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Authors: Sarah Tucker
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feel honoured.
I go out at lunchtime and buy a short red skirt. I never wear short red skirts, but for some reason, in November, I consider this to be a practical buy I believe I will get lots of wear from.
We are having a dinner party tomorrow. The day after I visit John’s cottage. Paul has invited some of his friends.
Smoked salmon with avocado? Or fresh figs with parma ham? Decisions, decisions, always decisions. Then chicken in white wine, or coq au vin? Same thing but one has more mushrooms than the other. Fruit salad, cheese and biscuits. Marks & Spencer chocolate sponge pudding. Individual portions with cream or ice cream or crème fraiche? Port, choccies and more port and cigars. Big fat ones for his big fat broker friends. U2, AC/DC and Led Zeppelin. I like Paul’s musical taste much more than I like his taste in friends.
J Day. Seeing John tonight at his place. John at his cottage. Wonder if he has a blue room in his yellow cottage. I’ve seen Nicole Kidman in The Blue Room , and wonder if the yellow cottage will be anything like that. Will he jump on me? Will he try to seduce me? Or will he be cool, in his yellow cottage, with his two cats purring at me?
What shall I wear? What do you wear for someone who looks right through your clothes anyway? What’s the value of buying clothes when they don’t notice what you’ve got on? Knickers are another complete waste of time and material. If the sex is good they’re ripped off—even if they are La Perla—so it’s best just to go with the M&S thong. Or something rippable that doesn’t take half your thigh with it. Stockings and suspenders are too obvious. Trying too hard. And for women with huge cellulitey thighs who have to make them look sexy somewhere. If you’ve got good legs you don’t need to fuss and truss them up. They look great naked.
So I’m wearing trousers. Suede hipsters. Joseph, half price in the sale. With hippy belt. Local shop—Blue Lawn—where everything looks good on me. No sales, but ten per cent off coz I buy so much there. Blouse. Blue Lawn. Semi-translucent. Same ten per cent. No bra. Knickers M&S, soft cotton. £4.99. White. Cut across the cheek. No stockings, suspenders.
Showered with lots of oil. Aromatherapy. Mix of orange and ylang ylang and patchouli. With a touch of lavender. On all the pressure points. Behind the ears, knees, elbows, ankles. Back of shoulders, front of shoulders. In between breasts. Round belly button. Basically anywhere I want him to kiss. Touch. Stroke. I digress.
Shower. Oil. Clothes on. Send text message:
Message sent:
I will be ready for you at 6pm. Where do you want to meet?
No answer. Wait ten mins. Still no answer. Have meetings. About three—back to back. So busy. Everyone remarks how nice I smell, look. Do I fancy a drink? No, thank you. Are you meeting anyone tonight? No, why? Coz you smell, look nice. Etc etc.
Still no answer.
Message received:
Got message. Have been very busy. Can meet at 6.30pm at Victoria Station. OK with you?
Message sent:
Yes, fine. Where at Victoria?
Message received:
Platform 13. What are you wearing?
Message sent:
Trousers.
Message received:
Not meeting you then.
Message sent:
But they’re sexy.
Message received:
Top?
Message sent:
Translucent. No bra.
Message received:
Will meet you at 6pm. BE ON TIME. xx
Ahhh. Two xx. Is xx a snog or a kiss on both cheeks? Or just a friendly xx flirtation or something more? I thought x was a kiss on both cheeks. Surely xx is a snog?
Message sent:
U2 xx
Nothing. But I’m seeing him half an hour earlier, thanks to the top and lack of bra.
Time is dragging in the afternoon. Go out for something to eat as am feeling faint with excitement and anticipation. Paul hasn’t phoned again and is definitely going out with the boys tonight. The ‘boys’ being three guys he has known for five years, all of whom work in banking, all of whom are marginally less materialistic than him, but getting there. And all of
I go out at lunchtime and buy a short red skirt. I never wear short red skirts, but for some reason, in November, I consider this to be a practical buy I believe I will get lots of wear from.
We are having a dinner party tomorrow. The day after I visit John’s cottage. Paul has invited some of his friends.
Smoked salmon with avocado? Or fresh figs with parma ham? Decisions, decisions, always decisions. Then chicken in white wine, or coq au vin? Same thing but one has more mushrooms than the other. Fruit salad, cheese and biscuits. Marks & Spencer chocolate sponge pudding. Individual portions with cream or ice cream or crème fraiche? Port, choccies and more port and cigars. Big fat ones for his big fat broker friends. U2, AC/DC and Led Zeppelin. I like Paul’s musical taste much more than I like his taste in friends.
J Day. Seeing John tonight at his place. John at his cottage. Wonder if he has a blue room in his yellow cottage. I’ve seen Nicole Kidman in The Blue Room , and wonder if the yellow cottage will be anything like that. Will he jump on me? Will he try to seduce me? Or will he be cool, in his yellow cottage, with his two cats purring at me?
What shall I wear? What do you wear for someone who looks right through your clothes anyway? What’s the value of buying clothes when they don’t notice what you’ve got on? Knickers are another complete waste of time and material. If the sex is good they’re ripped off—even if they are La Perla—so it’s best just to go with the M&S thong. Or something rippable that doesn’t take half your thigh with it. Stockings and suspenders are too obvious. Trying too hard. And for women with huge cellulitey thighs who have to make them look sexy somewhere. If you’ve got good legs you don’t need to fuss and truss them up. They look great naked.
So I’m wearing trousers. Suede hipsters. Joseph, half price in the sale. With hippy belt. Local shop—Blue Lawn—where everything looks good on me. No sales, but ten per cent off coz I buy so much there. Blouse. Blue Lawn. Semi-translucent. Same ten per cent. No bra. Knickers M&S, soft cotton. £4.99. White. Cut across the cheek. No stockings, suspenders.
Showered with lots of oil. Aromatherapy. Mix of orange and ylang ylang and patchouli. With a touch of lavender. On all the pressure points. Behind the ears, knees, elbows, ankles. Back of shoulders, front of shoulders. In between breasts. Round belly button. Basically anywhere I want him to kiss. Touch. Stroke. I digress.
Shower. Oil. Clothes on. Send text message:
Message sent:
I will be ready for you at 6pm. Where do you want to meet?
No answer. Wait ten mins. Still no answer. Have meetings. About three—back to back. So busy. Everyone remarks how nice I smell, look. Do I fancy a drink? No, thank you. Are you meeting anyone tonight? No, why? Coz you smell, look nice. Etc etc.
Still no answer.
Message received:
Got message. Have been very busy. Can meet at 6.30pm at Victoria Station. OK with you?
Message sent:
Yes, fine. Where at Victoria?
Message received:
Platform 13. What are you wearing?
Message sent:
Trousers.
Message received:
Not meeting you then.
Message sent:
But they’re sexy.
Message received:
Top?
Message sent:
Translucent. No bra.
Message received:
Will meet you at 6pm. BE ON TIME. xx
Ahhh. Two xx. Is xx a snog or a kiss on both cheeks? Or just a friendly xx flirtation or something more? I thought x was a kiss on both cheeks. Surely xx is a snog?
Message sent:
U2 xx
Nothing. But I’m seeing him half an hour earlier, thanks to the top and lack of bra.
Time is dragging in the afternoon. Go out for something to eat as am feeling faint with excitement and anticipation. Paul hasn’t phoned again and is definitely going out with the boys tonight. The ‘boys’ being three guys he has known for five years, all of whom work in banking, all of whom are marginally less materialistic than him, but getting there. And all of
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