Читать книгу In at the Deep End - Kate Davies - Страница 12

I was nearly fifteen minutes late for my session with Nicky that week. I arrived at her door panting and sweaty, despite the cold, and as soon as I was waist-deep in the terrible armchair, she asked me, ‘Why were you late?’

‘Sorry,’ I said, still breathing too quickly. I hate being told off. ‘I lost my keys—’

‘No,’ she said, holding up her palm to me. ‘No, no, no.’

I frowned. ‘What do you mean, no?’

‘I mean why were you really late?’

‘Honestly,’ I said, ready to get angry, ‘I must have dropped them in the kitchen—’

‘When we are late for things,’ Nicky said to me in a sing-song voice, ‘it’s because somewhere inside us we really don’t want to go to them. Which reminds me. I had a dream about you last night.’

‘Are you supposed to tell me that?’ I asked. ‘What was I doing?’

‘We’re not really here to discuss my dreams, Julia. Why didn’t you want to come here today?’

‘I did want to come.’

She seemed disappointed. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘What would you like to talk about?’

‘I’d quite like to talk about your dream.’

‘Why don’t we talk about what you did at the weekend?’

I was a bit thrown. ‘I didn’t do much,’ I said. ‘I went to a party.’

She looked at me for a long time. I could feel myself reddening.

‘What happened at the party?’

I frowned. ‘What?’ I said, my face getting hotter.

‘Something happened, and you’re a tiny bit embarrassed about it.’ She looked at me with her head on one side.

‘Well, yes,’ I said, ‘but that’s true every weekend, pretty much.’

‘You had bad sex again.’

‘No!’ I said. ‘I just kissed someone.’

She nodded and started writing in her notebook. ‘Knew I’d get it out of you,’ she said.

‘You didn’t “get it out” of me,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to tell you things.’

She stopped writing and looked at me again. ‘But you didn’t want to tell me. So you must have kissed someone … unusual. Was it a relative?’

‘What? No!’

‘Look, I’m not here to judge.’

‘Seriously?’

‘My grandparents are first cousins.’ She shrugged.

‘I did not kiss my cousin. All my cousins are teenagers. I kissed a woman.’

She leaned back and crossed her legs. ‘A woman.’ She held my gaze and nodded. ‘That makes a lot of sense.’

‘What—’

‘Was it good?’

I let myself remember the kiss. ‘It was really good.’

‘So. Are you going to see her again?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Did you fancy her?’

I thought about it. ‘Yes. But I’d had a lot of vodka.’

‘So?’

‘So I don’t think I actually want to go on a date with her. I don’t have anything in common with her.’

‘Have you fancied women before?’

I felt I was losing my grip on the conversation. ‘Well, I mean – I had crushes on girls at school—’

‘Have you ever considered that you might be gay? Or bi, at least? Do you think that might be where some of your anxiety is coming from? Not acknowledging who you really are?’

‘Just because I kissed a woman, doesn’t mean I’m gay,’ I said.

‘Answer the question.’

I breathed out. ‘Yes. I’ve thought I could be.’

‘But you’ve never done anything about it before.’

‘… No.’

‘Why’s that? Why haven’t you ever dated a woman? And don’t tell me it’s because no one’s ever asked you.’

‘But no one has ever asked me!’

She stared me down. I picked at the cuticle on my thumb.

‘Maybe I’m scared,’ I said.

‘Of dating a woman.’

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’ Nicky made a few more notes. I tried to read what she’d written. I was sure I could see the word ‘passive’ underlined.

It’s fair to say I was pretty het up by the time I left Nicky’s house. I went for a walk in Clissold Park to calm myself down. I bought a hot chocolate from the café – I don’t like hot chocolate, but I wasn’t thinking properly – and walked past the skate park, down the slope, around the pond and back up the hill, over and over again, my brain a blur.

Sure, I had questioned my sexuality as a teenager, but I hadn’t thought about it much since then. I’d had a horrible, painful crush on Louise from my musical theatre class when I was 16. She’d loved Andrew Lloyd Webber, so I pretended I loved Andrew Lloyd Webber too; I bought a black leotard to match hers, and I stuck pictures of bands she liked on my locker, hoping she’d notice. She never did. I hadn’t fancied her, though. I’d wanted to be her, to be her best friend, to move like she did onstage, to be close to her. But I never had sexy thoughts about her. The way I felt about her had seemed much more real, more intense, than any crush I’d had on a boy. Less trivial.

Which, to be fair, does sound pretty gay.

And yes, I had told Cat that I was bi when I was 17 – but as a teenager, the idea that I might fancy other girls made me feel predatory, like my friends might not trust me, as though I would be a danger at sleepovers. It just seemed easier not to.

Now, though – now being queer seemed positively aspirational. The world felt very different from the one I’d lived in as a teenager. Then, same-sex couples couldn’t marry, and teachers had failed to step in when kids called each other ‘fag’ and ‘dyke’ in the back rows of classrooms, and when people came out, they’d labelled themselves: gay, lesbian, bi. Everything felt more fluid now. Plenty of people slept with men, and then women, and then men again without feeling the need to make a big deal out of it.

‘Excuse me, miss?’ said a park warden. ‘I have to shut the park now.’

I nodded, blinking, and walked out onto the street. I hadn’t even noticed the sun going down.

I thought about what Nicky had said all that week. At night, the idea of sleeping with a woman seemed bigger, filling my thoughts and my bedroom, keeping me awake until the sun came up and the streetlights blinked out. Could I do it? What would it mean? What if I hated it? What if I loved it? What would my parents say? In the morning, I’d wake with my heart racing, wondering whether I should try to make it happen – and how I could make it happen. I was a virgin again, essentially. Would that put women off? What if I was shit in bed, lesbian-wise? There was only one way to find out.

As the days passed, I felt more comfortable with the idea, less nervous, more excited – and angrier, too, with Nicky, for calling me passive. Fuck her. I wasn’t too scared to go out with women.

During quiet moments at work – fewer and fewer these days, because Smriti had a habit of popping up behind people’s desks and saying, ‘Just run me through what you’re doing!’ – I Googled the Civil Service Rainbow Alliance. They organized meet-ups. They even marched in Pride. But the next drinks night wasn’t for a couple of weeks, and I was worried I might lose my nerve before then.

So that Friday night, when Jane texted me, asking What are you doing later?, I decided to seize the moment. I was meant to be meeting Alice in Dalston for Turkish food, but I called her to put her off.

‘I’m going to have sex with Jane,’ I explained.

There was a silence.

‘What?’

‘Jane. I’m going to have sex with her.’

‘But do you even fancy women?’

‘I don’t know until I’ve licked the snail.’

‘Are you sure? Come on, just come and have Turkish food with me. We can rent Tipping the Velvet or something if you need to get it out of your system.’

‘No. I’ll text you if I’m not coming home.’

‘But what about the Your cunt tastes delicious paintings?’

‘See you later.’

I finished the call and stopped in the middle of the pavement to reply to Jane before I could change my mind. Not much, I texted. What are you doing?

My phone buzzed in my hand a few seconds later.

You? ;)

I had a pretty thorough bath when I got home. I moisturised more than usual. As I was getting dressed, I searched lesbian on Pornhub to see what I might be getting myself into, but the women didn’t seem into it; they were rubbing each other’s nipples pointlessly and staring off camera as though seeking some anonymous third person’s approval.

My hands felt shaky as I did my make-up. I poured myself a large glass of wine to steady myself. I couldn’t back out now. I had to go through with it.

I rang Jane’s doorbell, feeling sick. I couldn’t work out how to stand naturally, or how to smile. What the fuck was I doing here?

But then the door opened, and the situation was out of my hands. Jane didn’t even say hello. She grabbed my hand, pulled me towards her and kissed me. She kicked the door shut behind us and kept kissing me as we stumbled to her bedroom. She turned away from me for a second to light a candle, and then she joined me on her bed and started kissing me again.

This was really happening. I was kissing a woman. We were almost certainly going to fuck. And I really, really wanted us to fuck. So much that I forgot to feel nervous, or self-conscious, or anything other than completely and utterly turned on.

I reached up and stroked Jane’s face, so smooth compared to a man’s. She mirrored me, touching my cheek. I have discovered sexual equality, I thought. I have discovered feminist sex.

‘I’m going to take your top off now, if that’s OK,’ she said.

‘That’s OK,’ I said, holding up my arms. She was asking for my consent and I was giving it. This was what adults did in bed.

Jane pulled my T-shirt over my head as she clearly had with tens – hundreds? – of other women. She didn’t paw me or grope me; she knew exactly what she wanted her hands to do. She was precise, which doesn’t sound hot but it honestly was. She knew exactly where to touch me, and what it would do. And when she fucked me, oh my GOD I finally understood what all the fuss was about. I went down on her too, which was easier than I expected, probably because I’m a clitoris owner myself. I didn’t fuck her, though. I couldn’t quite get the nerve up.

I learned a lot that night. That hands are a lot more versatile, and reliable, than penises. That women know how to use their tongues. That touching another woman’s breasts can transport you to a place of unexpected ecstasy. And that women are amazing at sex.

You know when you wake up after something awful has happened to you, and everything seems fine and normal for a moment before reality smacks you in the stomach? The morning after I had sex with Jane was exactly the opposite of that. I lay on my back, smiling stupidly at the memory of the best sex I’d ever had in my life. The best sex anyone had ever had, possibly – sex so technically excellent that I thought anyone would have enjoyed it, regardless of their sexuality. It hadn’t been perfect, obviously – she’d leaned on my hair as she fucked me, and she’d interpreted my yelp of pain as pleasure; I’d been pretty tentative about going down on her, and my tongue had got a bit tired about halfway through, and it had taken her a while to come. But she had come. And I’d felt sexy. I’d licked the snail, and I’d loved it. I’d felt like an equal partner in the whole thing. I felt, more than anything, a huge sense of relief.

Jane’s side of the bed was empty. Through the curtainless window I could see a man in the warehouse opposite brushing his teeth. Which meant that he could see me; I was lying on top of the duvet, completely naked, my legs glowing pastily in the sunlight. I scanned the room for my underpants and found them folded on a chair with the rest of my clothes. As I picked them up, I felt hot with horror for a moment – the crotch was as stiff as a board. I had obviously been quite turned on.

And then I smiled again. I had been totally turned on. Possibly for the first time in my life.

I got dressed and walked out into the main warehouse to find Jane. She was standing where the DJ had been at her party, barefoot, her blunt bob swinging as she painted a canvas red. I stood and watched her for a moment, trying to decide on my opening gambit. Frankly, I just wanted to thank her for the amazing sex, but I didn’t think that would be very cool.

She turned and noticed me watching her. ‘All right?’ she said. ‘How you feeling this morning?’

‘Great, thank you.’ Smiling stupidly. Standing there awkwardly.

‘Coffee’s in that pot on the hob if you want it.’

I nodded and poured myself a cup, grateful to have something to do.

‘You were great last night,’ she said, eyes still on her painting. ‘I’d never have known it was your first time with a woman. Guess I’ll be getting another toaster!’

She turned to look at me and laughed as if we were sharing a joke, so I laughed along, but I can’t have done it very convincingly, because then she said, ‘You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, have you?’

‘Not really.’

‘You’ve got a lot to learn, girl. Google it.’

As we said goodbye, I asked her, ‘Do you want to do this again sometime?’

‘No offence,’ she said, rubbing my arm, ‘but once is usually enough for me. Have fun exploring the ladies, though.’

I wasn’t offended. I practically bounced out of the warehouse, laughing my way through the streets of Hackney Wick, people staring as I ran past. The reds and blues and yellows and pinks of the street art felt like they’d been painted just for me, a riot of rainbow against the grey sky. I hadn’t felt so at home in my stupid body since I’d stopped dancing. I’d never felt so alive. I wasn’t weird or bad at sex. I wasn’t an outsider.

Definitely a lesbian, I texted Alice.

A full one?

Enough of one.

You did the deed?

Fucking loved it.

!!!!!!!

Gay clubs were my clubs now. Carhartt trousers, rainbows, team sports, But I’m a Cheerleader, RuPaul’s Drag Race, Pride parades, Moonlight, the Pet Shop Boys, vegetarian food, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, Orange Is the New Black, Old Compton Street, San Francisco, the colour pink, k.d. lang, Ellen, Dusty Springfield, Brighton, musical theatre, Tegan and Sara, lip-synching – some of the best things in the world belonged to me. Lucky, lucky, lucky me.