The List (27 page)

‘He would but he's dating a model. Anyway, Alex knows Oliver and I are just mates. He needs to know I've both physically
and
mentally moved on.'

Hazel moved Grace on to the floor to let her play. ‘I think Alex would be less likely to annoy you if he found out you were sleeping with Oliver. I'd imagine Oliver's quite intimidating to most men.'

‘It wouldn't work. Alex wouldn't believe for a second that someone like Oliver would sleep with me. He'd know it was a lie.'

‘Um. Phoebs?' she said. ‘It isn't a lie. You
are
sleeping with him.'

‘Yes, but not for real. He's only helping me out with my list. He's doing me a favour.'

Hazel looked sad. ‘Phoebe, this is real. Your lack of self-worth astonishes me sometimes. Oliver is more than happy to be sleeping with you; it isn't some sort of pity fuck.' She quickly glanced at Grace to make sure the F-word hadn't
made her daughter spontaneously combust. ‘I think it's great that you're dating – just make sure you're doing it for the right reasons.'

She left when Grace began to nod off and I thought about what she'd said. I know she means well, but I know what's best for me. I think.

Monday August 8th

Got into work and there was an email from Lucy!

I walked into the conference room, trying not to feel jealous that Lucy was living it up somewhere sunny while I was stuck here.

The morning meeting went like this:

1. Frank announced Lucy was on holiday. Kelly would be running reports.

2. Kelly tutted and shuffled some blank paper.

3. Frank went over sales figures for the week. Kelly moaned that Lucy was on holiday and now her workload had doubled.

4. Frank told Kelly to stop complaining as she only had to push three buttons at quarter to five.

5. Kelly tutted. Frank exhaled.

6. Brian's stomach made a noise like a cat. I laughed until I couldn't breathe.

7. Frank left the room.

I have no idea how we all manage to function on any level. We're hopeless.

This evening was reserved for pampering, given that I had two dates at the end of the week. I had to do my eyebrows, give myself a facial and do something about the hairs that had appeared on my big toe. I had just applied a face pack and begun painting my nails dark blue when the phone rang.

‘Hello. What's happening?'

‘Hello, Oliver. Not much. Just stuff

‘Stuff? Sexy stuff? I want details.'

‘No. I'm painting my nails and preparing my sagging face for my TWO dates this week. Is that enough detail?'

‘Are you using that green stuff on your face? Man, that stuff is scary. When it cracks you look like Dana escaping from that demon dog in
Ghostbusters
.'

‘Don't make me laugh,' I snorted. ‘It's still drying.'

‘Hang on, two dates?' asked Oliver. ‘You mean business.'

‘Indeed.' I nodded. ‘I'm paying for this – I intend to get my money's worth.' I put the phone to my other ear and continued painting my nails. ‘But I was thinking – we still have the bondage challenge left to do and a final role play. Any thoughts?'

‘Nope, I'm now thinking of all the dastardly things I'm going to do to you in the bondage challenge.'

‘Like what?' I asked. ‘Don't do anything weird like punch me or drip hot wax on me.'

‘You'll see,' he laughed. ‘Anyway, you're not the only one who has plans this week – Ruth has decided to stay on for a few days.'

I stopped painting. ‘Don't you feel bad about having her there and arranging this with me?'

‘Not at the moment, no.'

‘So you'll be off-limits until when? That woman is ruining my sex life, Oliver. Where is she just now?'

‘At the shops. She's heading back for a shoot on Saturday, so just a week. I'm working on Sunday so email me Monday.'

‘Will do. Hang on … Is this getting serious with Ruth?'

‘Speak later.'

He hung up without answering. We're going to have to do these challenges soon before he marries that Ruth girl and she spoils all my fun. Now he's busy all week as well as Lucy being on holiday? Fuckssake. I have really inconsiderate friends.

Friday August 12th

Oh, just kill me now. Tonight was awful. For my first date
I found out I was being taken to a midnight showing of some hypnotist act with a shit name, my idea of hell, but Matthew wasn't to know that. He thought it was inventive, but unless it's Derren Brown I really have no time for showmen.

Matthew was a stereotypical lad, another thing that's high up on my list of pet hates (just below hypnotists). But he had a cool jacket and complimented my hair, which was enough to win me over sufficiently to hope he'd get me pissed at the bar. No such luck. We walked straight past the bar (damn him) and got settled in our seats. At least I had an aisle seat so I could make a dash for it if it came to the worst. Forty-five minutes into the show I was politely laughing at some poor bastard who was acting like a chicken on stage, when the hypnotist turned his terrible moustached attention to the fat bloke beside chicken boy, pretending to be asleep.

‘When you wake up on the count of three, you'll think you're Superman, racing to save a damsel in distress … One, two, three!'

My polite laughing face quickly changed to one of sheer horror as Superman raced up the aisle, threw me over his shoulder in some kind of gymnastic fireman's lift and carried me back to the stage, during which my skirt was hitched up and my pants revealed to the entire audience. Being laughed at by two hundred people because a fat man picked me up is not my idea of fun. Neither is being told by the middle-aged hypnotist that he ‘definitely would' while my date almost pissed his trousers laughing and then proceeded to go to the bar afterwards and talk about my
pants to other men. He continued snorting all the way home, by which time I'd made it clear there would be no second date but thanks for a humiliating evening. Stupid hypnosis.

I now cannot believe I thought it was a good idea to arrange another date with a different man tomorrow. I might not have fully recovered from this one. What was I thinking?

Saturday August 13th

I made a point of asking my second date Craig where we were going tonight – I wasn't taking any chances after last night's fiasco. We agreed to meet in a small but trendy bar in town and I arrived there ten minutes early so I didn't have to be the one walking around on my own like a tit, looking for someone who resembled a photo I'd once seen. Unlike Alan, his picture was recent but he'd lied about his height, and his build. He was around the same height as me and twice as wide. Not the six foot, slim build he'd lied about online. However, determined not to be so bloody shallow, I accepted a drink and we sat down. Craig was forty-one, a stockbroker who absolutely loved the sound of his own voice. That man went on and on and fucking on for hours about himself, what he did, what he thought, and only asked me questions so he could then disagree and tell me his reasons for doing so. His love of whisky meant he got hammered extremely quickly and then started prattling on about some twenty-five-year-old politics student called Mia who had rejected him and he couldn't understand why.
By the time I'd finished my third drink it was time to go.

‘Why are you going? I thought we were getting on?' he slurred.

‘No offence, Craig, but you've been going on and on about this Mia girl all night. I think perhaps you should get her out of your system before you start dating.'

‘Oh. OH! I see what this is! I see what's happening here,' he announced as I put on my jacket. ‘You wish you were Mia.'

‘What?' I asked, totally confused. ‘What are you on about?'

‘You're jealous. You wish you were Mia.'

‘I fucking wish YOU were Mia, mate. At least she sounds vaguely interesting.'

I actually made a sort of frustrated yelp out loud as I left the pub and caught the last train home with all the other losers.

This is tougher than I anticipated. So far I've been out with a shouty man with an eating disorder, a man who laughed at my pants and a boring man who was pining for someone else. I'm clearly a terrible judge of online character. At least with Oliver I know exactly where I stand. Why aren't all men like him?

Monday August 15th

Lucy is back! She was sitting at her desk when I walked into work this morning, wearing a summer dress and sporting at least seventeen new freckles.

‘I've missed you!' I shrieked. ‘How was it? When did you get back?'

‘My flight got in at one last night so I'm shattered, but it was brilliant. Total “me” time: I slept late, sunbathed, hardly spoke to a single person all week and ate the most amazing food. You'd have loved it. I'll email you pictures once I can be arsed downloading them.'

Frank also looked happy to see Lucy, given that Kelly had been nipping his head about admin the entire week. He wandered over, carrying a green coffee mug. ‘You look well,' he said graciously. ‘If you want to come into my office at ten, I'll run through last week with you.'

‘Blimey! What have you done with the real Frank?' she laughed.

He frowned at her.

‘Oh. There he is,' she added quietly.

‘Let's get on, shall we, girls?' he requested, leaving the coffee cup on her desk and walking away.

‘No problem, boss,' she replied, lifting his cup and dropping it into her bin. ‘It's good to be back.'

Around three I remembered I'd said I'd email Oliver. Today was the day that Ruth would be making her way down south, leaving him free to continue his sterling work on my list.

A whip? What the fuck does he have planned?

Tuesday August 16th

9 p.m
. I'm sitting here looking into this bondage lark and have no idea where to begin. The internet is full of leatherclad women looking grumpy and men looking frightened, which doesn't help. I don't want Oliver to think I'm going to tie him to the bed and break his ankles. So I'm about to watch some bondage porn and hope I get some ideas.

9.15 p.m
. Argh! CLAMPS!

9.45 p.m
. Right. Forget it. I am NOT doing that.

I called Oliver. ‘Jesus, what the fuck are you watching? What? No, Phoebe, I don't want to clamp your labia. Listen, just calm down and stop watching S&M videos. I'll find you something else.'

Half an hour later he sent me a link to a video which was much MUCH better. No pain, no gagging and no bastarding clamping. We've agreed that he's going to be submissive for once in his life, and I'm going to be the dominatrix. I get to be shouty. I LOVE BEING SHOUTY!

Wednesday August 17th

As I got dressed for this evening's challenge, I realized two things: 1) Attempting to put on a corset by yourself is a challenge in itself, and 2) I was very excited about getting to play with Oliver again. I applied a second coat of bright red lipstick before rushing around to get my bedroom ready,
occasionally pulling at the black thong that was annoyingly riding up my bottom every few minutes. My raspberry-pink bed sheets had been replaced with borrowed black-satin ones, and I'd dotted black candles around the room for a Gothic feel. Just as I finished zipping up my knee-high boots, the doorbell rang. I answered, blindfold and restraints in hand.

Thank fuck it was Oliver.

‘Wow, Phoebe, you—'

‘Shut up and go to the bedroom,' I demanded forcefully. Scaring even myself a little.

Once in the bedroom I ordered him to undress slowly while I watched. I must admit, seeing him strip while looking a tad nervous was a total turn-on. He stood there naked. God, I love his cock.

‘Phoebe? PHOEBE? What now?'

‘Hmm? Oh yeah. Lie on the bed. Close your eyes.'

I tied both his hands to the bedpost, covered his eyes with the blindfold and hastily adjusted my thong. ‘Lie there. Don't fucking move.'

Then I went into the kitchen and had a cigarette, pretending it was part of the game but really I had no idea what I was going to do next; I needed a better game plan than blow jobs and yelling. That, and I really wanted a cigarette. My brief but eye-opening look at bondage videos had made me realize that I was never going to be an arsewhipping, ball-crushing, face-sitting dominatrix, but I could give it my best shot. I brought back a cup of cold water and a cup of warm water and set them down on the bedside table. I could see him squirming slightly, wondering what
the hell I was doing. I then gave him a hot and cold blow job which went: mouthful of warm water followed by mouthful of cold water. I saw it on the net. Good, eh? Well, it must have been as I've never heard him moan so loudly. Then I ran my tongue over every inch of his body, telling him what a filthy, dirty boy he was. He started to struggle with the restraints.