Not That Easy (16 page)

“So, you look pretty good in a suit,” I said flirtatiously.

“Thanks, you don't look too bad yourself.”

“That's what they all say.”

“Oh yeah, who? Do I need to get my macho guy on and mark out my territory?”

“You did not just call me your territory,” I cried.

“Oh God, here comes the feminist spiel,” he said, grinning at me.

I laughed and swatted his arm. “If I wasn't convinced that you were kidding, then yes, you'd get the full lecture. But I have a bit more faith in you.”

“You do, huh?”

He leaned in and kissed me. I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling like a loon. This was
fun
. Like, the exact sort of fun I thought I'd be having three years ago, but hey, better late than never, right? His hand stroked my hair as we kissed and I suddenly wondered what Emma and Lara would say if they saw us now.

They'd think I was falling for him. But how could you fall for
someone you'd just met? This wasn't actually
Notting Hill
. That kind of stuff just happened in movies. Besides I couldn't imagine Nick and I as a couple. He was so smooth and suave and I was this curly-haired mess. It was like when Bridget Jones tried to date Daniel Cleaver—it was doomed. They were better off as fuck buddies, just like Nick and I were.

“Oh hey,” I said, breaking away from the kiss. “I can see The Shard. We must be by you now.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty sweet landmark, eh?”

“Totally. I hear you can go up there for drinks and stuff, which is cool.”

“Yeah, my workmates go to the bar there a fair bit. Maybe we should go one day. It would be fun to take you.”

Fun. He was right. We were having fun and I was overthinking everything. “Definitely. Fun with you is good.”

He smiled. “Yeah. Well, here we are.” He handed the cab driver a twenty-pound note and ignored my weak protestations to split the cost. Thank God he hadn't accepted or I would have been eating plain pasta all week. I followed him out of the cab into his flat. This time, walking in with Nick by my side, I felt like I belonged. When Nick greeted the concierge, I gave him a small nod too.

“Home sweet home,” he said, pushing open the door.

I followed him in and hovered behind him. I suddenly felt shy. It had been fine bantering around in the cab, but being alone in his flat felt weird. Like, was he really going to make me a stir-fry right now? Did he even have the ingredients?

“So, luckily for you, I did a food shop yesterday,” he announced. “Which means we can make dinner whenever. Do you want a drink first though?”

I nodded in relief. A drink was exactly what I needed. “I bought a couple of bottles too. Well, when I say bought, I mean stole from my flatmate Will.”

He laughed. “Sweet. Well, let's drink the stolen brew then.” He took it from my hands and squinted. “Is that . . . sparkly?”

“Is it? Oh damn, I thought I'd picked up red. Do you mind? Typical Will, drinking sparkly pink wine. He says he's not camp then he does shit like that.”

“No worries,” he said. “I drink pretty much anything.” He poured out the Prosecco into two glasses. “Cheers to . . . to Will for providing the bevvies.”

“Cheers,” I said, feeling unnerved as he stared straight into my eyes. We clinked glasses and drank. I put mine down, hovering awkwardly. “So, um . . .”

“Yeah, do you wanna just hang out a bit and cook later?”

“Sure,” I said, ignoring the gnawing hunger pains in my tummy. “I'm barely even hungry right now.”

“Sweet.”

We sat down on the sofa and he switched on the TV. A
Top Gear
rerun was on. He didn't move to swap channels. I sighed inwardly and got ready for half an hour of chauvinistic car jokes.

“I just, like, hate Jeremy Clarkson,” I cried, three glasses of wine and two episodes of
Top Gear
into our night. “And the other one looks like a hamster. Don't you think?”

Nick laughed. “Mmm, if you say so. I'm pretty into cars though, so that's the main appeal for me.”

“Cars . . . no, can't say they interest me, sorry.” I put my glass down on the coffee table and wine sloshed over the side. “Shit, sorry,” I said, realizing that I was already drunk. I knew we should have had the stir-fry pre-alcohol.

I looked over at Nick. He was still wearing his shirt and looked hot. If we weren't going to eat dinner, the next best thing was a shag. I was kind of excited to practice reverse cowgirl.

I edged towards him and looked up at his face. He was engrossed in the program and hadn't noticed. It was up to me to kiss him
first. I had no idea why I was so nervous—especially because I'd just done the exact same thing in the cab—but I felt my heart race as I forced myself to make the first move and kiss him. I closed my eyes and thrust my face towards him.

“Whoah,” he cried, as my lips smacked into his chin. I flushed red and he smiled at me, taking my face in his hands. He pulled me close to him and kissed me. Phew. We were back on familiar territory. I kissed him as hard as I could and started pulling my clothes off. He took his off too and, within minutes, we were writhing around naked on his leather sofa.

“Pluffttttttt.”

He broke away from me. “Did you just parp?”

“What?!” I cried out. “No. It was my skin getting stuck to the sofa. And, seriously,
parp
? It's FART.”

“Oh-kay.” He grinned. “You can calm down, Ellie. I don't mind that you
farted
in front of me.”

I blushed furiously. “Ohmigod, I didn't fart. It's your sofa. Can we go in your room?”

“Sure.” He laughed.

I fled into his room and he followed. We stood there naked by his bed.

“So . . .” he said.

“Can you, um, lie down?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows and lay down on the bed. As if on cue, he took a condom out of his bedside drawer and slipped it on. Ben could have learnd a thing or two from him. I took a deep breath and walked over to him. I climbed on top of him, still facing him, and hovered nervously. He pulled me towards him gently and I kissed him. I took my right hand and reached blindly towards his penis. It was poking out of his tidy pubes. I tried to angle it into my vagina.

It didn't work.

“Agh, I can't . . . can you?” I asked.

He tried to put his penis into me, but it seemed my cervix was well and truly closed. Fuck.

“Hey, I have some lube we can use,” he suggested.

“Um, if you . . . if you want to.”

“Yeah, let me get it out,” he said. He rolled over and opened a drawer in his bedside cabinet.

I froze in shock.

There were rows and rows of dildos. Small bullets, rabbit vibrators, hot pink lumps of rubber. I closed my eyes and opened them again. They were all still there.

In the corner was a selection of small bottles. He picked one up triumphantly and waved it at me. “Got it,” he said.

I stared at him in silence. I couldn't make any words come out. I just . . . What the fuck had I just seen?

“Ellie? Are you okay?”

“Mmm,” I rasped. “Just, um, what are those?”

“Oh, my lightsabers?”

“Sorry?”

“My lightsabers.” He grinned. “It's what I call my vibrators and dildos. We can have a bit of a play if you want. They're fun.”

I blinked at him in silence. I couldn't absorb anything he was saying. I did
not
sign up to shag Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Ellie?” he asked. “It'll be fun. Go on, lie down.” He gently pushed my torso and I obligingly lay back onto the bed. My whole body was rigid. I was scared shitless.

He parted my legs and looked straight at my un-trimmed, unkempt vagina with pubes growing down my thighs. So much for me not letting him go down on me. He picked up one of his instruments and rubbed lube onto it. He pressed a button and it started vibrating. I craned my neck upwards and watched him move it towards my vagina.

He put it on my clitoris and I gasped involuntarily. I'd forgotten
how good it felt to use a vibrator. I'd been too busy/stressed/lazy to do it lately and it felt good—except for the fact that I had no idea where the fuck his lightsaber had been.

I felt it move into my vagina and gasped. It was cold and slimy, creeping into me, and now all I could think about was it going into some other girl. Had he even washed it since?

I pushed his hand away and the vibrator fell to the floor. It buzzed in circles on the rug.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Um, I just . . . I'm not really in the mood for that. Can we just, uh, have sex?” I couldn't bring myself to use the word “fuck” as casually as he did.

He shrugged. “I'm all yours.” He lay back down onto the bed and passed me the lube.

I held the tube in my hand and stared at it blankly. What was I meant to do with it? Should I squirt it straight onto his penis or into my hands? I assumed it was the former and rubbed it onto his rubbery dick.

He took his dick into his own hands and slid it into me. Luckily, it slid right in. But now I was facing the wrong way for reverse cowgirl. Should I swivel on him now, or later?

I turned my body around quickly without thinking. I didn't want to see his surprise, and then his confusion, when I would inevitably fuck up the rhythm and prove that I was as sexually inexperienced as a nun.

I used my thighs to push my body up and down and began wincing. I wouldn't be able to last long here. When would he put his hands on my hips to help me? Maybe I could ask, but wouldn't that kill the mood? Luckily, I felt his hands rest on either side of my arse. They guided me up and down and I tried to put my weight onto them.

Think light thoughts, Ellie
, I told myself.
You are as light as a
feather. You have strong thighs; you can do this. Just think of all the calories you must be losing.

The thought of weight loss and a toned bod cheered me up and I managed to up the pace. But then I felt my left thigh muscle strain and I knew I had to stop. I put my legs straight out in front of me and used my arm muscles to push up my body.

This was so much worse. It was like a backwards press-up. Who ever said this position was enjoyable and
why
? How was I meant to come when my arms were on the verge of collapse?

I closed my eyes and tried to center my strength in my core muscles like my Pilates teacher had taught me. But, with my eyes closed, I could feel the sensations in my vagina more, and it was seriously stinging. I breathed through the pain and winced as Nick's penis went in and out.

I climbed off him, gasping. The pain was too much. He took this as a sign that I wanted to change positions so he pushed me onto the bed and climbed on top. Good old-fashioned missionary. Maybe it would stop hurting now.

But, as he thrust himself in and out quickly, my vagina burned up. It felt like it was on fire. I closed my eyes tightly and prayed to God that he would come any second now. He didn't. Oh God, please, let him come. I bit my teeth together and groaned in silent agony.

I should tell him to stop. It hurt too much. But I just felt awkward saying anything. Besides hopefully he would finish in a second.
ARGH.
Why was this hurting so much? Oh my God, had he given me an STI from his lightsaber? Or was it cystitis? Lara had had cystitis before and said it was like peeing glass. It must be a UTI—but wasn't it meant to hurt mid-pee not mid-shag?

He came. I felt the condom expand inside me as his penis throbbed. I cried out in relief and pushed him out of me. The pain was still burning, but it calmed down as cold air went in.

“Are you okay, Ellie?” he asked.

“My vagina . . . is . . . on fire.”

“What? Shit, are you okay? Have I hurt you? You should have told me. I would have pulled out.”

“No, it, uh, wasn't that bad,” I lied. He was right though—I was an idiot for not asking him to get out of me. Why was I still so embarrassed to talk about sex during sex?! If I didn't tell him what I liked, and what I wanted, how was I ever going to come?

“Ellie? You don't look too good.”

“I'm . . . It's okay. It hurts, but I'm also a bit worried. It feels like something isn't quite right.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. Maybe you've had an allergic reaction. You're not allergic to latex are you?”

“No, not as far as I know. I mean, maybe I have an undiagnosed allergy?”

“I doubt it,” he said. “They normally find that one with kids because Band-Aids have it in too. Shit, maybe you're allergic to the lube.”

The lube. I searched wildly on his bed until I found the small pot. Durex, Heat lubricant. I turned it over to read the ingredients. There was just a list of chemicals; I could be allergic to
any
of them.

I paused. Why was this lube called Heat?

“Nick,” I said. “Is lube normally called Heat?”

“Oh no,” he said. “You can get lube that has different effects instead of boring KY Jelly or whatever. This one has a heat effect so it makes you feel warm, it feels good on my dick. Wait, do you think . . .”

“You deliberately bought a lube that makes MY VAGINA FEEL LIKE IT'S ON FIRE?” I shrieked. “How is that enjoyable? Oh my God, I thought I was dying, or had like AIDs from your lightsaber.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

I paused. “I was, um, kidding. It's just . . . Nick my vagina really
really
hurts. Surely it isn't just this lube? This is not pleasurable. I honestly feel like I'm about to pass out from the pain.”

“Sorry, Ellie, I think it's just the lube. Hopefully it will die down soon.”

I closed my eyes and prayed for the pain to subside. Hours later, I was still praying.

My vagina had been in agony the whole night and for most of Saturday. I had left Nick's king-sized, fluffy bed to come home and cradle my aching vag in my less fluffy bed. The only consolation was that he'd been texting me comforting messages all morning and clearly wasn't put off by my scalded vagina.

“Ellie, are you okay yet?” asked Emma, pushing the door open.

“Thanks for knocking,” I grumbled. “I swear no one in this household believes in privacy. Even the mice watch me while I pee.”

“Ugh, can we not talk about the mice, please?” She shuddered. “Lara and I have booked a restaurant for tonight so are you going to be able to get your lazy arse out of bed?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I meant, are you going to be able to get your singed pussy out of bed?”

I threw my cushion at her, but it landed at her feet. She picked it up with a sigh and perched on the end of my bed. “Babe.
Stop wallowing and the pain will subside. Does it even hurt anymore?”

“I guess it doesn't hurt that much,” I admitted. “But the humiliation still hurts.”

“What humiliation? It's not your fault his shitty lube burned your vag.”

“I know, but it was all so awkward and he saw my hairy vagina up close and he had lightsabers and it probably smelled, and I was so crap at reverse cowgirl and . . . I feel like I'm never going to come in front of a guy. I swear I can only come in bed alone.”

“Lightsabers? Ohmigod, this sounds so exciting. Can you hurry up and get ready so we can hear all the juicy deets tonight.”

“I'm too mopey.”

“Ellie. None of these things are worth losing your Saturday night over. Guys don't care about pubes or smells—they're just lucky to be going down there.”

“Are you
kidding
me? Do you not remember my accidental Hitler wax? Or your reaction to Ben's Boyzilian? Pubes are still a thing.”

“Oh all right, but you need to get over it. I'm leaving in an hour and we're meeting Lara at Caravan. I expect to see you ready to go at six p.m.”

“Where is it?”

“King's Cross. I'll take that as affirmation you're coming. And please can you try and cheer up a bit? We don't want you dampening our Saturday night.”

I pulled the duvet over my head. Emma was normally so indulgent of my self-pitying days. Things had clearly changed since Sergio was out of the picture. I felt a twinge of guilt. My below-average Friday night and stinging VJ were really nothing compared to finding your long-term boyfriend in bed with an older woman. I remembered her tacky blue eyeshadow and forced myself out of bed. My problems were pretty pathetic in comparison.

•   •   •

Emma and I walked into the buzzing restaurant to meet Lara. She was wearing her hair piled up in a quiff at the front with dramatic makeup and a tight electric blue top. She looked incredible.

“Ohmigod, amazing outfit,” shrieked Emma, as she enveloped Lara in a hug. “Where is this new look from and why have I never seen it?”

“I have decided if I want to change my life and my luck, I need to change my look,” announced Lara, as she gave me a hug. Emma was as glamorous as usual in a black cotton and net jumpsuit with ankle boots and a leather jacket. She was showing less flesh than she used to and it suited her. I felt considerably underdressed in my jeans and the standard black top I always wore out. I probably should have brushed my hair.

“Yes, I feel so much better now I've bought a whole new wardrobe, post-Sergio,” said Emma. “It's my new angry/wounded look.”

“It's amazing,” I said. “I hope you've made a playlist to match.”

“Naturally,” she said. “What's your look called, Lara?”

“Um, my ‘I'm sick of being fucked around by a weed-addict called Jez and I want to date someone worthy of me' look?”

“I think you need to work on the catchiness of the title,” I said. “But, apart from that, you look great too, Lar. So what's made you decide you want to ditch Jez once and for all?”

“Other than the fact that he's a pathetic arsehole?” she asked, pouring wine into all of our glasses. “He left his Facebook logged on to my laptop. So obviously I read all his private messages and he has been messaging a bunch of random girls he's met online. They all have Russian-sounding names and their profile pictures make them look like prostitutes.”

“Oh my God, poor you,” cried Emma. “I know exactly how you feel. It's just . . . awful, isn't it? You start questioning if you're
even good enough for them and it takes weeks to remember that you're a million times hotter.”

“Well, it's a bit different,” I said. “As in, you were with Sergio for months and it was exclusive, or meant to be, but Jez and Lara are pretty on/off. Besides, Lara, you did get off with Nick's mate the other day.”

“Thanks, Ellie.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Although I couldn't even bring myself to go home with him because I'm so hung up on bloody Jez. It's like, I'm not pissed off that he was cheating on me, because, as you've said, we weren't official. It's more the fact that he sits on his arse all day doing fuck all and can't bring himself to take me on dates, but he has the energy to message other hos.”

“Don't call them hos,” I said. “We're trying to be supportive of slutty girls, remember?”

“The woman who shagged Sergio is a ho,” said Emma darkly.

“Well, you're proving all the misogynistic men who view women as frigid or sluts completely right,” I said. “You're basically giving them the license to call women sluts.”

“Oh shut up,” said Lara. “You know we're normally the ones educating you on feminism. We both just realized the guys we were with are dumb arseholes. We're allowed to have off days. What's wrong with you anyway?”

“She's in a shit mood because Nick used heat lube and it burned her vagina. Also because she thinks she's bad at sex and can't orgasm with a guy,” Emma informed her.

“Cheers, Emma.” I scowled. “And you missed out the fact he has a drawer of lightsabers.” Lara raised her eyebrows questioningly. “They're a bunch of vibrators and dildos he uses on girls. I may have an STI from one of them.”

“Whoah,” said Lara. “That's so intense. I've never heard of a guy doing that. He must be pretty fun in bed.”

“Yeah,” said Emma. “I love a guy with tools—especially if he
knows how to use them. So you didn't come even with a vibrator on you?”

I shook my head glumly. “No, and I don't know if I ever will. It's just . . . he can be doing it perfectly with the exact technique I like, but I just can't let myself go.”

“Does the whole trying to clear your head thing not work?” asked Lara.

“No, it just makes it worse. Even if I'm not really worrying about stuff and it feels nice, I just can't come. Also, he doesn't really last long enough for me to fully get into it. Even though I only need like five minutes when I'm doing it to myself.”

“Oh, babe,” said Emma. “I wish I knew how to help. You've tried everything I would suggest. Do you try and imagine a scenario in your head?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know, like a fantasy. My favorite one is to imagine I'm lying on my back naked in an auditorium with loads of naked men around me. I'm touching myself and the men are all wanking over me and they try to climax as I do, and the goal is to get their jizz on my body—ideally into my mouth.”

Lara and I exchanged a glance and we heard a cough from behind Emma. “Are you ladies ready to order?” asked the waiter. He was bright red.

We all caught each other's eyes and started giggling. The waiter backed away. I realized that meant we weren't going to get our dinner and quickly called him back. “Can we just have three pizzas to share? Your best ones please.”

“Which ones?” he asked.

“You choose,” said Emma, licking her lips. He nodded quickly and walked away as fast as possible.

“Oh my God, that was hysterical,” cried Lara. “The waiter looked
like he was about to die. But, to be fair, I was dying a bit too. I mean, I have fantasies as well but yours is hardcore.”

“Is it?” asked Emma, sipping her wine. “I thought everyone imagined stuff like that during sex.”

“No,” I squeaked. “I had no idea anyone visualized things.”

“Of course they do, babe,” she said. “Women get off on fantasies during sex and masturbation, while men are way more visual. That's why they like hardcore porn and magazines while we're happy with more of a storyline. Surely you imagine stuff when you wank?”

“I guess I do,” I said slowly. “I just never realized that's what I was doing.”

“Well, what do you imagine?” asked Emma.

“Um, my favorite one is . . . oh my God, this is so embarrassing. But I guess I like the thought of someone just coming up behind me when I'm in a crowd, and whispering that they want to shag me, and then, well, doing it.”

“That's a good start,” said Emma. “But I reckon if you imagine more and really hone them, you can get some really fun ones. Some of mine even get a bit sci-fi. I swear I should be a porn director.”

“I kind of wish I could get spit-roasted,” said Lara.

I choked on my wine. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” she said, flushing. “I don't know what it would be like in real life, but I love the idea of me giving head to one guy while someone else fucks me from behind. Especially two hot strangers.”

“That's totally normal,” cried Emma. “But so is the bit about not needing it to come true. That's the whole thing about fantasies—they're just stimulation. Guys sometimes get weird if you admit that's what you're thinking about during sex, but, honestly, everyone does it. It's not like you wish the guy you were with was different, but they don't always get that.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“
My Secret Garden
. It's a seminal seventies book about women and sexual fantasies. Have you never heard of it?”

“Um, isn't that a book about a little girl and a guy in a wheelchair?”

“No Ellie, that's
The Secret Garden
. This book is a little bit more X-rated. It's just a collection of women's fantasies. There's hundreds. Some of them are amazing. They admit rape fantasies, bestiality, everything.”

I gaped at her. “Am I the only one freaking out about this? Lara?”

“I haven't read it, but I've heard of it,” she said. “It makes sense though, doesn't it? It's all forbidden, so it's already exciting, and it becomes this sexual taboo. It's like how men love the idea of schoolgirls or nuns because they're so forbidden. God, I wish I could do my thesis on this instead of property law.”

“Me too,” said Emma dreamily. “I could read about sexual fantasies forever. Ellie, you should borrow this book—I have it at home. It's like porn for girls. Maybe it will help you imagine some things that you can hold on to while you're shagging. You have to concentrate on the fantasies so you can come.”

“Really?” I asked uncertainly.

“God yes, orgasms are hard work,” she cried. “Men think they're the ones doing all the work, but really it's us in our heads making it happen. Don't you think, Lara?”

“Yeah, you definitely have to be in the zone,” she said. “But, honestly, I think I might just be really lucky because I can come quite easily during sex. Certain positions just do it for me.”

“Huh,” I said. “I feel like there's so much to learn. There should be a class on this.”

“OH MY GOD,” yelled Emma. “I can't believe I only just remembered. There
is
a class on it. They do it at the sex shop you went to in Hoxton when you got your first vibrator. I'm signed up to their email list and they keep emailing me about their orgasm lessons for women. You need to go.”

“Yes,” I cried. “This could solve all of my problems. I can't wait! When shall we go?”

“Oh, I'm not coming with you,” she said. “It's like twenty-five pounds and I reckon I'm more qualified to lead the class than whoever their sexpert is.”

I sighed. “Fine. Lara?”

Lara rolled her immaculately made-up eyes at me. “Oh all right. Only you would make me go to things like this, Ellie. None of my other friends ever discuss lube or orgasms with me in the detail you do.”

“I literally have no idea how those girls survive life,” I said. “If I didn't have you two to offload my sex problems onto, I think I would die a sad, miserable, paranoid death. I would just feel so alone if I didn't know other people freaked out about VJs and orgasms too. Ohmigod, did I tell you Nick said my pubes are spiky and coarse?”

“Yes,” they both groaned.

“Oh sorry,” I said sheepishly. “Look, pizzas are here.”

•   •   •

The waiter put down the bill in front of us and scurried away. We howled with laughter again. We'd ordered two bottles of wine to go with our distinctly average pizzas and we were now officially pissed.

“Oh my god, eighty pounds?” cried Lara. “How did we spend so much money? We're all broke.”

I felt the blood rush from my face. “I don't think I even have twenty pounds.”

“More like twenty-seven,” said Lara.

“Uh-oh.”

“Sorry, guys,” said Emma. “I feel bad because I chose the place. Maybe I should pay more?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I said and put down my student debit card. “I still have an overdraft. Let's do this.”

“I'm still a student,” said Lara. “My loan's getting my share.”

“And I have a job that pays just above minimum wage so I can cope if I don't eat for a week,” said Emma, chucking her card onto ours.

“We'll be fine,” I said. “Let's just make sure we don't spend any more tonight. We can have wine back at ours.”