The Great Ex-Scape

by Jo Watson

  “So what’s next on your list?” Julian asked.

  What was next actually? That was a good question. I took the magazine out of my bag and laid it on the bar. I ran my finger down the page. Everything was ticked. Except for the last one.

  “Shit!” I said.

  “What?” Julian asked.

  “We’ve done them all, except for the last one.” How the hell had I forgotten about this last one?

  “What’s the last one?” Julian asked.

  I started reading. “ ‘Number Ten. Get Over Him By Getting Under Someone Else. Well, you have come to the end of the list, and are now probably ready to take the biggest and most important step of all! This is the final step, the one that will launch you over the threshold and into your new life without him. It will turn you from pining ex to whining ex (whining someone else’s name in bed, that is). Because it’s true, the best way to get over someone, once and for all, is by getting under someone else. So book a sesh with the waxologist—and we don’t mean for your brows. Pull out the lingerie and find someone else. He doesn’t have to be a keeper—in fact, it’s better if he’s not. This isn’t about getting into another relationship (remember number one). He just needs to be there to help you ride over that last hump—pun intended. And don’t worry, it really is like riding a bicycle, once you’re in the saddle, it should all come back to you.’ ”

  There was a general pause after I’d finished reading as I think we all let it sink in. And then, suddenly, Julian burst out laughing.

  “What?” I looked over at him.

  He continued to laugh and shake his head at us. “Of all the people I’ve met here at the bar over the years, you two have to be the weirdest!”

  “That’s not true. You met a woman that killed her husband,” I whispered over at him.

  Julian continued to laugh. “You’re so gullible. I only told you those stories so you would tell me yours.”

  “Bastard!” I exclaimed playfully.

  Julian shrugged. “What can I say, I love a good story. So . . . where are you going to go to get laid?”

  “Laid?” I suddenly flung my hands over my mouth and giggled uncontrollably. “That’s such a trashy word.”

  “Well, it is what you’re doing,” he said to us.

  Alex and I looked at each other and then Alex turned to Julian. “Any suggestions?”

  “Well, it depends what you’re into.” He leaned over the bar, looking very comfortable. “The metal heads and the ones that dress in black hang out in Club X, the hipsters are all twirling their moustaches and sipping their artisan teas at This Is Not A Club, then there’s Club Dungeon, but I wouldn’t go there, unless you’re into that kind of thing.” He paused. “I mean, you could be?” He looked at us and raised his brows in question.

  “What kind of thing?” Alex asked.

  “You know . . . whips, chains, leather, latex, the occasional bloodletting and sex dolls?” Julian burst out laughing again.

  Alex shook his head. “No, thanks. I think I’ve had enough of all that to last me a lifetime.”

  “I know.” Julian snapped his fingers. “Go to Liquid. It’s quite fancy, so you’ll need to dress up, but the people there seem normal.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  Julian pulled out the famous bottle of tequila and three shot glasses.

  “What’s this for?”

  “We’ll have a drink together, to toast this moment.” He poured us each a drink and we all held it. Then we threw the drinks back and brought the glasses back down to the bar with a loud thud.

  “You guys won’t go through with it, though,” Julian said, sliding away from us.

  “What?! Of course we will,” I called after him.

  “Sure you will.” He sounded very sarcastic now.

  “We will,” Alex called after him. “We will both get laid tonight!”

  “Whatever you say, but I bet it won’t happen,” he continued to tease.

  “Watch us! Watch this space, Julian, you naysayer!” I shouted after him.

  Julian threw his head back and let out a loud belly laugh.

  “Val and I are so getting laid tonight,” Alex said. Maybe a bit too loudly, though. Because suddenly people were looking at us. I tried to hold down a giggle. Alex turned slowly and through his clenched teeth said, “I think I said that too loudly.”

  “You think?” I quipped sarcastically. “I think that’s our cue to leave,” I whispered back to him.

  “I think you’re right.” We got up and made our way back to the hotel. We checked in again—this time we were in different rooms. Alex walked me to my door.

  “Meet in the reception in two hours?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “All dressed up and looking beautiful,” he said.

  “I’ll try my hardest.” I opened the door and as I closed it I heard . . .

  “You won’t have to try very hard then.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I walked into my room, and then collapsed onto the bed. Some of my hair fell into my face and I inhaled its scent. It smelt good, like jasmine. At least I would have good hair tonight, the rest I wasn’t so sure about. I walked over to my suitcase and pulled out the dress that I’d worn to the ill-fated engagement party. It was the smartest thing I had. I pulled my engagement shoes out too, one still had dry mud clinging to the heel so I walked outside to clean it on the grass. I rubbed it several times before the thick mud started coming off. And then a familiar rustle in the bushes again . . .

  I didn’t even need to look up to know who was there.

  “What?” I asked, tilting my head up and coming face to face with him. “Mmm?” I implored. He tilted his head down, as if he was looking at my shoe. Again, he looked like he was mocking me. Judging me.

  “What? You also think I won’t get laid tonight?” I asked him.

  He raised his wrinkly little head and looked me straight in the eye as if he didn’t believe me.

  I scoffed. “Wait and see, my wrinkly friend. Just wait and see.” I turned and walked back into my room, determined now. It was time to start getting ready. And if I was going to be scoring tonight, a little bit of pruning might be in order. I took the wax strips to the bathroom with me and closed the door.

  I looked down at the box. It was a happy, pink-looking box. In retrospect, the box should have been red, with bright letters on it: “WARNING: this product has been forged in the flames of hell and will scald your vagina,” or something dramatic like that. It promised No mess, no fuss, no hot wax and clumps. But it lied.

  Still, I was getting laid tonight! That’s right, people. L. A. I. D. Capitals. Laid. So there was no way I was going to let anyone navigate down there with it looking like the Amazon rain forest. Besides, if I was hoping the guy was going to at least find the C-spot, there was no need to distract and confuse him with all the other things that were standing in the way of an actual orgasm. I’d almost forgotten how those felt, what with the lack of action I’d seen.

  I pulled the strips out. I’d used these cold wax strips a few times before, they were usually pretty easy. I rubbed the strips between my hands and pulled a few apart, laying them carefully on the counter.

  I was already in my underwear and pulled my panties down. Then I got myself into the right position, i.e., one leg up on the toilet seat. I tried not to look at myself in the mirror, this was by anyone’s standards an incredibly undignified pose.

  “Right. Okay.” I looked down at it thoughtfully. Which part to tackle first? I wasn’t going for a full bald eagle here, just a neat short back and sides. “Right,” I said again, bending my head as far forward as I possibly could in order to get a full picture of the situation.

  Once I’d decided to start from the outside and work my way inside, I grabbed a strip and placed it on. I patted and smoothed it down and then took a deep breath. This was going to hurt. I pulled the skin taut, as taut as I could. I could do this! I was a woman of the world, a brave travele
r. I was She-who-jumps-out-of-helicopters and She-who-runs-from-police. I could do this. And then I ripped . . .

  OMG! “Fuck, fuck, fuck it!” The pain. The agony! It exploded through my body and into my brain. I saw stars! I saw fuzzy white spots behind my eyelids, it was so intense I swear I lost conscious momentarily. The pain was blinding. It was disorientating, it was utterly destabilizing and suddenly I found myself falling backwards. I grabbed hold of the counter to stop myself, only to slide off it when one of my hands came down on a strip and slipped across the marble countertop. The other strips all fell to the floor and so did I.

  “Ouch!” I winced. There was pain everywhere. My vagina felt like it was on fire, that was a given. My back and head had come into contact with the hard bathroom floor, and on my tumble down, my elbow had collided with the edge of the bath.

  I lay there, flat on my back, looking up at the ceiling, catching my breath and coming to terms with what I’d just done to myself. Finally, once I was more compos mentis, I lifted my hands up and looked at them. In one hand was the wax strip that had caused all the pain. I was at least pleased to see it covered with a layer of hair—at least the pain hadn’t been for nothing. On my other hand, a strip was stuck to my palm. I pulled it off and finally stood up.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. “Bloody hell!” I had a neat, clean landing strip running down the left side that didn’t match anything on the right! I couldn’t leave it half undone now, could I? But I certainly didn’t want to wax anymore since the landing strip was a rather alarming shade of red that I was hoping would simmer down before tonight. I turned and was about to reach for the soothing aloe vera cream that had come with the wax kit when I saw my back.

  “Nooooo!” I tried to reach behind me, but my arms were not long enough. There, dotted across my back, right in the middle, were three wax strips. I’d seen them fall off the counter and I’d obviously landed on them.

  “Shit!” I hissed, trying to bend my arms backwards in yoga-like positions that I had no business even attempting, since I’d never been to yoga in my life. But they remained just out of my reach. I took my bra off, hoping that would help. It didn’t.

  I looked around the bathroom and saw the detachable shower head. “Yes!” That would do. I climbed into the bath and detached the shower head. And looking over my one shoulder into the mirror, I tried to push the strips off with it, but they were stuck.

  “Crapping hell!” They were going nowhere. And now I was left with only one other choice . . .

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “Hey, Alex,” I said sweetly into the phone.

  “Hey, Val,” he imitated right back.

  “So . . . you know how on the first night we met I sort of helped you out with an issue?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “Well, you know how you said if I ever needed help . . .?”

  “Yes?” He sounded tentative. “Are your knees sore again?”

  “No, it’s not that body part, per se.”

  “What body part do you need help with this time?” His voice had a little lilt to it and for a second I wanted to say something else entirely, but didn’t. “My back,” I said. “I kind of have a waxing emergency.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but I need your help,” I said, turning my back to the mirror and looking at the strips again. They had been on there so long, they were making the skin pucker in horrible ripples. “I think you need to hurry. And please bring a razor too, if you have a spare one.” I would need to take a different approach when it came to removing the rest of the hair.

  Moments later Alex was knocking on my door. I wrapped a towel around me and waddled to the door. My vajayjay was still stinging and the friction from walking wasn’t helping either. I hoped it would cool down soon, because no one in the club would want me if it looked like I was walking with a bird cage dangling between my legs.

  “Hey.” I opened the door and peered at him sheepishly.

  “What happened?” he asked, coming in.

  “Uh . . .” I turned around and then lowered the towel, exposing my back. “

  “Ouch.” I heard him wince and then felt a warm hand come up and touch my back. “Lie down on the bed,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said feebly. I walked towards it and climbed on, careful not to let the towel slip too far. I tensed my body and waited.

  “Try to relax,” Alex said, sitting down next to me.

  “That’s all well and good for you to say,” I mumbled into the bed. “You don’t have strips of sticky devil paper stuck to your body.”

  I heard a small chuckle from Alex.

  “Hey,” I turned my head, “was I laughing when your face was suffocating under a layer of black muck? No! I don’t think so.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “But in my medical experience, I find things really do tend to hurt less if you’re relaxed, if you know what I mean.”

  “Eeew!” I shook my head and buried it in the duvet. “Fine. I’m relaxing,” I said, trying to convince myself of this, even though every single nerve and fiber and cell in my body was screaming something else entirely. “I am so relaxed right now,” I whispered in a Zen voice. “I am soooo relaxed . . . like a leaf in a breeze, so, so relaxed soOOOO—”

  I screamed as the first strip was ripped off. “WhYYY?” I wailed. “Warn me next time you do that!”

  “Sorry, I thought it would be less painful if you didn’t know it was coming.”

  “OWW!” I arched my back in pain once more as he ripped the next one off—again, no warning.

  “Jesus, Alex!” I screamed. “I asked you to warnnnOOO—”

  I screamed again as he did it a third time. This time I felt tears come to my eyes. I blinked a few times in absolute agony.

  “All done!” Alex said quickly.

  “Oh. My. God,” I whimpered. This waxing had been the worst idea, ever. Well, that wasn’t really true, now was it? The braids had been the worst idea. But this was a close second. I swear, if I didn’t get laid after all this effort, pain and humiliation, then damn! I would be furious.

  “It’s okay, it’s all over.” And then, I felt his hand on my back once more. But this time it felt different. Very. It was warm and soft. He placed it on my shoulder at first, and then slowly, gently it trailed down my back, all the way along my spine, coming to a stop on my lower back. Suddenly, all the pain was gone, especially when his fingertips retraced the length of my back again. Up, up, up, down . . . down . . . down . . .

  His fingers weren’t stopping where they’d stopped before. This time they travelled further south. I felt the towel slide back a bit and his fingertips move even lower. I shivered. My skin pebbled and the hairs on my arms and back of my neck stood straight up. His fingers finally came to rest right at the very bottom of my back, right where my back curved into my bottom.

  “It’s still sticky,” he finally whispered after what had been a long silence. His voice sounded small and far away now.

  “Yes,” I replied, with an equally small, whispery voice. Truthfully, I was feeling somewhat entranced right now. The feeling of his warm hands grazing my back had left me spinning. And then, I felt him stand up. I heard him walk away. I looked over my shoulder, careful not to lift myself too far up that the towel exposed my naked front. Or wait, did I care? Did I want him to look at me there?

  I raised myself up on my elbow, slightly exposing the side of my breast. What was I doing? I wasn’t quite sure, but for some reason, I wanted Alex to look at me in that way. I didn’t want him to see the fun girl that he’d been hanging out with, I wanted him to see me as more than that . . .

  Alex walked out of the bathroom and stopped when he saw me. His eyes moved down to the spot I wanted him to look at. They seemed to linger there for a while, going from a light silvery gray to a darker stormy color that sent an excited shiver through me. And then, his eyes drifted up to mine and he held my gaze with such intensity and purpose that I felt myself
melting into the mattress below him.

  He broke eye contact and cleared his throat awkwardly. He moved towards me and I put my head back down. Soon, I felt a warm, wet soothing cloth being dragged over my skin. His movements were slow, gentle and the warm water felt good against my skin. He didn’t say a word, and neither did I. Instead, he silently wiped the sticky patches off my back. I lay there, breathless and wordless. Something about this, no, everything about this felt less like wiping sticky patches and more like . . . like . . . what?

  I felt his fingertips brush my lower back once more. A ball of hot energy exploded inside my stomach and radiated outwards from there, sort of making me . . . oh God, wait, what was going on . . . was I . . .? Yes! Oh, yes. I was.

  Turned on.

  Big time.

  I closed my eyes and let the feeling wash over me. It seemed to build with every slow stroke of the cloth on my back. And before I could stop myself, a breathy whisper escaped my lips. Shit! I hadn’t meant for that to happen, and it had sounded so sexy and moany, the kind of noise you make during sex. Suddenly, with some panic, I wondered if Alex knew what I was feeling. And then I wondered if Alex was feeling the same thing too? Was he doing this on purpose? It felt like it.

  The pressure on my back got firmer suddenly. Alex seemed to have moved from a gentle wipe to a somewhat firmer massage. And all of a sudden, nothing about this felt like Alex and me. This felt like two totally different people doing something else entirely.

  His hands continued to work the length of my back, his fingers glided over my shoulders and he ran them up into the nape of my neck and up into my hair. I tilted my head forward to give him even more access. His fingers tangled in my hair and then his fingertips traced the side of my ears.

  My body physically reacted to his touch. He’d never touched me like this before, and once again, I was overcome with a desire to roll over and look at him, and let him touch me somewhere else. His hands left my neck again and moved over my shoulders once more and then, it really changed, when his hands moved to the sides of my back. I held my breath with anticipation. I didn’t have to wait long. His hands worked their way down my sides, and slowly, softly, his fingers grazed the side of my breasts . . .