Some Girls Do (15 page)

‘Well, see what you can arrange. I’ll be in touch.’ He kissed her goodbye, then jumped into a waiting taxi.

Chapter Eleven

‘How was your date?’ Yvonne asked the next day, as they opened boxes of books in the store room.

‘It was lovely,’ Claire said, smiling broadly. ‘Best date ever.’

‘Ooh, tell me all,’ Yvonne said. ‘Did my flirting tips help?’

‘Yes, they were great,’ Claire lied, so as not to hurt Yvonne’s feelings. In fact, she had forgotten to do any of the things Yvonne had taught her – fiddling with her hair, mirroring his movements, sucking food off her finger, ‘spontaneously’ touching him. It turned out she hadn’t needed any tricks at all.

‘We just really clicked. He’s smart and funny and
seriously
cute. And he was so easy to talk to, I felt like we’d known each other for ages.’

‘Well, look at you, all loved up.’ Yvonne grinned. ‘So, did you go back to his hotel?’

‘No. I mean yes, but just for a drink. I didn’t stay.’

‘You’re making him wait. Nice move.’ She nodded. ‘As your dating coach, I approve.’

‘I told him I have a five-date rule.’

‘Good for you! Even Judy’d be impressed by that. Five is harsh!’

‘Do you think it’s too many?’

‘No. If five is what you want, then it’s just right.’

‘And we met up again yesterday for brunch, and hung out together until he had to go to the airport.’

‘Excellent. You really like him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I do – a lot.’

‘Are you seeing him again?’

‘He wants me to go to London, so I’m going to try to get over while Mum’s in the nursing home.’

‘It’s a pity he’s so far away.’

‘Yeah,’ Claire agreed. But in many ways it was a blessing. If she wanted things to progress with him – and she did – she was going to have to wise up fast. He would be expecting some serious skills and she had no moves whatsoever. She needed a far more advanced form of teaching than Yvonne could provide. She had been mulling it over all night and had finally come up with an idea as to how she could get it. But the very thought of it made her stomach churn with anxiety.

In the meantime, she was glad she had bought herself some time with the five-date rule so she could visit Mark in London without any pressure. ‘How did your date go with Ivan?’ she asked Yvonne, to take her mind off her plan. There would be time enough to think about it tonight.

That evening, Claire sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and a glass of wine, scrolling through the escorts websites and trying very hard not to tear her hair out. This was proving a lot harder than she’d thought – and she hadn’t thought it was going to be easy when she’d come up with the idea in the first place. The guys looked so scary in their pictures, all ripped and muscle-bound and striking ridiculous poses. And then there were the close-ups of their junk in tight underwear! She couldn’t see herself with any of them. But how else could she get some quick sexual experience with no strings attached? She just had to knuckle down and pick someone.

She thought one looked quite friendly and she clicked on his photo – a skinny, fairly ordinary-looking boy – but as she read through his profile, she just felt sad. He was only nineteen – just a kid, for Christ’s sake! There was no way she could go with someone that young. Ruling out gay men and the under-twenties narrowed the field considerably, but didn’t make her task any easier. Reading their profiles was depressing. They were mostly foreigners and very young, and there was something
heartbreakingly desperate about their constant availability, their willingness to service men, women or couples anytime, anywhere, their eagerness to fulfil the fantasies of random strangers.

Still, they wanted the work, she told herself. She would be just another job to them, and they would be doing it whether she hired them or not. What would Carlos from Brazil think, she wondered, if she wanted to pay him to teach her the art of the blowjob? He had probably had worse gigs. He had a sweet face and sounded kind. He guaranteed to give you the time of your life and make all your fantasies come true, and he seemed sensitive towards those who were new to escorts. He said he could go at your pace and would take time to chat – though at a hundred euro for a half-hour, she didn’t think she’d have much time to waste on conversation. In fact, she should make a detailed plan about how she wanted to use the time when she met up with Carlos.

‘Oh, who am I kidding?’ she said aloud, closing out of the site. ‘I can’t do this.’ But how the hell else was she going to learn? This was one situation where books and Googling weren’t going to be enough. She needed some real-life, hands-on experience. She shouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to have sex with Luca, she thought. At least she’d have got back into the game.

And then she thought of what he’d said that night – ‘singing for my supper’. He’d been willing to sleep with her in return for a bed for the night. Maybe she could take him up on that after all – not in exchange for a bed, but she could pay him. And later he’d said the only things he was good at were painting and shagging, but he hadn’t figured out how to make money from either. He needed money. She needed no-strings sex. Maybe they could help each other. It might be the perfect solution.

The next evening she raced home from work and spent ages getting ready to go over to Luca’s. It was difficult to know what
note to strike. She’d never propositioned anyone before, and she wasn’t sure about the dress code. It felt like somewhere between a date and a job interview.

‘You’re overthinking this,’ she told herself, as she tossed another dress on the bed to join the growing pile. Half of her wardrobe was lying there now and she groaned in frustration. She finally opted for a pair of black trousers and a fitted white shirt. She had to get out of the house quickly before she lost her nerve.

She had no trouble remembering where Luca lived, but she wasn’t sure of the number of his flat. She knew he was at the top of the house, though, so she took a chance and pressed the bell for ten, the highest number. She held her breath as she waited for a reply, forcing herself to resist the urge to flee.

Chances are he’s not even home, she thought, the idea bringing instant relief. If he wasn’t in, she’d take it as a sign. But then there was a crackling from the speaker beside the bells.

‘Hello!’ she shouted. ‘Is that Luca?’

There was more crackling from the speaker and then it went dead. She stood waiting. Should she press the bell again? She didn’t even know for sure that it was Luca’s flat. But then she heard movement inside, the door opened and Luca stuck his head out. ‘Oh, hello!’ He looked surprised to see her.

‘Hi. Um … can I come in?’ Oh, God, maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe he’d run downstairs to get rid of whoever was at the door because he had a naked girl to get back to.

‘Sure.’ He stood back and waved her into the hall. ‘The buzzer doesn’t work,’ he said, as he led her to the stairs.

‘Oh. Sorry.’

He waved her ahead of him on the stairs and she felt self-conscious as they climbed, aware of his eyes on her back. She hoped he wasn’t checking out her bum. She shouldn’t have worn trousers.

He led her into the living room and she was struck once again by the poverty of the place. The air was thick with the heavy
smell of oil paint and turpentine, and a large canvas stood on an easel by the window.

‘Were you working?’ she asked, noticing the streaks of blue and red on his hands and arms as he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting.’

‘No, it’s fine. Have a seat.’ He nodded to the couch and she sat down gratefully. ‘Do you want a drink or anything?’

‘No, thanks,’ she said, her voice sounding breathy and nervous.

He frowned down at her, his hands on his hips. ‘So – you wanted to see me?’

‘Yeah. I wanted to, um – talk to you about something.’

‘Okay. Shoot.’

She swallowed hard, running her sweaty palms along her legs. ‘It’s hard to – I’m not sure where to start,’ she stammered. ‘I wanted to ask you to do me a favour – well, not exactly a favour because I would pay you,’ she amended hastily. He just stood there, looking at her, and she felt very flustered.

‘So what’s the favour?’ he asked.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Well, remember that night when you were at my house and you, um, you … you said you were “singing for your supper” …’ She felt her face burning and kept her eyes trained on her hands, unable to look at him.

‘Yeah, and I’m really sorry about that. It was a stupid, crass thing to say. But I thought we’d got past it. I thought you’d forgiven me.’

‘Oh, I have.’ She looked up at him. ‘It’s just – I was wondering if I could, um, change my mind.’

‘Change your mind?’ He frowned. Then his eyes widened. ‘Oh.’

‘I don’t mean in exchange for staying that night,’ she rushed on. ‘I’d pay you.’

He sat down beside her on the couch and she felt his warm hand cover her fidgeting fingers. ‘Hey, calm down,’ he said.

‘Sorry, it was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have – I should go.’ She moved to stand up, but he stopped her with a firm grasp on her hand.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You want to pay me to have sex with you?’

She forced herself to look him in the eye. ‘Yes,’ she said, relieved that he understood and the worst part was over.

‘I’d fuck you for free – in case I didn’t make that clear the other night.’

She blushed. ‘But that wasn’t for free, was it? You were “singing for your supper”.’

‘Look, I was talking shite. I thought that was what you wanted. But, despite the impression I may have given, I’m not in the habit of trading sex.’

She sighed. ‘No, of course not. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.’

‘It’s okay. So, what do you say?’ He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. ‘On the house.’

She gulped. Damn, he hadn’t understood at all. ‘Um, no, that’s not what I meant. I don’t just want you to fu— I mean, I don’t want to just have a one-night stand. I want you to teach me stuff.’

‘Stuff?’ He narrowed his eyes.

‘Sex stuff. It’s kind of a long story.’

‘I’ve got plenty of time.’

‘Do you think I could have that drink after all?’

‘Beer okay?’

‘Fine.’

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of Corona and handed her one. It was ice-cold and wet with condensation.

‘Cheers!’ He clicked his bottle against hers and sat beside her on the sofa. ‘So – what’s the long story?’

Claire took a sip of beer, trying to decide how to start. ‘I write this blog,’ she said. ‘It’s a sex blog.’

‘A sex blog?’ Luca raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes. I write about my, um … experiences – the men I go out with, the things we do. It’s quite raunchy.’

‘Good for you!’

‘I’ve been writing it for a couple of years now, and it’s very popular. I have over twenty thousand hits each month, and I’m the number-one sex blogger in the search engines.’ God, she was babbling. Why was she telling him her stats? ‘Anyway, the point is I’ve written about a lot of different experiences, a lot of different men. It’s very explicit.’

‘Okay,’ he said, scratching his head. He looked bewildered.

She bit her lip. ‘But the thing is, I haven’t done any of it. There aren’t any men. None of it’s real.’

‘So you make up these stories? You write down your fantasies? That’s kind of hot,’ he said, with a wicked grin. ‘But I don’t see the problem. There’s no law against it, is there? Everything you write on your blog doesn’t have to be true.’

‘The problem is, a publisher’s interested in it. He wants me to turn it into a book.’

‘So? Just make it up, like on the blog.’

Claire chewed her lip. ‘But he’ll expect me to be all sexy and sassy, like the girl in the blog, and I’m not.’

‘You seem to have done a good job of winging it so far.’

‘Okay,’ Claire said. ‘If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine.’ She took a swig from her bottle to cover her embarrassment, aware she was blushing furiously.

‘There’s more to it, isn’t there?’ Luca scrutinised her closely, and then a slow smile spread across his face. ‘Is that who you went on a date with the other night – this publisher dude?’

‘Well … yes.’

‘You like him, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, okay, I like him.’ Claire blushed. ‘But he thinks I’m this total sexpot, when in fact I have hardly any experience in … that area. So, you see, it’s not just about having a – a fuck,’ she forced herself to say it, almost choking on the word. ‘It’s a more long-term project.’

‘Okay. Anyway, I’m not saying no.’

‘You’re not?’

‘I’m not saying yes either,’ he warned. ‘I’m not exactly sure what you want me to do. What would you want me to teach you?’

‘Well … everything, I suppose. How to … you know, be good at it. And blowjobs and stuff.’

‘Blowjobs?’ Luca was sitting so close, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘So basically you want to pay me to let you suck my dick?’

She couldn’t meet his frank, open expression, her eyes darting away. ‘Well …’

‘Sounds like my kind of job,’ he said. ‘When do we start?’

‘So you’ll do it?’

‘I don’t know. What does it pay?’

‘Oh, I’ve researched the going rate for this sort of thing—’

‘You have?’

‘Um, yeah. I was going to hire an escort, but I couldn’t get up the nerve. Anyway, I didn’t like the idea of being with a professional, um …’

‘Hooker,’ he finished. ‘So you thought you’d go for a talented amateur. Look, I’ll fuck you, if you want. You don’t have to pay me.’

She flinched at his bluntness. ‘But I told you, I don’t want you to just fu— do that. Why should you do it for nothing anyway? I’m not someone you’d choose to, um … do that with.’

‘You’ve got all the usual girl bits, haven’t you?’ he said, his eyes raking over her body. ‘I’d say you’re plenty my type.’

She cringed, but stood her ground. ‘I want you to teach me. You’d have to put up with me being useless and be patient with me. Why shouldn’t you get something out of it? It’s only fair. Besides—’ She stopped abruptly. She didn’t want to offend him.