Annabel vs the Internet

by Annabel Port

  Birmingham 24 June

  Liverpool 25 June

  Manchester 26 June

  Newcastle 29 June

  Sheffield 30 June

  London July 1

  How does this sound? It’ll be great to get the old band back together again. I still need to track down Sarah Lewis, though. Do you have any contact details for her?

  If you don’t have time to reply to emails at work, perhaps I could pop down to your office later on this afternoon.

  Let me know what you think.

  Annabel x

  I wait for her reply. I’m doing a lot of waiting as I’ve still not heard back from Tony Denton Promotions, despite leaving all my details yesterday. I’ve no choice but to call them up. I’m not going across five Tube zones again. Not even for SAS.

  The same man I met yesterday answers the phone.

  “Hi. Can I speak to Tony, please?”

  “Can I ask who’s calling?”

  “It’s Annabel.”

  There’s a very long pause. Then he says, “Hold the line.”

  I wait.

  He returns to say that Tony is on another call at the moment. I tell him I’ll call back in half an hour.

  I wait half an hour. Then call back. “Hi, can I speak to Tony?”

  “Can I ask who’s calling?”

  “Annabel.”

  “Okay.”

  It’s the coldest okay I’ve ever heard. I’m on hold again. When the man comes back, he says that Tony has popped out of the office and he’s no idea how long for.

  “Did you give him the message?” I ask. He says that he did.

  “Did he look excited? Because I’d expect him to be excited.”

  “I don’t know,” the man replies.

  “Shall I call back in half an hour?”

  “I’ll get him to call you.”

  I know how it seems. It seems that Tony is avoiding me. But I think he’s trying to juggle the line-up to incorporate SAS without offending Belinda Carlisle or Pepsi & Shirlie, and he doesn’t want to speak to me until it’s sorted.

  So that’s all good. But I’ve still not heard from Sarah and this is my last day, time is running out. I have to email again. I write:

  Hi Sarah,

  What do you think of the dates? Shall I pop down to your office now to discuss?

  Still nothing, until an hour later I get an email with an HSBC address from someone called Paul. I can see the first line:

  I work with Sarah.

  My blood runs cold. I’ve got an email from one of the main high-street banks warning me to stop harassing their staff. I read on.

  We’ve been having a bit of a laugh about the band reunion. Sarah thinks it’s some kind of wind-up.

  The relief! I tell him it’s definitely not a wind-up. We email back and forth. He’s the international commercial manager of HSBC and he’s got involved as a mediator to try and get the band back together again. Maybe this is what happened with Pulp. Maybe the international commercial manager of Barclays sorted it all out.

  Paul tells me that Sarah still needs persuading. He’s worried as she recently ducked out of the work’s karaoke night out. It’s not great. I’m nervous that she’s got some kind of vocal problem. Throat polyps or something.

  SAS will have to become AS. Then I remember that I’ve got no way of getting hold of Sarah Lewis and realise it will have to become just A.

  I sit on my bed and sing to myself:

  The lights are flashing, the music’s loud,

  The people are dancing, it’s such a crowd,

  At the disco party tonight,

  Boom, boom, boom,

  At the disco party tonight.

  It is a pitiful reunion.

  18

  The Challenge:

  To write and publish some erotica

  My experience of dirty writing is almost entirely limited to Judy Blume’s Forever. I read it twenty-four years ago. The fact I call it “dirty writing” says a lot. I need to find out what people want today.

  Of course, I have some idea already. They clearly want Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s currently the fastest-selling paperback of all time. Naturally, I’ve not read it, so I use Google to give me the gist. I find this:

  It is notable for its explicitly erotic scenes featuring elements of BDSM.

  I have to look up BDSM. It sounds like a driving school. I’m guessing it’s not. It’s not. From what I’ve read, I’d summarise it as being a bit strict.

  While carrying out this important research, something else has caught my eye. A mention of furries.

  Surprisingly, I do know about furries. (A friend told me about it. Honestly. I’ve not done it. This is the truth.) It’s a fascination with anthropomorphic animals that can get a bit, what I’d call, seedy. Perhaps this could be the next big thing in erotica? Perhaps this is what women now want?

  I devise a survey to find out. I write the word “Survey” at the top of a bit of paper and then the word “Furries” and then a gap.

  It looks a bit empty and un-survey-like so I have a really long think for around ten seconds and decide that as people are getting excited about the Olympics at the moment, maybe some erotica based around an Olympic sport might be nice.

  I add the words “Olympic sport” to my survey. Then because I want to tap into what people really want, I add: “Other?”

  I take my survey onto the streets, to my target audience, the ladies. I say to the first lady I approach, “Hello, I’m an erotic fiction author, could I ask you a few questions?”

  She’s happy to do this. “Would you like to read some erotica about people into being furries?”

  Once I’ve explained furries, she replies that she would.

  “What about an Olympic sport?” I continue.

  She would.

  I’m feeling really positive. I try another lady. When asked about furries, she’s less keen. Quite adamant, in fact, that it wouldn’t turn her on.

  But when I mention the Olympics, she becomes interested and even suggests gymnastics as a suitable sport. I ask for other suggestions.

  “I’d just like something with meaning and depth, something that challenges me,” she says.

  This is going to be a massive problem. But I lie and say, “Well, that’s what I’ll do.”

  The next woman I talk to is outside a pub. She tells me furries is not her cup of tea and that she’s not interested in the Olympics. So I press her to tell me what she does like and this complete stranger tells me, “Well, I’m really into bondage and tying up, handcuffs, strangulation.”

  “What are you strangling with?” I ask.

  “Hands,” she replies.

  I make a mental note to use hands in my book.

  I ask one more girl. She isn’t mad on any of the ideas and doesn’t have any suggestions. But perhaps she wasn’t the best person to pick as she was standing outside work with two male colleagues, one of whom, it emerged, was her boss.

  However, I feel this is pretty thorough research by my ­standards, and I now have a great sense of what the ladies want from my erotica. Furries doing gymnastics at the Olympics with a bit of strangulation.

  I just need to find out a bit more about furries. The first thing I discover is that they’ve got their own language.

  Yiff means sex. Yiffy is feeling sexual and yiffing is mating. I’m really struggling to find mating a sexy word. And yiffing.

  There’s one website that appears to be at the centre of all the action. It’s called sofurry.com. I definitely need to join it. I’m asked to choose a username. I try AnnabelAnimal. It’s free! I log in and go straight to the chat room. But it’s terrible news. There’s a twenty-four-hour cooling-off period before you can chat. Like at casinos. In case you get carried away and regret it in the morning.

  Luckily there is also a forum, which I can post on straight away. I start a new thread.

  Hi Furries – I’m new – want to have some fun? I’m a new Furry and feeling yiffy.
<
br />   I want to say something now about what I look like but I need inspiration. I go on a website that sells fur animal outfits. I find myself quite interested in a giraffe as I like the idea of long eyelashes, long neck and long legs. I consider a penguin but am put off by the short legs. A kangaroo appeals as I’d be able to keep tissues in my pouch. A seal is definitely out; this is not in any way yiffy. I’m seriously considering a flying squirrel when I see a hamster, which I know immediately is for me.

  I’m ready to carry on with my message. I write:

  I’m a new Furry and feeling yiffy. Here’s what I look like. I look like a hamster. A grey one that can fit all sorts in my cheeks. A whole mangetout and a whole floret of broccoli. I’ve got little tender paws that like tapping. And a soft tummy. I like going in my wheel, round and round, round and round, round and round, round and round. Let’s have fun together!

  Xx

  I regret the kisses after I press “post”. I had been planning on being the Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman of the furries world. But it’s too late, as to my surprise, my message goes straight up, with no moderating. I wait for the responses to flood in.

  In the meantime, I continue my important research by ringing up the website that sells the furry animal outfits, to get a feel for what’s going on.

  A man answers. I don’t want to get yiffy straight away in case it’s not his scene and he hangs up. I cleverly start with, “What is your most popular animal?”

  He tells me it’s the giraffe. I think that’s probably enough filler so I go on with, “And which is the best if you’re into the erotic side of things?”

  “I don’t know, that’s not what we do,” he says.

  This is disappointing. But perhaps he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to admit it. So I push on. “But which do you think would be best?”

  He goes with wolf.

  “And what animal do you think would go with a wolf?”

  “I’m not sure anything goes with a wolf. I could do you two cats though.”

  I’m not keen on this. A bit screechy.

  “What do you think would go with a giraffe?” I ask.

  He feigns ignorance again. I’m getting frustrated. “Do people not buy the costumes for erotic stuff?”

  “No,” he says with surprise. “For parties.”

  He’s so naive.

  I decide to go back to check on my forum posting. There’s a response! From a website ambassador called Beowolf1990. I’m a bit worried about the 1990 thing as this suggests more youth than I feel comfortable with, but I read on.

  Aren’t you the most adorable thing? Welcome to the site! If you ever have any specific questions, myself and any of the other ambassadors will be more than happy to help you out. And personally, I am always up for a chat, so never hesitate to shoot me a PM :)

  I spend some time worrying if “adorable” is a good thing in the furry world. Until I spot another response. It’s from Red Back Dragon. He (I’m guessing it’s a he) is keeping it simple with a straightforward:

  Hi

  I reply immediately.

  Hi there! How are we all going to have fun together? I’ve got one of those clear balls that hamsters run around in . . .

  Nothing back. No response.

  I reply to a racoon’s greetings with:

  My tummy is itchy. Will you scratch it?

  Nothing.

  A fox has introduced himself with:

  Welcome, enjoy your stay. *Passes the bottle of vodka and a plate of cookies*

  I post back:

  Well, vodka and cookies are a great start (although perhaps not advisable for hamsters) – what shall we do now?!

  Nothing.

  I start worrying that my hamster isn’t very sexy and then feel horrified that I’m having these thoughts. I decide to call it a day and then come back tomorrow when my cooling-off period has expired and I’m able to join the chat room.

  It’s the next morning and I’ve cooled off but I’m still keen so head straight to the chat room. I try and get some stuff going. To a wolf I write:

  Hi wolfie! I’m a hamster – want to tickle my tummy?

  I attempt to seduce a fish with:

  Hi fish! Want to nibble some fish food out of my hamster cheeks?

  They both ignore me. It’s starting to become embarrassing. Until I’m approached by a wolf.

  I’d be interested, he huskily whispers. I imagine. I also imagine again that it’s a he. This is much more exciting. Especially when he invites me into a private room. And while I don’t want anyone to think I’m easy, for the purposes of research, I’m straight there.

  This is what happens:

  Me: hi there

  Wolf: The nude husky stands before you, my athletic form just over six feet. I lick my maw lips, looking at you.

  While I’m trying to decipher “maw”, he says something incredibly rude, followed by:

  Wolf: You were saying you wanted to get wild?

  Me: Yes. Wild. I’m running on my wheel with excitement and baring my little teeth.

  Wolf: Well, why don’t you come over and show me how wild?

  Me: I want to bite you – but nicely.

  Wolf: That’s fine.

  Me: I’m biting you now on the nose – how does it feel?

  Wolf: More odd than anything.

  I’m no expert but I don’t think this is a very sexy response.

  Me: Okay, how about I gnaw gently on your claws?

  I wait. No response. Then the humiliation. The wolf leaves the private room. I’m there alone. Rejected, exposed, vulnerable. I close the browser window. Then delete my Internet history. Then my cookies, even though I don’t really know what this means.

  But the good thing is, I’ve learned a lot and now feel ready for the writing and inevitable publishing.

  I sit down to write. I’m feeling very inspired by the last twenty minutes of the film The Human Centipede, which I caught on the television last night. I’m also confident that I know what women want. Furries at an Olympic setting and some other unsavoury things.

  I choose the character names Katherine and Michael. They are both furries. Katherine is a hamster, Michael is a husky dog. The words flow from me. Here is the result. It’s called Cheeks.

  Cheeks

  Katherine stroked the soft fur gently. Then stroked the cool, very thin cardboard of the tickets. She sighed with happiness. Her larynx vibrated with the sigh. Then her phone vibrated as well, as it was ringing.

  “Hello,” whimpered Katherine.

  “Hello,” barked Michael.

  “I’m five minutes away,” he said next. “Have you eaten your seeds and sucked some drops of water from your upturned bottle?”

  Katherine stroked the fur again as she replied with, “Yes and I’ve saved some seeds in my cheeks for later so my cheeks look really big.”

  Michael didn’t answer. Just hung up.

  Katherine didn’t have much time. She quickly pulled her hamster suit on. Underneath she had her vest and pants and 120 denier tights as the suit was a bit itchy. She found her left hand skimming her left calf as it went on and she went a bit breathless like an asthmatic struggling to breathe so they don’t die.

  She pulled up the zip as the doorbell went. She ran down the stairs but had to go back as she’d forgotten the tickets.

  Katherine opened the door. There was nobody there. Then she heard a “Ruff”. She looked down. There was a husky dog on all fours. She did a double take. And then realised it was Michael and he’d had extensive plastic surgery to look like a husky dog. She felt funny in her tummy, in a good way.

  “Let’s go,” Michael barked. “Have you got your plastic ball?”

  Katherine nodded.

  “Well, get in it, then – I don’t want you running away.”

  Katherine climbed inside the see-through plastic ball and then began crawling so she could move down the high street. Michael scampered alongside her.

  Eventually they got to Stratford and Kat
herine had to get out of the ball to hand the steward the tickets. They were going to watch the 100m final at the 2012 Olympics.

  They went to their seats. The race was starting. The men were running really fast. The speed made Michael feel passionate. He pawed at Katherine and nuzzled her. Then he kissed her. Some of her seeds fell on to the floor.

  “Scratch my tummy,” she commanded. He did it. Then they heard a cheer. Usain Bolt was the winner.

  They stood up and had a lovely cuddle. Katherine secretly took a needle and thread from her cheeks and secretly sewed her fur to Michael’s husky fur. Katherine’s cheeks were now less fat. Michael howled.

  The end.

  As far as I can see, all I need now is the publishing deal and my challenge is complete.

  I head off to a publishing house. I know it’s no good turning up saying I’ve got a book I want publishing. I’m no fool. I know they only deal with agents.

  It’s clear then that I have to become an agent. Which means I need a name for the author. Something along the lines of Fifty Shades of Grey’s E. L. James.

  My first two initials are A. E. so I decide to start with that and then for the surname toy with: A. E. Clementine, A. E. Scarf, A. E. Bandage, A. E. Hand, A. E. Elbow and A. E. Neck. I finally settle on A. E. Thigh.

  I need a name for my agency and decide Eroticabel would be nice. I’m feeling very prepared. I’ve got a print-out of the first chapter with me. It fits nicely on to one side of A4. I go up to the door and press the buzzer. It opens.

  There’s a hallway leading round to a room on the left. As I go in, I put my phone up to my ear and say loudly, “No, no, I’m telling you now she will not write another chapter unless we settle on five million.”