I blush. Chloe and I don’t really have secrets or boundaries but announcing some of your darkest sexual fantasies before 11am might still be a little bit much, even for me. How do you even begin to admit the filthier things you’ve imagined? The kind of fantasies you’d never say out loud, even to your best friend. Surely those secrets are between a girl and her Kindle. I clear my throat instead.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I lie. I could start the list right here, right now, before I’ve even had my first coffee. A flutter of excitement shimmers through my core and I bite my lip.
Chloe laughs softly and picks up her Kindle. “You do that, babe.” She smirks. “I’m going back to my shifter romance. The omega’s just gone into heat!”
I laugh and pick up my Kindle too. But I can’t keep my mind on my romance novel when my brain’s coming up with every filthy fantasy I’ve ever dared imagine. Visions of being held down in a dark room, of being displayed like a prize, of being edged into torment flood my imagination as I shift on my lounger. Perhaps I should start with something simpler like being tied up or spanked? Surely that’s not much of a leap…
I can’t help but smile to myself as I pull up my notes app and start typing.
Fuckit List, here we come.
CHAPTER 6
Emmy
By Tuesday,the Fuckit List is less of a list and more of a horny manifesto. What started as a silly note in my phone has turned into a novel-length distraction from both work and the recurrent phantom pains of the breakup. I’ve neglected my needs for far too long and while my bruised heart might need some time to heal, my sex drive is ready for a jump start.
After a blissful weekend with Chloe, I’m ready to put this plan into action. She’s given me the boost to strike out on my own, take back control. “Owning the narrative,” as she puts it.
Some items on the list are pure fantasy – I don’t expect to find a queue of men ready to worship me on an altar sadly – but plenty feel doable. I figure I’ll start small and work my way up to the spicier entries. I’ve always had a strong sex drive and a lot of curiosity, but Colin was vanilla as they come. Any time I suggested something new, he laughed or recoiled. Eventually I stopped asking.
A stab of anger hits as his words from my birthday return, unbidden. The idea that he had needs I wasn’t “fulfilling” makes me want to do some serious violence, thinking of every time he didn’t bother to make me come, or claimed he was too tired for more than a quickie.
Well, the days of putting up with boring and predictable sex are behind me. Fuck that. Now that I’m in my 30s, I feel confident and ready to make my mark on the world. Men of London, watch out.
I pause on the list and realise I’ve taken a very heterocentric view on things so far. I’ve never even kissed a woman—what if I’m ignoring a whole subset of society that I could be having mind-blowing sex with?
I look at the list so far and put “kiss a woman” right at the very top. That onedefinitelyfeels doable.
I’m just wrapping up my workday when my phone rings. Colin’s name, along with a photo of us from his parents’ ruby wedding, appears on my phone. I take a deep breath, let it go in a long sigh, then answer.
“Emmy? Hi. How are you?” His deep voice sends a skitter down my spine as warring visions of the man I loved for my whole adult life appear in my mind. The comfort and familiarity of his voice are immediately extinguished as the vision of him and Stacey appears, yet again, in my imagination.
“Hello Colin,” I reply evenly, without answering his question. How I am is no longer his business. He pauses and I raise an eyebrow, waiting to see what he wants.
“I thought maybe I could come and collect some things,” he offers, the silence stretching out between us as I wonder what he will prioritise. His stupid suits and protein meals, probably.
“Of course. I’ll be out tomorrow evening if you want to go round then. I’m working on finding a new place anyway so I’ll be out of your hair before long.” I hold back the sniff that threatensto break free. I’m channelling my inner ice queen but I can’t pretend that none of this hurts.
“Are you sure it’s what you want? We should talk. You know you’re prone to overreacting. Are you really going to throw our life together away over this? Are you sure you want to be alone?”
His words sting but I stay strong.
“I’m sure, Colin. We haven’t been happy in a long time.” It’s the only truth I’ll let him have at this stage. He’s not getting off the hook that easily. There’s a long silence at the other end. Finally, I hear him sigh.
“Ok, Em. I’ll get my stuff tomorrow. Any chance you can grab my shirts from the dry cleaner on the way home later?”
“Goodbye Colin.”
Wanker.
The following evening, I find myself in a cheery gay bar in Soho. It’s one week on from my drinks with Nick and Luke, and I imagine they’re probably holed up in another pub nearby, with Luke listening to Nick wang on about some anxiety or other to do with impending parenthood.
It seemed like a brilliant idea when I moved “kiss a woman” to the top of my list but now I feel like an utter twat as I sit at the bar nursing a spicy margarita, nervously glancing at the women all around me. Every single person in this bar appears at ease with themselves and any minute now, they will realise I am a fraud and will have me forcibly removed.
Maybe I should slip out before drag queen cabaret begins and slink back to the land of the straights, where I at least have my driver’s license. I don’t even have training wheels in this queer utopia.
“First time?” A lilting American accent drifts my way from a couple of seats over. I realise the woman sat a few seats away might have been watching me tangle with my inner monologue and blush. She’s got jet black hair cut into a blunt fringe, giving her serious Bettie Page vibes. She’s done her grey blue eyes with sharp black eyeliner and I suspect her bias-cut dress is vintage. She’s stunning and she’s looking at me curiously while she sips an Old Fashioned.
