Page 51 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

Sweet baby Jesus.

I look at the huge sign that saysSEX SHOP, and after glancing surreptitiously around to make sure that no one is watching, I follow them nervously in. I can hand on heart say that I’ve never been in one. Ever. But once inside, I’m immediately surprised as I gaze around the shop.

‘See?’ says Tash. ‘It’s just like Ann Summers.’

Like I would know that.

I wander surreptitiously down the aisles trying not to gawp at the display of sex toys and weird-looking objects lining the shelves. I may not be very experienced when it comes to these things but I’m now feeling way out of my depth.

‘I’ve had to resort to one of these,’ says Cherry, picking up a large vibrator.

‘There’s an even bigger one over here,’ says Liberty, brandishing something the size of a two-litre bottle of pop.

‘Fashionable sex these days involves a minimum of two or three people,’ says Tash knowingly. ‘Filming on their phones as they go. It’s all about completely hair-free bodies, waxed skin and bleached bumholes.’

I freeze with alarm as the girls nod their heads in agreement.

‘But I have to say, girls,’ Cherry warns, ‘always get some sort of disclaimer signed otherwise some twat will post it online once you break up with them. Take it from me. I’m not a paralegal for nothing.’

‘What about this?’ shouts Tash, thrusting a small black plastic doggie poo bag at me. ‘It’s a jumpsuit.’

I take it cautiously from her. It’s very thin and clingy. And small. Very, very small. ‘Thanks,’ I say, praying they have something in a more substantial material; a viscose, a loose cotton, anything that won’t give me thrush.

It takes only a few minutes for the girls to grab items of clothes and sling them over their arms. ‘Here,’ Big Mand says. ‘These will look great on you. Try them on.’

There follows what can only be described as an X-rated, bondage version ofSay Yes to the Dressas I wrestle with a series of laces, straps and rubber and parade in and out of the changing rooms to cheers and boos. The Dollz insist on me trying on each item, some of which are carefully crafted out of nothing more substantial than dental floss while others ensure my boobs are hovering by my chin.

I’m finding the Dollz’ sense of frivolity and carefree attitude to all things ‘fetish’ increasingly infectious. I have never tried on clothes like this in my life, and after a short while, all my anxiety disappears.

‘You can’t put a price on sexual confidence,’ says Big Sue. ‘Well, you can at these cheap prices.’

‘So true,’ agrees Big Mand, handing me some egg-shaped ornaments. ‘Pop these in, hun. You’ll not regret it.’

‘We need to make her look like someone you’d want to have sex with on stage,’ adds Tash. ‘Your Latino hunk of spunk is going to die when he sees you in this lot. You look amaze, babes.’

That does it. An exhilarating feeling of confidence rips through me. So much so that I agree to buy all of them on my credit card with the gusto of a high-class escort who can easily afford the investment. I leave the shop wearing a tiny, figure-hugging, strapless playsuit in faded blue denim, the least rubbery of my purchases. It goes well with my white trainers and makes my legs look like they belong to a baby giraffe. It is doing wonders for my confidence.

I step outside feeling bold and brave. Until I hear, ‘Cenicienta!’

Shitting hell.

Nacho is waving at us from down the alleyway. He is looking at theSEX SHOPsign and raising his eyebrows. The Dollz are very excited by his unexpected appearance and charge towards him like a herd of rhinos. It’s only when I trail after them that I realise Matteo is with him. I peep at him over the top of the girls’ heads. My toes are curling, my whole face is glowing, and I could die of embarrassment as he tilts his head to eye my many, many bags baring theSEX SHOPlogo.

How to explain? How?

He walks around the outside of the group towards me. It’s more of a prowl. He has a dangerous aura about him. Rough, stubbled and ready for sex, that’s the only way to describe him.Unless he doesn’t, and I’m simply under the twin giddy highs of being in a sex shop while under the influence of the Dollz.I am mesmerised by the muscles rippling beneath the soft fabricof his T-shirt and the way his denim shorts are clinging to his thighs. He’s staggeringly beautiful. He doesn’t break eye contact with me the whole time, and I can’t tell if he is angry about the yacht incident, as his face is giving nothing away. In a few strides, he reaches me.

‘They’re not mine,’ I blurt, holding up my bags.

He raises a questioning eyebrow.

‘Well, theyaremine, but they’re not for sex. I didn’t buy sex things.’

I must clarify.

‘They’re for the show. For stage. Costumes.’

It’s no good. I’ve become lost in his incredibly sexy eyes as he sweeps his hair from his forehead.

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