‘It’s really very simple, men are biologically programmedto say yes when offered sex,’ Manny promised. ‘It is genuinely harder to say no to a shag than it is to say yes.’
‘And they let you teach science to children …’
‘Whatever, it’s true,’ he grabbed hold of my hands and shook them hard. ‘Come on, shag him for me. Shag him for your nan.’
As if I didn’t feel sick already.
Could I really seduce Drew the Burly Scottish Butcher? His exes were probably all fiery redheads with legs up to their armpits who could hunt a wild boar for supper and still find time to give him seven thundering orgasms before bed. With my sexual history, I could just about commit to giving him an unenthusiastic hard-on and Müller Delight three days past its sell-by date.
‘Who were you sending photos to?’ I asked, tactfully neglecting to refer to the subject of said photos. ‘When I walked in on you, I mean?’
‘You mean the photos I won’t take until half past three this afternoon?’ he replied. ‘He’s no one, some random I got talking to on the apps last night, don’t want to talk about it. Look, I know I haven’t got the best track record when it comes to romance but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.’
Manny had been single forever and not in a hyperbolic, I-haven’t-had-a-decent-date-in-months forever, he genuinely meant forever. He was thirty-two and had never been in a relationship that lasted more than a couple of weeks. Not that he didn’t get his fair share of action, but nothing seemed to stick.
‘What happened to that man you took to that Halloween party? I thought he had potential.’
‘He wanted to do a couple’s costume after two dates.’
‘Which couple?’
‘Megan Fox and Machine Gun Kelly.’
‘Probably not the one then,’ I admitted. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What’s for you won’t go by you,’ he said, waving off my concern. ‘But I’ve got a good feeling about you and this mega-yolked random. He’s already got the parental seal of approval, I could practically see you ovulating when you mentioned him and most importantly, he’s not Michael. I think this could be it.’
‘I hope you’re right because I don’t know how much more of this I can take,’ I put half my butty down on my plate and pushed it away. ‘I’m even going off bacon sandwiches. That’s not right, is it?’
‘When a man is tired of bacon, he is tired of life,’ Manny declared. ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs and tart you up.’
I wiped my hands on my pyjamas and baulked. ‘But the party doesn’t start for another six hours?’
‘Only six hours?’ He picked up a chunk of my hair and let it fall back down to my shoulders. ‘Well, let’s do the best we can in the time we’ve got.’
Seduction had never been one of my strong points. Me and Michael went on three dates, got drunk, had sex and a relationship was born. The sex was fine, fantastic in the beginning, the way something new so often is, but we were never terribly adventurous or experimental. Once I accidentally left a magazine open on an article about pegging while I went to the loo and when I came back, Michael hadn’t just thrown it away, he was shredding it along with his credit card statements and a recipe for vegan lasagne. Our whole affair was very bread andbutter, I do this, you do that, you’re done, I’m done, time for bed. More and more often we skipped the part where I was done but as time went by, I was far more concerned with getting to the ‘time for bed’ bit than I was with enjoying myself. My pleasure was never something I’d really thought too much about, sex was very much about keeping Michael happy. What I wanted, what I needed, I really hadn’t thought about, inside the bedroom or out.
But now the whole world was open to me, I could do anything, do anyone. I could experiment and try things and find out whether or not I had any sexual predilections outside missionary, doggy style and me-on-top for the last two minutes. Did I like spanking? No idea, never tried it. What about role play? Something else I’d never tried, unless you counted that summer Michael took to wearing an awful leather flying jacket and aviators that he said made him look a bit like Tom Cruise inTop Gunif you squinted very hard.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, willing myself to fall in love with the girl who stared back. I could be a daring, sensual, seductress. I could be an uninhibited, orgiastic temptress if I put my mind to it.
‘Have you got any knickers that aren’t big enough to carry shopping?’ Manny called from the bedroom. ‘Or shall I have a look in your mum’s drawer for a thong?’
If Ireallyput my mind to it.
Dorothy’s party was as hectic as ever, the house packed from top to bottom. Breaking away from the Baker clan as soon as we walked through the door, I kept the trench coat I’d borrowed from my dad’s old wardrobe tightly wrapped around me as I stalked through the maze of roomsseeking my prey. After several hours of prep, breaking only to shovel down lunch, Manny had finally deemed me ready to go forth and pull. My hair had been washed, conditioned, blow-dried and curled, my whole body scrubbed, shaved and oiled and after what Manny claimed were months of his life lost to begging the girls in Year Ten to get back to their biology textbooks instead of practising their eyeliner, through some sort of osmosis, the teacher had become the pupil. He was bloody handy with a make-up brush. My face was artfully blushed, contoured and shaded as if by a professional. He was wasted in that school, I thought as I glimpsed myself in a commemorative Rover’s Return plaque. Why waste your days teaching kids how photosynthesis works when you could be at my house with an eyeliner pen, waiting to turn me into a verifiable goddess? I looked so good, I barely recognized myself. Even Cerys had managed a grudging ‘well done for making an effort’ before we left the house. Pouring myself a generous but not fatal measure of punch, I took myself off to Dorothy’s conservatory and waited.
‘Here it comes again,’ I breathed as the snow began to fall on the other side of the triple-glazed windows. One of the only things I was still pleased to see every day. ‘No such thing as too much snow.’
‘Tell that to the man who just ran home to cover up his pigeons.’
It was Drew, my Prince Charming. Here to make a wish come true and built like an absolute brick shithouse.
‘There she is.’ Mum appeared over his shoulder, like clockwork. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Gwen, meet Drew, Drew, this is my daughter, Gwen.’
‘Pleased to meet you at last,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Drew just moved here from Inverness,’ Mum said, physically forcing him into the chair opposite mine, her tiny hands pressing down on his massive shoulders. ‘He’s taken over the butchers in the village, you know the one at the crossroads—’