My guide pushes open a door and leads me inside. The noise level instantly drops and I relax slightly.
‘If you wait in here then someone will be with you as soon as we’re ready,’ she tells me. ‘You’re all here nice and early so I’m afraid you’re going to have a bit of a wait.’
That suits me. Just getting this far has cost me everything that I have. I am in no way prepared to get out on the stage yet.
‘Thank you,’ I say and then I step forward, taking in the room. I’ve never been in a Green Room before and I have to admit that despite the nerves, I’m excited. Part of me wishes that I’d had the forethought to really make the most of this experience and demand a rider. I could have asked for twenty white kittens and one hundred white doves, like Mariah. Although actually, the idea of a having a load of birds flapping around my head and shitting on my new leather jacket doesn’t sound that great so perhaps it’s just as well that I didn’t bother.
‘Are you in the right place, love?’ asks a voice and I stop fantasising about Versace towels (Kanye) and brand new toilet seats (Madonna) and turn my focus to the other people in the room. There are three of them, all women – and while one of them is giving me a friendly smile, the other two are staring at me like I’m not supposed to be here.
I knew this would happen. There’s only so long that a person can fake it before they’re found out and it would appear that my time is up. This event was for Sex Goddesses and even though I’ve tried really, really hard, I’m clearly an imposter. Not even my new leather jacket can hide the fact that I don’t belong on this panel.
‘Err – probably not,’ I stutter, waving my hand in their direction. ‘Yet here I am!’
‘You’re Twinky Malone, aren’t you?’ The smiling woman stands up and walks towards me. ‘I’ve read your book. This is the right room – we’re all here for the Real Sex Talk event.’
She puts her hand on my arm and gives it a quick squeeze. ‘They won’t bite,’ she tells me quietly, leading me across to a small table that holds a few cups and a hot water urn. ‘Don’t look so scared!’
I swallow hard and smile back at her. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Maybe a bit,’ she says. ‘Now drink this coffee and come and say hello to everyone.’
I take the cup that she is offering, even though more caffeine is probably the last thing that I need right now and head across to the sofa area. There’s an empty spot next to a petite-looking woman with a bright purple mohawk and I sit down, self-consciously patting my own hair into place.
‘So, what do you do?’ asks one of the women on the opposite sofa. Her voice is a tiny bit aggressive and quite honestly, she reminds me of Miriam.
‘I’m a teacher,’ I say automatically, sipping my coffee.
Mohawk turns to look at me, looking interested. ‘Me too! What do you teach? I specialise in Tantra and discovering more about your sexuality through connecting your spirit and body. I run residential workshops in a healing environment with a focus on pleasure and opening our hearts and bodies to love.’
‘Oh,’ I say, attempting a chuckle. ‘I teach English in a secondary school. With a focus on getting through the day and not causing too much damage.’
All three women stare at me and then the nice, smiley one leans forward and helps me out.
‘That’s not why you’re here though, is it?’ she says. ‘I read your bio. You’re an author. You write erotic fiction.’
I nod gratefully.
Of course that’s why you’re here. Get a fucking grip, Hannah.
‘Why are you here?’ I ask Miriam-lookalike.
She smirks at me. ‘I’m an erotic masseuse,’ she tells me, with a tone that suggests I should be impressed. ‘I won an award last year for my services to the sex industry.’
‘That’s nice,’ I say weakly. She scowls at me and I rush to sound more enthusiastic. ‘And do you enjoy the work?’
Thankfully, I am saved from having to hear her reply by the door opening and a young man ambling into the room.
He plods over to where we’re standing and does a quick head count.
‘Good. You’re all here. I’m supposed to take you to Hall Five.’
I totter after him and the others in my author shoes, desperately hoping that a) my lipstick hasn’t smeared itself across my face as it is often prone to do and b) my bladder can hold out for the duration of the event. There doesn’t appear to be time for a visit to the bathroom and I’ve had three natural childbirths. It’s not a given.
We wind our way down long corridors and up several flights of stairs and then the bored young man leads us through a doorway and onto a stage, where four stools are lined up in a horseshoe shape in front of a closed set of curtains, like we’re in some kind of cheesy girl band. There’s no time to think about anything before I’m hoisting myself onto a stool at the end and he is shoving a microphone into my hand. And then the lights go dim and a loud voice booms over the speaker system.
‘And now – the event you’ve all been waiting for! Please give a very warm Sex Con welcome to our panel for this afternoon’s Real Sex Talk event!’
There is a smattering of applause, the curtains swish open and the spotlights flash on. I blink rapidly, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the brightness. This is the moment that I’ve been feeling most anxious about. Sitting up here and being looked at by a hall filled with people. The air heavy with the expectation of the crowd. The knowledge that any words that come out of my mouth will be heard by a critical gathering of Sex Con delegates who have all paid to hear what I have to say.
Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, Nick tried to help me out with some strategies for dealing with this situation. And by help me out I mean that he told me to stop worrying and just to imagine the entire audience naked, before rolling over and going back to sleep. I didn’t think much of his suggestion at the time but right now, with a heart that is beating at twice the normal speed and a line of sweat breaking out on my forehead, I figure that I’ve got nothing to lose. So I take a deep breath in, exhale as slowly as I am able and look out at the assembled throng.
I do not know what the official number of people has to be for them to be counted as a throng. I do know, however, that it is probably more than eight. Maybe they would look a bit more throng-like if they were all sitting together instead of spread out across twenty rows of chairs? Then again, maybe not.
My brain starts whirring. Binky assured me that my presence at this event was going to boost the sales of my book but I can’t see how it can possibly do that. Not unless every member of the audience is planning on buying several hundred copies each, which seems unlikely.
A woman bounces out onto the stage with a microphone in her hand and gives the audience a cheery wave.
‘Good afternoon, Sex Con!’ she shouts perkily, as if she’s at the O2 Stadium. ‘I’m Marigold and I’m your host for today’s panel, which is part of our Real Sex Talk theme and is titled: Sex Goddesses Tell All. Are you having a good convention so far?’
There’s a bit of muttering from the third row but other than that, the hall stays silent.
‘Tough crowd,’ mutters Mohawk, who is sitting next to me. ‘Let’s hope they warm up a bit.’
I let my eyes roam across the hall while Marigold proceeds to explain the health and safety procedures and that, as there isn’t a fire drill scheduled for this afternoon, we should all respond immediately to the sound of an alarm. The attendees at this talk seem to have come from all walks and stages of life and seven of them are women. The one man present is sitting right in the very middle of the front row and it is instantly apparent that he wants to be here even less than I do. The woman sitting next to him has her hand clamped to his thigh and I suspect that if she were to release her grip then he’d be off faster than a ferret up a drainpipe.
‘So – now the boring bit is over, let’s get down to business!’ trills Marigold, once she’s finished pointing out the emergency exits. She turns to look at
the four of us on stage. ‘Let me introduce our Sex Goddesses! First we have Ma-lady, a world-renowned dominatrix and an expert in her field.’
My jaw drops open as I stare at smiley, friendly Ma-lady. I did not have her down for that job.
‘And next we have Celia Fox, who is a highly sought-after sexual masseuse.’
I’m slightly disappointed that she isn’t called Miriam, after all.
‘And next we have Elaine Muttridge, a Tantra Practitioner Level 2, with ten years of experience.’
I glance at the woman sitting next to me. I don’t wish to be judgemental but I have never met a person whose name is such a terrible fit. I have met Elaines before and she is definitely not one of them. There’s no way it works for her. I shall continue to privately refer to her as Mohawk.
‘And last but not least, we have Twinky Malone. Twinky writes books that are a mash up of humour and erotica.’
I feel myself flush with embarrassment but it could have been worse. She could have said porn.
‘Goddesses!’ calls Marigold, striding to the front of the stage. ‘Are you ready to share your secrets and tell all?’
‘Hell, yeah!’ calls Celia, punching her fist in the air.
‘Bring it!’ yells Mohawk.
‘I was born ready!’ shouts Ma-Lady.
They all turn to look at me.
‘I think so,’ I say, holding the microphone too close to my mouth. The loudspeakers emit a high-pitched shriek and everyone winces.
‘Then let’s get going with the first debate point,’ says Marigold hurriedly, glaring at me. ‘And we’re diving straight into it with question one. Sex Goddesses – which position is guaranteed to make you end the evening with a smile on your face?’
Celia raises her microphone and looks around at the rest of us. ‘I’ll start with this one, if that’s okay with all of you?’
We all nod our agreement. It is possible that I nod a little too enthusiastically because she shoots me a strange look before turning back to face the audience.
‘As a sexual masseuse, I am highly experienced in manipulating the body into a variety of positions,’ she begins. ‘I will never forget this one time, when my client was—’
Movement further down the hall distracts my attention and I strain to see what the woman in row five is doing. She’s leaning over and I can only see the top of her head as she rummages about with something that is, thankfully, out of my view. I really hope that this isn’t supposed to be one of those interactive talks where the audience gets involved, like 4D cinema where you get pelted with liquid and the seats vibrate.
Then she sits up straight again and I can see what she was doing. Or rather, what she was getting out of her bag. I expected to see some unusual things at Sex Con but an elderly lady getting on with her knitting while a sexual masseuse regales us with lurid tales of kinkery was not actually one of them. I’m pretty sure she’s my imaginary reader, Valerie, actually. I always knew that she’d be hardcore.
‘—and so that’s why I always recommend that particular position to any of my clients who are failing to reach orgasm,’ finishes Celia.
Damn it. I missed what she said and now I’ll either have to face the embarrassment of asking her later or forever miss out on sexual fulfillment.
‘That was a wonderful start!’ coos Marigold. ‘Our next question is all about getting in the mood. So – what are your top tips for getting your sexy on?’
She turns to look at us and for one chilling moment I think that she’s directing the question at me. But then Ma-lady raises her microphone and starts to speak and I sink back onto my stool, the relief making me almost giddy. These women clearly know their way around the business end of an orgasm and I’m feeling very unqualified to be here. I just need to stay quiet and look goddess-like and hope that I can get away without being exposed as an imposter.
‘Well, I can only speak for myself,’ she says, her gentle voice floating around the hall. ‘But when I need to get myself in the mood for love, I turn on the music and I dance.’
‘Me too,’ agrees Mohawk. ‘I put on something slow and sensual and then I get sultry as hell.’
‘And if my partner is there too, then all the better,’ says Ma-Lady. ‘She loves to watch me dance for her.’
Marigold turns to face the audience. ‘I think we’d all like to see a demonstration of this X-rated dancing, wouldn’t we?’
The lack of response suggests that nobody gives a shit about seeing anyone’s sex dance but this doesn’t deter Marigold, who reacts like they’ve just given a standing ovation.
‘Yes! Let’s do it!’ she cries, signaling to a man at the back of the hall who flicks a switch. The room fills with the recognizable strains of Lady Marmalade and Celia, Mohawk and Ma-lady all leap off their stools and start gyrating on the edge of the stage. Marigold whoops and hollers into her microphone and in the fifth row, Valerie rolls her eyes and starts a new line of her knitting.
I sit on my stool, trying to look composed and completely in my depth while inside my head I am doing the equivalent of hiding under the duvet. It’s just like the staff meal that we have every Christmas when someone puts on some music and everyone gets up to dance. It’s just not my thing and I hate that the only options are to join in and feel ridiculous, or sit it out and look like a killjoy. So I do what I always do in these kind of situations which is to smile too brightly and tap my foot in time to the beat and attempt to look like I’m having a wonderful time watching everyone else while hoping that the fire alarm goes off and puts me out of my misery.
And just when I think that the whole scenario can’t get any more awkward, Marigold ramps it up a notch.
‘Twinky!’ she calls. ‘Come and join us!’
I smile so hard that my face hurts and then I shake my head but I’m wasting my time. She sashays across the stage towards me and takes hold of my hand.
‘Show us your sexy!’ she shouts as the singer asks if I want to give it a go, which I absolutely do not.
‘I’m fine here!’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got a bad back.’
‘All the more reason to show us your sexy moves,’ she says, yanking me onto the floor. It’s a good job that my bad back is as fictitious as my book because otherwise I’d be in agony right now.
She grabs her microphone and speaks over the music. ‘And for those of you who think that a disability or physical impairment might be a barrier to using dance as a sexual enhancer, then think again. Twinky is going to show you how, even with terrible back pain, she manages to get both herself and her partner in the mood.’
She steps away and gestures at me and the other three women stop dancing and retreat to their stools.
‘Take it away, Twinky! Shake that sexy booty.’
I should take it away. If I had an ounce of sense then I would shake my sexy booty right out of here and I would keep on shaking until I was far, far away from this insanity.
I start to dance. Well, dance is possibly a bit of a strong word to use for what I am doing but I am moving and that’s a start. The music increases in volume and I try to ignore the eight people in the audience and the other women on the stage and just let my body do whatever comes naturally. And actually, it isn’t that bad. I close my eyes and I stop thinking and as the chorus floods the room, I let it all out. I shimmy and slink and then finally, in a burst of last-minute brilliance, I run my hands across my body and down my thighs. I am flowing and graceful and loose. I only hope that there aren’t any complaints about the explicitness of my presentation.
The music ends and I return to my stool, slightly out of breath.
‘Well, what a performance that was!’ says Marigold to the audience. ‘We can certainly tell that you like to keep things light-hearted and humourous! And I think it’s fair to say that we could all see just how stiff and stumbling you were, so thank you, Twinky – Sex Con is all about promoting sexuality for everyone and that includes those with mobility issues.’
Humourous? Stiff and
stumbling? Screw you, Marigold.
That’s the last time that I am going to dance.
Ever.
For the rest of my life.
‘So, moving on to the next question,’ she says. ‘What’s the best place to have sex?’
‘Outside, where Mother Nature can bestow you with her bounty!’ says Ma-Lady.
‘Somewhere public!’ adds Celia. ‘Where there’s the constant thrill of being caught.’
‘In a sauna,’ contributes Mohawk. ‘Especially if you like things hot and steamy.’
‘In a bed?’ I ask, before I can stop and think. ‘Where it’s comfy and warm. Both of those things are pretty important, don’t you think?’
‘You heard it here first, folks!’ Marigold tells the audience, chuckling into her microphone. ‘Apparently comfy and warm is the new sexy!’
The other women laugh and I shuffle on my stool.
‘And what about the best thing to wear in bed?’ asks Marigold. ‘Do you wonderful Sex Goddesses have any helpful suggestions for our audience about how to liven things up on those rare occasions when the only available location is the bedroom?’
‘I think it’s important to sleep in the nude,’ says Mohawk. ‘There is no item of clothing that can ever rival the beauty of the naked, human form.’
‘I disagree,’ says Celia. ‘I think a soft, sensual piece of lingerie can enhance the body and our own feelings of sexuality. I’ve always found that wearing something luxurious, especially in silk or satin, can make me feel like a Goddess even if I’m just wearing it to perform household chores. The right underwear can get me in the mood, every time.’
I sit forward and peer at Celia.
‘Come off it,’ I say, because there is only so long that I can sit here and listen to this utter crap. ‘Are you telling me that you can turn doing the laundry or making the packed lunch into something sexy just because you’re doing it in a pair of scanty pants? Because if you are then I’m not buying it.’
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 29