put on one of Bonnie’s nappies.
Lauren Pearce – Instagram post
@OfficialLP
The image is of Lauren in front of a full-length mirror, her opulent bedroom in the background. Her clothes are on the bed; she chose not to wear them for this photo. Her pose isn’t particularly natural, suggesting it took a few goes to get it right. The angle of her body compliments her best bits.
The caption reads:
Aren’t women’s bodies amazing? Whether you love or hate the body you were born with we have to appreciate what they can do. I hope that one day this belly grows a baby, that these breasts feed it. Sometimes I forget that I am one of the most powerful things on this earth. Made to feel better with this gorgeous lingerie by #AllTheFrills. Underwear for women who want to feel their power. What makes you feel powerful? #AD #loveyourself #bodypositive #womensupportingwomen
@Hanngfer1: I WISH I WAS YOU
@peachybell2: Easy for you to say with a bod like that. If I wore those pants I’d look like a hippo at a fancy dress party.
@nevergonnabutimight: You’ve got no idea about power. You’re marrying power. Go get your botox redone and shut up.
@jessicachimesin: Thank you for being you. So inspiring to see a woman loving herself. You are everything I want to be.
@quertyflop: FAKE NEWS
Beth
After receiving Michael’s text, I slump into my chair. Risky clocks it.
‘Oh no, he didn’t like it?’ she asks, obviously seeing the heartbreak pouring out of my eyes.
‘No, he loved it. Yeah, I’m just nearly out of battery.’ She comes over to me with a charger and plugs in my phone. She has my back on so many levels. As she walks to her desk, I blur the lines of boss and employee as casually as I can.
‘So …’ I say, trying to be all blasé about it … ‘What kinda vibrator ya got?’
I nonchalantly start to finger some paperwork, and then bam, a small, pink-silicone, bullet-shaped battery-powered device is waved under my nose.
‘It’s the best!’ Risky says, testing its various speed levels. I am hoping she washed it. It is very close to my face.
‘Oh cool,’ I say. Choosing not to tell her I have never actually owned one.
‘Yeah, it’s small enough to fit in a clutch bag. I can take it everywhere.’
Seriously, how often does this woman need to orgasm?
‘Lovely. What brand is it?’ I ask, pretending not to care very much.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I got it on Amazon. I’ll send you the link.’ She skips back to her desk, but just before she sits down, she says, ‘Actually, you know what? I have another two at home. You have this one.’
She holds it out for me to take. I just stare at it.
‘Come on, have it.’
I pull my sleeve down over my hand and take the vibrator.
‘Thank you,’ I say, awkwardly.
‘Great. You’ll love it. Let me know when you’ve had a go.’
‘I absolutely will not.’
‘Beth, being a woman is hard enough, the least we can do for ourselves is make the most of the precious gift we were given.’
‘The precious gift?’ I ask nervously.
‘Yes, our clitoris.’
‘Ah yes, of course.’
She hasn’t finished.
‘So much of society is geared towards empowering the male sexual experience. The penis is overexposed. Figuratively and literally. The penis is unavoidable, therefore it gains power simply because of its literal presence in the room. Our vaginas are hidden away inside of us. They need to be released into the room. And that starts with us.’
She is standing up, looking thoughtfully into the middle distance like a footballer at the beginning of a game while the national anthem plays.
‘With us?’ I ask.
‘Yes, with us Beth. With “The Woman”.’ She comes to my desk and rests her elbows on it, her face quite close to mine. She continues with her manifesto. ‘We need to get the vagina out there, release it, and put it on the stage it deserves to be on. Squat over a mirror boss, squat right down and look directly into your vagina and say—’
‘OK, Risky, we really should—’
‘And say,’ she isn’t done yet, ‘“This is your stage, Queen.” And then give yourself a beautiful, stunning, full-body, full-throttle, full-vagina orgasm.’
‘OK, shall we crack on?’ I say, feeling quite uncomfortable now. I don’t think my assistant imagining me squatting over a mirror is going to create the ideal work dynamic. She finally snaps herself out of masturbation mode.
‘OK, I’m just going for a wee and then I’ll get back to the wedding of the year.’ She heads off towards the toilet. I watch her inquisitively.
‘I’m genuinely going for a wee this time!’ she says, clearing up any doubt.
I drop the vibrator into my bag.
Ruby
As I am walking Bonnie home, my phone rings in a strange way. When I get it out of my bag, my face is on the screen as though I am taking a photograph. I look revolting. Liam is calling me on FaceTime. He has never done this. I do not use FaceTime. This sends me into such a tizz that I accidentally answer it, the camera shooting directly up my nose. I immediately panic about stray hairs on my chin. I plan to hang up but he yells ‘Hello!’ loud enough for Bonnie to hear him, and now I am forced to keep the conversation going.
‘Liam, why are you calling me in this way?’ I ask, holding the phone above my face and as far away as I can. One benefit of my job is I know which camera angles are flattering. Not that any camera angles are flattering on my face. I photograph like a dying horse. Why the hell would he FaceTime me, has he lost his mind? I turn so the sun isn’t shining directly on my face, that is a sure fire way to highlight any hair.
‘I miss you guys,’ he says in his usual bouncy and chipper way. He said ‘you guys’ for Bonnie’s benefit – we do try to sound affectionate in front of her.
‘Liam,
