‘I just remembered something really important. It’s my birthday next month. What are you getting me?’
‘You’re on your way to meet Simon and—’
‘Simone.’
‘Whatever, and all you can think about is your birthday? Poor cow. Maybe I’ll get you an “I Simone” T-shirt and matching pants?’
‘Don’t get me something to wear. You’re not my mother.’
‘Anyway, with all the sex we’ve been having, it must feel like your birthday every month, Oliver.’
‘Hardly, unless squirting all over my sheets is your idea of a present. Extra laundry is not a gift, Phoebe.’
‘Stop complaining. I’ll see you tomorrow for our next role play.’
‘Oh yeah. Hooker time! Can I call you a different name? Like Candice? Or Chastity?’
‘If you must.’
So instead I dragged myself over to Lucy’s house, where we ordered a takeaway and made our way through two bottles of wine. By ten I was face down on her couch with the top button of my trousers undone, suffering from naan-bread sweats, while Lucy lay on the floor and finished off the last of the popadoms. ‘Are you crashing here tonight? I have more wine.’
‘Nah, I spilled korma on these trousers, I’ll need to go home.’
‘I’ll give you trousers.’
‘You’re a size ten. I haven’t been a size ten since high school. I used to have a flat stomach and a space between my thighs, you know. Now I just eat until I can’t see my feet.’
‘You left some black trousers here ages ago. And shh, you’re gorgeous. Curvy. Like Christina Hendricks. She’s a goddess.’
‘And you’re drunk. But I agree I do look exactly like her; it’s uncanny. Tell you what – I’ll stay for wine if you put your Mad Men box set on.’
‘Oooh. Deal.’ We watched Mad Men until three when Lucy began snoring loudly and I was forced to retreat to the spare room.
Tuesday May 3rd
I went into work with Lucy this morning, which of course meant I was late, wearing the black clubbing trousers I’d left in her bedroom last year after a drunken night at the Arches. Classy. Halfway through the afternoon I remembered that Oliver and I had a role-play evening planned and invented a hospital appointment to get away early. Oliver had emailed me a picture of the kind of ‘look’ he thought I should go for, which felt more porn star than street-corner prostitute. The picture showed a heavily made-up dark-haired woman with a black miniskirt, stockings, suspenders and ridiculously high shoes, similar to the ones I’d bought last year in a fit of optimism but never wore as they killed my feet. I got home, showered, shaved my legs and blow-dried my hair, then spent twenty-five minutes putting on black eyeliner, 475 coats of mascara and some bright red lipstick. I wore a tight black minidress and tried to copy his picture as best I could: red underwear, black fishnet stockings and suspenders. I carried my high heels as I rushed down to my car in my stocking feet. I hoped to God I wouldn’t get spotted, or stopped by the police as my vision was impaired due to the amount of mascara I had clogging up my eyelashes. I must admit, even though I felt like a Halloween reject, I did get into character quickly and got completely turned on at what he might have planned. I climbed the stairs to his flat and strapped myself into my stupidly high shoes as I rang his buzzer. He opened the door wearing a bathrobe and I thought for a second he’d forgotten. However, looking down at his noticeable erection I guessed that I’d arrived right on time. I hobbled past him and threw my keys down on his hall table (they missed of course and landed in a shoe). Still, not put off by my clumsy entrance, I turned around and uttered the words ‘What do you want then?’ in a startling husky voice even I didn’t recognize.
He walked into the living room, dropped his bathrobe and told me to get on my knees. I took my coat off, managed to navigate my way into the living room in my idiot shoes and gratefully flopped on to my knees. I was halfway through one of my finest blow jobs to date when he pulled my face up to look at him and asked ‘How much for anal?’
I had to resist the urge to shout, ‘ONE MILLION DOLLARS!’ but just shook my head, horrified that I couldn’t remember when I’d last been to the toilet. Suddenly the fun was gone for me and all I could think was that if anything went wrong, I’d stab myself with my own stiletto.
He noticed my worried face and whispered, ‘Don’t worry; if it’s messy then it’s messy. Just keep going.’
He started to fuck me from behind, but for the first time ever it was all very average. Just pounding with the occasional ‘You filthy whore’ thrown in for effect.
I looked over my shoulder. ‘Not what you had in mind?’
He shrugged and stopped thrusting. ‘Nope. Not remotely. This was very different in my head.’
‘Is it me? I look ridiculous, don’t I?’
‘Nah, you look sexy. In my head this was much seedier and without feeling. That’s impossible to do when you’re shagging your best mate.’
‘Feeling? Since when did you start feeling?’
‘Did I say feeling? I meant chafing. These sheets are really harsh.’ He moved to the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘I cannot believe this has ended with me thinking about thread count.’
I took a drag of his cig and ruffled his hair. ‘You pictured this like porn, didn’t you? Never mind. I’m a rubbish hooker anyway. You’re still going to pay me though, right?’
‘Not until I’ve come in your arse.’
He asked me to stay over. And I did. We didn’t have sex again though, we just talked and cuddled. It seems the second role play was a washout, but I got breakfast in bed so it wasn’t all bad. Well, he burned the toast but it’s the thought that counts.
Wednesday May 4th
Do you know what happens when you spend so much time having/thinking/writing about sex? Your fish dies, that’s what. I came home from Oliver’s to find my goldfish floating on the top of a very green, stinky bowl and had to flush him away along with a spider I killed earlier. Is this how serial killers start? No wonder Hazel never asks me to babysit.
Thursday May 5th
Day off from work today and spent the first half of the morning rearranging the furniture in the living room before deciding it looked better the way it was. In the afternoon I went shopping. I bought junk food, red apples, some coasters shaped like daisies and two bottles of fancy conditioner which were half price and will look lovely sitting beside the seventeen other bottles I already have.
At half four I had an appointment with Pam, who was finally back from her holiday. She met me at the door, tanned and looking rather like a cowgirl in a checked shirt and jeans.
‘Nice holiday?’ I politely enquired.
‘Sure was, thanks for asking. Take a seat, Phoebe.’ I sat on my usual purple chair and put my bag at my feet.
‘So, how are you? Anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?’
‘My boss. Frank.’
‘Are you having problems at work?’ she asked, looking surprised that for once I wasn’t talking about Alex.
‘No. I’m not sure. Basically he caught me in a compromising position at work and we came to an arrangement to let me keep my job.’
‘Do you want to tell me what the arrangement is?’
Hell no. I tried to be as vague as I could. I was still mortified I’d agreed to it.
‘I help him sort out his personal life. So to speak. It’s quite silly really, but I still feel … a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing.’
She closed her notebook. ‘I see. Tell me, Phoebe – you say that “we” came to an arrangement. Was it Frank’s arrangement, with his terms, and you agreed to it?’
‘Well. Yes.’ Damn she’s good.
‘And you’re concerned that his position of authority might enable him to manipulate you whenever he feels like it?’
‘Yes. I mean, no. I wouldn’t let him. He’s not that clever.’
‘But clever enough to use your mistake to his advantage.’
&n
bsp; ‘Um …’
‘Just think about this, Phoebe. Whatever your arrangement is here, it doesn’t seem like it’s one where you’re both equal. Do you think that might cause problems?’
‘You’re saying I shouldn’t trust him.’
‘I’m saying you should be aware of him. And of yourself. Now, anything else before we end today?
I thought about all the things that had happened last month: the threesome, sleeping with Stuart, getting rid of Richard and squirting, but I chose to tell her about Alex emailing me wanting to meet. The other events were in my control – I chose to do them – but with Alex I always feel like I have no control over anything.
‘Why do you think Alex wants to meet?’ asked Pam Potter. ‘Do you believe that he genuinely wants to make amends for his actions?’
I thought about it for a moment. ‘He’s very manipulative so I don’t believe for a second that it’s just about making things right. I get angry that he feels he has the right to continue being in my life in any capacity. I know how he works. He wants something; I just haven’t worked out what that is yet.’
Half an hour ago, I got another text from him.
I’m not giving up. I just want to chat. Please call me.
I’ve ignored him again. I don’t know what he wants but I have the feeling I’m soon to find out.
Friday May 6th
This afternoon in work, Kelly threw a wobbler when she went to make coffee and found her mug unwashed in the sink. ‘Stop using my fucking things!’ she shouted, holding up an oversized white mug with KELLY printed in red lettering on the side. ‘It’s not hygienic!’
Lucy stared at the mug. ‘But how do we know it’s yours?’
Kelly glared at her. ‘You’re not funny. How would you like it if I used your mug?’
‘I don’t have a mug. I have a flask.’
‘Well, your flask then. What if I used your flask?’
‘Why would you use my flask when you have your own mug?’
I started to giggle as Frank appeared at the door of his office. ‘I used your mug, Kelly. Can you please stop disrupting the office and get back to work?’
Kelly sat back down and shoved her mug into her locked drawer, muttering under her breath about the injustice of it all. Frank emerged completely and proceeded to give me a right ear-bashing about some copy for a client that had a typo. Considering the customer sent it directly to production, I felt it was harsh to be blamed for something I had no part in. I followed him back into his office to tell him so.
‘THAT BLOODY ADVERT WASN’T—’ I shouted, shutting the door behind me.
‘Ah, good, you’re here. Yes, yes, I know, I just needed an excuse to get you in here. I slept with Vanessa and she said it was good. Just thought you should know,’ he said with a smirk.
‘Yeah, thanks for that, Frank. Although “good” isn’t necessarily a word to get all excited about. Phenomenal is. Incredible – definitely. Good … Not so much.’
‘Well, she wasn’t exactly brilliant either, but it was our first time. We both held back somewhat.’
I stood up. ‘Trust me, Frank; if you hadn’t held back, you’d have been getting all sorts of praise thrown at you this morning. Next time just go for it. I imagine you’re terrible in bed, but if this woman likes you enough to see you naked then make it worth her while.’
‘I AM NOT TERRIBLE!’ he shouted, rising from his chair and then sinking back into it when the whole office turned around to see what was going on. ‘I am actually very good, no, GREAT, in bed. I can’t imagine you shutting up long enough to be anything other than a hindrance in bed.’
‘All right, fine, I’m leaving now,’ I said. ‘And if you really thought that, then we wouldn’t be having this discussion now, would we?’
I sat back down at my desk, annoyed by his comment. He makes me sound horrendous.
From: Phoebe Henderson
To: Frank McCallum
Subject: Me
I am outstanding in bed. So there.
He didn’t respond but I could hear him laughing in his office.
Sunday May 8th
As it was such a beautiful day, Oliver and I decided to have lunch in Kelvingrove Park, stopping off at Marks & Spencer first for supplies. ‘Sushi or sandwiches?’ he asked, peering into the chill cabinet.
‘I think you already know the answer to that,’ I replied, looking around at all the Sunday shoppers who obviously would have rather been anywhere else than here.
He grabbed a small box of maki and a larger one of tamago and prawn nigiri. I nodded in approval before heading towards the bakery counter.
Twenty pounds later we were heading towards the park, driving past lots of young men with their tops off. Glasgow is hilarious when the sun comes out. Everyone stops what they’re doing and stands for at least ten minutes staring upwards, like a scene from Independence Day, wondering what that big ball of fire in the sky is. Then they walk around half naked in the hope of either getting a tan or being beamed up by aliens. Oliver and I were no different. We found a spot near a tree and placed a tartan blanket on the grass. The park was so green, gorgeous and filled with people who were not looking wet and miserable for once.
Oliver poured the miniature bottles of white wine we’d bought and I lay down, using his denim jacket as a pillow, leaving him to unpack the rest of the food and arrange it between us.
‘You bought pecan swirls! I can die happy now,’ he exclaimed, picking the nuts off the top of his pastry.
‘Have you come here to die? Why are you eating your dessert first? Have some sushi.’
‘You’re not the boss of me.’
‘Now THAT would be an interesting challenge. Shall we do that next?’
‘Nah, let’s try the swinging,’ said Oliver, throwing pastry crumbs at a pigeon, ‘I’ve always wondered what that would be like, and it technically falls in the category of “group sex”, right?’
‘It does. Although it’ll be two women faking it and two men comparing their “guns” while secretly checking out who’s got the bigger cock,’ I replied. ‘Are you up for that?’
‘Yeah. Totally. Let’s fucking do it.’
‘OK, but I’m a little nervous,’ I admitted. ‘I trust you with my life, but what if the guy is too rough? Or he gets weird?’
‘I’ll be there. If you’re uncomfortable, you panic or you just don’t want to go through with it, we leave. End of story. But I think it’ll be grand … and hot.’
‘Why weren’t we like this in high school?’ I asked, sitting up and pulling my flowery skirt over my knees. ‘We could have been skipping fifth period and doing all sorts.’
‘I was. You were a lesbian back then, remember? Besides, you were too funny to sleep with back then. You were the only one who made my day bearable – I couldn’t risk messing that up.’
‘What? And now you can?’
‘This was your idea, remember? And what kind of mate would I be if I didn’t help you and your naked body out?’
‘You’re going to appear on some sort of register one day.’
We finished lunch and lay in the sun until it eventually vanished, leaving us with no option but to pack up and head home. ‘What do you want to do now?’ I asked, putting the blanket in the back seat of his car. ‘It’s only half seven.’
‘We could take a walk,’ he suggested. ‘It’s still nice out.’
We drove back to Oliver’s flat, dumped the car and started off through the West End. The tree-lined streets were peaceful as we sauntered past stunning townhouses and rows of brand-new, highly polished cars. ‘I want to live here,’ I said, sighing at the cosy lights glowing from the windows. ‘It’s so pretty.’
‘The people who live here are probably in debt up to their eyeballs,’ he laughed, ‘Oh, be careful of that hole in the …’
I stumbled straight into a hole in the pavement but Oliver caught me before I fell flat on my arse.
‘You OK?’
‘Yes. Mortified.
But yes.’
‘Here, link in,’ he said, placing my arm through his. ‘It’s getting chilly anyway.’
It wasn’t, but I didn’t object. It felt lovely.
Predictably, by nine the rain had reappeared and we ran back to Oliver’s flat, soaked to the skin.
I stripped off in the bathroom and stood there in my white underwear, drying my hair with a hand towel.
He knocked on the door and came in with his robe for me. ‘I’ve put the heating on; it’s cold in here.’ He picked up my bra off the floor, offering it to me. ‘Do you want to wear this or should I just hang it on your nipples?’
Before I could think of a witty reply, he walked over to me, pressed his body against mine and I felt a rush of arousal flood over me.
He pushed me down on to the floor, pulling off my knickers and moving his head between my legs. This lasted approximately five seconds before …
‘You smell weird.’
‘What? Do I? Oh fuck.’ I quickly pulled my offending vagina away from him.
‘It’s all right, we can just—’
‘I’m mortified! Look at my red face! We’re doing nothing!’
I got dressed and went home, praying to God that I didn’t have some awful STD that would leave me foul smelling and sexless for the rest of my life. There’s nothing like being told your snatch stinks to boost your self-esteem. This is the kind of shit schoolboys say to make girls feel insecure, and I know Oliver didn’t mean it in that way, but I feel rattled by the whole thing. Perhaps I’m not as confident as I thought.
12:55 a.m. Text from Alex:
I want to see you. Please. I miss you.
WHAT? Oh, today can fuck right off.
Monday May 9th
This morning I had to sit in the doctor’s for an hour before answering loads of questions about my sex life and facing the vaginal smear from hell. God, I hate them, there must be a way to make them less uncomfortable – like having them performed by kittens.
‘Call on Wednesday – you’ll get your results then.’
To avoid dwelling on the possible results I’ve decided to move ahead with planning the swinging challenge. After the threesome with Simone I’m worried it might be a mistake, but have reassured myself with the thought that another bloke thrown into the equation might even things out. I also felt I had to make sure that Oliver would be happy being all kinds of naked and erect in front of another guy. I took a pizza round to his place this evening to quiz him. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it: ‘As long as there’s no sword fighting, I couldn’t care less.’ I held back from telling him that the sight of two naked men up close and sweaty was actually a huge turn-on for me and just smiled instead.
The List Page 12
