Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year!

by Rebecca Smith

Cassie grabs my hand before I can make my escape.

  ‘Hell, yes,’ she responds. ‘This is exactly where we need to be shopping if we’re going to turn you into a sex bomb.’

  I glance at the window display and then look quickly away. I might want to reinvent myself but I have no intention of my transformation including anything that involves my nipples.

  ‘Cassie.’ I keep my voice quiet in case anyone walking past hears us and judges me accordingly. ‘I am fairly sure that this establishment is what is known as a sex shop. I can’t go in there.’

  ‘Why not?’ Cassie puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. ‘There’s a whole load of clothes in here that I think would look great on you.’

  I jerk my head towards the window.

  ‘Seriously? You think that what I need right now is S&M gear, do you? I’ll get arrested if I try and leave the house looking like that.’

  ‘You might – if you get lucky,’ quips Cassie.

  I close my eyes briefly, enjoying the sudden image of a sexy police officer telling me to ‘spread ‘em’ and that he’s writing me a parking ticket because I’ve got fine written all over me.

  ‘If being sexy was a crime then you’d be guilty as charged,’ he says as I gaze at his extraordinarily large baton and swallow hard.

  ‘Just take a look, will you?’ Cassie whips me out of my bubble before it can get interesting. ‘Consider it an educational experience.’

  I think for a second. I do have a passion for learning, it’s true. And I’m not one to turn down an opportunity to better myself.

  I stare at the shop again, wondering if I can really do this.

  Cassie rolls her eyes. ‘Hannah. Did you or did you not tell me that Binky has requested more sexiness in your next book?’

  I shrug. ‘She might have mentioned words to that effect. Possibly.’

  ‘This shop is oozing sexiness,’ Cassie tells me. ‘Let’s just go in and have a look. You never know, you might find some inspiration in here, even if you don’t find any clothes! Becoming a Sex Goddess isn’t just about the paraphernalia, Hannah. It’s a way of life.’

  She’s absolutely right. This is excellent research for Book Two. I’m sure that Daxx is exactly the kind of guy who’d give Bella Rose something slightly freaky for her birthday and I can well imagine him shopping in an establishment such as this one.

  I take a deep breath. I’ve got my big girl knickers on. I can do this and if I can’t, then Twinky Malone can. It’s not a big deal. It’s a shop, just like all other shops. There’s nothing to worry about.

  I glance furtively around to check that nobody is watching and then I follow Cassie inside, blinking while my eyes adjust to the slightly red-tinted light.

  Oh my sweet lord. Once again, I have been proven to be spectacularly wrong. There was something to worry about. There are whole shelves of something to worry about. And this is not a shop like any I’ve ever frequented. I’m not sure who the target audience is but I’m fairly sure that it isn’t me.

  My eyes alight on a pair of handcuffs and a sexy police outfit and I quiver slightly.

  Then again, maybe this is a sign.

  It’s like it was meant to be.

  Perhaps the target audience isn’t Hannah Thompson but that’s okay. Because I’ve been her for the last forty-four years. I am way overdue for some excitement and if I can’t find it in here then I don’t know where I will.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asks an assistant, appearing beside me as if by magic.

  ‘Err, no thank you very much,’ I say, stumbling over my words. ‘I’m just browsing.’

  Bloody hell, why did I say that? Who goes into a sex shop to browse?

  ‘Are you seeking anything in particular?’ she enquires. ‘Maybe something for a special occasion?’

  I know that she’s only doing her job and she seems very friendly and pleasant but I really, really wish that she’d just leave me alone so that I examine the merchandise in private. I’m willing to be open-minded but that doesn’t mean that I want to have a lengthy discussion about it with a total stranger. Am I the only person in the world who understands that a person can enjoy writing about sex but not want to engage in conversation about it?

  ‘Umm, no not really,’ I tell her, jiggling from foot to foot. ‘Just, you know—’ I gesture wildly around the shop. ‘Some sex things.’

  She gives me a weird look and retreats to the counter. ‘Okay, then. Feel free to give me a shout if you need further information on any of the products.’

  ‘Hannah!’ Cassie’s voice floats through the air, rescuing me before I can say anything else ridiculous. ‘Come and check out these clothes.’

  I walk down the aisle, trying to not gawp at the items lining the shelves. The stock is piled high and everything is attractively packaged in pastel-coloured boxes. This place is like Toys“R”Us for adults. Cassie is standing by a rail at the far side of the shop, holding something that I’m fairly sure doesn’t have enough material to cover a Barbie doll.

  ‘That’s not clothes,’ I tell her, stopping a couple of feet away. ‘It’s a crime.’

  The hunky policeman in my mind gives me a wink and I regretfully shake my head, sending him away for now. I need to stay focused.

  Cassie grins. ‘It’s sexy.’

  I contemplate the slip of fabric in her hands. ‘I can just imagine Nick’s reaction if I put that on and marched into the bedroom. I doubt there’s enough material on that to cover both my arse cheeks. He’d probably have a heart attack. If he didn’t die of laughter.’

  ‘He would if you marched in,’ Cassie retorts. ‘Clothes like this are made for slinking, Hannah.’ She gives me an appraising look. ‘You do know how to slink, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I scoff, making a mental note to Google slinking at the first available opportunity. ‘But I need something to wear to Sex Con and there’s no way that I’ve got the confidence to walk in wearing that.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re wrong about Nick’s reaction. I think he’d bloody love it if you wore this one night. But it’s your call.’

  I watch as she replaces the skimpy, pretty, lacy item and feel a pang of regret. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Nick would love it. But what if she’s wrong and it doesn’t make a difference? What if he thinks I’m being stupid and weird? It’s probably better to be safe than sorry.

  I am suddenly filled with inexplicable sorrow.

  Cassie takes a few steps to the side and then pulls something else off the rack. ‘What about this jumpsuit, then? It’s perfect for Sex Con.’

  It certainly has more material. If you can actually call it that.

  ‘What is it made of?’ I ask, stepping forward and prodding it suspiciously. ‘Is that rubber?’

  ‘I think it’s latex,’ says Cassie, peering at the label. ‘Oh, my mistake. It’s ninety-four percent polyester.’

  ‘I didn’t think polyester could look so aggressive,’ I say weakly.

  ‘It’s supposed to make you fearsome,’ Cassie says, holding it up in front of me. ‘It’s called “the dominatrix jumpsuit”.’

  ‘Yes, well it was definitely not designed with forty-four-year-old women who have had three babies in mind, I can tell you that.’ I twist to the side and stare at it, still feeling hollow inside. ‘Who the hell can actually wear this stuff?’

  ‘Anyone can wear it,’ Cassie tells me. ‘And I’m disappointed in you, Hannah. Are you saying that age and motherly status is a barrier to your sensuality, because that’s not very empowered of you.’

  ‘No!’ I grab the jumpsuit from her and clutch it to my chest. ‘I’m absolutely not saying that.’

  Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. It is very hard to channel your inner Sex Goddess when you spend every waking moment engaged in dealing with other people’s shit and are coming to the terrifying realization that unless you do something radical, this boring, normal person is who you are now, forever and ever, and may the goddess have mercy on your soul.


  But Twinky Malone doesn’t have those problems. Twinky Malone writes erotic novels and buys impractical shoes and if she needs to rejuvenate her marriage and her life by rocking the changes then she buggering well will. Twinky Malone can absolutely rock a wet-look, figure-hugging, plunge-neckline jumpsuit because she’s a goddamned rock star.

  Tossing my ponytail over my shoulder, I strut into the changing room. It’s time for the next step of my transformation and I’m not just doing this for me. I’m doing it for women everywhere, for anyone who has ever felt invisible or forgotten just because they’re over the age of thirty-five or someone’s mum. When I walk down the street wearing my dominatrix jumpsuit, people (and by people I mostly mean Nick) will see me as a living, breathing, sexual person and not just the woman cooking the tea and making sure the dog is up to date with her vaccinations and taking the kids to school.

  And from henceforth, all my steps will be slinked…or slunk…or possibly slank? I’m not entirely sure.

  Pulling off my clothes, I step into the jumpsuit and pull it up my legs. It’s pretty tight and I realise immediately that my bra is going to have to come off, which is an alarming prospect. I have a complex love/hate relationship with my bra. On the one hand, it is uncomfortable and restrictive and my shoulders have deep ridges from where the straps have dug in, which can’t be healthy. On the other hand, it stops my breasts from tripping me up.

  It’s tricky.

  ‘How are you getting on in there?’ calls Cassie from the other side of the curtain. ‘Are you ready to show me your new look?’

  ‘One minute,’ I shout back, wrestling my arms into the sleeves. ‘I’ve just got to do it up.’

  I start pulling on the laces at the front, yanking as tightly as I can in an attempt to bring my breasts under control. My first attempt squishes them into a strange position under my armpits and so I try again, this time bending over as far as I can (which isn’t that far in this thing) and asking gravity to give me a helping hand for once in my life.

  By the time the laces are tied and my breasts are somewhere in the vague proximity of my chest, I am red-faced and slightly out of breath.

  ‘You’ve got to hand it to these dominatrix types,’ I call. ‘They’re prepared to work for it.’

  ‘Just show me!’ pleads Cassie and so I throw back the curtain and step out for my grand reveal.

  ‘Crikey, Hannah.’ Cassie puts her hand up to her mouth. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’ I ask, turning to peer in the mirror. ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s not bad,’ Cassie says to my reflection. ‘It’s just – I don’t know how to put it.’

  ‘It’s a lot,’ I say, twisting round so that I can see myself from a different angle. Cassie nods enthusiastically.

  ‘It’s definitely a lot,’ she agrees. ‘You actually do look incredible. I had no idea you were hiding such sexy curves under all those cardigans!’

  ‘Neither did I,’ I tell her. ‘Although there’s no way on this planet that I’d be able to go out in public looking like this. Perhaps I could tone it down with a scarf? I’ve got one that Nick gave me for my last birthday which would work really well.’

  Cassie gawps at me. ‘What the hell are you wittering on about? You can’t wear a scarf with a dominatrix jumpsuit!’ She turns away and starts to walk back down the shop. ‘You look amazing but I know that there’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell of you actually buying it. I’ve got a bit of my own purchasing to do – come and find me when you’re ready.’

  I go back into the changing cubicle and close the curtain. I have never, in my entire life, even contemplated wearing something as risqué as this. I have never had the courage.

  ‘I don’t look anything like me,’ I whisper to myself, gazing into the mirror.

  The woman staring back at me is one percent Hannah Thompson and ninety-nine percent Twinky Malone and I think I might be a bit in love with her.

  I twist round so that I can read the price tag on the neck and then I start to undo the laces on the bodice, folding the jumpsuit up as carefully as if it were made of spun gold, which it might well be, considering what I’m about to pay for it.

  You can’t put a price on sexual confidence and I have never owned an item of clothing that has made me feel like this one does. This jumpsuit is going to be the answer to all my problems. My writing is going to ooze with sensuality and I’m going to strut my stuff at Sex Con and Nick is going to be seduced by my temptress ways.

  I am going to bloody well slay those three birds with this one, possibly overpriced and slightly uncomfortable but massively sexy stone.

  It’s worth every penny.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It is with some trepidation that I open the door to my mother after work on Tuesday. Benji has gone for tea with Logan, and Scarlet left the house this morning muttering about seeing Petra after school. I have no idea if that’s really what she’s doing but I am working on my trust issues and have so far resisted tracking her phone. And while I’m busy having faith in my daughter, I have graciously decided to get over the hurt that she would rather speak to her grandmother than to me. As such, I have invited my mother over for coffee…so I can grill her for information about why Scarlet has been going to see her so much and then using that intel to do some actual parenting.

  I wait until she’s dumped her shopping bags on the floor and we’re sitting in the kitchen with cups of coffee and slices of lemon cake and then I open my mouth to start talking.

  She beats me to it.

  ‘Now tell me, Hannah. How’s that book coming along? Have you finished it yet?’

  I nod firmly, determined not to be distracted from my mission.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I state. ‘Pretty much done with it now, to be honest. Just one or two finer details to clear up and then I’ll be sorted. But anyway, Mum – I wanted to ask you about—’

  Mum laughs knowingly. ‘So you’re struggling, then.’

  I glare back at her. ‘I am not struggling, thank you very much. In fact, I’m almost halfway through and I think it’s possibly going to be even better than the first book, actually.’

  Mum raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, I should hope so,’ she tells me, her voice firm. ‘There are rules for writing a sequel, you know. And the first and most important rule is that Book Two needs to be far superior to Book One.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ I sniff, vaguely aware that I sound like Scarlet. ‘You’ve never written a book.’

  Mum pats my knee kindly. ‘That’s because I’m not a writer, darling. I’m a do-er.’

  Excellent.

  ‘Now why don’t you tell me what the problem is and I’ll see if I can bring any of my years of experience to help solve the issue?’ She takes a sip of her coffee. ‘I’ve just completed Module 2 of my Sex Therapy course and I’m sure I can be of some use to you.’

  ‘I don’t have a problem!’ I wail.

  I might have a bit of a problem. After a surge of writing when I got home from buying the dominatrix outfit I’ve hit a very small brick wall with Book Two (why are titles so bloody hard?) and if it was anyone else offering to have this conversation with me then I’d bite their arm off. It’d be great to have the opportunity to talk about writing and plot and how to make this second book both sexy and funny with someone whom I trust.

  So, not with my mother.

  Although she is one of the only people I know who will listen to my woes and then find a solution while only mildly judging my ineptitude or life choices. And she probably has a point. She’s more qualified to talk about this stuff than I am.

  ‘Fine.’ I lean across the table and grab my notebook. ‘I’m listening. But don’t say anything that’s going to gross me out, okay? You’re my mother – you have standards to uphold.’

  Mum clears her throat officiously and launches right in. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought and I’ve found some porn-writing top tips that should help you with writing a sequel. I’ve been on the Interne
t and there’s lots of advice out there. You really could have done it yourself, Hannah.’

  I resist the urge to tell her that between teaching three days a week and trying to write a book, as well as the challenges presented by my youngest two offspring plus spending every waking moment wondering if Dylan is okay and trying to pretend that I don’t miss him constantly while also trying to address the pressing need to reinvent myself, I have been slightly short of time. And also, for the fifty-millionth time, that I am not writing porn. But I bite my lip and I stay quiet.

  I need her help.

  I need her porn top tips.

  ‘Okay, top tip number one,’ she starts. ‘Don’t just pick up where the last story left off. Your readers want to think that time has passed and that this next book has something new to offer them.’

  ‘Okay.’ I scribble a note and then look up at her. ‘That’s good. I think I’ve got that one covered. At the end of More Than Sex, I left Bella Rose and Daxx in the barn at the Wyoming ranch. But the next book is based in Tulsa, Oklahoma.’

  ‘Why Oklahoma?’ asks Mum. ‘What’s the importance of that particular location to the plot?’

  I shrug. ‘Well, it could have been set anywhere, really. But I wanted to change the location and Oklahoma just leapt out at me when I looked at a map of the United States. So, what’s top tip two then? What other words of wisdom do you have for me?’

  Mum picks up her lemon cake. ‘Give the reader something new,’ she states. ‘Book Two definitely needs to be more exciting than Book One.’

  ‘Okay.’ I think for a moment. ‘I’ve got that too. This book isn’t about life on a ranch – it’s completely different. Daxx has come into a huge inheritance and is now a billionaire. Billionaires are very popular in erotic fiction, I know that from my extensive research.’

  Mum takes a bite of cake. ‘Top tip three is that you need to make the book the same,’ she mumbles. ‘Readers want more of what they’ve already read.’

  I stare at her. ‘Make your mind up. Which is it? The same old thing or something new? I can’t write both.’