to have when they strip for the first time, like you’re saying, ‘Oh my God, I’ve never seen such a penis before! What a huge and amazing surprise!’ This was quite useful to know, but I wasn’t sure I could manage it myself.
Philly kept a rigid eye on her figure by virtue of wearing two pairs of Spanx pants every single day, regardless of what was on the agenda. I swear she swam in them. She also talked a lot about having naturally straight hair, and how easy it was to look after, but I knew for a fact she went to the hairdressers every two days and her biggest phobia of all time was being caught in an unexpected rain shower.
Lunch always followed the same pattern: we would all look at whatever trendy new menu Philly was promoting that week and umm and ahh at it. Then we’d eye each other up and say, ‘I think I’m going to have the foie gras hamburger,’ and we’d nod knowledgeably and say, ‘Yah, me too.’ ‘With chips,’ someone would add, and we’d all nod vigorously and say, ‘Yah, definitely, definitely chips.’ Then the waiter would come round and at the last minute we’d say, ‘Do you know what, I’ve suddenly changed my mind. I think I’ll just have a green salad.’
The idea, I think, was to trick someone into getting the hamburger and chips, but we’d all known each other so long it never worked (except on Philly sometimes) so I’m not sure why we still bothered. We all pretended we might order pudding too. The waiters never even looked surprised; sometimes they didn’t even carry a pencil to the table. D’uh.
Anyway, I had other things on my mind, and almost could-n’t contain myself. Carena glanced at me.
‘So,’ she drawled, after glancing at the bread basket as if it was her arch-nemesis. ‘How’s your man?’
‘Amazing!’ I said. It was true. Ever since I’d met Rufus, I just couldn’t play it cool. ‘You know we were talking about going skiing, and maybe me meeting his grandmother, who has a seriously grand house, and then maybe a hunt ball—’
‘OK, calm down,’ said Carena with a smile, glancing at Philly. ‘God, we thought you were going to be single for ever.’
So had I, I thought, but didn’t say. I’d met Rufus at a party. Actually, it was a bit embarrassing, he’d been drunk and come up to me at the bar. I’d clocked him out of the corner of my eye and was wondering about him when he leant over and said, ‘Do you mind terribly if I slap you on the arse?’
‘Yes!’ I’d said. ‘I’d mind that a lot.’
‘Shame,’ he said. ‘I’d really, really like to do that.’
‘Tough luck,’ I said, making sure I kept my bum well away from him. ‘What about slapping your own arse?’
His face briefly brightened. He really was terribly drunk, but I still couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was - his dark brown hair flopped over his long eyelashes and I could glimpse a flash of very white teeth.
‘How about you slap my arse first then.’
‘ No! Go away.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, pretty lady! I’m Rufus.’
‘Go away, Rufus.’
‘It’s because I’m drunk, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Well, that and the arse-slapping thing.’
He turned to the barman. ‘Pint of black coffee, please.’
And he winked at me. I gave him my number, but was completely surprised when he called three days later.
‘I can’t believe you even remembered me after all that booze,’ I said.
‘An arse like yours? Are you kidding?’
And that was my Rufus. My heart jumped every time I thought of him. He was a trust-fund baby, had a little green MG that I loved and we flitted about London having a whale of a time. He did indeed like spanking, but was so funny and cute and adorable that I forgave him and was really coming round to the idea that he might - just - be the one.
A couple of weeks ago we’d been sitting on his roof - it was a little precarious, but
Philly kept a rigid eye on her figure by virtue of wearing two pairs of Spanx pants every single day, regardless of what was on the agenda. I swear she swam in them. She also talked a lot about having naturally straight hair, and how easy it was to look after, but I knew for a fact she went to the hairdressers every two days and her biggest phobia of all time was being caught in an unexpected rain shower.
Lunch always followed the same pattern: we would all look at whatever trendy new menu Philly was promoting that week and umm and ahh at it. Then we’d eye each other up and say, ‘I think I’m going to have the foie gras hamburger,’ and we’d nod knowledgeably and say, ‘Yah, me too.’ ‘With chips,’ someone would add, and we’d all nod vigorously and say, ‘Yah, definitely, definitely chips.’ Then the waiter would come round and at the last minute we’d say, ‘Do you know what, I’ve suddenly changed my mind. I think I’ll just have a green salad.’
The idea, I think, was to trick someone into getting the hamburger and chips, but we’d all known each other so long it never worked (except on Philly sometimes) so I’m not sure why we still bothered. We all pretended we might order pudding too. The waiters never even looked surprised; sometimes they didn’t even carry a pencil to the table. D’uh.
Anyway, I had other things on my mind, and almost could-n’t contain myself. Carena glanced at me.
‘So,’ she drawled, after glancing at the bread basket as if it was her arch-nemesis. ‘How’s your man?’
‘Amazing!’ I said. It was true. Ever since I’d met Rufus, I just couldn’t play it cool. ‘You know we were talking about going skiing, and maybe me meeting his grandmother, who has a seriously grand house, and then maybe a hunt ball—’
‘OK, calm down,’ said Carena with a smile, glancing at Philly. ‘God, we thought you were going to be single for ever.’
So had I, I thought, but didn’t say. I’d met Rufus at a party. Actually, it was a bit embarrassing, he’d been drunk and come up to me at the bar. I’d clocked him out of the corner of my eye and was wondering about him when he leant over and said, ‘Do you mind terribly if I slap you on the arse?’
‘Yes!’ I’d said. ‘I’d mind that a lot.’
‘Shame,’ he said. ‘I’d really, really like to do that.’
‘Tough luck,’ I said, making sure I kept my bum well away from him. ‘What about slapping your own arse?’
His face briefly brightened. He really was terribly drunk, but I still couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was - his dark brown hair flopped over his long eyelashes and I could glimpse a flash of very white teeth.
‘How about you slap my arse first then.’
‘ No! Go away.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, pretty lady! I’m Rufus.’
‘Go away, Rufus.’
‘It’s because I’m drunk, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Well, that and the arse-slapping thing.’
He turned to the barman. ‘Pint of black coffee, please.’
And he winked at me. I gave him my number, but was completely surprised when he called three days later.
‘I can’t believe you even remembered me after all that booze,’ I said.
‘An arse like yours? Are you kidding?’
And that was my Rufus. My heart jumped every time I thought of him. He was a trust-fund baby, had a little green MG that I loved and we flitted about London having a whale of a time. He did indeed like spanking, but was so funny and cute and adorable that I forgave him and was really coming round to the idea that he might - just - be the one.
A couple of weeks ago we’d been sitting on his roof - it was a little precarious, but
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