The List

by Joanna Bolouri

  ‘Why are you going? I thought we were getting on?’ he slurred.

  ‘No offence, Craig, but you’ve been going on and on about this Mia girl all night. I think perhaps you should get her out of your system before you start dating.’

  ‘Oh. OH! I see what this is! I see what’s happening here,’ he announced as I put on my jacket. ‘You wish you were Mia.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, totally confused. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘You’re jealous. You wish you were Mia.’

  ‘I fucking wish YOU were Mia, mate. At least she sounds vaguely interesting.’

  I actually made a sort of frustrated yelp out loud as I left the pub and caught the last train home with all the other losers.

  This is tougher than I anticipated. So far I’ve been out with a shouty man with an eating disorder, a man who laughed at my pants and a boring man who was pining for someone else. I’m clearly a terrible judge of online character. At least with Oliver I know exactly where I stand. Why aren’t all men like him?

  Monday August 15th

  Lucy is back! She was sitting at her desk when I walked into work this morning, wearing a summer dress and sporting at least seventeen new freckles.

  ‘I’ve missed you!’ I shrieked. ‘How was it? When did you get back?’

  ‘My flight got in at one last night so I’m shattered, but it was brilliant. Total “me” time: I slept late, sunbathed, hardly spoke to a single person all week and ate the most amazing food. You’d have loved it. I’ll email you pictures once I can be arsed downloading them.’

  Frank also looked happy to see Lucy, given that Kelly had been nipping his head about admin the entire week. He wandered over, carrying a green coffee mug. ‘You look well,’ he said graciously. ‘If you want to come into my office at ten, I’ll run through last week with you.’

  ‘Blimey! What have you done with the real Frank?’ she laughed.

  He frowned at her.

  ‘Oh. There he is,’ she added quietly.

  ‘Let’s get on, shall we, girls?’ he requested, leaving the coffee cup on her desk and walking away.

  ‘No problem, boss,’ she replied, lifting his cup and dropping it into her bin. ‘It’s good to be back.’

  Around three I remembered I’d said I’d email Oliver. Today was the day that Ruth would be making her way down south, leaving him free to continue his sterling work on my list.

  From: Phoebe Henderson

  To: Oliver Webb

  Subject: Hello

  My dates were awful. Ghastly. Is Ruth away now? Did your week go well? Please say no and make me feel better.

  P x

  From: Oliver Webb

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: Re: Hello

  My week was awesome. Yeah, she’s gone back down to London. Ruth’s great. I’ll definitely be seeing her again. Re. Dates: I hate to say it but I TOLD YOU SO. Internet dating is weird – you don’t need it.

  From: Phoebe Henderson

  To: Oliver Webb

  Subject: Re: Hello

  Awww, that’s nice! Is she moving in? Do you love her and want to marry her?

  From: Oliver Webb

  To: Phoebe Henderson

  Subject: Re: Hello

  When have I ever been in love? But now she’s away we can do the bondage challenge. K’TSH! That was the noise of a whip btw.

  A whip? What the fuck does he have planned?

  Tuesday August 16th

  9 p.m. I’m sitting here looking into this bondage lark and have no idea where to begin. The internet is full of leatherclad women looking grumpy and men looking frightened, which doesn’t help. I don’t want Oliver to think I’m going to tie him to the bed and break his ankles. So I’m about to watch some bondage porn and hope I get some ideas.

  9.15 p.m. Argh! CLAMPS!

  9.45 p.m. Right. Forget it. I am NOT doing that.

  I called Oliver. ‘Jesus, what the fuck are you watching? What? No, Phoebe, I don’t want to clamp your labia. Listen, just calm down and stop watching S&M videos. I’ll find you something else.’

  Half an hour later he sent me a link to a video which was much MUCH better. No pain, no gagging and no bastarding clamping. We’ve agreed that he’s going to be submissive for once in his life, and I’m going to be the dominatrix. I get to be shouty. I LOVE BEING SHOUTY!

  Wednesday August 17th

  As I got dressed for this evening’s challenge, I realized two things: 1) Attempting to put on a corset by yourself is a challenge in itself, and 2) I was very excited about getting to play with Oliver again. I applied a second coat of bright red lipstick before rushing around to get my bedroom ready, occasionally pulling at the black thong that was annoyingly riding up my bottom every few minutes. My raspberry-pink bed sheets had been replaced with borrowed black-satin ones, and I’d dotted black candles around the room for a Gothic feel. Just as I finished zipping up my knee-high boots, the doorbell rang. I answered, blindfold and restraints in hand.

  Thank fuck it was Oliver.

  ‘Wow, Phoebe, you—’

  ‘Shut up and go to the bedroom,’ I demanded forcefully. Scaring even myself a little.

  Once in the bedroom I ordered him to undress slowly while I watched. I must admit, seeing him strip while looking a tad nervous was a total turn-on. He stood there naked. God, I love his cock.

  ‘Phoebe? PHOEBE? What now?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh yeah. Lie on the bed. Close your eyes.’

  I tied both his hands to the bedpost, covered his eyes with the blindfold and hastily adjusted my thong. ‘Lie there. Don’t fucking move.’

  Then I went into the kitchen and had a cigarette, pretending it was part of the game but really I had no idea what I was going to do next; I needed a better game plan than blow jobs and yelling. That, and I really wanted a cigarette. My brief but eye-opening look at bondage videos had made me realize that I was never going to be an arsewhipping, ball-crushing, face-sitting dominatrix, but I could give it my best shot. I brought back a cup of cold water and a cup of warm water and set them down on the bedside table. I could see him squirming slightly, wondering what the hell I was doing. I then gave him a hot and cold blow job which went: mouthful of warm water followed by mouthful of cold water. I saw it on the net. Good, eh? Well, it must have been as I’ve never heard him moan so loudly. Then I ran my tongue over every inch of his body, telling him what a filthy, dirty boy he was. He started to struggle with the restraints.

  ‘STOP IT!’ I shouted, and then leaned in to whisper in his ear. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I get to do whatever I like. You don’t even get to touch me.’ Then I kissed him hard and straddled him. I fucked him slowly and he even let me put my finger up his bum. Which felt weird but I coped by not looking directly at it, like the final scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

  When we’d finished he said, ‘Undo my wrists. I need to feel you.’ So I did and we lay down in bed and cuddled and listened to Johnny Cash. Fucking cuddled? Dominatrixes don’t cuddle and listen to Johnny Cash; we are complete bastards and we listen to Rammstein.

  Friday August 19th

  Today dragged on. Every customer I called was either on holiday or had already left for the day, leaving me twiddling my thumbs and counting down the minutes until wine o’clock. Lucy and I planned to go for half-price cocktails in Merchant City. I grabbed a seat in the courtyard while Lucy fetched our drinks. Relieved to no longer be at work, I kicked off my shoes and happily wiggled my toes under the table savouring my half-price mojito. I was listening to her yabbering on about her latest man, a tree surgeon who can hold her up with one arm while they’re shagging, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was James: baked-bean-phobic James. I couldn’t believe it! With nearly 600,000 people living in Glasgow, you’d think I’d be able to avoid bumping into the ghosts of boyfriends past. ‘Phoebe! I can’t believe it. God, it’s been forever. Are you good?’

  It’d been ten years since we went out, but he hadn’t changed. Well, perhaps grey
er, but that’s not a bad thing. Our relationship was fun at times but it finally ended when I realized that behind the gorgeous exterior lay a man with no discernible personality and a tendency to refer to his ‘sack’ a lot. Beyond annoying. ‘How are you, James?’ I asked, rising to hug him. ‘Wow. What are you up to these days? Sorry, this is my friend Lucy.’

  He lowered himself into the empty chair beside Lucy, shaking her hand. ‘Still in the building trade, but I took over the company after Dad retired. You?’

  ‘Newspaper sales. It’s dreadful. So, are you married?’

  ‘No. You?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. We should catch up properly. How about dinner tomorrow? My place?’

  From the corner of my eye I could see Lucy grinning, so mostly for reasons of nostalgia and curiosity I agreed.

  ‘Great. Here’s my number. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up. Sorry to run, but I’m already late to meet a customer. Nice to meet you, Lucy.’ And with that he was off.

  ‘He’s cute. You’ll shag him,’ Lucy observed, taking a sip of wine. ‘Big windaes, Phoebe; I can see that one coming a mile off.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ I replied. ‘We broke up for a reason, remember?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know you or him back then, but from what I’ve just seen, he’s fucking fit. I would.’

  ‘He did look good, didn’t he?’ I grinned stupidly.

  I’ve certainly changed in ten years. How could he not have? Maybe this is a sign?! I said I wanted a boyfriend, I didn’t stipulate it had to be a new one … Why did we break up again?

  Saturday August 20th

  James picked me up tonight, we got a takeaway and spent the entire car journey to his place chatting about old times and unashamedly eyeing each other up. Despite thinking that he’d been a twat all those years ago, I couldn’t see any evidence of it now; perhaps I’d been too harsh. I still found him enormously attractive. I went into his tiny kitchen with him to help plate up dinner and as I reached up to get a glass from the shelf, he took me by surprise and kissed me. It was awful – wet, sloppy and it felt like he was tonguing my entire face. I gingerly moved away from his mouth and wandered back into the living room, wondering whether he used to kiss like that and I’d just known no better at the time or blocked the experience from my memory. We began to eat and it took exactly fifteen minutes to remember the rest of the reason why dumping him was the smartest move I’ve ever made. He said ‘sack’ seven times (I counted), ate with his mouth open, and when he started to tell me that his girlfriend of three years was at a wedding in India I practically had a fit and left promptly with a ‘fuck you’ and the prawn crackers. WHY DO I BOTHER?

  Monday August 22nd

  I had flowers delivered for me to the office today. Me! Flowers! A huge bunch of pink lilies, smelling like heaven and wrapped in a bow. This has never happened before and I’m sure the look of confusion on my face was apparent to the rest of the office.

  Kelly stood up at her desk. ‘Are they for you? Who sent them? They’re a bit much.’

  ‘They’re gorgeous!’ squealed Lucy. ‘Do you have a secret admirer?’

  ‘I have no idea!’ I answered excitedly. ‘Let me read the card.’

  I’m sorry. Alex xx

  My heart sank and my face began to flush. The entire office stared at me, waiting for me to announce the sender. ‘They’re from my mum,’ I said. ‘No mystery man. Just my mum.’

  Lucy walked over and took the card out of my hand. She read it, and then placed it back in the tiny envelope.

  ‘How very thoughtful.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll just go and put these in some water for you.’

  That was the last I saw of those flowers.

  When Oliver came round this evening, I was so annoyed we ended up fighting.

  ‘It’s not my fault he sent you flowers. Why the fuck are you shouting at me?’

  ‘Because there’s no one else here and I’m angry about this whole sorry mess. I thought they were from you. Why the fuck couldn’t you have sent me the flowers?’

  ‘Why the fuck would I send you flowers? You’re insane. And sweaty in that jumper.’

  I made a frustrated groan and pulled the jumper over my head, leaving me standing in my bra and jeans with my hair messed up. ‘Happy now?’

  ‘You’re a sexy bitch. Shut the fuck up,’ he said, and threw me on the floor where we had really angry sex. Afterwards I apologized. Not for being a sexy bitch, for being a dickhead.

  ‘He’s just playing mind games with you. Do you want me to have a word with him?’

  ‘No, don’t, Oliver. I don’t want to give him any reason to get in touch with me.’

  ‘Don’t let him mess with you. Not again, Phoebe. You’re far too good for him, I hope you know that.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, looking at Oliver. ‘Sometimes I wonder if the big love of my life was that weasel. What a depressing thought.’

  He remained silent for a while, and when I got up to use the bathroom he said, ‘What happens when you finish your list? Do we just stop this?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  And for a fleeting moment I hoped he’d come up with a reason not to stop. But he didn’t. Why would he? He has Ruth now.

  Thursday August 25th

  So I texted Alex telling him, once again, that I’m not interested. I’ve been tempted to tell Miss Tits what he’s been up to, but I know he’d say that I sent the flowers myself and I’ll end up looking like a psycho. This year was supposed to be about getting rid of the old and starting anew, but that bastard won’t let me forget him.

  Tuesday August 30th

  Things are looking up! I had a BRILLIANT date tonight with a guy from the internet called Barry. I’m still stunned and spent the evening expecting that bloody hypnotist to appear, click his fingers and turn him into a moron.

  We went for dinner, then cocktails, and then he kissed me at the station before I caught my last train home, texting me ten minutes later to ask when he could see me again. KEEN! He was shy, funny, has a sensible job and is pretty much the complete opposite of the guys I usually go for, but I’m feeling quite smitten.

  Oliver called me as I walked home and I told him all about it. ‘Barry? How can you be passionate about someone called Barry?’

  ‘What the hell is your problem, Oliver? I have my first brilliant date in ages and all you can do is make snide comments.’

  ‘I’m only kidding, Phoebs. Christ, have we met? Every date I’ve ever had you’ve taken the mick out of! Pedro? That Sandra girl, Ruth … and remember Tash in high school? What was it you used to call her?’ He waited for a response.

  ‘Gash,’ I replied quietly.

  ‘That’s right, and when I went out with Joanna a couple of years ago you said I couldn’t have sex with someone whose name rhymes with banana. This is what we do, Phoebe, so don’t go getting all arsey on me now.’

  ‘OK, I’m sorry, but you never took any of your girlfriends even remotely seriously, so how the fuck was I supposed to? I like this guy – just leave the jokes until later, yeah?’

  ‘Fine. Whatever. I’m off anyway. Safe home.’

  I feel stupid now. I don’t know why his comment bothered me so much. I just wish he could have just been happier for me. I’m also bothered by the fact that I didn’t feel like dragging Barry back home after the date, but my sensible side thinks taking things slow for once could be a good thing. My current liberal ‘free boobs for all’ attitude is a far cry from the old Phoebe, who would never have considered shagging on a first date, but she’s still in there somewhere, telling me that boys don’t want to have relationships with women who give it up so quickly.

  Will I be able to control my urges and take it slowly with someone? I might have to have my libido removed with tweezers like in that ‘Operation’ game if there’s any hope of me pulling this off.

  SEPTEMBER

  Thursday September 1st

  I have another date with Barry on Saturday. No
w every time I say ‘Barry’ I try to make it sound sexy just to prove Oliver wrong. I’m sure he’s extremely sexual, but I intend to play it cool and not jump him and ride him like a stolen BMX.

  Lucy and I discussed my plans for self-restraint over toasted sandwiches in the canteen at lunchtime. ‘I don’t see the point in waiting,’ remarked Lucy, pushing her pitiful side salad around on her plate. ‘What if you fall in love with this guy, sleep with him and it’s a disaster? Do you want my tomato?’

  I nodded and stabbed it with my fork. ‘Fuck, Lucy, I’m only planning on waiting a bit, not until my wedding night.’

  ‘Well, don’t wait too long,’ she said very seriously, ‘Your vagina will close up.’

  ‘Enough about me. What’s happening with your love life? Tree surgeon still on the scene?’

  ‘Kyle? Yup. I’m seeing him again on Saturday.’

  ‘Kyle is a good name,’ I said wistfully. ‘It’s better than Barry.’

  ‘Most names are.’ She smirked. ‘Kyle’s just hot as hell. He says I’m a force of nature.’

  ‘Like a tsunami?’

  ‘Probably,’ she laughed. ‘Listen, I once dated a Nigel. That’s worse. I tried to just call him “N” but he wouldn’t let me. Call him “Baz” or “B” or something if it bothers you that much.’