‘He looks fit, Phoebe. You sure you won’t go there again?’
I knocked back my tequila and glanced over at him. ‘Another couple of these and I won’t be sure of anything.’
After the gig (loose definition, it was a bunch of twenty-year-olds, mimicking early Blink-182 and failing miserably), I was drunk but still just able to hold a conversation. Even so, I was genuinely surprised when Richard cornered me outside the toilets and felt me up. After that, we left everyone at the pub and went back to his place again. After a couple of glasses of wine at his flat, things got interesting. This time around he was very gentle, took his time and when he found the special spot I have on my neck with his mouth, my clothes fell to a crumpled heap on his floor. I love the fact that most men have a body part they favour: with Oliver it’s my bottom, Stuart at work always stares at my legs and Richard is like a chubby kid at a chocolate factory when it comes to my breasts. I left right afterwards; I don’t want him thinking I’m his girlfriend and I hope he understands that. I did meet his flatmate on the way out (well-built, boyishly handsome and covered in tattoos) and walked to the nearby taxi rank with wobbly legs and a secret smile, wondering if said flatmate would be up for a threesome. Am I now incapable of even seeing a member of the opposite sex without immediately rating him for shag potential?
Monday March 7th
Oliver is back, thank the lord for that. I made him get his ass over here pronto this evening and practically mounted him in the hallway. The session with Richard on Saturday only seems to have fuelled my raging libido and after a marathon session, we lay in bed.
‘Do I give good head?’ I asked, while trying to un-cramp my toes.
‘No. You give fucking GREAT head,’ he replied, lighting a fag. ‘It’s honestly remarkable! You have this two-handed, tongue-and-lips combination thing you do. You should teach that shit – you’d be loaded.’
‘Are you messing with me now? Is it just average but you’re frightened if you tell me that I’ll sulk and never go down on you again?’
‘Jesus, take a compliment. You give exceptional head. Your reverse cowgirl needs some work, but apart from that I’m happy.’
I was tempted to argue the cowgirl case, but he has a point. I’ve never been that comfortable doing it. I always feel off balance and it’s definitely a good thing that my back is turned so he can’t see the look of sheer concentration on my face. I’m sure sometimes my tongue sticks out when I’m really focusing.
Friday March 11th
I arranged this morning off work in order to go underwear shopping. I have two sets of ‘sexy time’ lingerie which have recently been through the wash approximately seventy-five times and are on the verge of disintegrating. I did my best to ignore my sensible side, which just wanted to buy reasonably priced black and white sets and opted instead for some overpriced red ones, electric blue ones and a black corset and suspender set, all of which I hope will make Oliver hard before I’ve even put them on. After all, it’s only fair. If he turned up wearing worn out Y-fronts all the time I’d be less than impressed. I arrived back at work, armed with carrier bags which I made sure to hide in my locked drawer – the last time Lucy bought underwear and left the bags lying around, she came back into the office to find everyone modelling at least one item. Even me.
I ignored the client messages waiting for me and called Oliver instead.
‘I bought new underwear.’
‘Shit. Did you? Anything in blue?’
‘Maybe. We can try that anal thing tonight. Let’s just get it over with.’
‘Fuckin’ hell, Phoebe, I’m not giving you a root canal.’
‘I’m sure that’s less invasive.’
‘You’ll love it. I’ll be over around nine.’
By the time he arrived I’d ‘prepared’ myself with an enema kit. I felt nauseous. Did I really think I was going to shit all over the floor? What the hell am I, an elephant? I was actually more worried about getting poo everywhere than any sort of pain element, but Oliver had promised to stop if it hurt.
I wore my new blue underwear.
He couldn’t stop grinning. ‘You look amazing! And we’re doing anal! This is the best night ever!’
‘Oh fuck. I’m nervous.’
‘Look, Phoebs, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’
‘I do. We do. I’m fed up with wondering what it’s like. This is an integral part of my sexual metamorphosis.’
‘Let’s have a drink first. Maybe a Valium? Some ketamine?’
‘Oliver! You’re making it worse!’
Half an hour and a strong Jack and Coke later, I was ready. Oliver returned from the bathroom and put a towel down on the floor.
Jesus! I thought. HOW MESSY IS THIS GOING TO GET? quickly followed by, THAT’S MY BEST TOWEL!
I was pretty sure I knew what was going to follow: fore-play, finger work, lots of lube and then me shouting and making an ouchy face. I braced myself.
But it was not what I imagined at all.
We started messing around and, as ever, I was good to go as soon as Oliver kissed my neck, but then he made me bend down on all fours and disappeared behind me. Startled, I glanced over my shoulder to see him lubing up his fingers with a slight smirk on his face.
It felt odd as he started, not unpleasant, but definitely odd. I must have clenched up because he started to massage my breasts with his other hand, while slowly circling my clit with his thumb. It worked. Before I knew it there were two fingers in there and I suddenly felt a huge wave of arousal wash over me. After that, it took a while for him to get fully inside me: lots of me telling him to slow the fuck down! and serious amounts of lube, but once we started and I finally got over the fact that it felt like I had to use the toilet, I was hooked. The feeling is hard to describe but it was definitely enjoyable.
It was also perhaps the most submissive thing I’ve ever done. I could hardly move and the whole experience was overwhelming. I’m so glad that I picked someone I knew wouldn’t abuse the obvious amount of power it gave him and who understood it wasn’t an area you just take a run at. Oliver was gentle, made sure I was happy with everything, and was extremely vocal about how ‘fucking hot’ he found the whole thing. As did I.
He stayed over and we did it until we both couldn’t move any more. Anal + vibrator = OOFT! That’s all I have to say about today. Oliver and I should have been doing this daily since high school. So this challenge was a huge success. I’m a complete convert. Big time.
Monday March 14th
After work the girls and I went to get our nails done at a new salon on Byres Road. I’d arranged some free advertising in the paper in exchange for the manicures and the promise that they’d never mention it to my boss. Lucy and I met Hazel outside, then took our seats at the nail bar, sipping free Prosecco and choosing our colours.
‘Black,’ I decided, dismissing the array of pastels displayed in front of me.
I could feel Hazel staring at me. ‘Stop being so emo, Phoebe. I thought this was the new you.’
‘OK, tell you what: I’ll get whatever colour you think, if YOU get the black, Hazel.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Hazel with black nails? Jesus, whatever would the yummy mummies think? You’d be thrown out of the mother-and-baby class.’
‘Black just isn’t me,’ Hazel replied coolly, running her hand through her blonde hair. ‘Kevin would hate it, but I couldn’t care less what those idiot mothers think.’
‘Prove it then.’ I held up her usual shade of pearly pink and swapped it with the black I’d already chosen. ‘You do it and so will I.’
We left the salon forty-five minutes later: Lucy with her usual red, me with nails by Barbie and Hazel with black talons that looked incredible.
I got a text from her half an hour ago:
So Kevin likes my nails. A lot. Who’d have thought it?
This might sound like the lamest dare ever made, but getting Hazel to be even a wee bit rock and roll is worth walking around w
ith nails like marshmallows for the next two weeks.
Tuesday March 15th
So with anal very successfully achieved it’s on to the next challenge on my list: role play. A programme I saw on TV tonight gave me a few ideas. A couple had hired a company to help them play out their ‘abduction’ fantasy: guy gets jumped by blokes in balaclavas who shout at him loudly, then he gets bundled into a van and taken to a remote house where his captor (i.e. wife) is waiting, dressed as a terrifying but sexy dominatrix. I have to say, the whole idea is pretty cool and I was impressed they’d actually hired outside help. I’ve never participated in any kind of role play before, mainly because it has always struck me as something for bored married couples. Well, except for a really dodgy French maid’s outfit I bought over the internet once, which looked très ridiculous and soon found its way into the bin (not least because Adam, the bloke I was seeing, actually let me clean his bedroom before we had sex, which I refuse to believe was just to ‘help me stay in character’). I’ll call Oliver tomorrow and discuss what we should do. I BET he says ‘hooker’, the little shit.
Wednesday March 16th
I work with the strangest group of people, and if it wasn’t for Lucy I’m sure I’d have killed at least one of them by now. As it’s a sales environment, they’re all obsessed with the team bonus, which can only be achieved when we hit target. Of course, this only applies to the sales team, so admin-extraordinaire Lucy doesn’t give a shit and frequently offers to make them all a big cup of SHUT THE FUCK UP. The thing is, they never want to buy anything interesting with the extra money. For Brian it’s always something new and decidedly boring for his car, and I can see Kelly already planning her next fake-tanning session with Jennifer; a woman who ‘totally doesn’t streak you so is worth the £40’. (I could see everyone eyeing up her streaky legs and making a mental note to avoid Jennifer and her tanning gun like the plague.) The worst of them all is Frank, who is clearly an idiot but a very clever one. He gets paid big wads of cash to do sod all and then buys stuff with it. Not content with his upside-down artwork, he came blazing into the office today with a new piece of bling, which makes all other bling weep uncontrollably and want to try harder. ‘It’s a one-off, you know,’ said Frank, waving his wrist around the office like a magician. ‘Only one like it.’
Lucy grabbed his arm to take a closer look: ‘My, my. You have your initials on there and everything. That. Is. Special.’
The sad thing is, the majority of people in the office, even Stuart, were actually impressed, but I’ll forgive him one tiny mistake because I love him.
From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Tick Tock
That watch makes me want to stab Frank in the face, but strangely I find him sexy today. Shame he’s such a prick as I totally would. He looks like David Duchovny. Ever noticed that?
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Lucy Jacobs
Subject: Re: Tick Tock
I wish that last email had a ‘dislike’ button.
From: Lucy Jacobs
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Re: Tick Tock
Remember my birthday dinner on Sunday. Can you bring some wine with you? Thanks love x
Shit, I had totally forgotten. I must buy her that spa voucher. How do I manage to have any friends at all?
Thursday March 17th
I left the office in record time this evening and zoomed home to get ready for the first role play I had planned with Oliver. We’ve decided on three scenarios, and the first is based on the very common university student/lecturer scenario: Mr Webb and Miss Henderson having a one-to-one tutorial which inevitably ends up in some serious and somewhat illicit shagging. A no-nonsense prim and proper student arrived at Oliver’s flat, complete with a folder full of essays (well, actually just a couple of magazines I’d been reading on the train), dressed casually in jeans with suitably provocative underwear hidden underneath.
‘Hello, Phoebe. Are you ready for our session?’ were the first words ‘Mr Webb’ uttered as he opened his door, dressed in a suit with his hair all dishevelled.
Fuck me, Oliver had made the effort.
We sat down, and as we stared across the kitchen table at each other I remembered something important: I hadn’t planned this part. Shit. I had been so excited about playing out this fantasy that I’d overlooked a vital detail: how the hell do we actually act this out? My improv skills are dodgy to say the least, and I could almost hear myself being heckled with ‘Ooh, matron!’ as I racked my brains trying to avoid anything that sounded like a Robin Askwith or Sid James line.
Oliver, on the other hand, had obviously put some thought into it, and just as I was about to panic he reached for something under the table.
‘I’ve got some material for you to look over, Miss Henderson. You can let me know if you need anything explained in more detail.’
He handed me three porn magazines and sat back.
I started to browse through them, pleased that they weren’t ‘barely legal’ or ‘gummy granny’ mags and felt my cheeks go red, not so much because I was embarrassed but because this was starting to be the hottest thing I’d ever done in my life.
I undid some buttons on my cardigan, showing a glimpse of the red balcony bra I’d bought. He’d told me before that red underwear gets him hard, and I intended to find out just how true that was. I made him wait for a few minutes, studying the magazines, licking my lips and feeling his gaze fixed upon my mouth.
‘I don’t understand this,’ I said, sliding the magazine across the table. ‘Can you explain exactly how this works?’
He put on his glasses to look at the page I’d turned to and I started to ache. A handsome man in glasses has the same effect on me as red underwear does on Oliver. As he stood up to walk behind my chair, the bulge in his trousers told me everything I needed to know, so I undid another couple of buttons. He leant in and his breath on my neck made me tingle all over.
‘This is a complex position, Miss Henderson,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘I could explain it to you or I could show you.’
He slid one hand inside my bra and I could hear him undoing his belt with the other. I was so turned on I forgot to be sensible, abandoned my character and turned around, pulling him in towards the kitchen table. He had my jeans off in record time but I made him keep his shirt and tie on. Oh, and his glasses.
My preconceived notion that role play is only for couples who’ve become bored with their sex lives has been totally overturned. I was still horny as I stood in the shower afterwards. To say it was a success would be an understatement.
‘I can’t believe you have porn magazines. I mean, the internet is full of free stuff. Why would you buy those?’ I asked, stepping out of the shower and beginning to dry myself.
‘I’ve had them for years. They might be collector’s items one day.’
‘In what universe? The one where people collect old scud books covered in Irish DNA? If you shone a UV light on those magazines it’d look like a crime scene.’
‘Fair point.’
I made us some tea and we took it back to bed. I stayed over; it was too cosy to go home. Today was a good day.
Saturday March 19th
I was shopping for wine for Lucy’s party tomorrow when I bumped into Alex AGAIN. What a feckin’ disaster. Everything was fine at first: he was handsome, I got butterflies in my stomach and I even felt grateful when he was nice to me. I mean, really? It’s like I’ve learned nothing. We began flirting (I’m such an idiot) and then Miss Tits appeared round the corner with a box of wine wedged between her breasts.
‘Oh. Phoebe.’ She looked uncomfortable.
‘Brilliant,’ I sighed under my breath. ‘There’s no show without Punch, eh? I’m glad to see this charade is still being played out.’
As I started to walk away, Miss Tits shouted, ‘We’re getting married, Phoebe! End of the year. Get over it.’
I could feel my face flushing and
I swung around to face Alex again.
‘Married?! Oh, what an idiot I am! So one minute you’re all flirty with me and the next you’re GETTING MARRIED? To THAT? So telling me you didn’t see the need for marriage was yet another lie? What, are you going to live happily ever after with that giant box of wine and her giant tits?’
‘HANG ON A MINUTE!’ she shouted, looking as if she was about to spontaneously combust.
‘Hang on for what? So you can sleep with my boyfriend? Oh, wait, YOU ALREADY DID THAT!’
‘Let’s go, Lexy,’ she said, placing her hand in his while he stood there enjoying the carnage.
‘LEXY? Oh Christ, there’s a pet name and everything. How about CUNTY? That seems more appropriate.’
As they rushed off grumbling I took the piss out of her age and wine choice by telling her that her box of wine was best served in ‘nineteen fucking seventy’. It was not my finest hour. I’m not sure whether I was angry, or surprised, or just annoyed with myself for letting my guard down with him. For a second while we were chatting I missed him, I really missed him. What the fuck is the matter with me?
Sunday March 20th
I arrived at Lucy’s house at around eight for her birthday dinner with Paul and Hazel. Oliver had to work so I gave her a bottle of champagne on his behalf. She lives half an hour away from me in a house that her grandparents left her, on a tiny little estate which is quiet, pretty and very posh. The house is a two-bedroom bungalow with a massive living/dining room and a bathroom with a whirlpool bath. It’s no wonder she’s always late for everything; I’d be in no hurry to leave either. Sam was there to wish her happy birthday, but had to go to band practice. He swaggered off before we ate and, thankfully, there was no mention of Richard. Lucy loved her spa voucher and dinner was delicious. As a birthday gift Paul had paid a local Mexican restaurant to prepare a small feast for us. Paul and Lucy have a strange relationship. They also became friends when he worked at The Post but became much closer than Paul and I ever did. They’re rather like siblings – they love each other to death but pick on each other constantly.
The List Page 8
