Chapter Eight

I hate to be shallow, and buy into that whole porn queen persona, but having a bald muff is really sexy! Now I’ve got over that initial horror at the pink, turkey plucked skin, it actually feels really nice. It’s a beautiful sunny Friday and my white gipsy skirt is billowing in the breeze. I’d like to think I look like Marilyn Monroe standing over the vent, but I catch my reflection in the revolving door smoked glass windows and realise that I don’t look anything like her. More like Marilyn Manson.

“Hi Sophie,” Ellie, the receptionist smiles at me as I glide across the marble-floored reception area. It’s great when people start to recognise you at a new job, but it takes a while sometimes. Ellie seems really nice and I smile back at her, with a little wave. I wait for the lift, aware that she’s looking at the back of my head and wondering whether she can hear my stomach rumbling. In an attempt to be on time I didn’t get the chance for any breakfast, and I’m starving already. I try to focus on how I’m going to handle the speed dating event in a bid to ignore my hunger pangs. I’m both nervous and excited about speed dating, but feel slightly less worried as I’ve tried to reassure myself that I’m there for research purposes only. I’d love to ask Maria Delaney whether she’s ever been speed dating. She seemed so enthusiastic about me going and it got me wondering. She is married though, to a guy who, like her, seems to work all the hours god sends. Maybe their entire marriage is speed dating – they probably live and breathe the 3 minute slots! The lift pings and the silver doors slide open silently. I step in, along with another guy who arrives at the last minute. The doors nearly catch him as they slide closed.

“Whoa, that was close,” he grins, a twinkle in his eye. “Must stop buying my breakfast from Starbucks!” He holds up a large Styrofoam mug, a small waft of steam snaking from the tiny mouth hole cut into the lid and shakes a couple of brown paper bags. The smell of the coffee is heavenly.

“Mmmm, you can’t beat a good coffee first thing in the morning,” I offer, wishing that I’d thought of calling in for a takeaway before work. “I’m always too late to stop off on the way, and that smells great.”

“Too right! Can’t start without my Macchiato! Floor number?”

“Oh, 3 please.”

He smiles, “Knew it. Woman to Woman offices isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I’m blushing! How embarrassing. What’s my skin trying to do – make a complete fool out of me? Suddenly I’m acutely aware of my waxed poontang and it’s as if he knows. He smiles at me as the lift stops at number 2.

“Oh, my stop.” Thank god for that, I’m desperate to say. But I don’t. Instead, I move toward the buttons and press 3 again. He blocks the doors as they slide closed, with his foot, housed in a rather large tan leather shoe,

“Here,” he holds out one of the brown bags to me, “seeing as you didn’t have time to stop for breakfast. Have one of these.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. It’s OK, really.”

“Go on,” he urges, his brown eyes dancing and white teeth looking really good. I’m hating myself for being so easily swayed, “it’s a lemon muffin. A skinny one too.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I owe you one,” I quip, completely genuine, but think maybe he takes me up the wrong way.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that,” he laughs as the lift doors begin to close. He says quickly, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Sophie. My name’s Sophie.”

“Great!” his voice is muffled now as the doors are virtually shut. I hear him shout, “See you around Sophie. I’m Adrian.”

*

I wish I had a work friend. In my old job I could have breezed into the office and Katie and Liz would have wanted to know all about the gorgeous guy in the lift when they’d noticed the huge muffin on my desk. I sit closest to AJ and have no desire to even look at her, never mind talk to her. The muffin tastes great, light and citrus on my tongue and I just know the poppy seeds are scurrying into the small crevices between my teeth. I really want to turn around and gurn at AJ, a mouth full of muffin and crusty seeded teeth – but I don’t. I’m too busy checking our online directory and super-sleuthing my way to find an ‘Adrian’ who works on floor 2…..

*

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Adrian was pulling his elbow back sharply, praising himself on his smooth tactics. He’d deliberately bought an extra lemon muffin with the sole intention of giving it to Sophie and it had paid off, waiting around in reception for that extra fifteen minutes. And so his plan had begun. He was going to be the one to make Sophie Regan break her shallow ‘vow’ to remain single. Let Woman to Woman write a feature on that! He was glad that he’d decided to leave yesterdays t-shirt on his floordrobe, choosing instead to wear the new Paul Smith one. It looked fucking hot under his faded blue jacket and jeans and never failed to give him an air of urban playboy. Now he’d made the initial introduction, luring Sophie Regan into bed would be like taking candy from a babe.

*

I’m sick. Don’t let me drink again. I’m serious. I can’t handle it. It’s been such a great day at work. I knew it would be, after such a great start. And my smooth snatch and great day finished off with a bottle and a half of Pinot Grigio has made a fool out of me. The laugh’s on me. Again. And those bloody mobile phones! I don’t even know why I have one!

I know, I’m not making sense. But it’s like this. I’m laying on my sofa and the room is spinning. Just a little bit. And I turned over the telly and who’s on bloody Jonathon Woss show? Ben Scott. Yes! The Ben Scott. Chat show host Ben Scott who I went out with for five months and who I really really liked but didn’t like me as much as I liked him obviously! And it’s made me sad. And made me realise how much I liked him and how lonely I am and how I wish I had someone to show off my new poontang to. And I did the unthinkable. I texted him.

“I know it’s stupid!”

But I did it. It wasn’t that bad. No, I don’t want to tell you.

OK – I will. It said something like ‘hey big boy – I’ve got something here for you to unwrap if you think you’re man enough.’

I know, it’s shit. I pressed that damned button too quick. But it’s worse than that.

Afterwards I sent another one. Because I felt so stupid, that’s why.

It just said ‘please ignore that text – it was meant for someone else.’

It’s all going Pete Tong….

Chapter One

Chapter Two
Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Nine

Pulling Power #3

The third in this series.. Please send in links to your chat up/dumping YouTube vids, or email mpegs video'd on your mobile to Sophie for inclusion in this 100 week documentary!



Sophie wants you to be these documentaries - so get out your mobiles or camcorders and start filming!

Listen to podcast of week 1 chapters

I have podcasted the chapters from Week 1, broken down into bite sized chunks.
Feel free to download these audio files to listen to when you're bored at work, or sitting on the train watching that really gross man stuffing a cereal bar into his mouth or when your friend/boyfriend/kids are moaning and you want the equivalent of sticking your fingers in your ears and singing 'lah lah lah,' really loud!...;)

Chapter Seven

OK, so going speed dating means I need to look good. So much for my plans to just be ‘me’? If I’m so intent on staying single, on not worrying about what ‘look’ I’m portraying, if I’m so hot on being happy in my skin, what the hell am I doing here? Laying on a beauty therapists’ couch listening to classical music and breathing in the heady scent of ylang ylang, in a g-string? Am I mutating into my ex, Jonny? I’m sure I’m being waxed from the ears down! So far I’ve been stripped of my armpit fuzz and leg stubble and I’m now sticky and sweaty as the pneumatic-chested therapist is prepping my bikini area. She’s promised me a tidy landing strip – and I’m terrified! Thankfully I’d been forewarned by Jennifer to spend a little time trimming my lady garden, which, she told me, means that it won’t hurt as much when the hairs are ripped out at 100mph on a 10cm strip of calico. I hope this will all be worth it – I’ve booked in for a pedicure and back massage afterwards, in the hope that it’ll relax me between traumas. The first one being deemed as the woman who chose to stay single, the next one being the wax of my entire topiary of pubic hair, and the last (but probably not the least) one being my night at speed dating. I mean, what if you meet a guy and you get on really well for the 3 minutes – could you spend a lifetime simply fitting him in for 3 minute slots? It’d take a lot of pressure out of the relationship problems and would leave loads of lovely free time to have more beauty treatments, see friends and go shopping! I’m almost looking forward to the speed dating event and it’s helping take my mind off of the awful Danny-the-chav-Mullins!

*

Adrian Ford noticed Sophie before Ellie had pointed her out, and he hadn’t been disappointed. She was cute with her long brown hair and nice arse – it was the icing on the cake to find that she was Sophie Regan. She was slightly girl-next-door, but he hadn’t let that put him off before. Tossing chicken strips into a hot wok and twisting the lid from a jar of sweet lemon sauce, he wondered which approach he’d use on her – the fellow journalist route, the I’d-like-to-be-friends, or just the good old reliable I’m-interested-in-your-life one? Either way, he’d soon put paid to her staying single promise. He sang loudly to his Stereophonics CD, changing the words to,

“And she’ll be gagging for meeeeee, by the end of the month!”

*

“So Tam, it’s bloody agony. I’ve had to come straight home, strip off and starfish, naked in bed. Even the cold duvet against my bald pube area hurts.” I lift the duvet and look down the plane of my body, at my bald and pink pubic mound. “It looks like the tip of a Swan Vestas! But hey, at least my toenails look the nuts!”

“Ha ha! It’ll be fine by the morning. I’ve had a Brazilian loads of times.”

“Yeah,” I groan, “but I bet only when you’ve been in a relationship? Nobody would have this done if they were resolutely staying single!”

“No,” she giggled, “probably not!”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m actually going speed dating to meet anyone, so why did I bother?”

“Because you said that your legs were like kiwi skin and you wanted to wear a dress on Saturday! Anyway, it makes you feel good and boosts your confidence. God, Sophie, why shouldn’t you feel good about yourself. If staying single means turning into a yeti then you’re gonna be single for a whole lot longer than a year!”

She makes me laugh sometimes, with her bluntness, “OK, point taken. I’m going to wear my wrap dress and Moschino sandals. That screams, ‘take me seriously, but respect my femininity’ don’t you think?”

“Em, no. Not really, Soph, but whatever you feel comfortable in. Listen, I was talking to one of the A&E nurses today; she went speed dating last week and loved it. Until she realised that she was sat opposite an ex boyfriend.”

“OhMyGod! What did she do?”

“Well she said that she saw him in the room and counted along, realising that it was inevitable that he’d be one of her 3 minute slots. She just gritted her teeth, managing to make a sneaky exit when he was 2 tables away. But she said the night was going great until then. 4 guys asked for her number and she’s got dates set up for the next fortnight.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going for that. You could though, Tam? How serious is it between you and this Pete guy?”

Tamsin sounds strange as she replied, “Serious? Sophie, I’m mad about him. I’d never cheat on Pete. Ever.”

I’m surprised at her reply. I wasn’t suggesting that she cheat on him; simply have a few laughs on our speed dating night out.

“OK, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I know you like him. Maybe I’ll get to meet him properly soon, eh?”

“Yeah. You can. I’ll sort it for sometime soon.”

“Right then, I’m going to sleep now. Pick you up Saturday at 7.30pm, OK?”

“Great. See you then, Soph.”

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Eight

Send your videos to Sophie

Why not send in your videos of chat up lines or reasons for being dumped?

The best (and worst!) ones will feature in the Pulling Power mini documentaries - which will be published as a full length feature at the end of the story - and will feature in Sophie's story. There are hundreds of cliche'd lines out there, but there are also loads of really funny and original techniques too!

Email them to singlesophieregan@yahoo.co.uk - video them from your mobile, send them as MP3 voice recorded messages, or through any other format that suits you!

Can't wait to see them - so get recording!

Chapter Six

AJ’s bitchiness is only the tip of the iceberg. Delaney wants me to research speed dating for next week’s piece, insisting that I find a good event on Saturday night and go along. This is ridiculous and completely against what I’m standing for! I’d made my decision to stay single to keep myself away from the leering geeks and slimy creeps that frequent the singleton scene. So how do I find myself spending the entire day Googling every speed dating event in the city of London, in the hope that I might find one that I’d be willing to attend? I’m angry at Maria Delaney, pushing me into this situation and I’m kicking myself for not being more outspoken and telling her that I don’t want to write about my romantic rehabilitation. On checking out speed dating I’m shocked at the amount of choice, amazed to discover the extent to which I’ve been limiting myself to meeting guys through friends and friends-of-friends and random bumping into in the ice cream aisle of the supermarket. Well it’s no wonder that I haven’t found anyone decent! By the looks of it all the eligible bachelors are sat at home, getting piles and drinking cans of beer as they log on to the speed dating highway! There are a good proportion of guys who look like their photos have already appeared on Crimewatch, but then there are others who are positively George Clooneyesque! But can they all really own their houses outright and be earning between £50,000-£75,000 a year? If so, what are they doing on these dating sites and speed dating? And if they’re working 23-hour days, when do they expect to have the time for dating? I have 2 nights to figure out what to wear, where to go and to persuade Tamsin to come with me. And what ‘look’ do I go for? As if I’m there as a genuine speed dater looking for a guy that’s excited me with his conversation in only 3 minutes – or do I go ‘arty’, under the guise of journalist on research?

Exhausted, I leave the office at 6 ‘o’clock, with my head spinning, trying to excite myself about going home to an empty flat tonight…

*

Adrian had spent the last half an hour sitting with Ellie on reception, gazing into her eyes and asking her about herself. It was his most favoured chat up technique, to ask relentless questions to a woman – to get her talking about herself, so that she would be flattered and intrigued at his interest. “Every woman loves to talk. Especially about herself,” he’d laugh with Trev from their desks on a daily basis. He’d taken the chance to pick up Ellie’s copy of Woman To Woman, flicking through until he’d found Sophie Regan’s Relationship Rehab feature.

“Hey, this is new, isn’t it?” he’d asked Ellie, interrupting her mid-flow as she regaled the intricacies of her divorce. She tingled at the smell of him as he leaned toward her, ‘accidentally’ pushing the back of his tanned hand onto her leg as he showed her the magazine. She flushed, “Oh, yes. That’s the new assistant features writer. Looks like she’s taken over Victoria Harris’ weekly column. Mind you,” she went on, “that Victoria hasn’t been in for weeks.”

“Yeah, thought I hadn’t seen her. So, this Sophie one, what’s she like? I haven’t seen any new faces around.”

“I’ll point her out to you if she goes by,” Ellie offered, before taking a deep breath and continuing with her tale of woe about her ex-husband and his new fiancée’s engagement bling. Ade zoned out to her whilst still gazing into her eyes and nodding at the right junctures. But inside he was desperately hoping that this Sophie Regan one wasn’t some fusty, student-type – it would be so much more fun if she presented at least a glimmer of challenge.

*

It’s time like this I’m relieved that Mum lives in L.A. now. It’s bad enough having to write this column about not just being single, but choosing to, but it would be a million times more mortifying if my mother was here to read it. And thank god I moved from Dublin; at least there’s less chance that all those hideous exes will be witness to my embarrassing portfolio of dating horrors. It would be too much – the notion that all those married men that had chanced their luck with me would recognise themselves – even worse, that their wives would recognise them. But then again, I’m assuming that they have a single conscience between them! It might be lonely here in London, with no family and only Tamsin as my true friend, but at least there’s an element of damage limitation in terms of my reputation. If Tam won’t come with me on Saturday night, then I’ll have to go speed dating alone. And if that doesn’t scream ‘desperate’ then I might as well go wearing a wedding dress and sandwich board advertising for a ‘vacancy’!

I kick off my beaded sandals and leave them in a clumsy ballet ‘position 2’ in the hallway, throwing down my bag and mobile onto the sofa as I flop down beside them. I must call Tam sooner rather than later if I’m going to make sure she can come on Saturday. She’s been acting slightly strange for the last couple of weeks, but insists that it’s simply work pressures. She’s a nurse and gives 200% to her work, so I suppose it’s unfair of me to expect her to be ‘chipper’ all the time. Lying on my back, the leather cool against my bare legs as my gipsy skirt as flicked up onto my thighs, I grapple for my mobile which has slid somewhere beneath my bum. I scroll through and find Tam.

*

Tamsin loved afternoon sex. It had a thrilling naughtiness to it, ‘doing it’ during the daylight hours, the sunshine warming the bed and making her skin tender and soft to the touch. She’d been in bed with Pete since 3.45, when he’d arrived with a twinkle in his eye and a hard on in his pants that was positively bursting to get to her. Her knickers lay in shreds at the bottom of the stairs, as he’d ripped them from her and lifted her up, wrapping her legs around himself as he carried her upstairs. Once again he was fabulous – knowing just what to do, and when, and how! He had 9 years on her, and 100’s more partners. Pete was man who knew just how hard to bite on her nipple, how slowly she liked to be rubbed and how he got the best from her when he was behind and pulling her long dark hair a little roughly. Laying, spooning in her bed, she could feel his hairy chest against her back and the warm cup of his groin behind her bum cheeks. He was breathing deeply and slowly, indicating that he was sleeping. She slowly raised her arm to check her watch – 6.53pm – he’d been here just over 3 hours and she so wanted not to wake him. If she woke him, he’d scream that it was nearly 7 ‘o’clock and rush into the shower, back into his suit and straight out of her front door. And she didn’t want that. Not yet. She hadn’t reckoned on her mobile ringing. She’d forgotten to set it to ‘silent’ as she usually did whenever she was with Pete. His job was demanding and their time together seemed constantly limited, so any moment that had together was precious. She lost control of things from then. Pete woke with a lazy groan and she’d have given anything to slide on top of him again, but he kissed her shoulder before getting out of the bed. She knew she’d lost him to the shower and so answered her phone. It was Sophie.

“Hey, Tam?” she was light and breezy.

“Hi,” croaked Tamsin, desperate to shake the sex out of her voice, “what’s up?”

“You OK?”

“Yeah,” she coughed lightly to clear her throat, and laughed, “yeah, I’m fine. Just having an afternoon ‘sleep’!”

“Sleep?”

“Em, yeah,” and then she whispered, “Pete’s here.”

Sophie laughed, “Ah, you dirty dog, you 2 been in bed all afternoon?”

“Not all afternoon,” she giggled.

“I suppose you’ll be out with him on Saturday night won’t you?”

“No! I mean, no. Not Saturday. Not this week.”

“Great! You can come speed dating with me then.”

“Jesus, Soph. Speed dating? I thought you were on a mission to stay single! Change of plan already?” she began to laugh a little, “Bloody hell, it’s only been one day and you’ve changed your mind already?”

“Not me. Delaney. She said the piece was a hit and wants me to write about my life and my ‘mission’. Starting with bloody speed dating on Saturday. Please say you’ll come.”

At that moment Pete emerged from the bathroom and strode, naked into her room again. The very sight of his toned body caused her to ache,

“Oh yeah, not a problem. I’ll have no problem coming.”

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Seven

Second Life

There's been some discussion over in the Staying Single forum about where Sophie will meet you in Second Life, (and the double entendre of a 'second life' that exists when you have an affair with a 'married'!)
I think we'll meet in the Blarney Stone Irish Bar - what better for a venue for singletons than an introductory few drinks in a lively bar!!

(That's me with her back to you all, in the blue vest top at the Blarney Stone)

If you've never been into Second Life before, then sign up. It's free to join and rather addictive. And it's a great place to meet new people and have a few laughs too! I agree, it is kind of weird at first, and my first reaction was that I didn't have enough time in the day for my First Life, never mind my Second one, but with a little trial and error I now love it! If you have any problems nip over to the Staying Single forum and I'll help you get fixed up!

More details on finding The Blarney Stone Irish Bar to follow and if anybody knows of any other excellent venues for us girls (and guys) to get together, then let us all know! Waiting to hear from you, feel free to join in - the more the merrier!