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 one definitely feels 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 threatens to 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.
“That obvious, eh?”
“I was trying to work out if you were on a little bicurious adventure or if you were a tourist who took a wrong turn.” She grins and I’m struck by how warm her smile is. I instantly like her.
“Honestly, I think I’m a little of both,” I reply. She laughs, open hearted and generous, then extends a hand.
“I’m Sloane,” she says, scooching over to take the stool next to me.
“Emmy,” I reply, giving her a firm shake.
“Welcome to the scene,” she says, waving her hand around the bar. “What are you looking for tonight?”
I blush. Americans are so direct. I decide I’ll be blunt back.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m here to kiss a woman.”
She raises her eyebrows and I see curiosity shimmering there, with a hint of mischief.
“Oh?”
“Well, to cut a very long story short, my marriage of 10 years imploded a few days ago. So, I’ve made a list of all these experiences I have always wanted to explore.
I thought I’d start small and… kiss a girl,” I finish, lamely.
This is sounding increasingly pathetic and Sloane’s eyes cloud with sympathy.
“Oh honey,” she replies, almost grimacing. “I think we’re going to need more drinks.”
Two hours later, she knows the whole sorry story. This stranger in a bar now knows more about me than most of my colleagues. Sloane has one of those faces that you can’t help spilling your secrets to and by our fourth round of cocktails, she’s spitting feathers.
“I say this with love, girl, but FUCK THIS MAN.” She slams her drink down on the table, sloshing a bit over the side, and I giggle. Sloane’s in her mid-20s and yet she’s got so much figured out already. I want to be her when I grow up.
“Yes, fuck that man! Or rather, don’t fuck that man! He’s boring in bed, Sloane, which is almost as big a crime as cheating.” I’m slurring very slightly now but Sloane either doesn’t notice or chalks it up to my inherent British charm. I’m sure it’s that.
“Urgh! So true. You deserve someone who really knows their way around.” She swirls her finger in the air in a way that’s impossibly suggestive and I stifle a giggle into my palm.
“This list needs to be a fast track to every slutty little fantasy you’ve ever had.
No strings, no feelings, no second dates, just hot hot sex. You know?”
“I know! Or rather, I think I know. I’ve only ever slept with one person,” I confess and she stops her finger twirling, mouth agape.
I’ve already learned that Sloane’s a pansexual New Yorker with a penchant for threesomes and women with lots of ink.
Of course, I look like a prim little convent girl compared to her.
“What?!”
“We met when I was 18 and I lost my virginity to him.” I shrug, taking another sip that I definitely don’t need. I wince and swallow it anyway.
“Good god, woman. We need to fix this immediately.” My eyes widen. “Well, not immediately. I can’t exactly make you come right here at the table. That would be frowned upon.”
I snort-laugh and she grins back.
“I can kiss you though, if you want to tick your first item off the Fuckit List?” She says it so casually that I almost startle.
“Go on then,” I reply, like it’s a dare and we’re both 15.
Suddenly the sound in the bar becomes muffled in my ears and Sloane and I are the only thing I am aware of. She leans closer, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. The next thing I know, her lips are on mine, soft and enquiring.
Kissing Sloane is completely unlike kissing Colin.
Sloane’s kiss is a question and I part my lips in answer, as her tongue slides in to brush mine.
One of her hands moves to cup my jaw, the other goes into my hair.
She’s gently angling me and I follow her lead, our kiss taking on its own momentum as I lose myself in the soft but confident strokes of her tongue against mine.
I let out a small moan and she pulls back slightly, smiling.
The whole thing only lasted a few seconds but I feel dazed as she sits back properly, smirking.
“Not bad, Emmy Warner, not bad at all.”
“Whoa. That was… amazing,” I reply, lost for words. I feel like my whole brain has gone temporarily offline. I haven’t kissed anyone except Colin since I was a teenager and I have been missing out.
She grins again.
“Now, tell me what’s next on the Fuckit List? One down… Thirty or so to go, right?”