Not That Easy (14 page)

“Ahh,” he gasped and closed his eyes. Right, now I just had to move up and down and then it would be fine. I pushed my body up with my legs and winced in pain. It was like doing a push-up and I had no muscles—how was I meant to repeatedly do this?

I had a flashback to
Cruel Intentions
when Sarah Michelle Gellar told the virgin girl how to have sex. They were practicing on a horse. There was something about going up and down and forwards and backwards. Slowly, I began to move my body up and down, wincing, then tried to move forwards and backwards. It felt wooden and very, very wrong.

Nick put his hands on either side of my hips and started moving me. He lifted me diagonally up and down, rhythmically. I gasped. This was actual sex. I was riding him like a cowgirl porn star. I was like a feminist prostitute riding the helpless man beneath me. His hands slipped off me and I jerked backwards.

I tried to carry on as before, but, without his hands helping me, I
quickly realized that I had no sexual rhythm whatsoever. It was embarrassing. I felt my cheeks flushing and I wished I could stop. We'd been here for about five minutes—surely it was about time for him to come again? Unless I was so bad that he wasn't even hard any more?

I squinted and tried to feel him inside of me, but it felt squishy.
Holy fuck, had he actually lost his boner?
I felt so stressed that I lost all traces of rhythm and began jerking mindlessly on top of him. I probably looked like a jack-in-the-box on speed.

“Slower,” he said, and put his hands on my hips again. I breathed out in relief. He was going to help me again—this would be okay. He slowly pulled me back into a gentle rhythm and I felt myself relax. I leaned down towards him so my boobs were rubbing against his torso and kissed him.

He groaned and shoved his tongue inside me. I broke away for air and my boobs fell on his face. He made some murmuring noises and I grinned. I, Ellie Kolstakis, was making an actual twenty-nine-year-old man groan with pleasure.

Then I realized his groans were getting a bit high-pitched. I put my arms out on either side of his so I was basically doing an actual press-up and lifted my boobs off him. He gasped. “Ah, ah, God, sorry, I just . . . couldn't breathe.”

I flushed with humiliation. I'd thought he was enjoying my boobs grazing his face, not being suffocated by their weight. “Sorry,” I muttered. This wasn't the first time this had happened to me.

“No, don't be,” he said and pushed me off him. He rolled on top of me and slipped his penis back into me. I closed my eyes in utter relief as he took over and began thrusting into me. I knew missionary was boring and I didn't want to be the kind of girl that just lay there during sex—hell, I wanted to experiment with role play and whips—but it was just so much easier to not have to worry about my rhythm.

He squeezed my boobs and I yelped. It felt sore, but it was also
kind of . . . nice. He stroked my nipples and I gasped out loud. Ohmigod, it was like having two mini clitorises on my boobs. How had I only just discovered how good this felt? Nick moved one of his hands away and my heart plummeted. I had to let him know he should keep his hand there.

I started making porn-star noises. He put his hand back and stroked. I closed my eyes in relief and let myself enjoy the actual feelings of sex instead of just being pleased with the fact that it was happening. If I wanted to have an orgasm with a guy then I would have to totally relax and get in the zone. Ommmmm. Ommmmm.

I tried to meditate as he stroked my nipples and thrust his peen inside of me but my mind was too distracted. All I could think about was almost squashing him with my boobs, having no sexual rhythm and being shit at sex. Yeah, it felt nice right now, but how could I orgasm when he was right there on top of me?

He stopped thrusting and collapsed on top of me. I waited a few seconds but he didn't move. “Um . . . are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, that was good,” he said. Was? So it was . . . over?

“Did you, erm, did you come?”

“Yeah,” he said. I sighed in disappointment. I hadn't even had time to get in the zone. My orgasm would have to wait.

“Do you know what would be fun,” murmured Nick a few hours later.

“Enlighten me.”

“Well,” he said, rubbing his hand across my body. “We could sixty-nine.”

I bolted upright in bed. “Sixty-nine like . . . the sex position?”

“Yeah. You keen?”

Was I?! I'd been waiting for this since Lara drew an animated version of it on page sixty-nine of my history textbook. “Yeah,” I said nonchalantly. “Let's do it.”

“Okay.” He grinned. “Do you want to go on top or shall I?”

I hesitated. If I went on top he'd have my vagina in his face, but it would be easier to give him head. If he was on top, he might squash me and my vagina would still be in his face. “I'll go on top,” I said bravely.

“As the lady wishes,” he said, lying down on his back. We were still naked from our previous fuck, so I took a deep breath and climbed straight on top of him. The whiskey hadn't really done
anything except give me hot flushes so I felt very sober as I opened my legs above his face. I was well aware that he could see my vagina in more detail than I ever would, no matter how many pictures I took of it with my SLR digital camera.

“Is this okay?” I asked uncertainly. I was doing the Pilates table pose above him. My head was hovering by his penis and my entire nether regions were inches away from his mouth—and his nose. Oh God, his nose. He would be able to smell everything and I'd pooed just before our date. I started to wonder if this was a good idea.

“More than okay,” he said, as he ventured straight into my vag. He started licking me and grabbed my arse towards him. This was really happening. I lowered myself towards his erect penis and opened my mouth. It slid straight in and I tried to remember the blow job tips I had Googled the year before.

I used my tongue as well as my lips and tried to squeeze my mouth tighter—but without letting my teeth get anyway near his dick. I was concentrating so hard on trying to hold on to his legs and give a decent blow job that I almost forgot his face was nestling inside my labia.

We carried on licking and sucking. It was eerily quiet, apart from the sounds of saliva thwacking against genitals. I wondered if it was meant to be this peaceful. But seeing as both our mouths were pretty preoccupied, there was no way we could make any sounds.

I started to speed up, pushing my head up and down faster than before. I felt his penis throb inside of me and I grinned to myself. I was doing a sixty-nine. Could I be any more grown up? I was barely even thinking about the fact that my pubes were surrounding Nick's face and he could smell my vagina post-sex. Oh God, it must be so sweaty and sticky.

My arms were resting on the bed, on either side of his legs, and they were starting to hurt. All this sex was making me realize just how unfit I was. I readjusted myself and tried to lift up my arms so I
could lean on his thighs instead. I clung on to his thighs precariously. It did not feel stable. Maybe I should move my right arm, onto the bed again, and then . . .

“OWWW,” I shrieked as my arms gave way and I crashed off the bed. I had slipped off his legs so half my body was now thrashing wildly on the floor, and my arse was waving in Nick's direction.

He sat up. “Are you okay?”

“Can you just . . . can you pull me up onto the bed?” I gasped. He obligingly grabbed my torso and pulled me onto the bed. I lay there breathing heavily. I knew my face was flushed purple from the strain and my hair was stuck to my face with sweat. I also knew that I had just fallen off a sixty-nine.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Sorry, my, um . . . my hand slipped off you,” I managed to say.

“Right,” he said. “I can safely say that's never happened before, but so long as you're okay, it's all good.”

All good? Really? I'D JUST FALLEN OFF A SIXTY-NINE.

I rolled over and pressed my face into the duvet. Why was this happening to me? I had no sexual rhythm and not enough arm strength to maintain a fucking sixty-nine. I was a joke.

“Ellie, are you all right?”

“Mffmhm, tired,” I mumbled.

“Okay, maybe we should just go to sleep,” he suggested.

I nodded and pulled the rest of the duvet over my head. I couldn't even sixty-nine—I was a sexual failure.

•   •   •

“Hi, one no-fat latte and one flat white with, like, two espressos in it, please.” I was in the Caffe Nero by my office, trying to suppress my continuous yawns. Nick and I had woken up at seven a.m.
He'd run straight in the shower, and we'd spent the next hour getting ready. I hadn't really had time to think about the awkward sex and now was not the time to start. “Thanks,” I said, reaching out for the coffees.

I downed my drink before I even got into the building and walked over to Maxine's office to give her the NFL.

“Oh, thanks, Ellie,” she said, looking surprised.

I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I'd just imagined the “thanks.” Maybe she was mellowing now that my columns were doing well. “No worries. Is there anything particular you want me to do today?”

“Do you have any more content for another column?” she asked. “Your last one's up and doing well.”

I shut my eyes briefly. Cue an onslaught of phone calls from my furious mother. “Yeah, I guess I do,” I admitted.

“Great, well, why don't you just take today to write that up and then head off when you're done,” she suggested.

I stared at her in surprise. This was not the Maxine I knew and hated. It would only take me a few hours to write up the column so I could probably leave at lunchtime. “Great, thanks,” I said quickly before she changed her mind, and ran out of her office. I pulled open the WhatsApp thread I had with Lara and Emma.

•   •   •

Me: Maxine had personality change. Can leave office at lunch.

Lara: OMG amazing. I'm in Hertfordshire at my mum's. Shall I come meet you post-work?

Me: YES.

Emma: Ugh jel. See you gals this eve though.

Lara: Want to hear details about Nick date.

Me: They're . . . worth waiting for.

Emma: Can't wait, you dirty stop-out. x

I laughed to myself as I imagined Emma realizing I hadn't come home last night. One of my plastic co-workers shot me a frosty glance but instead of looking back down at my desk, I met her gaze. “Just doing research,” I said, waving my phone at her. “For my column?”

Jenna let out a tiny sigh that sounded more like she was spitting at me and turned back to her laptop. I suppressed a victory grin and opened up a Word document. If I wanted to laud my column success over my (paid) co-workers I'd have to actually keep writing them.

•   •   •

I walked up Mare Street to our house. It had been less than forty-eight hours since I was last there but it felt like longer. I was craving my bed, a long bath and some TV shows. But, as I walked round the corner, I saw Lara sitting on the brick wall outside the house. She was early.

“I know I'm early,” she said, jumping off the wall as I approached. “But I was going out of my mind at home with my mum.”

I gave her a hug and dropped my head onto her shoulders. “Don't worry. I'm shattered but we can curl up on the sofa together. Actually, the sofa is out of bounds.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Will. Raj. I walked in.”

“Okay, straight to your room?” she suggested.

“Yup,” I said, as we walked in through the front door. “So, how was stuff at your mum's?” Lara's perfect lawyer mum had split up with her perfect lawyer husband last year, after it turned out he wasn't so perfect and was shagging his secretary. Now Stephanie was living in Hertfordshire near her sister. It was the opposite side of London to where we'd grown up, so I hadn't even seen Lara's new house.

“Ughhh, exhausting. Like, the new place is nice. It's a three-bed flat and it has a garden, and it's really cute, but it's never going to compare to our old place. And my mum is just being so weird at the moment,” cried Lara, as she collapsed onto my bed.

“Weird how?”

“Well, she's obsessed with making the house perfect and immaculate. When she's not at work, she's in Laura Ashley buying furniture and curtains. Even though the house is absolutely fine.”

“But your mum has always been pretty house proud, hasn't she?”

“It's different now though. I think she's just lonely so she's trying to keep herself busy, but it's so tiring to be around.”

“I can imagine,” I said, as I dropped down onto the bed next to her. “Do you think she's ready to go on any dates and find someone new?”

Lara scoffed. “Please. She's fucking terrified. I keep telling her to go online, but she refuses. She says it's hard being single after so long, and even though she'd love to find someone new, she doesn't feel comfortable putting herself out there. Which is ridiculous because everyone's online. I even told her about you, and she's read your columns, but I think it maybe put her off more than anything.”

“Lar! I can't believe you did that. Your mum's going to think I'm such a slut.”

“Yeah, like the rest of the world, and you should be proud, remember?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I keep forgetting it doesn't mean ‘filthy whore.'”

“Let's reclaim that too. Whore equals awesome.”

“Like . . . ‘Oh my God, Lara, your hair looks so whorey right now I love it.'”

She laughed. “Totally. Let's make it a thing.”

“Not sure it's going to catch on, but, anyway, back to your mum. Why is she so scared? She's so lovely and successful, and,
well, she's a massive MILF. She'd find someone within ten minutes of being online.”

Lara nodded. “I know. But she's convinced she'll get rejected and she won't be able to handle it. I think the whole ‘Dad cheating' thing really damaged her. But your mum has been single ever since your dad left too, right?”

“Yup,” I sighed. My mum had been single for about ten years and while my dad—a total arsehole who only called to tell me to work harder—had a new family, she hadn't been on a single date since pre-millennium. “I've given up hope with her. I think she's just too traditional to go online. And all her Greek friends are coupled up so she does feel really lonely, but I think she wants to be with someone Greek and none of them are ever divorced. So it's a total catch-22.”

“Would she ever go online?”

“I wish. I've tried to convince her. Hell, I even made her a profile on Match.com and paid sixty quid for it. But she refused to go on any of the dates. I think she's got it into her head that only older women who look like Demi Moore can get dates. I know she wants to meet someone, but I just don't think it's going to happen unless he magically finds her and asks her out. She refuses to put any work into it.”

“Ohmigod, same with my mum,” cried Lara. “Maybe it's a generational thing? Like, yeah they had to work hard with getting jobs and stuff, but they didn't have to work for relationships. Men did all the work and women just waited. But with us we're so used to working our arses off just to get a job, let alone a promotion, and then work to get dates, to get sex, to get boyfriends . . . Nothing is easy anymore.”

I nodded fervently. “Exactly, that's why I love online dating because it's a way to actually put yourself out there and get a date. If it didn't exist there's no way I'd be on date four. I know I met Nick IRL but I wouldn't have had the confidence to flirt or go home with him if it wasn't for my previous online dates.”

“Fuck, I can't believe I forgot to ask about Nick,” she cried. “How was the actual proper grown-up date?? More sex?”

“Well, he took me to a rooftop bar, where I felt so un-posh and awkward, but then we basically went straight back to his and shagged. Twice.”

“Nice,” said Lara. “So you've had sex three times now. You're basically a pro.”

“Yeah, so that's the slightly shit bit . . . I don't know how to say this but, well, I don't think I'm very good at sex.”

“El, no one thinks they're good at sex. Especially when they've only done it a few times. It will get better, trust me.”

I felt my cheeks flushing and looked straight at her. Her blonde hair was falling over her face as she smiled supportively at me. I wanted to trust her, but she was so different from me when it came to stuff like this. Her body was hairless and she was generically gorgeous. Of course she got better at sex with practice. She was probably born with sexual rhythm. Unlike me.

Oh hell. If I couldn't admit the truth to my oldest friend, who could I tell it to?

“Lar, I was so bad when I was on top though. I couldn't, like, get the rhythm right.”

She scrunched up her face at me. “Really? I don't think I've ever had that. Don't you just get into it?”

“No, I don't,” I cried. “See, I knew this would happen. I'm the only one who has weird sex issues. So fucking typical. I even fell off a sixty-nine.”

She stared at me. “How?”

“We were positioned weirdly on the bed and my arms gave way so I slid off his body onto the floor. It was so . . . ugh . . . humiliating.”

“El,” she said, hiding a smirk. “It's okay. Sex is awkward. That's the whole thing about it. That's why people like having sex with
people they feel comfortable with—so they can laugh over the squelching sex sounds and getting pubes stuck in their teeth.”

I looked at her in horror. “That happens?”

“Yup,” she said. “And worse, I'm sure.”

“Okay, fine, but how am I ever going to be able to orgasm during sex?” I asked.

She sighed. “I don't know. I don't want to sound like a dick but I can come from penetration. I know other people find it harder. Maybe you can ask him to use his fingers at the same time? Or you can do it yourself?”