The List by Joanna Bolouri

to un-cramp my toes.
    â€˜No. You give fucking GREAT head,’ he replied, lighting a fag. ‘It’s honestly remarkable! You have this two-handed, tongue-and-lips combination thing you do. You should teach that shit – you’d be loaded.’
    â€˜Are you messing with me now? Is it just average but you’re frightened if you tell me that I’ll sulk and never go down on you again?’
    â€˜Jesus, take a compliment. You give exceptional head. Your reverse cowgirl needs some work, but apart from that I’m happy.’
    I was tempted to argue the cowgirl case, but he has a point. I’ve never been that comfortable doing it. I always feel off balance and it’s definitely a good thing that my back is turned so he can’t see the look of sheer concentrationon my face. I’m sure sometimes my tongue sticks out when I’m really focusing.
    Friday March 11th
    I arranged this morning off work in order to go underwear shopping. I have two sets of ‘sexy time’ lingerie which have recently been through the wash approximately seventy-five times and are on the verge of disintegrating. I did my best to ignore my sensible side, which just wanted to buy reasonably priced black and white sets and opted instead for some overpriced red ones, electric blue ones and a black corset and suspender set, all of which I hope will make Oliver hard before I’ve even put them on. After all, it’s only fair. If he turned up wearing worn out Y-fronts all the time I’d be less than impressed. I arrived back at work, armed with carrier bags which I made sure to hide in my locked drawer – the last time Lucy bought underwear and left the bags lying around, she came back into the office to find everyone modelling at least one item. Even me.
    I ignored the client messages waiting for me and called Oliver instead.
    â€˜I bought new underwear.’
    â€˜Shit. Did you? Anything in blue?’
    â€˜Maybe. We can try that anal thing tonight. Let’s just get it over with.’
    â€˜Fuckin’ hell, Phoebe, I’m not giving you a root canal.’
    â€˜I’m sure that’s less invasive.’
    â€˜You’ll love it. I’ll be over around nine.’
    By the time he arrived I’d ‘prepared’ myself with anenema kit. I felt nauseous. Did I really think I was going to shit all over the floor? What the hell am I, an elephant? I was actually more worried about getting poo everywhere than any sort of pain element, but Oliver had promised to stop if it hurt.
    I wore my new blue underwear.
    He couldn’t stop grinning. ‘You look amazing! And we’re doing anal! This is the best night ever!’
    â€˜Oh fuck. I’m nervous.’
    â€˜Look, Phoebs, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’
    â€˜I do. We do. I’m fed up with wondering what it’s like. This is an integral part of my sexual metamorphosis.’
    â€˜Let’s have a drink first. Maybe a Valium? Some ketamine?’
    â€˜Oliver! You’re making it worse!’
    Half an hour and a strong Jack and Coke later, I was ready. Oliver returned from the bathroom and put a towel down on the floor.
    Jesus! I thought. HOW MESSY IS THIS GOING TO GET? quickly followed by, THAT’S MY BEST TOWEL!
    I was pretty sure I knew what was going to follow: fore-play, finger work, lots of lube and then me shouting and making an ouchy face. I braced myself.
    But it was not what I imagined at all.
    We started messing around and, as ever, I was good to go as soon as Oliver kissed my neck, but then he made me bend down on all fours and disappeared behind me. Startled, I glanced over my shoulder to see him lubing up his fingers with a slight smirk on his face.
    It felt odd as he started, not unpleasant, but definitely odd. I must have clenched up because he started to massage my breasts with his other hand, while slowly circling my clit with his thumb. It worked.