so lost of all a sudden, as if everything’s wrong, as if I’m useless? The tears start to come. Is this what it’s like to be sexually in tune, Kitten? Is this what life does to you when you start to feel sexually free? I feel Janey’s hand on my shoulder – warm and firm – and she says, ‘Are you worried that Guy isn’t faithful?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘It’s more to do with my ex.’
She squeezes my shoulder so sweetly that little sparks seem to shoot down my arm. Then she crawls round the back of me and begins to massage my shoulders. Oh, my, her pressure feels wonderful. ‘Tell me about this ex,’ she says. So I do. I start at the beginning. All those years spent making myself look sexy, hoping that Henry, with his steady brown gaze and delectable hands, would scoop me up in his arms and take me to bed. I tell Janey how many times I made him lovely meals at the end of my work day, even though I was tired and he never made meals for me. And then I tell her how Henry stopped meeting my eyes when he spoke, how he started working later and later, how when I asked his advice about how I looked, he’d say, ‘Always great,’ but wouldn’t even take the time to scan me.
And when I tell Janey how I followed him in my car and saw him with the woman in the raincoat and bowler hat, and how the woman turned me on, and how Henry had never looked at me that way, I feel Janey’s arms slipping around me, as she presses her cheek to my cheek. I can feel her breasts rubbing against my shoulder blade, and do I imagine it, Kitten, or is it true that I can feel her hard nipples, rubbing against my back? She whispers, ‘I know it’s a cliché, but you’re better off without him,’ and I can’t do anything but nod because I’m drunk on her closeness, the scent of her coconut soap, the warmth of her breath. Then she says, ‘And you’d never have known who you were if you hadn’t seen him like that.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
Janey says, ‘People go through their whole lives without discovering who they are. And when you discover your own sexuality, everything else kind of falls into place.’ Returning to my shoulder massage, she says she used to think she was straight, except part of her knew she wasn’t. She’d watch heterosexual porn, she explains – the mere mention of this makes me flush – when really she’d only be interested in the woman. She had no success with boys, so she thought she was a freak. ‘But I wasn’t a freak. I just wasn’t accepting myself … so how could anyone else even begin to accept me?’
I tell her that isn’t what I’m like. ‘I’m just obsessed with sex,’ I say, feeling the tears returning. ‘I just want to think about sex, and have sex.’
‘Of course you do,’ says Janey. ‘You’re a flesh-and-blood human being who wants to feel alive.’
Janey begins to massage my scalp, and I close my eyes – so this is how it feels to have her hands in my hair. She uses a perfect pressure and has a surprisingly sensual touch. Dear God, Kitten, I feel dizzy with desire. ‘Do you journal?’ she says.
I gawp at her. ‘Yes, actually, I do.’
‘Well, when I first realised I was into women, I journalled. I was like you, back then. I mean, changing your whole life because of your sexuality can feel weird because society hates sex. But if you journal, you’ll start to see that sex can be the root of happiness. You’ll love the people you want to love, in the ways you want to love them.’
‘You mean, I’ll screw the people I want to screw?’
‘You’re not listening, Debs. I said
the people you want to love
. This is just as much about love as it is about flesh.’
Well, I’m not sure I quite believe her, Kitten. Young people sometimes seem so confident, don’t they? But it doesn’t sound like she’s telling a lie and my gut tells me to go with this. I have to say, I appreciate Janey more than words can say, right now. She’s so sincere, so
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘It’s more to do with my ex.’
She squeezes my shoulder so sweetly that little sparks seem to shoot down my arm. Then she crawls round the back of me and begins to massage my shoulders. Oh, my, her pressure feels wonderful. ‘Tell me about this ex,’ she says. So I do. I start at the beginning. All those years spent making myself look sexy, hoping that Henry, with his steady brown gaze and delectable hands, would scoop me up in his arms and take me to bed. I tell Janey how many times I made him lovely meals at the end of my work day, even though I was tired and he never made meals for me. And then I tell her how Henry stopped meeting my eyes when he spoke, how he started working later and later, how when I asked his advice about how I looked, he’d say, ‘Always great,’ but wouldn’t even take the time to scan me.
And when I tell Janey how I followed him in my car and saw him with the woman in the raincoat and bowler hat, and how the woman turned me on, and how Henry had never looked at me that way, I feel Janey’s arms slipping around me, as she presses her cheek to my cheek. I can feel her breasts rubbing against my shoulder blade, and do I imagine it, Kitten, or is it true that I can feel her hard nipples, rubbing against my back? She whispers, ‘I know it’s a cliché, but you’re better off without him,’ and I can’t do anything but nod because I’m drunk on her closeness, the scent of her coconut soap, the warmth of her breath. Then she says, ‘And you’d never have known who you were if you hadn’t seen him like that.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
Janey says, ‘People go through their whole lives without discovering who they are. And when you discover your own sexuality, everything else kind of falls into place.’ Returning to my shoulder massage, she says she used to think she was straight, except part of her knew she wasn’t. She’d watch heterosexual porn, she explains – the mere mention of this makes me flush – when really she’d only be interested in the woman. She had no success with boys, so she thought she was a freak. ‘But I wasn’t a freak. I just wasn’t accepting myself … so how could anyone else even begin to accept me?’
I tell her that isn’t what I’m like. ‘I’m just obsessed with sex,’ I say, feeling the tears returning. ‘I just want to think about sex, and have sex.’
‘Of course you do,’ says Janey. ‘You’re a flesh-and-blood human being who wants to feel alive.’
Janey begins to massage my scalp, and I close my eyes – so this is how it feels to have her hands in my hair. She uses a perfect pressure and has a surprisingly sensual touch. Dear God, Kitten, I feel dizzy with desire. ‘Do you journal?’ she says.
I gawp at her. ‘Yes, actually, I do.’
‘Well, when I first realised I was into women, I journalled. I was like you, back then. I mean, changing your whole life because of your sexuality can feel weird because society hates sex. But if you journal, you’ll start to see that sex can be the root of happiness. You’ll love the people you want to love, in the ways you want to love them.’
‘You mean, I’ll screw the people I want to screw?’
‘You’re not listening, Debs. I said
the people you want to love
. This is just as much about love as it is about flesh.’
Well, I’m not sure I quite believe her, Kitten. Young people sometimes seem so confident, don’t they? But it doesn’t sound like she’s telling a lie and my gut tells me to go with this. I have to say, I appreciate Janey more than words can say, right now. She’s so sincere, so
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