Chapter 2: Taming Mr. Walker: Chapter 2

Charlie

“Hello?” I call out from the hallway, flinging off my sneakers. It’s 7:30 on Monday evening, and I’m already waiting for the weekend.

Cat, Julie, Suze, and I have shared a flat in Kentish Town, North London for five years. We would have preferred if the mice hadn’t moved in at the same time as us, but hey, you know what they say about London—you’re never more than a metre away from a rat.

Cat teaches drama at a school in Highgate. She said the kids have their own drivers and the school is so posh that even doctors can’t afford to send their children there.

Julie is a lawyer for a publishing firm in Liverpool Street and is flourishing due to her sociopathic personality. We made her take a test once, and let’s just say, from the results, we will never cross her.

No one really understands Suze’s job, something to do with logistics?

It’s Julie’s flat, a fact she never lets us forget. It’s even woven into her chat-up lines. What do you do? I’m a lawyer and a landlord.

We’ve never been able to figure out how she owns a four-bedroom flat in North London on her wages, even if it is outdated and riddled with mice. You need old money for bricks like this.

When we first met Julie, she dazzled us with her welcoming charm. Sit down, girls, welcome to your new home. Cat, don’t worry about washing up, dear, I will do that. Of course, it doesn’t matter that you spilt your tea on the carpet, Charlie, let me clear that up for you.

The honeymoon period lasted five days. After that, there were plates smashed, daily screaming sessions, and a hole kicked in Cat’s bed when she took longer than six minutes to shower.

We continue to live here because we’re too scared to hand our notice in to Julie. The same reason she’s never been dumped by a bloke.

Suze is sprawled on the sofa watching a cooking show.

“Hey,” I say, throwing myself into the armchair. “I thought you were supposed to be at yoga tonight.”

“I was, but I didn’t want to overexert myself,” she explains between mouthfuls of scone and clotted cream. “I booked into spinning tomorrow, so I didn’t want to ruin that by doing yoga tonight.” She waves the scone in the air. “And this is a Keto scone, so no harm done!”

“But you didn’t go to Pilates last night because of yoga tonight.” I frown, confused.

She waves away the question. “Like faffing about in leggings trying to find my inner beauty is going to do me any good. Didn’t you hear? I’m going spinning tomorrow! That’s six-hundred calories burnt in an hour! I need the energy for it.”

I give her a blank look. “Sure.”

“Hey, Charlie.” Cat breezes out of the bedroom with a post-coital glow, with Stevie trailing after her. They’ve been hooking up ever since Cat tagged along to my last work drinks. Loudly. She’s become a lot more adventurous in the sex department. They have gadgets and devices that require manuals.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” I raise my brows.

She shrugs. “It’s the only time we get to ourselves.”

“With Suze in the flat?”

“If we don’t have some sexy time while she’s here, we’ll be celibate,” Stevie replies.

That’s true. Suze books a lot of gym classes but never leaves the flat.

Cat eyes me. “You look stressed.”

I pour myself a large glass of wine from the bottle Suze has started. “No, I’m not.” I sigh. “This is the most chilled I’ve ever been in my life.”

“So, have you thought any more about your birthday?” Cat asks excitedly.

“I told you this topic is not open for discussion.”

Suze looks at me. “Twenty-nine … nearly thirty … that’s frightening. Speeding towards forty now.”

“Yes, Suze.” I give her a filthy look. “I am very aware of the fact I’m aging. Can you please stop emailing me that picture with all the cats at the door saying that they’ve heard I’m nearly forty and not married?”

“But it’s funny. At least you have some love interest this year, better than last year.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Although I never hear you having sex.”

“Suze,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Stop keeping tabs on my bedroom routine.”

“You need to do something regularly for it to become a routine.”

I suck in sharply. She has a point.

“It’s hard to make time. I’m working such long hours,” I snap defensively. “After a while, the sex goes on the back burner, doesn’t it, Cat?”

Cat frowns. “Not for me. I mean, you two are still in the honeymoon period; it’s been about eight months, right?”

The three of them study me from the sofa.

“Why, Charlie, how often are you and Ben having sex?” Cat asks.

The question rattles me. “Oh well, you know, as often as we can …” I trail off, trying to remember the last time.

“Once a week?”

“It depends. I’ve been exhausted recently with work and everything.”

She stares at me. “OK, so when was the last time?”

I gulp. “Maybe four weeks ago?”

“Four weeks.” Stevie shakes his head, laughing. “He’s definitely getting it elsewhere.”

“He is not,” I shoot back defensively. Mind you, if he is, then it would mean I wouldn’t have to when I’m tired.

What am I saying?

“I haven’t wanted to lately,” I admit.

“Bloody waste of cock!” Suze snorts. “Ben is damn gorgeous. If you don’t want it, I will!”

“You don’t want to?” Cat shrills. “Charlie, you need to have sex with your boyfriend. That’s the difference between a boyfriend and a friend.”

“I know that!” I wail, slumping into the chair. “I just don’t want to anymore. I wish I could. I used to be good at pretending that I liked it every now and then, and I did that at least once a week. Maybe twice if I was drunk enough, but recently I just haven’t been able to.” I gulp a large mouthful of wine.

“But why don’t you like it?” Cat asks.

I think for a second. “I get distracted. And bored. Now it kind of feels like a chore, like hoovering.”

“Distracted?” Cat repeats, distraught. “Hoovering?”

“Doesn’t your mind ever wander when you’re having sex?” I ask.

“Not really. I’m pretty much always thinking about the task at hand.” She smirks at Stevie, and I grimace. “So what do you get distracted by?”

I think back. “The last time we had sex, the Seattle office had an open issue that I just couldn’t get resolved, so I—”

“You got distracted by work?” Stevie interjects, laughing his head off. “That poor bloke. It must be like having sex with a cardboard box.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Charlie,” Cat hesitates, “is it sex, or … sex with Ben?”

“What do you mean?” I return dismissively. “I love Ben obviously, so it’s nothing to do with him. It’s me.”

“Yes, but if you think about it, you also love Barney.”

I can’t believe she just compared my boyfriend to my old dog. “Cat, that’s the worst comparison I have ever heard. I know you and Stevie are being adventurous in the bedroom, but—”

“Why, why would you think that?” she snaps defensively.

I never told her about the whip I found in her room when I went in to borrow her purple top. “You seem like the adventurous type.”

“I wouldn’t say that!” she answers too quickly.

“Ben is coming over tonight.” Thinking about it, I take another large gulp of wine. If I get pissed, maybe I’ll get in the mood.

“Maybe you just need to spice things up a little,” Cat muses. “You’re right; couples can’t do the same old boring things all the time and not expect to get complacent.”

“But what can I do?”

“Why don’t you try talking dirty to him?”

I’m listening. I’ve never talked dirty to Ben before; just a few ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s thrown in for good measure. I reach for my phone. Google will know what to do.

***

There’s a knock on the door, and Cat answers it. We have devised a cunning plan of seduction. I’m draped across my bed, wearing a fluffy pink underwear set that I got on sale at Ann Summers. I hear Ben come to the bedroom door and adjust my bra so my nipples peek out.

Ben knocks. “Charlie?”

“Enter,” I answer, huskily.

Coming in, he flops onto the bed, head in the pillows. “What a day! I’m exhausted.”

Great, he hasn’t noticed. I’m wearing my sexiest come-fuck-me outfit, and I feel like I have the sex appeal of a slug.

“Hey.” He looks up and laughs. “Why are you dressed like that?”

I stare at him, appalled. Must I point out that I’m seducing him?

I persevere. This must pay off. Right now, I can’t afford to introduce objects into the bedroom. “We haven’t been together in a while, Ben.” I thrust my breasts out and smile at him pointedly.

“I know.” He gives me a dark stare. “You had that freak period that lasted for two weeks, remember?”

OK, so I did tell a little white lie about having my period. But surely all girls do it when they’re feeling tired? After the roast dinner, I was so stuffed. Excuse my crudeness, but you really couldn’t have fitted anything else into my body.

“It’s finished now.” I tug at his shirt and try to rip it off as sexily as possible, but his head gets stuck and he has to help me.

What I don’t understand is that Ben is an attractive guy; I know that because I see other women looking at him in the street. It’s just that I’ve lost the spark to fancy him anymore. It’s that feeling of excitement in the pit of your stomach that makes you hold in your farts around them. I began releasing my farts within a few months of dating Ben.

“OK.” He grins, his mood suddenly picking up. He rips his clothes off in a hurry. Poor guy, I guess I have sexually starved him these past few months.

He scrambles onto the bed, and I climb on top, ready for the rodeo.

His dick isn’t ready for me yet, so I take him in my hands. With my best glamour puss pout, I start stroking.

He groans a sigh of approval.

Yes, this bitch has still got it.

I can’t stop thinking about my credit card bill, though.

I must pay it tomorrow, I keep forgetting. Maybe I should pay it immediately after the sex. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. When we finish, I will pay the £200 that I owe Barclays. I should never have let it get this high.

Those bloody jeans I bought don’t even fit me, and I have thirty days to return them, and this must be what, day twenty-six? I’ll need to do it tomorrow at lunch, but Mike has called that goddamn meeting about the company takeover at lunchtime tomorrow. Who is buying us? Stevie’s right. Maybe I should pay more attention. Why can’t they just tell us, why all the secrecy?

“Charlie!” Ben sits up, shouting my name.

I snap back to the room. “Yes?”

“I feel like I’m a cow being milked.” His voice is strained. “You’re just a milkmaid hurrying on to the next job.”

I smile suggestively. “Well, that’s a fantasy I haven’t been in before.”

He’s not laughing.

I look down.

He’s flaccid.

Oops.

He pushes my hand off him and sits up in the bed. “This isn’t working, Charlie.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get it back up again,” I coax, rubbing his back.

“Not my dick,” he snaps. “Us. These days you have the sex drive of a cardboard box.”

“You’ve been chatting to Stevie about our sex life?” I hiss indignantly.

“About our non-existent sex life.” He scrambles for his T-shirt. “Let’s just leave it for tonight, your mind is clearly elsewhere.”

“Ben,” I whine in his ear. “I’m sorry. Next time, yeah? I’ll even do a motorboat the way you like it … although it’s very ticklish.”

He nods, pulls the covers up, and turns to face the wall.

At least I can pay my credit card now.