‘You have control over them, that’s the point. Women can, and do, whatever they like today. It’s called equality. And if some of the women choose to take their clothes off and pose nude, hell if some of them choose to suck six cocks on camera specifically for the titillation of men, then surely that’s their choice. As long as they’re not hurting anyone else why shouldn’t they be allowed to do these things?’
‘Why? For exactly the reason you just said. They are hurting other people. They’re hurting other women. They’re betraying their sex and making life much harder and much more dangerous for those of us who don’t choose to suck six cocks on camera,’ she told me. It was the first time I’d heard her talk sexy and it turned me on a tad. I wondered if I could get her to say it again.
‘Dangerous? What do you mean dangerous? How is one girl sucking six cocks on camera dangerous for you?’
‘Because men start to see us purely as objects of sex and that puts us all at risk of attack.’
‘Not this one again? I’m telling you, porn doesn’t make men attack women. Repression and censorship are probably more responsible for rape and sexual assault around the globe than anything else.’
‘What utter nonsense.’
‘Come on. Wanting sex is a perfectly natural urge and when you try and suppress it you’re only asking for trouble. We’ve had it in this country for years, all that “No sex please we’re British” bollocks that’s drummed into us from an early age. What’s the upshot of it all? You said it yourself, some of the highest incidence of sex attacks and teenage pregnancies in Europe.’
‘I notice you keep talking about men and what men want. You don’t see women running around raping and killing men now, do you?’
‘No you don’t, because even the saddest, loneliest plain Jane can go out and get nailed from here till next week if she wants to. All she’s got to do is ask enough blokes if they want a shag and she’ll get one. The average equivalent bloke couldn’t do that.’
‘Rubbish. Men pick up women all the time.’
‘Yes, but not all men are good at it. What I’m saying is all women can get a shag very easily without any effort, not all men can do the same. It’s one of the last inequalities between the sexes and about the one card you lot have held throughout history. So look at us today, us men, we’ve chucked in all our cards but you still cling on to yours.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Look, put it this way, if blokes could pick up women as easily as women can pick up men, there would be no need for pornography and certainly no need to enslave you all as prostitutes. We would live in a truly enlightened age where men and women were equals and lived in perfect harmony with one another.’
See where I’m going with this one?
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about. If men find picking up women is so hard how come most women can’t go out for an evening without being hit on all night?’
‘Alright, put it this way; you and me, if you went up to ten blokes at this party tonight and asked them, straight out, “Do you fancy a shag?” how many of them do you think would say yes?’
‘What has this got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question. How many blokes would say yes if you asked them that question?’
‘Well, I don’t know, half of them I suppose.’
‘Okay, now if I was to do the same, go up to ten girls and ask them the same question, exactly the same, how many of them would say yes?’
‘With you? None,’ she snorted.
‘Exactly, so what do I do if I fancy sex tonight? Simple, I go home, get out my mag, lay it out on my favourite page and pound myself unconscious. You, if you want it though, well you’re all right, you’ve got fifty per cent of the field to choose from.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with me being a woman and you being a man, that’s just you and the fact that you’re a repulsive git.’
‘What are you talking about? I’m all right! Not a bad looking bloke. I might not be Brad Pitt but I’m not Compo out of Last of The Summer Wine either. You want to take a look at yourself some time, you’re hardly the Queen of fucking Sheeba.’
‘No. But I bet you’d still love to get me into bed, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes I would. Fancy a shag?’
This was the moment I’d been building up to. Now, readers of my magazine, I’m sure, would be expecting us to race off to the bog, lock ourselves in and fuck each other like rabid bunnies as we exorcised all this fiery pent-up passion for one another in an orgy of drunken sex. And indeed, this was what I’d been hoping for, but unfortunately this wasn’t a story in Bling. Femmy looked at me with supreme smug satisfaction and savoured the moment as if it was the best three seconds of her life.
‘Not if you were the last man on Earth,’ she told me, with a big vindictive smile plastered right across her face.
I, at least, hoped the irony wasn’t lost on her.
At this moment, one of the Brians reappeared, all sweaty and sung out. He’d hardly got his gabber hole open before she’d turned to him and asked him, straight out, ‘Hi, do you fancy a shag?’
Brian’s eyes lit up and he said, ‘Strewth yeah,’ or something like that, gave me the thumbs up and swept Femmy off to get her coat. Just as she was about to disappear from my line of sight, she turned back, gave me a little wave and started to laugh.
I won’t even bother to describe to you how this made me feel, but you can probably guess. I grabbed an unopened bottle of Absolut from behind the bar when the staff weren’t looking and headed for home.
I cracked open the vodka, got steaming drunk and thought about sticking a porno on.
I didn’t bother
15. Tits? Out!
Another Monday. Another week.
People were always telling me how much they’d look forward to Mondays if they were in my shoes. Mondays meant the start of another working week and everyone knew the sort of crazy-ass job I had.
Boy, I tell you.
Girl copy. That’s what I was writing. A few slutty dirty quotes to go next to the pictures in the magazine.
‘I want it hard and I want it now. Spunk on my tits and I’ll lick it off. Wouldn’t you like to see me do that?’ etc.
Stuart had given up any notion of journalistic accuracy so they were all down to my imagination.
‘Just write whatever you think they’d be saying if you were there with them,’ he told me.
So I did.
‘Urghhh!’
‘Go away.’
‘Not if you were the last man on Earth.’
‘Please, try to understand, I really want to have sex with you, but I love my husband so I can’t. Sorry.’
They all got typed in and deleted over the next few hours as I struggled to come up with anything genuinely sexy. Not the sort of job you want when you haven’t had it in ages and you’re desperately trying not to think about sex. What misery!
In two hours, I think I got four sentences written before I gave myself the rest of the morning off and went to talk to Paddy and Matt.
‘Hey, here he is. What happened to you the other night? Did you get hold of that bird I saw you chatting up?’ Paddy asked.
‘No. I didn’t,’ I replied.
‘Oh, you should’ve man, she was cute.’
‘Are you talking about Samantha? Short hair? Freckly bird?’ Matt asked. ‘She’s meant to be a right dirty bitch.’
‘How do you know that?’ Paddy asked.
‘My mate told me. Reckons she’s a right shag monster. Loves it. Her bedpost is just a pile of sawdust these days. She was the one I was telling you about that sucked off her boss every night for a year and got a junior partnership out of it. She’s a solicitor. Can’t get enough of it, apparently’