“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m pretty tempted by one of those massaging ones, but I can’t think of a guy who would massage me with it. I’m starting to realize the depressing side of being totally single.”
“Why don’t you just buy a normal dildo? That’ll cheer you up.”
“Yeah, I could do that.” She shrugged. “But I don’t know if I feel ready for it. It feels like I’m consigning myself to the single life by going out to buy myself a vibrator.”
“You’re telling that to the wrong girl, Lara. I bought myself my first vibrator before I’d even broken my hymen. Look how well it has served me.”
“Erm, didn’t you tell me you tried to put the bullet up your vagina and you panicked it was stuck in there?”
“For like two seconds. Anyway, I just bought a new one that is attached to a remote control via a wire, so if I feel a desire to stick it inside me, I know it won’t get lost up there.”
“Um, congratulations?”
“Thank you. Now I am going to take my purchases and go home immediately to try and locate my multiple alphabet spots.”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to go home?” she asked.
“Something like that. Oh hang on, my phone’s ringing. Shit, it’s Nick! I didn’t know he was going to call.”
“Answer it, you idiot.”
“Hi, Nick, how’s it going?” I said, walking out of the shop.
“Good, thanks. How’s your, uh . . .”
“Vagina?”
He laughed. “Exactly.”
“Much better, thanks. How’s yours?”
“Ah you know, very vagina-like. So uh, what are you up to?”
“Um . . . just watching TV.”
“Cool. I was going to ask if you fancied going for a drink? I know it’s kind of spontaneous and all, but I thought we could go to the Shard. Obviously, if you’re busy it’s—”
“No! I’d love to,” I cried, all thoughts of masturbating solo flying out of my head. “You’ll have to excuse the fact that I look like shit though.”
“Ooh . . . you’re not dressed to the nines? I think I might have to cancel.”
“Ha ha. Wait, you are kidding?”
“Yeah of course. Shall I meet you at London Bridge?”
“Cool. I’ll be, like, forty-five?”
“Perfect. See you then.”
Lara walked out of the shop. “You ready to go home and play with your toys then?”
“Change of plan. I’m going for a drink with Nick. My babies will have to wait till later.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So you can ditch an orgasm for Nick and not me? I see how this is going.”
“I love you loads?”
“Damn straight. Come on, let’s get out of here. The shop assistant keeps trying to make me buy leopard-print handcuffs.”
25
“Hey,” said Nick, before giving me a kiss on the lips. I grinned up at him. I still couldn’t get over having a public display of affection with someone so hot. I hoped there were tourists watching.
“Nice to see you so spontaneously,” I said.
“I know, I figured why not have a fun Sunday instead of watching Netflix alone in bed.”
“Um, there is nothing wrong with spending your weekends alone with Netflix in bed.”
He laughed. “Oh I’m not judging—that’s what I’ve been doing every night this week. So, shall we go in?”
“Okay, cool. I’m so excited, I can’t believe this has been in London for so long and I still haven’t been up the Shard.”
“Me too. So, I tried to reserve a table but you can’t if you’re just going for drinks. Is that okay?”
“Oh, of course,” I said, as we walked up to a glass door. “I’m not a reservey kind of person. If I tried to reserve in any of my local bars they’d probably laugh in my face. And tell me to get the fuck out.”
“Can I help you?” asked the doorman.
“Hey, mate, we’re just here for a drink. Do we go straight up?” asked Nick.
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re at full capacity, so unless you have a reservation, you’ll have to queue.”
“What?” cried Nick. “They wouldn’t let me reserve when I called.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait over there.” The doorman pointed to a group of well-dressed people gathered behind some large hedges. They were in some kind of pen hidden behind the strategically planted foliage.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” I said, as we walked over to the line. “We’ll just queue for a bit. Thank God I put on actual shoes today and not just Converse. Everyone here’s so glam.”
“I know. Hey, I’m really sorry we have to wait in line. I did try and book.”
“Nick, honestly, I really don’t mind. I’m very used to queuing—I’m not one of those girls that the bouncer lets in immediately. Hey, maybe we should get snacks? I see a shop over there.”
“Why not? You’re gorgeous,” he said, ignoring the question I was hoping he’d say yes to.
Then I realized he’d just called me gorgeous. Not even my mum had called me gorgeous. I gaped at him.
“What are you looking at me like that for? You must know how hot you are.”
I laughed nervously. I had no idea how to react to his compliment but it was the best thing anyone had ever said to me—it even felt too special to WhatsApp to the girls. “Um, thanks.” I blushed. “But I meant bouncers don’t let me in because I’m just, like, not glam. I dunno, I feel like ‘those girls’ are the ones in tight Herve dresses, not Target.”
“You look ‘glam’ to me. But I do love that you’re not high maintenance. My ex was and it really pissed me off. She’d always make me take her to the flashiest restaurants, and it would take her hours to get ready.”
“Sara?” I asked, remembering the naked pube-less blonde girl from his photos.
“Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot you saw her that one time. Yeah, she was really appearance obsessed. It’s nice going out with you—you don’t seem that fussed about how you look.”
“Um, excuse me. Do you know how long it took me to throw together this casual chic look?” I cried in mock-annoyance.
“You told me earlier you didn’t shower.”
Bugger. “Well, there you go. If you want low maintenance, here I am. I’m a pretty cheap date too.”
“Tell me about it. On our first date I only had to get you the one cocktail and you were ready to go home. I’m hoping for the same tonight.”
“Huh, on second thought, maybe I’ll play at being a glam date today.” I grinned. “I mean, we are going to a fancy bar in the new highest point of Europe or whatever. I should probably have quite a few cocktails.”
He laughed. “Let’s do it. We’ll be the only people to get properly pissed up here. To be fair, I have saved us a bit of money already.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Most people pay to go up to the top to see the views. It’s like twenty-five pounds though, so I figured we’ll just go to the bar for free, and spend that on booze.”
“Oh okay, you are definitely getting me drunk now.”
• • •
“This is so, uh, wow,” I said. We were standing in a bar with glass walls that looked out at the whole of London. I was drinking a fourteen-pound cocktail with coconut beer in it. The waitresses were wearing different floral dresses, depending on their exact role. It was the kind of place that most girls on dates would love.
Only I wasn’t most girls; I was unimpressed.
We were on the thirtysomething floor of the building, but it didn’t even feel like we were that high up. I could see the whole of the city, yeah, but you could see that in the opening credits of EastEnders. And everyone was so obviously rich and glamorous that I just felt massively out of place. I would have preferred
to be drinking three-pound beers in a Hackney pub.
“I know it’s amazing, isn’t it,” said Nick. “The views are stunning. How’s your drink?”
“Good, thanks. Yours?”
“Yeah, nice, thanks.”
I smiled awkwardly at him. Now that we were up here, I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say and my flirtation skills were seriously drying up. But then again, he had called me gorgeous. Maybe I didn’t have to be so nervous. He’d seen me curl up in pain from a burning vagina—there weren’t exactly many barriers between us now. It was kind of . . . comfortable hanging out with Nick.
“So, what have you been doing today?” I asked.
“Pretty much just been lying around the house feeling sorry for myself. My classic hangover act. What about you? Anything fun?”
I couldn’t exactly tell him I’d been to an orgasm class . . . “Um, same as you really. I went out with the girls last night and we accidentally got pissed so we’ve just been pretty bedridden today.”
“So we were both alone in our beds? Sounds like a wasted opportunity to me . . .”
“Well, there’s always next weekend,” I replied. Who knew it would be so easy to have sex banter with a guy without feeling embarrassed?
He grinned. “Cheers to that. So where were you girls out on Saturday?”
“Some dodgy bar near Kings Cross. It was fun though. I think we were dancing till, like, three a.m. What about you?”
“Oh, we were out in Mayfair. Really great bar there, actually. Do you go out there much?”
“Um, not really. I have been, once, to Mahiki. Not a great night—although Lara enjoyed it. I guess we mainly go out in East London. It’s a bit . . . well, cheaper. And I think I prefer the vibe. You know?”
“Yeah, I had a lot of fun at the place where I met you. It was the first time I’d been out round there actually.”
“Really?! Oh wait . . . I forget you’re a banker. I feel like your people tend to prefer the fancier parts of London.”
He nudged my waist. “‘My people’? I feel like someone’s being a bit judgmental here.”
“Hey, just speaking from personal experience,” I said, putting my hands up.
“Mm-hmm. Well, I’m not your average British banker.”
“That’s very true. Bro.”
He laughed. “That’s more like it. You know, I reckon you’d love New Zealand.”
“Okay, I think we might have some miscommunication issues going. I am not an outside-y kinda girl.”
“Do you mean outdoorsy?”
“See—can’t even get the name right. I don’t ski, snowboard, paraglide or do whatever it is you guys do there. I think I’d probably prefer Australia so I could hang out on a beach all day.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You know we have beaches in NZ? Like, really stunning ones with white sand and turquoise water.”
“Seriously?! I thought it was all Hobbit-y with lots of fields and stuff.”
“Yep, I’ve heard that one before. You Brits really have no clue what’s going on outside of the UK, do you?”
“Hey, we’re not that bad,” I protested.
“The Americans are worse, to be fair. They all think I’m from South Africa—even when I say I’m from NZ.”
I laughed. “I guess the accents are pretty similar. Anyway, shall we get more drinks? I’ve drained this one and it’s my turn to get a round.”
“No, I’m meant to be getting you drunk, remember?”
“Yeah but I didn’t mean it. Obviously I’ll pay for the next round.”
“Ellie, no, it’s my treat,” he said firmly. “Same again? A Ginger cocktail?”
“Okay, thanks.”
I watched him walk off to the bar. He looked so attractive, and he thought I was gorgeous. How was this happening? This was the kind of date I’d dreamed about since I hit puberty and, by some miracle, I wasn’t fucking it up. Maybe we’d even see each other more, like, outside the bedroom?
Oh God. I was officially doing what Emma warned me against—fantasizing about dating the one-night stand. We were strictly casual, and that was a good thing. I didn’t even want to date him anyway. He was too laid-back, and we were too different.
Besides, as much as I felt myself liking him more than I’d imagined, he wasn’t what I wanted in a boyfriend. He was too flash, superficial and, well, blond. I wanted someone more like me, someone with more body hair than me, and someone I could be a hundred percent myself with. Nick was just too generic and hot. Mr. Ellie Kolstakis he was not.
• • •
I lay in bed panting. “That . . . was fun.”
“Give me ten minutes and maybe we can go again,” he said.
“Okay,” I breathed out.
We were lying naked on his bed post-sex. It had been the best sex we’d had yet. Even though I still hadn’t come. I didn’t understand why. I’d tried doing the breathing the sex shop lady had recommended and it had helped, but just not enough. It made me feel kind of . . . sad. I’d made it into a bit of a joke for the girls, but they didn’t really get it. They were both capable of orgasming on demand. I was the weird one. It wasn’t fair. I wanted this, I wanted to feel like a proper woman. Instead, I just felt like a failure.
I closed my eyes and tried to make my heart slow down. Even though the sex hadn’t lasted long, it had been pretty intense. I’d even found myself sinking my nails into his back when he came inside me—with a condom, naturally. It was part lust and part, well, jealousy. He got to come every single bloody time while I had to lie there just hoping it would happen the next time. It wasn’t even like he’d particularly tried to make me orgasm.
Maybe every other girl he’d been with just came within seconds? Maybe I was the only one who couldn’t come? God, this was so stressful. What if there was something wrong with me? What if Nick could tell? Like, he’d obviously had way more sex than me—what if I was shit in comparison?
“Did you, um, was that . . . How many people have you slept with?” I blurted out.
He turned to face me. “Hey. Where did that come from?”
“Oh, I dunno, just wondering. Not in, like, a weird way. I’m just . . . curious?”
“Huh . . . I don’t know. I’ve never counted.”
Oh fuck. It must be hundreds if he couldn’t remember. “Like, roughly?”
“Definitely less than fifty.”
“FIFTY?”
“Maybe, like forty?”
“Cool. Um, yeah.” I swallowed my saliva. This was fine. I mean, he was twenty-nine. He’d probably been having sex for like thirteen years. If you minused a few years for relationships, that was only about four girls a year. Oh my fucking God—that meant he’d seen at least forty vaginas.
“What about you?”
“Um, what about me?”
“How many people have you slept with?”
“Oh, like, not many,” I said. “Just . . . just under double digits, I guess.”
“Less than ten? Really?”
“Yes, is that weird?”
“No, not at all. Sorry, I forget you’re a few years younger than me. That’s really cool. I like that you’re not slutty.”
I smiled weakly. What the hell would he say if he knew the truth—that he was only number two? He’d probably be freaked out and think there was something wrong with me. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like round two of sex. “Can we turn the light off? I’d better get to sleep so I can wake up for work tomorrow.”
“Or . . . fancy going down on me?”
“Seriously?”
“You’re just so good at them. Please?”
I grinned. Considering the fact that my first ever attempt to give head, aged seventeen, had ended with my teeth on James Martell’s penis, it felt pretty good to be complimented on my skills. Finally, here was a s
ex act I didn’t feel at all awkward about.
Besides, who cared if Nick had slept with way more people than me? I was only twenty-two. I had, like, seven years to catch up with him. And, right now, he was the one begging me for sex.
I turned over and moved down the bed so I was face-to-face with his naked groin. Still smiling, I opened my mouth and lowered it straight down onto his very erect penis.
26
NSFW
Relationships are meant to be romantic. That’s a given that no one really ever questions. You’re not meant to ask the details about the exes, or how many people they’ve slept with, because you love each other. None of that matters. It’s all about the now.
But . . . what if you’re not in love. Like, at all. And instead you’re casually dating. Can you ask then? Are “numbers” still a no-go or are you allowed to request a written list of every girl they’ve ever shagged?
That was the dilemma I had last weekend. It was after my date to the Shard—told you he’d take me—but it was still only the third date, give or take. Was I allowed to ask him how many people he’d slept with?
Probably not, but I did it anyway. We were lying in bed and out of nowhere, we had the chat. By “we,” I mean “I,” because obviously it was me who brought it up. He reluctantly told me his number. It was more than five times the size of mine. He thinks it could possibly be even higher.
I don’t really know why I wanted to know. I think it was just a way to get to know him better. But it was also probably a way for me to try to stop that little voice asking “why on earth is he with you?” Sadly, it didn’t quite stop that insecurity.
But I don’t regret my decision. Because it isn’t like we’re in a relationship where I might freak out about that, and wonder if we’re compatible because he’s so much more experienced than me. It’s just causal dating, and, honestly, who cares if he’s had more sex than me?
If anything, that’s just incentive to start catching up.
• • •
I spent the rest of the week trying to avoid Maxine as much as possible, and then rushing home to see Nick. We’d seen each other four times since the spontaneous Shard date and, when I wasn’t shagging him, I was at home Googling tips on it. I still hadn’t come, but I was definitely on my way. The fact that he was just a fuck buddy definitely helped. I didn’t have to worry about trying to impress him—all I had to do was open my legs and occasionally provide some good banter. Honestly? I had no idea why Lara was bothered that Jez wasn’t relationship material. Casual sex was the best of both worlds.
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