Not That Easy (15 page)

“Maybe, but it's not even that the technical skills are lacking. Like, he was good at giving me head. But I'm just so stressed about so much stuff that I can't let go and just . . . come.”

“Have you tried clearing your head?”

“Lara—I tried fucking meditating. I even made ommm sounds.”

“Out loud?”

“No, in my head,” I said, swatting her arm. “You need to have more faith in me. But it didn't even work, hence I feel more doomed than before.”

“Maybe you just need to stop trying,” suggested Lara. “You can come on your own, so you're clearly capable of it. If he's doing the wrong stuff, you can tell him what you like, and if he is doing it right, then just stop thinking.”

“It's not even just thinking, it's like meta-thinking. I start thinking about how I'm overthinking things and it just gets . . . too much.”

“No shit,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just tell your brain to shut the fuck up while you're fucking, and then maybe you'll come.”

“Maybe,” I sighed. “Here's hoping he calls me so I get another chance to try.”

NSFW

My latest date wasn't an online date. I met him IRL, can you believe it? We were in a Shoreditch club and, instead of being just another hipster, he ended up being a banker who took me home.

It was my most successful encounter so far, and it's making me wonder if meeting someone in the flesh is always going to beat an online-based rendezvous. In real life you can feel the attraction, get a sense of their chav-to-hipster ratio and it feels, well, real.

But, on the Internet, you never really know what you're getting. You have no idea if there's going to be a spark or not, so you just risk it and end up wasting a Saturday night or having to wash blood off your face in the loos.

I know I'm just talking about a good old-fashioned one-night stand here, but—please make sure you're sitting
down now—we have been on a subsequent date. An actual real date in a fancy bar with grass growing on the terrace.

He is yet to bite me or bleed on my face, so it is an improvement on my online dates. Instead, he has impressed me with his flat (concierge and view of The Shard), promise-keeping (said he'd call and actually did) and the fact that he knows I'm writing this column and doesn't give a fuck.

So, dear reader, might I be changing the premise of this column soon? Will I no longer be single?

Um, of course not.

This is a casual fling, and it's exactly what I've been looking for. It means we both know where we stand. I don't have to sit here wondering if he is The One because we both know he isn't and, while he's using me to get over her, I'm using him for NSFW fun and column fodder. Who needs mutually exclusive when you can have mutually beneficial?

I woke up sweating, just as I did every Friday. Now my mum knew I had one-night stands and was someone else's rebound girl. Would she call me in a frenzied panic or would she get her terrifying older sister to do it? I reached out for my phone and reluctantly looked at the screen.

I had two Facebook notifications. My stomach plummeted as I saw that they were both from school friends. Surely they hadn't already seen the column—it was only eight a.m.

•   •   •

Cass: OMG Ellie the column is hysterical. You're so brave. Holy shit.

Megan: Um, so proud of you for having your own column!! I'm going to send it to all the girls right now! Expect congratulatory messages all morning . . . Oh, and it's my birthday next week. Invite coming soon.

I laughed out loud. They liked it—and now they wanted me to go to their birthdays. Not just as Lara's plus one, but as Ellie Kolstakis. I mean, it was still terrifying to think of all the girls reading my column and telling me what they thought, but fuck it. They thought I was funny and they wanted to hang out with me. Maybe having a non-anonymous column wasn't such a bad idea.

My phone vibrated. Nick's name flashed on my screen and I physically balked. What if he'd read it?!

“Um, hello?”

“Good morning you, glad to hear you're up. I felt a bit bad calling so early.”

“No worries, I'm um, yeah, just got up.” He was being nice. Why was he being nice? Why didn't he just cut to the chase and tell me he was appalled by my column?

“Cool, so I was wondering if you're free tonight. I know it's last minute and you probably have amazing Friday night plans, but I thought you could come over?”

He hadn't read it. Thank God. I breathed out in relief.

“Um, sure,” I said. Lara and Emma wouldn't mind if I ditched them for a shag. That was in the Girl Code somewhere . . . right?

“Ah cool, well, text me when you finish work and we'll figure out timings then. Maybe I can even pick you up from work?”

“Does that work? Can we get the Tube to yours together?”

“Well, I was probably going to jump in a cab home, so . . .”

“Oh! Yeah, I mean, that would be amazing, thanks.”

“Hey, I might not be English but I am a gentleman. You don't have to sound so surprised.”

“Next thing you're going to tell me you want to cook me dinner.”

“What's wrong with that? Sounds like your past boyfriends didn't know how to treat you well.”

I laughed awkwardly. “Past boyfriends” wasn't really applicable to my life. But if Nick wanted to give me cabs and food in exchange for sex, then who was I to complain?

“Sounds good to me. See you later.”

•   •   •

“You're in early, Ellie,” said Hattie, as she swanned in half an hour after I'd got into the office. I raised my eyebrows. This was the friendliest she'd ever been to me.

“Yeah, thought I'd get a start on all this.” I smiled falsely, gesturing to the pile of papers on my desk.

She gave me an approving nod. “I did the same when I was an intern a few years ago. The only way to get them to keep you on is to prove you're willing to go above and beyond.”

I looked at her in surprise. Hattie had been an intern? I'd just assumed daddy dearest had sorted the job out for her. “I didn't know you were an intern here,” I said.

She snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. I interned for
Tatler
, and then they offered me a job and, after a couple of years, Maxine poached me to work here.”

“Oh,” I said. “How did you get the internship at
Tatler
?”

“I emailed the editor. She was really impressed with me taking my own initiative, and told me to come in.”

I stared at Hattie in surprise. How could I have misjudged her so badly? She hadn't just got here through nepotism—she'd worked her ass off for it, just like I was trying to. “That's . . . really cool, Hattie,” I said.

“Yeah, it worked out. So, I liked your column.”

“Really? Um, thanks.” This was the only compliment I'd ever received in this office. What exactly was happening right now?

“So your date took you to KRG the other week. I think some of the girls were there that night.”

I stared at her blankly. “Sorry?”

She sighed. “Kensington Rooftop Gardens? Your column?”

“Oh, right,” I cried. Note to self: start abbreving posh bars. “Yeah, it's gorgeous there.”

“Hmm, I never had you down as the kind of girl who'd go out round there,” she said, eyeing up my comfort clothes. I looked at her immaculately tailored trousers, cream blazer and thick gold jewelry, and wished I'd washed my hair that morning.

“There's a lot you don't know about me,” I said, sticking up my chin.

“Yeah, are you going out with that guy then?” she asked.

“Oh, no, it's just casual,” I said, with a little shrug. Hattie looked impressed. “What about you, seeing anyone?”

“God no,” she said. “I just ended things with my ex because he was getting like, so needy, so now I'm just dating.”

“Anyone special?” I asked.

“Just a couple of Chelsea guys,” she said.

“Naturally,” I said sarcastically.

“Yeah exactly,” she said seriously. “Hey, you should come out for drinks with us. Maybe next week?”

Oh my God, my work colleagues were finally accepting me. Who knew having an active sex life meant so many different social groups would want to start hanging out with me?!

“Yes!” I said. “Um, that would be good. Anyway, I'd probably better get on with this before Maxine gets in.”

“Tell me about it,” said Hattie, rolling her eyes. “Let's hope she's not on the warpath today.”

I turned back to my computer screen with a slow grin spreading
across my face. Clearly being slutty did have its advantages. In fact, seeing as Maxine wasn't in yet, maybe I should work on said sluttiness.

I surreptitiously pulled open a new window and started Googling: “how to have sex on top.” A
Cosmopolitan
article popped up. It was a Q&A from a girl whose boyfriend wanted her to “master” the position. I read
Cosmo
's sage advice: “To assume the woman-on-top position, have your guy lie on his back and straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips. Or, if you prefer, you can squat over him with your feet flat on the mattress.”

Squat?? As though I was trying to pee without sitting on a gross loo seat in a public toilet? I really did not have the thigh muscles for that. How was this legitimate advice? I'd have to try to figure out how to straddle him with my knees flat on the bed.

“Start moving up and down to build momentum. Or you can rest your torso on his and sensuously grind him from side to side or in circles. But just because you're in the driver's seat, that doesn't mean you have to do all the work. To keep from tuckering out, have him wrap his hands around your hips and help you gyrate.”

“Sensuously grind?” What was this? Why couldn't they just write this in normal terms, and also, why were they assuming the average reader even knew how to grind—sensuously or not?

I sighed. At least the tips acknowledged that it was hard work, and Nick's trick of holding my hips was clearly a classic tip.

What about . . . a sixty-nine? I checked no one was behind my computer screen and quickly typed in: “falling off a sixty-nine.”

The top entry was man, sixty-nine, falls off a cliff. Fantastic. Clearly nobody had ever fallen off a sixty-nine apart from me. Fuck it, clearly sixty-nines weren't for me and I could try something else. What about . . . “best positions to come in.”

Hundreds of pages popped up and I breathed out in relief. At least this was a popular search topic. One website had a list of the top positions:

Missionary. Tick. Although judging from the pictures, it looked like my legs weren't going high enough above Nick's shoulders. How did these girls get their legs in these positions? I would have to get myself a gym membership ASAP. I made a mental note to call my mum for gym money.

Girl on top. Ugh. Yes, I knew it was a good position, if I could bloody manage it. It also suggested doing it backwards. That sounded even worse. I felt the familiar sexual panic rise inside me and tried to quash it. It didn't really matter if I had to practice “reverse cowgirl” with him, right? Surely that was the kind of position girls weren't meant to be automatically skilled at?

Sitting up together. So I had to sit on him, thrust back and forth and up and down, whilst hugging him. This looked quite sweet. It reminded me of teddy-bear rolls from gymnastics at school. Maybe this is what they were trying to prepare us for.

Side to side. Right, so we lie side to side and he goes inside me, and I swing my legs over his thighs. Both of my legs? I craned my head to look at the diagram, but couldn't figure out where the stick woman's second leg had gone.

Lying-down doggy. It was just like normal doggy, but with me on the bed so that I could rub my clitoris against it. Okay, I could do that, but wouldn't it be better to rub it with my actual hand? Maybe that could be managed.

I clicked on a different tab and was directed to a YouTube page. This was seriously NSFW, but it wasn't like I was being paid to work there. Surely the intern could get away with a bit of extracurricular Googling? I pulled out my headphones confidently and stuck them in.

An attractive black man wearing tighty-whities came up on the screen. He lay down on the floor and a hot Spanish woman walked over to him. I felt my throat tighten—surely this wasn't going to be an actual porno? YouTube couldn't do that, could they?!

The woman was wearing underwear. Thank God. She climbed on top of the guy. “Okay, so this is a good way to have sex on top,” she said. She lay on top of him, with her legs on top of his and her hands clutching his. They were spread out like two Jesuses. Then, she just lifted her body slightly and started humping him.

My mouth dropped open. She looked like a rabbit on speed. Were you meant to fuck them so quickly? I remembered my attempt with Nick, which had started off slowly. Maybe that wasn't what he'd wanted.

She swapped positions and did the teddy-bear hug. I relaxed as the couple hugged. It looked like this would be a calmer position. And then she started rocking her body into his at the speed of light. What the actual fuck—was sex always meant to be so . . . fast? How did she even get her body to do that, it looked so spontaneous and natural but her rhythm was impeccable.

I looked up and saw Maxine walking towards me. Crap. I ripped out my headphones and closed the screen. By the time she got to my desk I was bright red and had a layer of sweat on my top lip.

“Ellie,” she said. “Can you put in some calls for interviews, please?”

“Um, sure, but, wait,” I cried out, as she started walking back to her desk. “What interviews?”

She sighed loudly. “We need some big interviews this month. So just think of some celebrities you'd love to interview and get in touch with them. You know the kind of person we would be interested in.”

“Wait, I'd get to interview them?” I cried out.

“No, of course not. It would be Carla, the chief interviewer. I just meant you're young and our target audience so try and think of the kind of people you'd like to read about, and give them a call. Is that manageable?”

“Um, yes, sure,” I said.

Hattie and Company might want to hang out with me now, but
I couldn't think of anything that would make Maxine be nice to me—or even pay me.

Thank God Nick didn't expect me to buy my own drinks.

•   •   •

A black cab pulled up outside the office and I jumped up from the wooden bench in excitement. The door opened and Nick got out.

“Hey,” he said.

He was wearing a suit and looked so fit it hurt. And he was smiling at me in the way guys did in romcoms. It felt surreal. Since when did I, Ellie Kolstakis, go on dates with hot guys who paid for cabs and looked at me like I was Julia Roberts? I grinned back at him. If I was his Julia then I'd better act the part. I gave him a kiss on the lips and climbed into the cab.