After dessert we had coffee and tablet and I shared my earlier encounter with Alex and Miss Tits, hoping someone would make me feel better about it.
‘If he wants to shag someone a hundred years older than him, he’s an idiot,’ announced Lucy.
‘Well, you’re shagging someone a hundred years younger. I’m going to start calling you Humbert,’ Paul commented.
‘Stop being mean to me on my birthday, you gaylord.’
This went on until we started on the vodka and Hazel passed out in the toilet.
I’m home now and the question that’s still gnawing away at my heart isn’t why is he marrying her … It’s why didn’t he want to marry me?
I am not coping with this well at all. PAM POTTER, WHERE ARE YOU?
Wednesday March 23rd
I called Pam first thing this morning demanding an appointment and she agreed to fit me in after her last session at six. It’s now just after three and I’ve been thinking about Alex and THAT WOMAN all day … and their wedding … and their future children … and generally just making myself ill over the whole matter. I want to talk to Lucy or Hazel about how I’m feeling, but I’m aware there’s only so much whining they can take before they lose the plot with me for being so pathetic. God knows I’m angry enough at myself.
8 p.m. My session with Pam went well. It was such a relief to just vomit out all the crap that’s been festering away inside my head. Highlights included:
(On Alex)
Pam: Why are you so angry that he’s getting married?
Me: He always said he’d never get married. Now I know it’s that he just didn’t want to get married to me. I feel like a fool.
(On this diary)
Pam: We discussed keeping a journal last year. Have you made an effort to do that?
Me: Yes. Oh yes. Lots of writing. I’m keeping a note of everything. Although the content is mostly sexual. It’s like the Secret Diary of Oestrogen Mole. (She didn’t laugh.)
(On sex)
Me: I don’t know why my sex life is so important now.
Pam: I think the question should be why you didn’t think your sex life was important then?
Good point. I feel a lot better having had a rant to someone other than my mates. At least Pam didn’t start a fight and call me a gaylord. But at the end of the session she told me she’s going to visit her family in Florida for a few weeks so I’ll have to bore someone else with my troubles while she’s gone.
Thursday March 24th
This month seems to be going from bad to worse. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more abysmal, something happened today which made me wish I’d never embarked on this bloody list of bloody challenges. While Frank was out for a meeting, I decided, in my infinite wisdom, that I would use his office to give Oliver a surprise sex call at work. Only Frank came back, didn’t he? He came back just as I was uttering the words ‘I’m going to take your cock in my mouth—’ Frank took the receiver out of my hand, said, ‘Indeed you are not,’ and hung up.
I have to go in first thing tomorrow for a meeting and I want to vomit. Of course, Oliver thinks this is hysterical and doesn’t appreciate that my boss has no sense of humour.
‘He’s a guy, Phoebe – he’ll be laughing about this with his wife.’
‘He’s divorced.’
‘OK, then he’ll be having a wank while thinking about you putting his—’
‘ARGHH. Shut up!’
‘Look, I’ve met your boss. He’s an uptight knob. This is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to him.’
‘So you don’t think he’ll sack me?’
‘Well, I didn’t say that …’
‘Oh God. I’m totally getting fired.’
Friday March 25th
This morning I snuck furtively into the office only to discover that Frank wasn’t in, which meant I was able to relax for exactly half an hour before he rang and told me we’d have our meeting on Monday morning instead. Wanker. I now have the whole weekend to cry and job hunt. I spent the rest of the afternoon taking too many fag breaks and flirting on Twitter with @granted77. He’s changed his picture to one of his face and he’s rather attractive. I’m now at home, pacing up and down my living room, wondering if I should learn a trade.
Monday March 28th
I sat meekly in the morning meeting, wishing Frank would suddenly have a fatal heart attack and I’d be off the hook. Afterwards I crept into his office for my inevitable humiliation and sacking. Or so I thought.
‘We seem to have a problem, Phoebe. You used my office for personal calls and from what I overheard it wasn’t a family emergency.’
‘Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.’ I tried to remember exactly what I’d said. ‘How much did you hear?’
‘Enough, Phoebe, I heard enough. From your emails I’m also aware that your mind hasn’t been on the job for a while. These challenges of yours seem more important than giving a hundred per cent to your job, which is what you’re paid to do.’
The sneaky bastard. ‘YOU READ MY EMAILS? THAT’S—’
He shushed me. He actually shushed me! ‘Do you want to keep your job, Phoebe?’
‘Of course I do! Look, I’m sorry. It was … unprofessional.’
‘With a poor reference from this company, chances of finding anything else in the current market are pretty slim.’
‘I get it, Frank. I’ve apologized. What more do you want?’
He paused for a moment and began shuffling some papers on his desk. He seemed flustered.
‘Well … I …’
‘Put me on probation, anything.’
‘There is one thing that, um …’
He started typing on his keyboard, staring at his computer screen, which wasn’t switched on.
‘What thing? Jesus, Frank! Just tell me what I have to do to keep my job.’
He remained silent and my nerves began to get the better of me. I could feel my bottom lip trembling. I stood up to leave and he motioned me to wait before replying: ‘Add me to your list.’
‘What did you say?’ I asked in disbelief.
‘Let’s just say things aren’t going so well for me … with the ladies. Perhaps you can give me a few lessons, I can’t get past a third date, I—’
Totally weird. ‘I’m not sure I’m the best person to be sharing this with … ’
‘Look, bottom line: if you help me out, I won’t take this any further.’
We both stared at each other for a minute in some sort of bizarre Mexican stand-off. I was furious.
‘Help you out? Fuck off, Frank! I’m not sleeping with you; I’d rather get fired. This is blackmail.’
‘I didn’t say I’d sleep with you. God no. You’re heavier than I’d normally go for anyway. Just some direction. I must be doing something wrong and I feel you’re the girl to help me find out what that is. You just think about it, and let me know tomorrow.’
So I’m thinking about it. He’s already sent me two emails and I can tell that he’s actually kind of desperate. Could I even consider this? Could I turn this pretentious twat into someone worth dating? At the moment I’m so angry with him I want to violently pluck out my own eyelashes.
Tuesday March 29th
So I caved. After considering the alternative, which involves signing on at the job centre and having to make up excuses as to why I’d been sacked, I’ve decided to help Frank out. It seems I now have an additional challenge to add to the list, which keeps me in a job I hate but need and has helped me take my mind off Alex and Bridezilla. It hasn’t taken my mind off Stuart and his tight bum though. He emailed me this afternoon:
From: Stuart Sinclair
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Afternoon
Nice Legs. Back to work then.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Stuart Sinclair
Subject: Re: Afternoon.
Oh, you’re for it.
Wednesday March 30th
Back to business
and the next role play will involve me being a prostitute and Oliver my punter. That little gem was all his idea. And not the ‘Belle de Jour’, tea and crumpets, ‘why don’t you have a lovely shower?’ type of call girl, oh no. That would have been way too civilized. Oliver wants me dressed like a dirty girl: high heels, miniskirt, fishnets and every other stereotypical item of clothing you’d see in a bad film involving streetwalkers, pimps and two maverick detectives on a stakeout. Actually, most of his fantasy role play suggestions involved really clichéd scenarios like doctors and nurses, someone coming round to fix the remote control or something equally lame, but it’s only fair that he gets one of his choices in this particular challenge too. ‘Just be dirty and don’t cry if I’m mean to you.’
I have a horrible feeling I’m going to end up looking like an eighties tranny. If any money changes hands, I’m fucking keeping it.
Thursday March 31st
‘What the hell? This office smells like gravy,’ I announced as I walked in this morning.
Brian looked up from his desk and raised his coffee mug. ‘Bovril,’ he declared triumphantly. ‘What’s wrong, don’t you like something meaty in the morning?’
‘Oh, please, it’s too early for innuendo, Brian, and that stuff reeks.’
‘I’m nearly finished. You’d be useless at a football match – we drink gallons of it.’
‘Yet another reason to avoid sport.’
He shrugged and carried on drinking it while I made gagging noises from the other side of the room. Knob.
The day dragged. I drank about twenty cups of tea and pissed about on Twitter. I practically ran out of the office at five, desperate to get home and have a lazy evening, but when I got to the station my train home was delayed. Fucking typical. I sat in Burger King for forty-five minutes, nursing a milkshake and fries and contemplating what an odd month it’s been. I’ve shagged a younger bloke, lost my anal cherry, done my first proper role play and somehow agreed to make my boss more datable to avoid being sacked. I’m exhausted. This is shaping up to be an interesting year.
APRIL
Friday April 1st
Richard texted me at six this morning, telling me he wants to see me again. I politely but firmly replied no, thank you. What would be the point in that? I already have a fuck buddy.
Saturday April 2nd
Scottish weather is the worst. It rained so hard today that there was nothing to do but sit around in my dressing gown talking shit on Twitter, watching YouTube videos and eating biscuits. I’ve been horny as hell and started sending Oliver pictures of my breasts, mainly because I knew he was stuck in work all day and it amused me to think of him getting an erection at an inappropriate time. Women have it easy in that respect – we can be completely aroused and no one will ever know. Richard texted me AGAIN, after I told him already I’m not interested. I’ve ignored him. Jesus, man, take the hint!
From: Oliver Webb
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Bored
Nice tits. More please.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Oliver Webb
Subject: Re: Bored
You must be bored. There’s an internet full of tits much more impressive than mine. Anyway you shouldn’t be looking at tits. God is watching.
Oh, I watched that porn film you left here. Well, parts of it. Didn’t really do it for me, there was too much rimming, and he kept his socks on. Rimming with socks on is never a turn-on.
When do you finish?
From: Oliver Webb
To: Phoebe Henderson
Subject: Re: Bored
Rimming with socks on? That’s what I’m going to call the first Native American child we adopt.
I’m on till 10, then I’m going out with a girl called Sandra who thinks I’m charming. She’s right, of course. Well, if you’re not going to send me any more boobs I’m not going to send you a picture of my cock.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Oliver Webb
Subject: Re: Bored
Good. I’ve just eaten. Fine, go and play with Sandra then, but that’s an unimaginative name and she won’t send you boobs pics like I do. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
So given that Oliver’s going to be spending all evening and probably tomorrow morning with Sandra Dullname, the hooker role play will have to wait.
Next up is sex outside. I’ve always fantasized about it – I’m not talking about going so far as dogging, but the thought of being watched or even caught sends a naughty shiver up my spine.
The majority of my sex life hasn’t been especially adventurous: mainly on my back in bed, nice and safe, away from prying eyes and risk free. I blame myself for this. It would be easy to say that my partners have all been sexual bores, but for all I know they might have been up for skydiving sex or bungee humping but I never enquired. I do remember once asking Alex if he’d be into using sex toys and he looked at me like I’d just pissed in his favourite trainers. Now that I think about it, I’m quite stunned that I’ve been waiting for permission from someone else to go after what I want, whatever that is. I know I want an element of risk but, more importantly, I want some bloody excitement! Like movie sex, where pretty people who are hot for each other get it on in exciting, risqué places and no one goes to prison. I’ve come close a couple of times, once giving head to my ex-boyfriend James behind a restaurant. It lasted about ten seconds though as we had chosen to hide behind some large bins; there’s nothing like the whiff of rotting food to kill the mood. The second time was when I fumbled around in a phone box with Alex early on in our relationship. It was cramped, smelled of piss and he was hardly Superman.
The more I think about it the more excited I get, imagining all sorts of debauched outdoor activities, so I’ve decided that this is definitely happening. I’ll just have to make it clear to Oliver that I don’t mean hiking off into the wilderness or camping – I’m many things but I’m not THAT kind of girl. I texted him to let him know I was ready to do this:
Yo. AL FRESCO SEX. Let’s do it. Call me or text me ASAP
I hope Miss Dullname looks at his phone.
Sunday April 3rd
I called Mum earlier to wish her a happy birthday. I gave her Amazon vouchers as I had absolutely no idea what she likes.
‘Thank you, darling! Your dad got me tickets to see Muse. Apparently they’re doing some sort of benefit show.’
‘MUSE? You’re sixty! When did you start liking Muse?’
‘Since I heard “Plug in Baby”. Amazing band. I’m sixty, Phoebe; that’s not ancient.’
‘I know, I’m just surprised. I thought you’d be going to see Cat Stevens or some other crumbly hippy.’
‘Maybe twenty years ago, but he’s called Yusuf now and far too godly for my liking. Anyway, I have to run. We’re going for a swim. Bye, darling, and thanks for the vouchers!’
Fucking Muse? My parents will never stop surprising me. I called Oliver twice and it went straight to voicemail. He hasn’t responded to my texts either. Where the hell is he?
Monday April 4th
Oliver still wasn’t returning my calls, despite my having left several ‘ravage me in a car park goddammmiitt!’ voicemails on his mobile today. So I gave up and went out for drinks after work with Stuart. Oh, how I’ve longed for this day! He’s the only sales guy I’ve ever met who’s also a decent human being. Also, he has the most perfect mouth and nervously bites his lip every so often, which drives me insane. Seriously. It took all my strength and willpower not to leap across the desk, grab his tie and lick his face. But sleeping with people you work with is always a tricky area which requires discretion – mainly in case it’s God-awful or they think I’m fat and tell everyone.
We had been flirting all day, and when it came time to go home we both took our time packing up until the office was empty. ‘What you up to now?’ asked Stuart, switching off his PC.
‘Nothing much,’ I replied casually. ‘Drink?’
‘Yeah,’ he sm
iled, ‘definitely’ We went to the pub downstairs, ordered some shots and sat squashed together at a table in the corner. Our initial shop talk turned into a drinking game of ‘truth or dare’. Yes, it’s all innocent fun, until someone’s dared to see just how wet he can get me underneath the table. A challenge he accepted, by the way. It got to near closing time and the sexual tension became too much. ‘Want to get out of here?’ he asked, and it suddenly hit me that Oliver wasn’t the only one who could help me with my next challenge. We both practically ran out the door, wishing we were wearing invisible sex cloaks and could just shag right there in the street, but we ended up in an alleyway behind a club, me with my tights round my ankles, grabbing on to a jaggy wire fence. I could hear people passing by the entrance to the alley, a myriad of voices and laughter. It was thrilling knowing that we could have been spotted or even watched. ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ Stuart panted partway in. ‘I’ve wanted to shag you for ages.’
‘Likewise,’ I groaned. ‘Now, do it harder.’
It was exciting, passionate and absolutely freezing. I felt incredibly sexy and very, very naughty. Once I’d got my head round the situation, all I could think was, ‘He fancies me!’ like some love-struck teenager. I could have happily carried on for hours, but when it was over we got our clothes in order and kissed for a couple of minutes before deciding it was time to head off. Then, with a vow of discretion and a goodbye look which lasted a little too long, we parted company. For once I cannot wait to get to work tomorrow. I texted Oliver before bed:
Where are you? Are you dead? Let me know.
Tuesday April 5th
It wasn’t at all awkward in work with Stuart and I didn’t come into an office full of giggling gossips, which was a relief. We exchanged a few emails, complimenting each other on our session, but he managed to ruin it all by saying, ‘I have a girlfriend, you know. I can’t do this again.’
Spoilsport. I finally tracked down Oliver. He’d been in Brighton at a conference, which pretty much meant one hour of tech talk and twenty hours of cocaine and Jack Daniels abuse.
The List Page 9
