he says. ‘You are.’
‘There has to be a way to get out of it,’ I say. ‘I’ll say I was ill and I didn’t have time, or something. No one is taking it seriously anyway. No one is actually expecting me to do it.’
‘Come on, Amy,’ he says gently.
‘I can’t do it, Phil. I just can’t.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘No,’ I say. I turn to him then. All of the things I wanted to say back there in the pub are boiling up inside me, and I can’t seem to control them. ‘I can’t. And I can’t back out of it either, because Dave will never let me hear the end of it, and you will all laugh, and go oh look, it’s frigid Amy. And I wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t pushed me into it.’
‘Let me make it up to you,’ he says.
‘How?’
‘I could help you write it,’ he says.
Those words hover in the air between us, loud and heavy. We stare at each other, and my face is hot, and I start to sweat, but I can’t look away. This is Phil, I think to myself. I can’t talk about sex with Phil. The last time we went to the cinema together, I pretended I needed the loo so I could make a hasty exit during a love scene. We’ve got a comfortable, casual friendship, partly because sex is absolutely not on the table. I wouldn’t be able to cope with him if it was. He’s got this sort of acute masculinity, the kind that makes me ache a little inside. Every part of him, from the dark hair, to the bright blue eyes watching me from behind heavy-rimmed glasses, to the striped shirt, to the newly grown beard, screams Y chromosome.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I say. And then I run up the steps and disappear inside my flat.
By Sunday, I’m in trouble. I’ve written precisely three paragraphs, and they’re mostly the heroine waxing lyrical about the hero’s tie. Every time I try to get either of them naked, my hands start to shake, and the only key I can find is delete.
I can’t do it. I’m trying, but it’s just not happening.
But I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it if Dave wins, either. So I pick up my phone, and before I can lose my nerve, I call Phil. He answers almost immediately.
‘Amy,’ he says. His voice does something to my insides, to my knees, to my everything. Actually, it mostly does it to my pussy. It’s the same sort of feeling I get when Mr Smith bends Sally over the bed, in my favourite scene in Spank Me Sir. I can’t deny that I like the feeling, though I’d die from embarrassment if he ever found out. But he got me in to this, and now he has to get me out of it. ‘How’s the story going?’
‘Badly.’
‘How much have you written?’
‘Do you want an exact word count?’ I ask, fiddling with the corner of a sofa cushion. ‘Or the ballpark figure?’
There’s a sigh. ‘Do you want Dave to win?’
‘No, of course not. It’s just…I’m no good at this sort of thing, Phil. I’m not that sort of person.’
‘So you haven’t written anything?’
‘I have tried,’ I tell him. ‘I just…I can’t do it, Phil.’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Jules said you had a dirty book. She saw one in your bathroom. Read me some of that instead. Let’s see what we’re aiming for.’
I sit upright on the bed. ‘I really don’t think…’
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Read me what you’ve got.’
‘Don’t you think this is a bit weird?’ My face is on fire and my palms are sweaty, and I don’t know why I don’t just make some excuse and hang up, but this is Phil. He’s been my friend for as long as I can remember, even longer than Jules. We can talk about this. It’s fine.
‘Weird how?’
‘You know,’ I say. ‘Weird you and me. Talking about sex weird.’
‘Sex is weird,’ he says. ‘What’s your point?’
I wish I knew. ‘It’s just weird, that’s all.’
‘Amy,’ he says. ‘You can trust me. You know that, right?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘But…’
‘Read,’ he says.
I can feel my stomach pushing its way up into my throat. I don’t want Phil to know how hard I’m finding this. I don’t want him to think badly of me. I sit there, gripping the phone in my sweaty hand, breathing too loud, too fast.
‘Enough of the heavy breathing already,’ Phil says. ‘Come on.’
‘OK!’ I snatch up my iPad and start to read.
He dug his fingers into her shirt and ripped it away from her body, exposing the full bounty of her sensitive breasts. Her nipples poked out, hard and dark, and he pinched them until she whimpered with delight. Yes, he said, yes. Tell me, Sally. Tell me what you want.
I rush through those few lines, stumbling over the letters. I have to stop and start again a couple of times. My tongue feels too big for my mouth, and I can’t believe I’m actually reading this out loud. To Phil.
‘Keep going,’ Phil says. His voice is soft, and there’s something about it, something different. I don’t know what it is.
But I am suddenly all too aware of a low throb between my legs, almost like a heartbeat.
‘What is it, Sally?’
‘Please, Sir. Please, let me pleasure you.’ She kept her hands at her sides, knowing that if she moved, he might deny her what she craved so badly. The hot thrust of his erection into her mouth, as he fucked her face over and over.
‘You want to suck my cock, Sally? Is that right?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Very well.’
His elegant fingers slowly lowered the zipper of his beautifully tailored trousers. Sally could feel her body humming with excitement. She made no move to touch him, not yet, but she could smell the musky scent of his aroused cock, that heady mixture of warm skin and soap and sweat and the slippery moisture that lubricated his shaft when he was aroused.
Long fingers sank into his open fly, and then he slowly pulled his stiff prick free.
‘Fuck,’ Phil whispers. ‘That’s sexy.’
‘Do you…do
