Chapter 1 Vanilla
“Really?! None of you have a single usable idea for this month’s issue? What are you being paid for?! Come on! Get me one kinky, sexy idea so we can wrap up this month’s issue and go home!” Rebecca, my boss, howls through the conference room.
FemPower, the up and coming, youthful women’s magazine that I work for, is known for its at times outrageously explicit takes. But, apparently, pole dancing was yesterday’s news as are 10 new ways for women to experience pleasure on their own terms.
No ideas are landing in today’s meeting.
We’ve been here for four hours. I am tired and frustrated. I just want to go home. I need to speak to Ben, my long distance boyfriend. It’s been a rocky road since he moved to Turkey to cover the Syrian crisis. Yes, he is a human rights journalist.
“Listen, Becks, we’ve tried. It won’t come now. It’s 10pm. Let it go. We’ll get you a good story, but some sleep and relaxation might get the juices flowing better than another hour here. Huh?“, I venture.
Becks is a good boss, demanding, but fair. Sometimes though she gets stuck on things, like a broken record. I am hoping my words will flick her out of that mode.
“Let it go?! Easy for you to say. We’ve got nothing!“, she retorts, confirming my tactics have been unsuccessful.
I take a deep breath, but before I can say anything more, I have her finger tauntingly in my face.
“You want to free everyone up right now? I expect you’ll get a damn good draft on my desk next Monday. It better blow my socks off… no, even better, my panties! Now go, you all. Rest, and dream up some better content!”
As I get up to leave, I feel both relieved and anxious. It’s hard to write sexy content when you’re in a sexual rut yourself! Long distance! Ha!
I’ve milked this experience enough for content - best toys for remote sex, how to keep things sexy virtually, get on the dirty talk,.... In fact, Ben and I tried all this nonsense!
Unsurprisingly, none of it worked. We have been increasingly growing apart and fighting more often than not. We’ve been together for 3.5 years now, but could we be crumbling after just six months apart?
Either way, I’m exhausted trying to make it work. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this. But I’m not one to give up easily.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s to my, and everyone else’s, detriment. And then my anxiety flares up. I am already feeling like I am slacking off at work lately, given all my late night calls and fights with Ben that cause sleepless nights.
Now, I also have a weekend to come up with a bombastic idea and write it up!
I get home and the need to sleep wins over my anxiety quite quickly. I crash into bed and am out immediately.
—----
I wake up to a barrage of WhatsApp messages. All from Leila. I look again. Really, Leila? She’s in London and inviting me to a party. She has work, so she can only make it at 10pm. No more details.
All the message adds is: “You have to come. I’ll call you.” Typical Leila.
She arrives from Dubai, only tells me now and expects I’ll make it work no matter what or where. I sigh, but then she’s right. I can’t stay mad at her and I’ll always make it work.
She’s my closest friend. Crazy as they come, but loyal and caring once you’re in her inner circle. And for better or for worse, she always gives candid opinions. Tells it like she sees it. No fluff.
She recently ditched her long term boyfriend and is now on a rampage, fucking her way through rows of eligible bachelors. Now don’t get me wrong, she has standards: rich, good family, ambition. If you don’t tick these boxes and try your luck, oh boy, you’re in for a crash landing.
She’s made more than one grown man cry over the past year. She returned to Dubai a few years back, so I unfortunately rarely see her.
I get out of bed and busy myself with life admin. I know I need distance from work to get creative. As long as the anxiety is there, no ideas will emerge.
Before I know it though, it’s 7pm and my phone rings. Leila.
“How are you, El?”
“I’m okay, Lei.”
I know she meant the questions as a deeper assessment of my psyche rather than a pleasantry, but I can’t switch gears fast enough.
“Come on, Elsie! It’s me!” Leila catches me out.
So, without hesitation, I catch her up on my long distance troubles. In true Leila fashion, she knows I don’t need her to coo me or protect me.
“Honestly, you need a break. Stop doing this overthinking of yours. You know, I recently found this excellent website on female orgasms. So much to learn! You should try it. I’ve been training Joshua and he’s getting better.”
Joshua is one of the on and off flings she’d been having in Dubai. A repressed artist. Nothing serious, but lots of sex. So she says anyways.
“Lei, how come you are here? And can’t you tell me earlier? You could stay at mine!“, I complain.
“Yes, I knowwwww, El. I’m sorry. My colleague was meant to come, but fell sick. It was a last min thing. I literally just got in this morning. It’s a pretty boring conference, but remember Tom? He’s invited me, um, us, for a party tonight. You’ll come with me, right?”
“Tom?! He’s still around?“, I ask surprised.
“That’s not the point. But yes, handsome as usual and of course up for some fun. I’ll make him grovel for it a bit, but we know where this will end up going. What about the party? You have to come.”
“Wow, okay, you’ve got way too many things going on for my brain to keep up with .. I’ll come back to that in a sec. But, what party? I’m mostly too old for this stuff, Lei! Plus I’ve got to find a mind-blowing sexy story for next week. I need to do some research. I’m so out of ideas”, I say defeated.
“Exactly why you should come. Have some fun. I think it’s going to get rather kinky. So you’ll get some inspo”, she teased.
“Sexy? What do you mean? Is this like one of those secret underground sex dungeon affairs?“, I ask mockingly.
“Kinda, yes. Private invite only”, Lei responds. I did not expect that.
“What the f?! I was kidding, Lei!“, I swallow hard.
My pulse races. Is it anxiety or excitement? Maybe it’s a triple win: see Lei, get some distraction and my next story.
Plus, I know I can’t say no to Leila.
“Erm, okay. Hell, why not, I guess?”
