The List (10 page)

Despite his idiotic text, I'm sort of excited. Bum fun never happened with previous boyfriends. I remember discussing it with Alex but he made a yuck face and carried on with his plans for vaginal domination. Now that I'm single again, everywhere I go it's an anal frenzy. Lucy even buys home enema kits so she doesn't have to deal with any poo fiasco and apparently has anal more frequently than regular sex. I can't help laughing uncontrollably when she mentions her occasional ‘ring sting'. Hazel is convinced that no women genuinely like it – they just say they do to please their partner, like big old Stepford idiots.

To be honest, I'm still unclear about what pleasure I'd actually get from it. There was one drunken incident at nineteen with Adam where it was sneakily attempted but quickly cut short with me screaming ‘OUCH' and giving him a dead leg, so I'm aware that there might be some pain involved, but there must be something in it? Surely not all women grimace, bite down and bear it just to please their fellas?

Thursday March 3rd

During a particularly quiet moment in the office today, Lucy yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Richard was asking after you. You going to see him again?'

Thankfully the rest of the conversation took place over the telephone, like normal people.

‘I haven't decided. I don't want him to get any ideas,' I replied.

‘If you shag his brains out the poor guy is definitely going to get ideas. He likes you. He told Sam. Oh, and he also said you give the best head. Ever. Even Sam got hard hearing about it. I drew the line when he wanted to tell me about it.'

‘Oh fuck off. Boys are weird. What's his basis for comparison – some eighteen-year-old? Of course he'll think that,' I muttered, slightly embarrassed but secretly delighted.

‘Well, don't break his heart, dear; remember he's just a baby.'

Exactly. Oliver and I have fantastic sex because there are no hearts involved and our friendship was there in the first
place. The burning question of the day however is: do I really give good head? I'll have to wait until Oliver's back and ask him. He'll tell me the truth; he has no reason not to, well … except to continue getting head, obviously.

Friday March 4th

I'm horny. I woke up this morning and have been climbing the walls ever since. I'm just having one of those days when no amount of hand work will satisfy me, I need flesh on flesh, hands on my ass and someone's mouth on mine. It's getting ridiculous; I can't even eat a banana normally. I did think about calling Richard for a quickie after work but soon changed my mind; I need my no-strings saviour who is probably off shagging some girl called Heidi on a ski lift. I'm still no further forward in my quest to ejaculate either. Maybe I needed specialized training and Bond-style gadgets. Lucy texted me this evening to tell me that she's having a small dinner party for her birthday on the twentieth and that she wants a spa voucher instead of the usual crap I buy her. I would be hurt if it wasn't true.

Saturday March 5th

Against my better judgement I ended up at Sam's gig with Lucy, feeling weird about seeing Richard again but eager to take advantage of the cheap drink offers. The gig was in a bar at the student end of Sauchiehall Street, where everyone is out to get hammered or laid, or preferably both. Determined not to give Richard the wrong impression, I
wore baggy jeans, trainers and a granddad top. Lucy of course wore a short dress and knee-high boots, which made me look even dowdier, but for once I was glad; I didn't want to look like I'd made any sort of effort. I headed for the bar and ordered a shot of tequila and two rum and Cokes while scouring the room for signs of Richard. I found him setting up onstage and, dammit, he looked great: jeans, white shirt and skinny black tie
and
he'd shaved his beard. He waved at me casually, then continued tuning his guitar while I made my way to a booth and sat down with Lucy.

‘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 with 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.'