shagging – not the sort of thing you’d whip out on a first meeting – but I didn’t want to expose myself as a beginner. I decided to text Ella for advice.

  Do you think Sam will expect me to have a strap-on? The Internet says it’s a sex-cupboard staple. I need some lesbian sex help.

  She replied straight away, with three laughy-cry-face emojis. I am NOT a sex expert but I’ll do my best. What are you doing on Saturday during the day? Want to go to a sex shop?!

  I’d never been to a sex shop before – hadn’t needed to. You can get everything you need for straight sex in Boots or in a vending machine in the pub toilets, if push comes to shove.

  ‘Where is it?’ Alice asked that morning as I was getting ready to go out. She was putting on her foundation, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Shoreditch,’ I said. I edged around her to pick up my toothbrush. ‘Can I get to the sink for a minute?’

  Alice sighed and stepped back to let me in. ‘You could have asked me to come.’

  I looked at her. ‘Why would you want to come to a sex shop?’

  ‘I have sex!’

  ‘It’s a women-only sex shop.’

  ‘I’m a woman!’

  ‘I’m going to be buying a dildo.’

  ‘Maybe I need a dildo.’

  ‘To use on Dave?’ I whispered.

  She shrugged. ‘Might spice things up a bit,’ she said, voice quieter now.

  ‘I can get you one,’ I said.

  Alice looked as though she was about to argue and then she shut her eyes for a moment and said, ‘Sorry. I’m being an idiot.’

  ‘Only a bit of an idiot,’ I said. The truth is, I liked Alice being jealous of me. I’d felt the same when she’d got together with Dave, all those years ago; suddenly the person I was used to doing everything with had someone else to do everything with. I’d hated it. But now Alice was going to have to get used to doing without me.

  The sex shop Ella took me to was called Sh!. ‘Everyone comes here,’ she told me. ‘It’s a rite of passage.’ As is the way with most things designed for women, it was decorated in various shades of pink and red and purple, so walking in felt like entering a large, latex-scented vagina. There were shelves full of sex toys and feminist porn, but I went straight for the books and cards. You know where you are with a book or a card. They might have nipples on them, but the nipples are non-threatening, two-dimensional nipples and no one will expect you to attach clamps to them or anything like that. But Ella wasn’t having any of it. She put her hand on my back and steered me towards the shelves of dildos, saying, ‘We did not come here to buy cards.’

  I glanced up at the dildos and glanced away again. I found them terrifying, frankly. I’d never been a big fan of penises, and I’d certainly never aspired to wield one myself. What if I was no good at thrusting?

  I scanned the shelves for an unintimidating cock. There were black ones and blue ones and purple ones, some as small as an index finger, some as thick as an arm.

  ‘What do you like the look of?’ Ella asked. She was studying me curiously and I had a feeling she was thinking about the size of my cunt.

  ‘I don’t think we know each other well enough for this,’ I said.

  ‘Just pick one.’

  I was baffled by all the choice. ‘Is this for someone else to use on me?’ I asked her. ‘Or for me to use on someone else?’

  ‘Both,’ she said. ‘Or you could buy several?’

  ‘I’m a junior civil ser
vant,’ I pointed out. ‘Buying one massive latex penis is a luxury as it is.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ella, ‘first of all, don’t call it a penis. There’s no man in this equation.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Second of all, this isn’t a luxury. It’s a lesbian essential. Once you’re properly seeing someone, you’ll come back and pick out a cock together. So think of this as your fall-back cock.’

  ‘My emergency cock.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  A shop assistant wandered up to us. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘Just looking, really.’

  ‘Have you bought a cock before?’

  ‘She hasn’t,’ Ella said, before I could answer.

  She nodded. ‘Are you into girth? Or, like, length?’

  I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I was used to taking what I was given when it came to cocks – having to choose my own felt like picking out a personality for myself. I ruled out the massive black ones as they seemed like the equivalent of a Ferrari – promising too much up front. I also ruled out the little thin glittery ones because really, what was the point? You might as well just use your fingers.

  ‘I like girth, I think,’ I said. ‘But I was thinking of something quite … all purpose.’

  ‘Got it,’ said the sales assistant. She reached up to a high shelf and took down a medium-sized dildo with ridges along its length. ‘This one’s good for beginners,’ she said. Which was embarrassing; a bit like someone at a pharmacy saying, ‘Good condoms for virgins, those.’

  ‘That looks great,’ I said, reaching for it, just wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

  ‘Ribbed for your pleasure,’ she said as she handed it over.

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Easy to aim, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Great.’

  I walked over to the till, but the shop assistant didn’t follow. ‘You’ll need a harness, too,’ she said, running her fingers over the display. ‘Leather is more traditional. Or you could try the underpants. They’re easier to get on and off, but they’re not as sexy.’ She picked up what looked like a pair of Y-fronts with a hole in them and stretched them to demonstrate their elasticity.

  There was an apple sticker stuck to the floor. I scuffed it with my foot.

  ‘The stretchy pants are easier,’ said Ella.

  ‘Don’t get them,’ said the shop assistant. ‘You need a real harness. It’s part of the ritual.’

  Ella laughed. ‘Yes, the ritual of having to stop in the middle of foreplay to strap yourself into a medieval torture device, and then you realize you’ve put your leg through the bum hole, and then you have to take it off again, except you’re stuck, and whoever you’re having sex with has to help you get out of it, and the moment’s totally gone—’

  ‘You get used to it,’ said the shop assistant. ‘If you do it often enough.’

  Ella rolled her eyes. ‘Try on a harness, then,’ she said.

  The shop assistant tossed me one.

  Working out how to put on the harness was like doing kinky cat’s cradle. I stepped into one of the holes, but Ella was right – it turned out to be the wrong one. She had to help me figure out how to put it on. She pulled on the straps to tighten it.

  ‘Now you put the cock in,’ said the sales assistant, handing it to me. I pushed it through the cock ring and there it was, standing up proudly in front of me, ready to pleasure the ladies. I felt completely ridiculous.

  ‘I’m telling you,’ said Ella. ‘The pants are much easier.’

  ‘But much less sexy,’ said the shop assistant, shrugging.

  I bought the leather harness.

  There was a display of mini-vibrators at the till point. I picked up a blue one and handed it to the shop assistant. ‘This too, please,’ I said. I’d give it to Alice, to make up for having new friends.

  ‘Now you’re a proper dyke!’ said Ella, as we left the shop.

  ‘Hooray!’

  ‘What are you doing now?’ said Ella. ‘Want to come to a vintage fair in Bethnal Green?’

  ‘I’d better not,’ I said. ‘I have to go home and get ready for my date.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Your date!’

  I felt a little ripple of foreboding.

  11. WHIPS ARE VERY TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

  I spent an unusual amount of time washing when I got home. I took the shower head and sprayed it inside my vagina. I wanted to make sure Sam wouldn’t have any complaints if I ended up going home with her. Or would she expect to come back to mine? In which case should I change the bed sheets? Should I trim my pubes? Or should I leave them unshaven so I couldn’t take my underpants off, taking that decision out of my hands? And did wanting to trim my pubes make me a bad feminist?

  Sam rang the doorbell at eight exactly. I opened the door, trying to block the view of the piles of shoes and coats in the un-Hoovered hallway, my arms crossed self-consciously; I was wearing Alice’s push-up bra. Here she was, an actual woman who actually wanted to take me on a date. And she was sexy, too, in slouchy black trousers and a black silk shirt.

  I felt sick with excitement. Or was it fear? I felt sick, either way.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ she said, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek.

  I made an involuntary noise. I felt like I might not make it through the evening without yelping through pure pent-up sexual frustration.

  ‘You too,’ I said.

  I smiled the smile of a woman who was totally used to going on dates with other women, no big deal. But as I unhooked my coat from the peg, I brought four other coats down with me, including Alice’s mad, oversized leopard-print rug of a jacket. I managed to hang the others back up, but the leopard-print rug slumped off the peg every time, collapsing at my feet, and I was growing frantic.

  Sam came up behind me and gently took the coat from my hand. She examined the neckline calmly, finding the fabric loop and slipping it over the peg. ‘Happens to me all the time,’ she said. She picked my coat up from the floor and held it out for me to slip my arms into, the sort of thing a receptionist at an expensive hairdresser might do.

  ‘Shall we?’ she said, offering me her arm.

  The light was fading and the windows of the houses opposite glowed yellow. A large part of me wanted to go back inside and curl up on the sofa with a bar of Green & Black’s, but Sam was leading me towards her car. She owned a car; I’d never been on a date with someone who owned a car before. It was a shit car, but so shit that it was trendy – an old Volvo painted brown on top and orange on the sides. Inside it smelled vaguely of cigarettes. Maybe she smoked. I didn’t know if I wanted to date someone who smoked.

  ‘The place we’re going is round the corner from my flat,’ she told me, as she turned the key in the ignition.

  ‘You didn’t have to come all the way out here to get me!’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m old-fashioned. In some ways. I know how to treat a lady on a first date.’ I winced – I do not like being called a lady – but then she squeezed my knee and the vibrations travelled up my leg to my cunt and I was tempted to pull the handbrake and beg her to fuck me right there in the car in the middle of Green Lanes.

  I didn’t, though, obviously. Instead, I asked, ‘What’s the restaurant called?’

  ‘Butter. Have you heard of it?’

  I had indeed heard of Butter; I’d seen endless photos of their dishes on Instagram. It wasn’t the sort of place badly paid public-sector employees went for dinner; even the bread basket was out of my price range. Would Sam be paying for the meal, as she’d asked me out and chosen the restaurant? But where would she get that kind of money? She was an artist, possibly the only job that paid worse than mine. And if she paid, would she think I owed her something – i.e. weird sex? No, I told myself. That is not how sex works. You never owe anyone sex.

  We walked up one of those recently posh East London streets to the restaurant, which glowed with the promise of expensive food
. Sam helped me off with my coat and pulled my chair out. She was really, really chivalrous; there’s no other word for it. She seemed determined to be a gentleman, and I’d decided not to go out with gentlemen any more. But she wasn’t a man, clearly. She looked nothing like a man, and sounded nothing like a man; she just had an incredible energy about her – feminine and masculine at the same time. Somehow she made me feel more female than I ever had in my whole life.

  I ordered asparagus to start.

  ‘We won’t be doing water sports tonight then,’ she said, ripping a piece of bread in half and taking a bite.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I don’t really like the taste of asparagus piss. This is the stuff, though,’ she said, chinking her glass to mine. ‘Prosecco’s perfect if you’re about to get kinky.’

  ‘Not champagne?’

  ‘Depends how often you want to do it. It can get expensive.’

  That set the tone for the evening. Sam brought everything back to sex, which, needless to say, wouldn’t have been my specialist subject on Mastermind. She asked me what I liked to do in bed in such a frank, disarming way that I almost answered. The only reason I didn’t was that I didn’t know what I liked to do in bed yet.

  There was no use pretending – I came clean and told her I’d only slept with one woman.

  ‘You shagged Jane? That night at the party?’

  ‘After a different party.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Sam nodded, eyebrows raised, impressed. ‘Well done. She’s hot. She’s a twat, though. But still – hot.’

  ‘Why is she a twat?’

  ‘I used to go out with one of her friends. She was a total dick about it, turned her against me. I think she was just jealous. Anyway, tell me more. Did she let you fuck her? And I hear she’s good with her tongue.’

  She wanted to know literally every detail of the encounter, and hearing me talk about it seemed to turn her on, which turned me on. I was so far out of my comfort zone I felt like I was pretending to be someone else; I was telling her things I’d barely let myself think before, let alone say.

  ‘Sex is my hobby,’ Sam told me, once we’d exhausted my sexual history (which took approximately three minutes). ‘It’s the number-one thing I love to do. I met most of my friends through the SM scene. We go to sex conventions together, things like that.’