Part 6 (2/2)

His final retort was that there were still too many women who thought the best way to end the s.e.x war was to chop off the useless bit of skin attached to a p.e.n.i.s called ”a man”.

Tonight, after several months off the scene, Ive decided it is party night! My sister Carole and Chris will be around in half an hour and we are going to hit the pubs. They managed to pack the baby off to mums so were going to really rock 'n roll.

Im well into my beautification routine. About an hour ago I had a bath and soaked myself in essential oils, shaved under my arms and between my legs (quite the fas.h.i.+on at the moment). I am lucky to have young skin, not least because I have looked after it. Although Im thirty-two, I easily pa.s.s for 25 and that means I can still enjoy the singles scene and taste the delights of men who have more pa.s.sion than technique, more ardour than intellect. It still gives me a thrill to lead a man from first eye-contact to pa.s.sionate f.u.c.k knowing that I am controlling every second of his (and my) pleasure; I can choose to blow his mind or tell him to p.i.s.s off.

Not all women have this power Im lucky, I guess. And with this power comes some responsibility. But the men in the singles scene are playing the same game; out for fun without commitment. If they didnt fancy me theyd probably tell me to p.i.s.s off. In fact, now I come to think of it, they do say that in their own way after theyve s.h.a.gged me. They dont call me. Do I care? Yes, actually, it hurts. It hurts a lot. But when I think about things, there is a perverse balance of power. If Im eventually going to get rejected, at least let the man have a smooth tanned muscular body, a handsome face, plenty of money in his wallet, and a c.o.c.k as big as his ego.

When Im getting ready for nights like this, I like to soap my b.o.o.bs. I have a great pair no need for a padded bra or implants. Any under wired bra brings out the best in them, and when I put on a black body-hugging Elle top with a suitably cut V-neck, I look s.e.xy as h.e.l.l without looking cheap or trashy. Tonight, Im going for it. Ive put on some crystal studs and some dangly earrings that have a blue tint (to match my eyes). Around my neck I have a Swarovski necklace bought for me by a former boyfriend b.a.s.t.a.r.d wanted it back but I wouldnt give it to him. It is studded with crystals and an eye catching sky blue jewel that fits into the crease of my cleavage.

Under my trendy black leather jacket there is a leather skirt with an overlong belt dead stylish, really cool and cut above the knee but not so short that I look like a chav. To complete the effect Im wearing close woven black fishnet stockings not the unsubtle type with large holes that you get from Ann Summers the type with holes so small that a guy wont notice them until hes up close and personal. On my feet, Ive put on black high heels with open toes and a single buckle strap at the ankle. They are not that comfortable, but they complete the vision. Im a hot babe tonight; a femme fatale out for a kill.

While I wait for my sister, I apply sky blue varnish to my fingernails. This is a skill men cannot appreciate one area where you must be ambidextrous and exercise care so that the varnish is evenly applied and no splodges get on the skin. I imagine most blokes wont notice the detail, but the women will. Im a piece of art, fas.h.i.+oned to move the senses, a living sculpture. Sometimes being a woman is such fun.

Even with all this preparation, its not looks alone that will attract. Ive learned from experience that the way I walk into a bar, the way I dance, the way I talk and engage makes a huge difference. If I go out in a bad mood and dont talk much, far fewer men approach me. But when Im with girlfriends being vivacious, talking boldly giving men discrete (and sometimes indiscrete) eye contact, then they flock to me like bees around a honey pot. There is nothing magical about it, I just understanding how to flaunt myself.

Now my nails are dry, I open a bottle of wine. No harm having one gla.s.s before I go out. If I do have to buy my own drinks (unlikely) then it will cut down the cost of getting drunk. I take in the latest episode of Eastenders while I sip away. Eastenders! That reminds me out comes my pad and pencil. I decided to try something out. Do men or women hit more in the soaps? To my astonishment, I find that the women hit far more often. Funny, Id never noticed that before.

And as for adverts, I am finding that if anybody is ridiculed it is men. The only advert that reverses this is 'Nuts! an advert for a trashy weekly mens magazine. That advert is so unfunny like women dont know how to do car repairs or serious DIY work in the home. Actually I dont know how to do these either, but it doesnt matter because I get my father to come over. If Im really stuck, then I pick up the phone to get my favourite handyman to sort it out for me. Isnt that what men are for?

The adverts that do make me laugh are the car adverts aimed at women. 'Size matters? It sure does although girth is probably more important. And that AA car insurance advert, it just shows what plonkers men really are. Why spend hours and hours looking for a good deal when the AA can do it for you? And there are those women only insurance companies now. I cant believe that there is talk about banning them or forcing them to offer insurance to men too; if we women are safer drivers we should get cheaper insurance. All this stuff about insurers discriminating against men, its just b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. Why dont men just learn to drive more safely?

Anyway, these thoughts go through my mind as the doorbell rings. Up I get, open the door, and see Carole and Chris looking chic and ready to party.

”Come on in,” I say. ”Just let me finish my gla.s.s of wine and we can shoot.”

I give Carole a hug. She looks great too, but her bust isnt as good as mine. She tends to avoid 'V neck tops and wears a wonderbra with smooth silky fabric against her skin. This gives the suggestion of a full breast and shows her nipples when she gets sweaty or turned on. Shes got great nipples, my sis. I compliment her while I look at Chris. His eyes are on stalks as he takes in my outfit. He may be a bit of a twit, but he knows how to look at a woman and make her feel good.

”You look good tonight Chris,” I say.

Im not lying. Hes been to River Island to buy new jeans and a s.h.i.+rt. I imagine Carole went with him, but hes a credit to her. His hair is washed and groomed. Hes clean shaven which I know Carole likes and hes got some dead cool trainers on too.

”Just let me pop to the loo,” interjects Carole. ”Back in a mo.”

As soon as Carole is out of sight, Chris turns to me.

”You look fantastic, Penny. Whoever reels you in tonight will be a lucky guy.”

”Thank you, Chris.” I respond coyly. ”I aim to please.”

I pause for a second and then a thought occurs to me.

”...but I think it is me who will be doing the reeling in.”

”I bet you will,” he replies, his eyes firmly looking into mine.

”Doesnt Carole look great?” I say to deflect his attention.

”She sure does. Im a lucky guy going out on the town with you two Ill be the envy of every other bloke there. You both look a million dollars.”

He was doing so well up to that point but had to spoil it by drawing attention to how good well make him look. I like attracting men, but hate it when they regard me as some sort of trophy. It is comments like these that show Chris for the prat he is. Still, Carole loves him, so I guess there must be something about him. For the life of me I cant see what it is.

Carole returns from the loo and we call a taxi. Carole and Chris stay over on nights like this and I give Chris a pair of spare house keys. There is a good chance I wont make it back home so they need to be able to let themselves in. I usually try to come back for breakfast, but I like to take things as they come. I cant predict whether Ill feel like coming back home; it depends on whether a gorgeous guy has whisked me off to a stunning penthouse.

The taxi arrives and drives us to a cla.s.sy bar at the better end of town. I like this bar. It has lots of comfy chairs to relax in with stylish tables. There is a dining area too with a dance floor between the bar area and restaurant. On Friday nights it is quiet until about 8.30pm and is rocking by 10pm. A good time to arrive is 8.15 as we have done early enough to get a table in the bar area, drink until the restaurant table is ready, and then work off the calories on the dance floor.

Chris gets in the first round of drinks. I alternate between sparkling mineral water and wine on these occasions it gets me drunk quite quickly and the water prevents me dehydrating. We chat while deciding what to eat: ”So whats happening in your life, sis?” asked Carole.

”Usual stuff at work. Always someone having difficulties or creating tension,” I replied.

”And outside work?” she added.

”Well, I met John. We had a good time, I think.”

”You think?” queried Chris.

”You can never be sure, but yes, I think we had a good time,” I confirmed.

Carole looked at me closely, and rested her chin on her hand momentarily as a subtle grin took shape on her face.

”What?” I asked.

She continued to grin but didnt say anything.

”Why are you looking at me like that?”

Both Carole and Chris looked at each other and smiled.

”Are you going to meet him again, then?” Carole finally asked.

”Yes. Now would you like me to tell you the length of his p.e.n.i.s?” I remarked pointedly.

Chris laughed. Carole looked me directly in the eye and did not miss a beat.

”Yes. Just give me a rough idea. Was it as long as his CV?”

”His what?”

”His CV you said he was an academic turned consultant he must have a very long CV.....”

”Carole. Ive news for you. Hes just a friend.”

”Oh yeah.” She took on a superior tone as she started to make fun of me. ”My big sister who is all upright and proper at work, but a regular s.h.a.g-bag outside work, has got a 'friend. Its got bells on. Try again.”

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