Chapter Six
I stretched my arms up to the ceiling. That was a great sleep. Perhaps a little too good. Can’t believe it’s 12.07. Not surprising, considering I’d been up until silly o’clock reading that book.
Normally on a Saturday, I would have risen by 10 a.m. and tried to get the housework over and done with as quickly as possible. Hoovering (which took much longer now that I had Cuddles as her fur got everywhere, bless her), mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors, changing the bed sheets and doing goodness knows what else. I should dust and polish every week too, but I didn’t, so I was sure one day I’d be sent to hell for crimes against cleanliness.
After the housework, I’d usually put a pizza in the oven (I never cooked on Saturdays), then collapse on the sofa and watch a film. By 3 p.m. I’d vow to go to the gym, telling myself that it was important to stay in shape, but sometimes it was so hard to get motivated enough to drag my behind away from my warm cosy house. Much easier going straight after work. So typically I’d fall asleep for a few hours, wake up, watch another film, read a book or log on to the dating apps and swipe and message until I fell asleep again. Lazy, I know, but wasn’t that what weekends were for when you were single and didn’t have kids?
Sometimes I’d get woken up with a message from a guy asking if he could come over, and sometimes I would agree. Not always. Okay. Maybe eight times out of ten? It depended how I felt. Now that I’d read the book though, I’d definitely try and say no to booty calls more often.
Yes, the book.
I got out of bed, picked it up, headed to the kitchen, switched on the kettle and sat down at the reclaimed pine table. Like most of the house, in keeping with my favourite colour, the kitchen had a blue theme. Rustic blue kitchen cupboards teamed with ivory walls and floor tiles.
I flicked through the pages of the book again, zooming in on the mantras I’d highlighted and circled with pen whilst I was reading:
You are worthy of love
No cock without commitment
Could it really work for me? What Laurie said did make sense in theory. I just wasn’t sure if I could find a guy to love me enough to wait, or if I could hold out for that long. In the past year, I’d never gone more than a month or two without sex. If you don’t want or need it then fine. But if it’s being offered to you on a platter by a hot guy, it’s much harder to resist. Being able to just say no seemed a bit unrealistic.
I rested the book back on the table, and just as the kettle boiled, the doorbell rang.
I wasn’t expecting any visitors, and I looked a mess. I was in my fluffy pink pyjamas, my hair was tangled, plus I wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up, and I always had a full face on. Whether I was going to the office or working out at the gym. I didn’t like anyone seeing me with my skin exposed. Not even the postman. I was prone to breakouts, and if anyone saw me au naturel, they’d probably run for the hills.
I sprinted to the bathroom, grabbed my foundation, pumped it onto my make-up brush and applied big strokes all over my face. Thank God for my eyelash extensions. No need for mascara. I slicked on some pink lip gloss and quickly smudged on some eyeliner. Much better. The doorbell rang again.
I stepped out of my pyjama bottoms, pulled the top over my head and dragged on my push-up bra, a tight white vest and a green Lycra pencil skirt that was hanging on the back of the door.
The bell rang again. Then again. Gosh. So impatient!
‘I’m coming!’ I shouted as I gave the ends of my hair a quick brush, checked myself in the mirror, then raced to the door. I looked through the peephole. What’s my cousin doing here? Did we have plans to meet that I forgot about?
I opened the door.
‘Roxy? Hi?’
‘Hey, Alex!’ she said, bursting into the narrow hallway and kissing me on both cheeks. ‘What you up to? Just finished the housework and watching one of your cheesy films, no doubt?’
Am I really that predictable?
‘No, actually…’
‘Ah, so you must be about to make lunch before you watch a film, then. Well, no need. I’ve bought us pizza,’ she said, tossing her long fiery red hair over her shoulders, waltzing into the kitchen and putting the cardboard box on the table.
‘Thanks! I hadn’t quite got round to making lunch yet, as I woke up later than usual, so good timing.’
‘I was just on my way to Shane’s house, for some afternoon delight, and as it’s only around the corner, I thought I’d stop off here first,’ she said, unzipping her knee-high black leather boots, putting them under the table and pulling down her red velvet mini dress. Very glam for a Saturday afternoon, but that was Roxy all over. ‘So, how come you were up late, then? Heavy night, was it, Alex? Or did you have a guy stay over and you’ve just kicked him out?’ She winked.
‘No! I was just up late…reading,’ I said, rinsing off two plates and placing one on the table in front of her.
Just as the words exited my mouth, I saw Roxy glance down at the book.
Oh dear.
If there was anyone I would not want to see the book, it was her. Roxy was…how can I describe her? A lady who appreciated the company of men…preferably, without their clothes on.
Roxy and I used to see each other fairly regularly when we were teenagers. For some reason, she thought my mum was cool, perhaps because she was so liberal and not as strict as my aunt.
After uni, Roxy got married pretty quickly and moved out of London, and I hardly saw her. But then two years ago, when she hit forty, she got divorced and completely changed. Turned out, her ex was very controlling and she was never allowed to go out or have friends or any form of fun. Sex with her husband was always on his terms, and she never enjoyed it. So when she became single again, Roxy had been determined to make up for lost time and started partying and dating. Hard.
Difficult to imagine it now, but in her early days of newfound freedom, Roxy used to come to me to get tips on things like setting up a dating profile as she’d never used apps before. Roxy read a load of sex books and got herself back out there, and boy did she put all the theory she’d learnt into practice.
Unlike me, Roxy wasn’t one to get attached. She would happily date (translation: sleep with) multiple guys at a time (on different days, obviously. Roxy hadn’t told me of any orgies or swinging parties she’d been to. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past her…).
Roxy would tell them from the start that she was only interested in no-strings fun. ‘Don’t get attached to me,’ she’d warn, ‘and definitely don’t fall in love with me. You’ll only end up getting your heart broken.’ Can you imagine?
Most were thrilled to find a woman like her who didn’t hassle them for commitment. Whenever she felt the need, Roxy would simply text one of her FWBs (friends with benefits) and ask them to pop round. If one wasn’t free, there was always someone else waiting in the wings, only too happy to oblige. They’d come over and do the deed, and then she’d ask them to leave. Roxy didn’t do spooning, hugs or emotions. She didn’t want to cook them dinner, wash their socks, deal with them leaving the toilet seat up or listen to them snoring or farting in bed.
As far as she was concerned, men were there for pleasure. To fulfil a need. Nothing more, nothing less. Without that, they served no purpose. So you can understand why explaining a book which was based on the premise of a) committing to a guy and b) abstaining for six months to my highly sexed, anti-commitment cousin was going to go down like a lead balloon…
‘What’s this, then?’ she picked the book off the table. ‘Another one of your soppy girly books? Six Months to Love: Seven Sure-Fire Steps to Finding the One, by Laurie Love?’
I thought about snatching it away before she’d had a chance to read any further, but then I figured that would only draw more attention. Maybe she’ll just put it back down and say nothing…
‘Cup of tea?’ I asked, hoping to distract her.
‘A G&T would be lovely, thanks. I’m parched.’
She’s starting early.
I guessed it was almost 1 p.m. I put the kettle down, opened the blue kitchen cupboard and picked up the bottle of gin from the bottom shelf.
‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me!’ she shrieked.
‘Oh dear,’ I muttered, searching for the tonic water in the fridge and trying to avoid eye contact.
‘Please tell me you are not thinking about listening to this nonsense? No cock without commitment?’ Roxy said as she furiously flicked through the pages, her eyes drawn to the sections I’d circled. “When you’ve found the one, you need to keep your pussy padlocked for at least six months. Then and only then should you let his key enter your treasure chest?” WTF! Is this woman telling you that you can’t fuck a guy for six months?’
‘Would you like ice?’ I replied, turning my back to her as I took a glass from the dishwasher and completely ignored her question.
‘JFC! Jesus fucking Christ! Where did you get this ridiculous book from?’
On second thoughts, maybe I’d scrap the tea too. If Roxy was going to grill me like a lamb chop, which I now knew with absolute certainty was exactly what was going to happen, I was going to need something stronger. I took a bottle of rosé from the fridge and poured myself a large glass.
‘Here you go,’ I said, putting her G&T in front of her and opening up the pizza box. ‘Ooh, you got extra mushrooms and peppers. My favourite!’ I took a large gulp of my wine, hoping for the best.
‘Nice try,’ Roxy folded her arms. ‘But now that I know you’re deliberately trying to avoid answering the question, I’m even more intrigued to find out why you’re reading this horseshit.’
Knowing she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, I took a deep breath and explained everything to her. The persistent ghosting, the conversation with Stacey, Stacey buying me the book. Me dismissing it, then seeing Stacey’s hot husband and deciding to give it a quick skim for research purposes only—and now, having read it, trying to decide whether or not I should give it a go.
With every sentence I uttered, Roxy rolled her eyes and tutted loudly, which is exactly what I would have predicted. When I’d finished what felt like a business pitch, she folded her arms again.
‘So let me get this straight: you’re not going to have sex for six months because you want to find a man?’
‘Well, I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to do it yet. But, yes, that is one of the key principles of the challenge.’
Her frown deepened. Judging by the way Roxy’s face was contorting, you’d think I’d just tried to explain quantum physics backwards in German.
‘WTF! Sorry, but I just don’t get it,’ she said, tossing the book back onto the table. ‘Sex is a basic human need. Why would you want to give that up voluntarily? People are crying out for more of it and you’re telling me that when you’ve got hotties throwing themselves at you, you’re going to turn them down? YOLO, my love. What if you’re dead in five months? You would have spent your last days being frustrated. That’s no way to live, my darling cousin.’
She just isn’t going to get it. I finished chewing my slice of pizza.
‘I know it sounds crazy,’ I took another glug of my wine for Dutch courage, ‘but like I told you, I’ve tried every dating app under the sun and been out with dozens of guys, and it always ends the same way. We sleep together and I get dumped. I need to do something different to break the cycle.’
‘I hear what you’re saying,’ she said with her mouth full, ‘but you don’t need to give it up for six months to find the right guy. In fact, maybe you should increase the amount you’re having. Be safe, obviously, but date multiple guys. That way if one drops off, you’re not bothered. On to the next. Just grow a backbone, don’t catch feelings, and keep dating and fucking until you find the man you like the most. Simple.’
If only. One session in the sack, and as much as I tried not to, I was already wishing this guy was the one, designing my wedding dress, planning the furniture in our new home and what school our children would be going to. The book said women with more testosterone had less oxytocin so were less likely to get hooked on a guy after sex, so maybe that was why Roxy could stay so detached. That just wasn’t me. At least it seemed she agreed with the multiple interviews approach Laurie had suggested.
‘Yes,’ I said, tearing off another slice of pizza, ‘if I did the challenge, I would be dating multiple guys. Just not sleeping with them.’
‘Bollocks!’ She slammed her glass on the table. ‘Dating multiple guys without checking under their bonnet is pointless. Try before you buy. Isn’t that what your mum always taught us? You wouldn’t buy a new car without test-driving it first. And you only keep a car for a few years, then trade it in for a new version. If you’re planning to tie yourself down—which, having been married, I think is crazy, but each to their own—anyway, if that whole commitment malarkey does appeal to you, then you’re talking about screwing the same guy over and over again for half a century. Surely you can see why it’s important to know what you’re getting and whether he’ll float your boat? If you can’t understand that, then you’re insane!’
‘I’m not talking about waiting to get married,’ I argued. ‘Just holding out, you know, waiting a bit. Until I know they’re serious…’
‘A bit?’ she shouted. ‘What is wrong with you, woman?’ she said, slapping her forehead. ‘A few days or a few weeks is a bit. But six months? That’s like punishment. People who commit crimes go to prison for much less. Let’s say you do hold out. You spend half a year getting to know each other, holding hands and planning your happy ever after and then when D-Day, as in Dick Day, finally arrives, you put on your saucy underwear, dust off your cobwebs and get ready for action, only to find that this perfect guy’s manhood is smaller than your little finger and he can’t satisfy you. What then?’
‘Well, size doesn’t always matter,’ I muttered half-heartedly. I felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead as I pictured that awkward scenario with a guy called Norm a few years ago, when he’d dropped his pants to reveal a micropenis. I hadn’t wanted him to feel bad as I could already sense that he was self-conscious, so we’d carried on kissing and touching. All the while, I was hoping he was a grower and not a shower, but it took a nosedive when, after putting on the condom (which didn’t roll down very far), I suggested that he enter me, only for him to tell me that he was already inside. I couldn’t feel a thing. Oh gosh. That was so embarrassing. In the end, we’d opted for oral, which was actually amazing on both counts. Giving head was a breeze and his cunnilingus skills were off the chart. Now that I thought about it, whilst we hadn’t really engaged in penetrative sex again, the couple of other times we’d met up, he was actually very good with his tongue and hands.
See? It’s not all about size. Surely it’s much better to have a lovely guy with a small peen than a fuckboy with a big one? Right? Right…?
‘We’ll love each other and find a way to make it work,’ I replied optimistically. ‘Do other things.’
‘Size does matter! What other things are you going to find to do for fifty years? And size is only the tip of the iceberg, if you’ll pardon the pun. Say he is a decent size, but when you do it there’s just no connection. He doesn’t make the earth move. What then?’
She did have a good point. What would I do? Just as I was scanning my brain for a response, as if by divine intervention, the doorbell rang.
Bloody hell. I don’t get any visitors for ages, unless it’s a booty call, and then today I have two in the space of an hour.
‘Is that the door?’ I said, hot-footing into the hallway. I looked into the peephole. It was my next-door neighbour, Audrey, clasping an orange pot.
‘Hi, Audrey!’ I opened the door.
‘Good afternoon, Alex. Are you busy? Have you eaten? I’ve just finished cooking some pumpkin soup and I’ve made far too much, so thought you might like some to enjoy whilst you’re watching one of your romantic films.’
I hadn’t realised I was that predictable. Literally
everyone this side of London seemed to know my weekend routine.
‘That’s so kind. Thank you. We’ve just eaten, but feel free to come in anyway,’ I opened the door fully.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Alex. I didn’t realise you had company. I don’t want to intrude. I won’t stay long.’
‘No, no!’ I said, my voice going up several octaves as I realised the benefits of her timely visit. ‘You’re more than welcome. Come in. Please!’
Not only did I enjoy Audrey’s company, but with her joining us, there was no way that Roxy would be able to continue our conversation. As well as talking about what was going on in each other’s lives, sometimes Audrey and I chatted about how things were in her day, and Roxy wouldn’t last more than five minutes listening to those stories before making an excuse to leave. Audrey’s timing was perfect.
‘Roxy, this is my neighbour, Audrey. Audrey this is my cousin, Roxy.’
‘Pleasure to meet you,’ said Roxy politely. Such a contrast to the potty-mouthed comments that had tumbled out of her mouth mere seconds ago.
‘Likewise,’ Audrey shook her hand. She was dressed in a pretty floral three-quarter length wrap dress and a chunky sea-green necklace, with her striking silver bob skimming her cheekbones. She always looked so elegant.
‘Please, have a seat,’ I said, pulling out the wooden chair and placing the pot on the stove. ‘Audrey popped over with some soup and to have a chat. I do love our conversations. Particularly the ones where we talk about how things were in the good old days,’ I stressed. Audrey’s face brightened. ‘Sometimes our chats can go on for hours. We really get into it. So if you need to head off to see your friend Wayne, we’ll totally understand…’
Don’t get me wrong, it was good to see Roxy, but we were never going to agree on the philosophy of the book, so her heading off to have fun with her latest fuckbuddy would be better all round.
Only When It's Love: A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel: Holding Out For Mr Right Page 4
