Not That Easy (3 page)

“Okay, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. It was from the same guy.”

“I'm not so sure that makes it better, Cass,” said Lara. “But if it makes you feel better, I once did something even worse. I broke Jez's penis.”

“What?” I cried. “How have I not heard this story?”

“Shit, did I never tell you?” she said. “God, it was a couple of years ago now. I think you must have been away. It was so funny though. I was on top, and I think the angle was weird, because suddenly he screamed. I got off him and his penis was, like, bent in half. We had to go to the hospital and it turned out that I'd given him a penile fracture.”

“Oh my God, that's hilarious,” cried Lily after we'd all stopped laughing. “Reminds me of when I ripped Max's foreskin in Year Nine after a pretty vigorous hand job.”

“And that time when you got caught giving him a blow job by his mum! That was amazing,” said Cassie. “Ooh look, the food's here. We'd better stop being so filthy or we're going to get kicked out.”

I looked up and saw plates of tiny dishes being served out. There were dozens of them. Seeing as the cheapest thing on the menu was about £7, this was not good. “You already ordered?” I asked uncertainly.

“Oh yeah, we just got a massive selection of stuff though. We figured it would be easiest,” said Polly. “Doesn't it look incredible?”

Guess I wasn't going to be eating a side for my main then.

•   •   •

“I cannot believe we ate all of that,” I said to Lara as everyone else chatted around us. “I feel a bit sick now.”

“I know, right. Especially when Tania decided it was a really good idea for us all to tell our grossest sex moments. Cass's one is still making me feel a bit ill.”

“Ugh, yes. Now that's a new fear for me—remind me not to have period sex. I really can't handle the thought of him withdrawing and blood splattering onto the white walls. I feel so sorry for sixteen-year-old Cass. Must have been mortifying.”

“Oh it was,” said Cass, leaning over to us. “It looked like a scene from
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
. There were these red dots on the walls. We had to wipe them off afterwards and they left brown smudges.”

“Ew, Cass!”

“But you know what?” she continued. “Weirdly, I had the best orgasm of my life two seconds before bloodgate. Who knew?”

“Hilarious,” laughed Lara. “I think my best ever orgasm was with this guy I met on my gap year. He had the most gifted tongue I have ever come across. I swear his girlfriend must be the luckiest person in the world.”

“Oh my God, that is such an important quality in a guy,” said Cass. “I once broke up with someone who refused to go down on me unless I'd showered two minutes before. I think he had hygiene issues.”

I laughed with them and then slipped away to go to the loo. It was fun chatting with the girls—I'd forgotten how funny they could be—but I was starting to feel weird. I knew it wasn't a big deal that I couldn't join in with any orgasm stories. Everyone knew I wasn't exactly experienced and they didn't really care, but I hated feeling like I was on the outside of the conversation. It just made me feel left out. They were all having ridiculous amounts of fun having orgasms and casual sex, and I was categorically
not.

It made me feel like we were back in the school common room with everyone sharing funny virginity-losing stories while I still hadn't even been kissed. I knew things were different now, but it was
still shit to not feel part of the main events. I still had no idea what it was like to do a walk of shame, or have period sex, or even get licked out by a guy.

I wanted to have that fun. Now I wasn't a virgin, why couldn't I be out there getting with guys? It was fine having orgasms alone in my room, but I wanted to understand the euphoria that girls in movies had every time a guy went down on them. I wanted to know what was so good about sex.

I knew I'd be good at it too. I loved talking about sex and imagining it—if I just had the chance to partake in it a bit more, I bet I'd be a natural. I wouldn't be the kind of girl who just wanted the guy to marry her in the morning. I'd be more than happy to keep it casual. Hell, I wouldn't even need to get their number so long as they gave me an orgasm instead.

I stared at myself in the toilet mirror. I could do this. I didn't have to just spend my twenties dreaming about this lifestyle—I could make it happen. All I needed to do was stop moping and up my game.

If I wanted to know what it felt like to have orgasm-filled casual sex, well, there was only one thing for it—I had to start having more sex.

As of tomorrow, I needed to start slutting it up.

It was Satnurday night and Lara and Emma were sprawled across me on the sofa. I'd explained my plan to them with generally positive receptions, and now we were figuring out a way for me to meet my prospective sexual partners.

“Ow, Ellie, move your elbow, I can't see the screen,” said Lara. I shifted my elbow, splashing rosé on the new third-hand sofa.

“Oops,” I said. “I should probably clean that up.”

“No! This is the reason we got a black sofa, remember?” said Emma. “Ignore it and type in the website already.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “But shouldn't I be getting Tinder instead of going on a dating site? I feel a bit old-fashioned.”

“Noooo,” cried Emma. “I don't care what everyone says—Tinder is still a sex app.” Lara opened her mouth, but Emma ignored her. “I
know
that's how everyone met their new boyfriends or whatever, but every guy I know still thinks of it as a way to get quick hookups. Like, you don't even have to fill in any info on it.
It's totally judged on your looks. At least with an online site you have to make a bit of an effort.”

“But I'm okay with casual hookups,” I pointed out. “That's kind of why I'm doing this.”

“Oh fine, get Tinder,” sighed Emma. “Just do this as well. Please? For me?”

“Fine,” I said. “Tinder can be my backup if this fails. So which online site shall I join?”

“Definitely OkCupid,” said Lara. “I've heard PlentyOfFish is more of a sex-only site. Besides, I'm on OKC and I've seen so many normal people on there. There's an option where you can search for people who have degrees—it's amazing. One week I only searched for people who have PhDs.”

“Exactly,” cried Emma. “On Tinder you have no idea what anyone does, so you could end up going on a date with some old perv, or a chav with shaved eyebrows who works in construction.”

“What's wrong with construction workers?” I asked semi-offended. “One of my uncles in Greece is a builder.”

“Oh my God, no, I don't hate all builders,” said Emma, “I love when the hot ones go topless. But I'm talking about the sexist ones who yell out ‘Oi, sexy' at girls on the street. You know?”

I shook my head at her. “You do realize that's like the most ancient stereotype ever, and you're just as bad admiring their abs?”

“No, I get what you mean, Emma,” said Lara. “You want to date someone on your level, which is why OKC is great.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, wondering when my friends had gotten so snobby. I'd be happy shagging a homeless guy so long as he was hot and chlamydia free.

“I mean, I still get my fair share of messages from chavs with topless selfies who spell
your
and
you're
wrong,” continued Lara. “And quite a few just asking me when I'm free to fuck them . . .
But
, I've
also seen so many people I know on there, and loads of them went to uni, which makes me think we would at least have stuff in common.”

“So have you gone on any dates?” I asked her, knowing she would have already told me if she had.

“Well, I'm still casually seeing Jez, but I started panicking I was wasting my prime years by dating a weed addict with commitment issues, so . . . I went on three last month,” she replied.

“Oh my God,” I shrieked. “Three dates and you didn't tell me? What the fuck, Lara?” She hadn't told me about breaking Jez's penis either. Why was Lara hiding things from me?

She blushed. “I guess . . . oh I don't know, I was kind of scared you'd judge me for being on a dating site.”

“Judge you? Hello, I'm the girl who stuck a bottle of bubble bath up her vagina and didn't know you could get chlamydia from blow jobs.”

She snorted. “Yeah, fair point. Have you got rid of the chlamydia by the way?”

“The doctor gave her some pills, she's fine,” interrupted Emma. “Anyway, I'm done with talking about STIs. Lara, tell us your dating stories.”

“No, wait! First, tell me why you thought I'd judge you,” I said, ignoring Emma's frustrated sighs. I still felt weird Lara hadn't said anything about all this. Oh God—maybe it was because she felt she couldn't because I'm so virginal and new to sex?

Lara fidgeted on the sofa. “Oh, I don't know, I guess just because most people who use dating sites are old so I was a bit nervous you'd all think I was desperate or that it was a bit weird. But it just makes so much sense to date online,” she said. “Like, you don't have to bother with the cringeness of going to a bar and hoping you meet someone, then being depressed if you don't. Or the pathetic hope that every cute guy on a park bench will come and ask you out.”

I nodded in support, trying to prove that I was exactly the sort of person she could have told all of this to earlier. “Totally. This is definitely the way I'm going to get my next shag as well. I don't even have to leave my sofa or dressing gown to find a man. This site was made for me.”

“So you really only want one-night stands and not a boyfriend?” asked Emma.

“Yeah I think so. It took me so long to lose my virginity that now I just feel like I have all this lost time to make up for. I want to get out there and have amazing sex with different people. I like sex—well, the little I've had of it. But it wasn't particularly fun, and I'm so ready for that. I feel like it's God's gift to us, to get orgasms and have a bit of fun while global warming is tearing the planet apart.” The girls looked baffled. “I just want to have my slutty phase already.”

“Slutty phase?” asked Lara with a raised eyebrow. “You know how I feel about the word ‘slut,' Ellie. It shows the double standards society has for men and women. He's a player; she's a slut, etc. You know how it goes. Can't you find a different word?”

“No,” cried Emma. “It's all about reclaiming the word ‘slut.' Like, it essentially means someone who has sex a lot, so why is that a bad thing? It shouldn't be gendered, obviously, but we can just use it for men and women. If we call ourselves sluts, it loses its negative meaning. We need to reappropriate it so it's a positive word for someone embracing their sexuality and their, like, libido.”

“Um, I'm lost,” I said.

“Okay, like, if I start saying ‘Ah, that girl is so slutty' with admiration instead of judgment, it gets rid of all the connotations the word has. And even better if we start calling guys sluts too.”

Lara looked impressed. “I had no idea you were so passionate about this, Em.”

She grinned. “Well, as a former slut, it's a topic that's pretty close
to my heart. I heard enough guys calling me a slut growing up, and each time I let it hurt me before I realized I could just make that word mean whatever I want. When I decided slut meant ‘hot, sexually confident, empowered woman,' it didn't hurt as much.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “I did the exact same thing with
virgin
. Like, it used to make me feel frigid and ugly and left out. Until I had sex and then I realized it didn't have to mean that; it could just be a factual word for not ever having been penetrated.”

“Um, I think that's how most people already used it, Ellie,” said Lara.

“No, what about, ‘you look like a friendless virgin'?” I asked. “Or, ‘oh my God, you virgin weirdo.' Those are insults. It's the same as
slut
. Emma's so right, we should totally redefine it.”

“Yeah,” cried Emma. “Being a slut doesn't have to make you feel any of that patriarchal bollocks where you're cheap and dirty. It can make you feel powerful, carefree and in control. Fuck it, Ellie, go be a slut.”

“Oh, I fully intend to. I want to meet up with these OKC dates and start shagging my way across central London.”

Emma cried out: “Ah, you're making me so nostalgic for my single past. I miss the days of waking up and trying to figure out how to get back home from whatever bit of London I was in. I used to love the crazy stories. Did I tell you I once got a tattoo during a one-nighter?”

Lara and I exchanged shocked glances. “Um. No?”

“I met him in a club.” She grinned. “Just some random guy, but his flatmate was a tattoo artist. We biked back to Dalston—I sat on the handlebars. We were so fucked on MDMA that when we got back to his and his flatmate offered to give me a tattoo, I agreed.”

“Well, where is it?” I demanded, trying to ignore the twinge of discomfort I felt whenever my friends discussed drugs. It was the
one thing I would never try—along with anal because there's another perfectly good hole millimeters away—and it always made me feel distant from my drug-taking friends. Thank God Lara was as uncool as me and didn't take MDMA either.

“So, it was a tiny star that I got on the sole of my foot,” she said. “But that bit of your skin is really rough so it doesn't really work for tattoos and they disappear over time. If you squint you can kind of see the outline though.” She thrust her bare left foot in our faces.

“Oh yeah,” said Lara. “Holy shit, that's crazy.”

Emma nodded wistfully. “Isn't it? Those days were fun. Not that I don't love being with Sergio, obviously. He's great and I love him.”

Lara and I nodded along with her, still transfixed by her surprise tattoo. “Anyway,” continued Emma, “Lara, you're not getting out of sharing your dating stories.”

“Okay, but I'm going to need more wine to relive these,” she said.

Emma filled up our glasses and I closed the laptop screen. “Spill,” I said.

“Okay, so it started with SafariLover,” she said. “And, no, I don't mean he liked animals. He was actually called Jake, but he worked for Apple doing some techy stuff. We went for drinks in Farringdon on our first date but he spent the whole time discussing fucking
bitcoins
. On a plus note, he was as attractive as his pictures and at least six foot, but it was just the bitcoins . . .” We nodded sympathetically and she continued. “Obviously I still snogged him, but then I didn't reply to any of his texts after that. Then I moved on to date two. He was Juanderful.”

“Wonderful?” asked Emma.

“Nope. JUAN-derful. That was his OKC username. He was Spanish, thirty-five and very, very attractive. Unfortunately, he lacked brain cells and was basically just there to improve his
English. So that didn't work. We had an amazing goodbye kiss though—I was seriously tempted to go back to his but couldn't handle doing dirty talk in another language.”

“I can't even do it in English,” I said.

“You just need the practice,” said Emma reassuringly. “So, what about date three?”

“Averagecupid56.” She grinned.

“There are fifty-five other average cupids?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Can't imagine any of them being like Mr. 56 though. He turned up on a bicycle, for starters.”

“Wow, guess he wasn't planning on getting lucky,” I said.

“That didn't stop my tattoo guy.” Emma grinned.

“It wasn't so much the bike that bothered me, it was more the fact that he was sitting in the corner of the pub waiting for me with a copy of the
Guardian
.” We groaned. “Oh no, it gets worse. He took me to a restaurant where he ordered quinoa and then spent the entire time discussing his
gap yah
and dream to volunteer for that Médecin Sans Frontières thing. He was definitely the fittest of the three and clearly intelligent but he was the biggest stereotype ever. It was kind of off-putting, but—”

“But you still snogged him?” I interrupted.

She gave me a withering look. “What do you take me for? I shagged him.”

ELK123
22, London

My self-summary:

I live in East London and work in the media but am not the typical stereotype—I promise. I don't wear plastic glasses,
I hardly ever wear vintage and I'd much rather be traveling around the world with a backpack. Okay, maybe I am the stereotype . . .

What I'm doing with my life:

Interning. Generally involves fetching lattes, crying in the loo and wondering why I bothered going to uni.

I'm really good at:

Making my friends laugh. Generally at me, not with me.

The first things people usually notice about me:

My 36Ds.

Favorite books, movies, shows, music and food:

The question has put these in the wrong order—food comes above all these things. Will eat pretty much anything.

Love romcoms, old Disney films and trashy American TV.

Listen to everything from oldschool rap to Taylor Swift.

My favorite books have to have a female protagonist because not enough of them do. And I just prefer reading about women, you know?

Studied English Lit at uni so am a bit of a bookworm.

The six things I could never do without:

My friends

Black clothing (am not a goth. Black is just my color)

Tortellini (only thing I can cook)

Cheese (ditto)

The Internet

Support bras

I spend a lot of time thinking about:

Being a woman and a feminist in the twenty-first century. Very challenging when people think it means you're a hairy lesbian.

On a typical Friday night I am:

Passed out drunk in an alleyway. Normally with my friends lying on top of me.

The most private thing I'm willing to admit:

I was a virgin until twenty-one.

I'm looking for:

Whatever you can give me.

You should message me if:

You read to the bottom of this and still want to date me.

N.B. Bonus points if you can spell.

“So, what do you guys think?” I asked. There was a four-second silence while Lara and Emma looked at each other.