‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Now, come on. Pay me my tribute. Tell me about ze French boys,’ she says in a terrible accent as she turns to face me fully, crossing her legs.
‘You’ve been binge watching episodes ofRomeagain, haven’t you? You’ve got that rabid gleam in your eye.’
‘Yes. Because . . . nakedness. And stop changing the subject.’ Julia grabs a tortilla chip, dunking it into the jar of salsa sat between us. ‘But I’m warning you, if you tell me it’s all swiping right and casual shags, I might cry.’
‘I probably wasn’t there long enough to form an accurate picture.’ I sigh and hug my almost empty glass to my chest.
‘Speaking of pictures, tell me about thisHenri.And don’t hold back. I’ve already done myFriends of FriendsFacebook stalk.’
‘He was... nice.’
‘That’s it?’
‘He didn’t exactly set my heart alight, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘I am not. I want to know if he set your knickers alight and if you’re still clinging to yourVplates.’
At this stage, I’m beginning to feel like Elizabeth I. It’s embarrassing. Who goes to live in the city of love and doesn’t get any? Love? Dick? Any of those things. To make matters worse, I find myself nodding in the affirmative, while preparing my eardrums for her delighted squeal.
‘What! And you didn’t call and tell me?’
‘Was I supposed to?’ I answer, blinking back innocently.
‘Too right you were, you sneaky-sneak.’ For a moment, I think she might be planning to hug me. But no. She leans over and wallops me in the arm.
‘Ow, that wasn’t nice.’ I rub my smarting arm before flicking a chip in her direction. ‘What was I supposed to say?Hi, Jules. I did the dance with no pants last night?’
‘Yes! And I’d have squealed down the line and demanded details.’
‘A bit like now, then?’
‘Yes! Details!’ she demands with the air of a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.
My brow screws in concentration as I wonder where to start. Should I begin with my awkward and halting explanation in a foreign language as to why, at twenty-three, I was still a virgin? Or should I start on the night itself where, after some kissing and fumbling, I’d decided I could never be with someone who wore corduroy. I just couldn’t go through with it and though I said it wasn’t him, but me, that wasn’t really true. It’s almost as if I’ve waited so long that when I do eventually do it, I want someone who really knows their stuff. I’m not expecting acrobatics, multiple orgasms, and hour-long fucks, but I also don’t want someone with his hand in my knickers fiddling away like I’m a piece of troublesome plumbing.
God, the experience was mortifying.
Maybe I should just be done with it and make an appointment with a male escort?
‘It was nice,’ I reply, realising she’s waiting for my reply. But nice is stretching it a bit, both in terms of truth and experience. But much like Henri wanted to make itagréable, or nice, for me, I want to do the same for Julia.She’s waited to hear long enough.
‘Nice?’ Her expression is a mixture of horrified and bemused.
‘Hotel, champagne, that sort of thing.’ All that, and I still couldn’t do it. I just lay on the bed in my underwear as stiff as an ironing board. Eventually,Henri’ssimilarly stiff anatomy wilted with the effort.
‘But he didn’t... do it for you.’
‘Look, contrary to the myths about French men, let’s just say I doubt Henri would have found my clitoris if he was wearing a coal miner’s helmet and it was lit by a neon sign.’ Cruel, but true. It might’ve helped if he’d started in that vicinity. For sure it would’ve been moreagréable.
‘Christ, that’s disappointing.’
That’s what Henri said.
‘Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to go your first time?’ I ask, genuinely curious, even if I’m still on the wrong side of the virginity line. I don’t think I’ve heard manylost-my-v-cardtales without a moment of embarrassment or pain or ridiculousness.
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ she replies before cramming a few Doritos into her mouth. ‘Doesn’t sound any worse than when I lost mine in the back of a Ford Fiesta,’ she says, swallowing them down. ‘I just hoped it’d be better for you.’
‘Why, because I’m a desperate case?’ Through her munching, she pulls a disparaging face.
