I am sat here, at 6:30pm, with the central heating on, watching The Crown in my favourite silk slip. Are you watching it? This is the type of show I was sure I would hate, but having exhausted every war film, and every serial killer documentary known to man, and everything Anthony Bourdain ever recorded (these being my preferred three things to watch), I thought why not throw myself into something on the “popular” list. I don’t usually enjoy drama. In fact, even when reading I find fiction a waste of time. I think has something to do with my wider personality. I’m a realist, living a fantasy, not a fantasist. I accept the imperfections of life, without trying to pretend they aren’t there. It’s something I really appreciate in others too. If I’m getting ready for dinner and I ask you “do you like this dress?” and you don’t, I respect you saying “No”. So anyway, despite my preference for the real, here I am watching this fictitious show about the Royal family, and I’m enjoying it – well, kind of enjoying it, I’m writing this at the same time after all.
All change this week – London’s lockdown is finally over (sort of). According to Boris, you can only go out for a drink if you’re having a “substantial meal first”. Irritating but I’ve thought of a clever way to work around this. Earlier, I called Le Gavroche to ask if cock counts as a “substantial meal”, but they refused to answer, so I guess we are just going to have to find out (any takers?)! I did a small photoshoot on New Bond Street today – one of my favourite places for shopping and looking at cars before a quick walk (strut) to Cecconis for some calamari and the second best Bellini in London (after Dukes). All of a sudden, the Christmas Spirit just took me over – I am feeling so positive and Christmassy! I think it was all the boutiques with their sparkly tasteful Christmas decorations, the smiling gentlemen in winter overcoats providing enthusiastic encouragement as I posed for my shoot – my photographer always laughs at this because she can’t comprehend that when men try to approach me or check me out in public I feel so embarrassed and shy! She keeps saying, “how can YOU be shy!?”. Well, these things definitely did contribute to my good mood, or perhaps it was just the knowledge that in 24 hours, I could finally enjoy a drink and a substantial ****.
These last few weeks have been… Not as great as the first lockdown. I’ve been running, but it’s cold and I’m a wimp. I did do 2 runs in the rain, which I found strangely thrilling, but long distance running isn’t really my thing – Paula Radcliffe I am not (luckily for you). Can’t wait to get back to training and weights, I’ve even bought a pair of impossibly tight mini leopard print gym shorts to celebrate (lucky for gym). I haven’t read as much as I wanted to, but having been a subscriber for some time, I downloaded The Economist app and it’s very good. I wake up each morning, roll over in bed, and as you’re not there, open the app and read the Morning Briefing, and listen to a podcast (most of them have a similar conclusion: for one reason or another, we’re doomed) before starting my day.
My plans for a few days winter sun have been postponed, I was due to fly out tomorrow, but with many of my favourite people in town, I thought, Christmas is once a year after all, and a beach will always be there – so I shall be spending December in London (subject to away dates) – hopefully with you! I can’t wait to get back to my normal life of dinners and champagne evenings. We have survived! And now it is time to celebrate. I love spontaneity, but my diary doesn’t, so please plan out date in advance if you can. It’s Christmas after all, and I’m a firm believer that between visiting relatives you don’t really like, and the mind numbing hours trawling through the John Lewis website only to find that thing you should of bought two weeks ago is now sold out, you should always make some time around Christmas for yourself – after all, even Santa deserves a treat. A substantial ****, even 😉
Lots of love,
Hope you are well, that your temperature is mild, that your throat isn’t tickly, and that you’ve adjusted to the new world of masks and rubber gloves (although for a kinky babe like me, this has always been my world!). The age of Billie withdrawal is over! I wanted to take a moment to put together a few notes about dining. Over dinner or lunch is of course one of the most effective ways to get to know someone – how better to relax than over a delicious meal, a good bottle of wine, and with sexy, intelligent company.
Some of the restaurants I haven’t visited but would love to are:
Ticked off my list so far:
Can’t wait to catch up, or meet you for the first time over some delicious food!
Big kisses and footsie under the table…
Love Billie xx
A time for Freedom and Festivity
Available from Dec 3rd for Dinner, Overnight stays, and Away dates.
Why not make the end of lockdown, the start of a new adventure? I think we can all agree we deserve it!
I look forward to your invitation.
The antidote to winter blues: Michelin Star dining at home. Thank you! x
To be continued…!
Some suggestions for at-home restaurant dining. All available Chez Billie.
Gymkahna (Indian – 1 Michelin Star):
Hide (Modern European – 1 Michelin Star)
Bocca Di Lupo (My favourite Italian – Sharing plates):
Galvin (French – 1 Michelin Star, and others):
Kitchen Table (European – 2 Michelin Star):
Sketch (Modern European):
A special 3 days with wonderful company.
Thanks for not letting a worldwide pandemic get in the way of treating us both to a much needed break.
Ik hoop je snel weer te zien ❤
The four faces of romance (in order): Joy, Passion, Lust, and Melancholy.
A selection of my recent plates – a joy to share with lovers and friends.
I recently spent some time at a prestigious cookery school where I also learned to master the soufflé (like most things, it’s easy when you know how). The other recipes are as usual all my own original recipes that I’d love to say have taken years of development, but in reality – I tend to know what I want to make, and the recipes come mostly fully formed into my head – I make them up almost instantly and they almost always work. From Borough market to Fine Food Specialist, from China Town to Ginger pig – I am enjoying sourcing the best ingredients for my creations.
I am lucky enough to spend many an evening in some truly wonderful restaurant – something I’m very grateful for. The cumulative impact of these experiences and my own passion (I started cooking when I was 4!) has given me a lot of confidence in the kitchen – there’s nothing I won’t try, and have recently started experimenting with fusion. My only Achilles heel is pastry – I’m not a baker – and can’t imagine I could create a dessert tastier than Ben and Jerrys or Mr Kipling. In the kitchen as in life – there is always more to try and discover.
Part 2: The Contract.
He steps towards me, towering over me even in my heels and pulls me by my waist towards him. Our bodies pressed against each other, we kiss deeply and passionately.
Just as Mr Hardigain is hastily removing his jacket there’s a knock at the door, and it slowly opens.
I jump towards the table and take a seat, legs crossed and pretending to flick through my emails, milliseconds before a well-dressed gentleman enters with a briefcase, and a folder overflowing with paperwork. His glasses are slightly crooked and there’s an air of acute frustration about him.
“A bloody liberty that’s what this is!” he exclaims, glaring at the both of us “I’ve got three cases on at the minute, one very serious fraud and two mega deals with the Russians and you… you’ve got me HERE!” his hand shakes with rage and a few sheets of paper escape and fall to the floor “You’ve got me here AGAIN Willie, because YOU cant keep your goddamn willie in your pants!!!!!”
He strides to the table and slams down the folder.
I sit there in silence, confused as to what’s going on. I glance at one of the loose sheets of paper on the floor and recognise the name on the letter header. Surely this cant be THE Kenneth Lingwood? I think to myself. Not Lingwood the famous contract lawyer? The one who’s famously never lost a case (but settled many out of court, obviously). Why on earth would he be –
“I’ve got 5 minutes to look at the document Willie” he says impatiently, glancing at a tatty old Cartier watch on his wrist “and I’m only doing this as a favour because we go way back. This goes tits up and you’re on your own.”
He glances at me with a curious mix of disgust and pity.
Mr Hardigain hands him a single page of printed A4 paper, a little too far away for me to be able to clearly read it. Lingwood adjusts his glasses and peers over it, a pen hovering over each line as he slowly reaches the bottom. Finally he finishes.
“Is this it?” he asks
“Yes” replies Mr Hardigain “Is it airtight?”
“This is…” Lingwoods voice cracks, seemingly unable to control his outrage “This is one of the most… legally spurious, perverse contracts I have ever… I have ever…”
“- is it airtight?” Hardigan interjects, cooly.
“Well as you bloody well know” Lingwood lowers his voice to a whisper and turns his back to me “If she signs this of course it’s airtight but….” I listen intently but can only hear the odd word or phase “enforceable… but… NDA… need a bloody therapist… Geneva convention… I will not be witness… end of my career… remember that girl… no judge would… Jesus Christ…” and then finally “does SHE even know about all this?”
They both turn to face me. I stare back earnestly, trying to figure out what on earth is happening. I muster a smile, which neither of them returns.
“It’s…” Mr Lingwood begins gathering up his paperwork “Willie… It’s what you need it to be.”
He strides towards the door, pauses for a moment then doubles back and hands me his card. “Good luck!” he exclaims, before turning on his heel and leaving.
The moment the door shuts I get to my feet.
“What was all that?” I ask “Is this? What’s going on? As your Personal Assistant, I demand to be-“
“Lingwood” Mr Hardigain says calmly “Is an old friend of mine. I… I just needed someone to look over your work contract before you sign, just to check everything is er… legally… er… legal.”
“Why wouldn’t it be legal?” I ask, letting out a nervous laugh.
“If you just sign, then we can finish your first day early. I’ll send you home for the rest of the day on full pay and of course, please have the things I’ve asked for ready by tomorrow.”
Mr Hardigain puts down the single sheet of A4 paper, and a Mont Blanc pen. He slides it towards me and I see for the first time, what appears to be the outlines of a basic contract. I pick up the pen (lovely pen) and skim read the page, my eyes widening with more and more shock at every line. The page reads:
I ________________ do hereby enter a contract with Mr Willie B Hardigain.
This contract states that I _________________ must
Every day in the Hardigain office is a new adventure. However, the following Schedule must be adhered to:
All costs incurred in maintaining this contract will be covered by Mr Willie B Hardigain. Your budget will correlate with your progress and dedication to your job, which will be plotted in monthly progress reports. Should you breach contract yet wish to remain in contract, suitable punishments will be arranged at the discretion of Mr Hardigain.
This is a non-negotiable contract. Should you wish not to sign this contract, your temporary contract as a Personal Assistant will terminate immediately and you will no longer be an employee at Hardigain investments, and will have no future opportunity to join this company, nor any subsidiary companies or partnered companies at a later date. In the interest of discretion, you will also be blacklisted form working in the City, with no view to having this blacklist removed at a future date. If and when you decide to leave this contract, should you do so after more than 1 year (365 days) employment you will be given a generous severance, providing you sign a Non Disclosure Agreement. Should you refuse an NDA, you will be….”
My eyes widen to the size of saucers at the final line
“…Prosecuted for the sexual harassment of Mr Willie B Hardigain”
I look up from the contract, a massive fake grin spreading across my face, and let out a fake, girly giggle.
“You’re so funny” I laugh “I can tell you’re going to be really fun to work for with a sense of humour like that! Everyone says you’re a really funny gu-“
“It’s not a joke and I’m now running late for my next meeting so how about you sign the contract, and you can start properly tomorrow” says Mr Hardigain, prickling with impatience.
“I…” The smile drops from my face “I mean… this can’t be serious as serious contract! I… I mean, oral sex? What are you talking about? Stockings? And If… then… if I… you try and prosecute ME? Mr Haridgain… Do I look desperate to you?” I ask, with all the attitude I can muster.
“Yes.” He replies curtly. “You took an Uber pool to work and I’ve already run a credit check. Thirty grand worth of student debt, 4 credit cards, a shopping habit you can’t afford and your landlord is trying to evict you.”
I stand there mouthing wordlessly, absolutely stunned.
“Mr Hardigain. Let me tell you a story. I grew up in-“
“No” he interrupts, rudely “No we’re not going to do this crying begging poor me poor life bullshit. I’ve been there before and they all sign in the end. I can improve your prospects expeditiously so either sign the contract or get out.”
The room is swallowed by a deafening silence.
I reach for the Mont Blanc and pause – my pen hovering over the page, over my future in The City. I take a deep breath, exhale, and…
Sign the contract; my palm sweating and my underwear suddenly damp.
“Good. Now pull your skirt down.”
Well, I think to myself, it’s not my fault if I’m contractually obliged.
I do as I’m told and Mr Hardigain approaches me, sliding his hand under my silk panties and between my legs. His fingers return soaking wet.
“That’s what I like…” he says, hastily unzipping his trousers and pushing me to my knees. Before I’ve had a chance to catch my breath, he shoves his hard cock into my mouth – pulling my head down onto him, the tip of his cock pushed deep in the back of my throat. He cums in my mouth within seconds then pulls out.
Unsure what to do, and embarrassed to have enjoyed it, I swallow and get to my feet, trying to look elegant as I put my skirt back on.
Mr Hardigain has taken a seat and watches me get dressed.
“Swallow was not in the contract Billie, but I’m pleased with your effort! I’ll have your company card arranged for tomorrow morning. Remember,” he says, folding my contract in half and handing it to me “7am tomorrow for the… er… massage.”
I nod silently.
“I can’t wait to have you sat on my cock” he says, casually, picking up his briefcase. “Anyway, I have to dash Billie – tomorrow – 7am. Don’t be late, or you will be punished.”
The next morning I awake at exactly 5:30am, giving myself plenty of time to get ready for Mr Hardigain and arrive at the office on time.
As I’m drying my hair, I switch on the radio and hear a chirpy “Now remember folks, clocks went forward last night so it’s been one less hour in bed. This is Pete Mackey reporting for Talk FM, at 6am of shall I say, 7am on Tuesday the 29th….”
I gasp. My heart skips three beats, a knot turning in the pit of my stomach. My iPhone smashed last week, and unable to afford the repair, I was forced to buy a much cheaper handset. A cheaper handset which clearly doesn’t update for daylight saving time. Oh no!
Panic stricken, I throw on whatever clothes I have to hand and head straight to work, arriving 45mins late, my lipstick smudged and my shirt un-ironed. I hurry through the office, avoiding the disapproving glances of my colleagues and head straight for Mr Hardigains office.
I enter, close the door, and immediately begin trying to explain
“I am soooo so sorry, what happened was my phone, I had the new iPhone but then-“
“Not another word.”
Mr Hardigain is sat behind his desk, breathing heavily through his nose, his neck red with anger. “What I need…” he explains calmly “Is for you to pull down your skirt and bend over this desk.”
He stands up to watch me do it.
Embarrassed, I pull down my short (oops!) skirt, and bend over the desk, realising that in my haste, I’ve forgotten to put underwear on.
To be continued….!
Seriously! Birthdays have traditionally been a time of acute misery for me. This year something different – wonderful feelings, experiences and gifts from friends and of course… you! Thank you so much for making my day special. I’m like an elephant (only a fraction of the size, no tusks, better legs etc…) where was I going with this? Oh yes – I never forget a kind gesture. Thanks for making this year unforgettable.
Love Billie xxx
A tricky week, culminating with my Birthday plans falling apart. Alas – first world problems but I didn’t imagine I’d be spending my birthday only with people from my household (note: I AM the entirety of my household!) Anyway, what doesn’t kill you, drives you closer to accepting the things you can’t change. Thanks to some lovely gentlemen in my life for cheering me up with the most stunning flower arrangements!
This is an erotic fantasy I’ve written that explores the themes of power dynamic and submission. Not for the easily offended or faint of heart. This fantasy is a bit of fun – something I enjoyed writing!
It’s Monday, 7:45am and I have just finished getting ready for my first day at the office. I have opted for a slim black pencil skirt, a pink silky blouse, and a pair of shiny Jimmy Choo stilettos, with a smart leather handbag. My square rimmed glasses perched on my nose, and shiny red lipstick to match my manicure. It is my first day working as a Personal Assistant for Willie B. Hardigain, CEO of Interlink Investors. This isn’t quite what I expected myself to be after a 1st from Kings and a graduate programme, but needs must in the current economic climate. Truth be told I’m two months behind on my rent and my credit card is almost maxed. Still, no excuse for not being fabulous – I apply a second flush of red Chanel lipstick, and put it into my handbag, along with my lunch (packed lunch as money a bit tight right now) and some paperwork. As I open my Uber Taxi app, a little pop-up appears on the screen:
“NEW! Try UberPool today. Share a taxi and save up to 25% on your journey!”
Never one to miss a bargain, I book myself an UberPool, and 4 minutes later I am on my way to the office in a black Toyota Prius with tinted windows. Just as I am heading through the City, the taxi drivers sat nav lights up, and we stop just outside of Liverpool Street station to pick up another passenger. I move my Mulberry bag off the empty seat, and a smartly dressed gentleman aged around 45 enters the taxi. “I’m just going to St Pauls-” he says to the driver, without looking at me. He takes his seat and glances over.
“Err-“ he starts, talking to my shoes for some reason “Hey… er… hello. I’m Ben, RBS. Who do you work for then?”
“I’m with Willie B. Hardigain, just starting today” I reply, feeling a little awkward.
“Ah, I started at Hardigains a long time ago… Will open many doors for you. If you…”
He trails off, staring at my top. Confused, I look down to realise I haven’t buttoned up properly, and to my horror, the top of my red silk bra is on full display, with my areolas peeking over the red chantilly lace trim.
“Oh my-!” I hastily button myself up, feeling suddenly hot and embarrassed. I look over to Ben and can’t help but notice a little peak slowly rising and falling in his smart navy blue suit trousers. He inches closer towards me on the seat and runs his hand up my right leg. I frown at him, offended, and to slide further left towards the door. Inch by inch I move across the seat, until I can’t move any further, and have my back to the door, legs crossed tightly, glaring at him, yet tingling with excitement. He leans forward and runs his hand up my stockings, stopping when he reaches the smooth skin of my upper leg.
“Now really! Haha! Stop doing that- this is really so inappropria-“ I trail off, breathlessly, as I feel his fingers between my legs, gently massaging me through my silk knickers. He leans forward so his face is only millimetres from mine.
“I know Hardigain.” He says “We go way back. It would be a shame, a real shame, if your career in the City ended before it began.”
He moves his fingers further back between my legs and towards my bottom
I sit there, not daring to speak, as he unzips his trousers and begins stroking his cock. The radio is on full volume and the Uber driver is glued to his sat nav, unaware of what’s going on in the back seat of the car.
“Lie down” Ben commands.
Embarrassed, but excited, I lie on the back seat, and he kneels over my body, one leg on either side of my perfectly pressed silk blouse.
“Suck my cock” he says, looking me in the eye.
“Ben… I am sorry but I am NOT that sort of woman. I don’t care where you went to school or who your friends are or who you think you are. You are a misogynistic! This isn’t the 80s! Women in the city have the same right to be here and I am going to-“
Before I can finish, he stuffs his pulsing cock down my throat, thrusting violently, then pulling out and using the tip to smear my red lipstick all over my face and nose. I can’t help but secretly enjoy it as he pinches my nose, making me gag and gasp for air.
“You love that don’t you?” he asks, pushing deeper down my throat and making my eyes water “Call me “Boss” when I’m using your mouth”
“Yes Boss,” I reply, feeling a wetness building up between my legs. He leans back and pulls up my pencil skirt, revealing my silk knickers, and embarrassingly, the large damp wet patch at the front where I’ve soaked through them.
“Lie on your front” he says. Obediently I turn and lie on my front, and feel him pull my knickers to one side, and rub himself between my bum cheeks. I begin gently rubbing back against him, and a few moments later, I feel him grabbing my ass, and a warm trickle as he cums all over my bum. He moves back, pulls up his Calvins and zips his trousers back up, just before the Uber slows down at his St Pauls. Without a word, he exists the taxi, and I watch him stride towards his office, glancing at his watch.
Business as usual.
As I reapply my lipstick, pouting into my compact mirror, the drivers sat nav begins flashing again, and just a few streets later, the taxi stops in front of an old beautiful bank. For crying out loud! I’m going to be late if we keep stopping like this. The door swings open, and out strides a much older gentleman, a tatty briefcase and a copy of the Financial Times in one hand. He approaches the car, enters, sits down and looks over at me. “You must be freezing-“ he says- pointing at my skirt.
Oh no! I’ve completely forgotten to pull back down my skirt, and my stockings suspender belt and soaking silk knickers are in full view! “Oh my God I am really so sorry. It’s such a long story, I just… sorry” I smile apologetically, struggling to get my tight skirt back down in such a confined space.
“Well,” he says, in a deep rumbling voice “I think, you deserve a spanking for being so naughty, don’t you?”
Still so horny from my last encounter, I hear myself saying, without really thinking “Yes, yes I do Boss”. I bend over the seat and wait… and wait… and then finally a large firm hand stings my bottom from behind. I feel my bum getting hot after 10 or so spankings, and then, without warning one of his fingers slowly entering me from behind. Shocked, I squeal with pleasure, spreading my legs so he can go deeper. As he curls his finger upwards, I feel myself getting very wet and about to cum on his finger. Just as I’m nearly there he stops-
“No!!” I plead desperately, my voice barely audible over the car radio “Please don’t stop!!!”
Still sat in the chair, I see him unzipping his suit trousers… and teasing his hard cock out from the fly. Immediately, I move towards him, uncontrollable horny, and jump on top, facing him and riding him as he kisses me passionately and plays with my breasts. He grabs my bum and begins bouncing me on top, rocking me backwards and forwards. The car in front stops suddenly, and our taxi has to break at the last minute before a red light. The car lurching forward causes him to thrust deep inside me, and I scream out loud with ecstasy, and a second later, holding me down and pushing into me he cums deep inside of me, moaning out loud and squeezing my bum. I collapse on his chest, kissing his neck as he strokes my hair.
What an eventful first day at work!
The taxi rolls towards the Gherkin and stops.
“Remember to pull your skirt down bad girl!” he says, grinning as he zips up, and then exits the car.
The Uber driver is looking at me in the mirror, slightly confused as to why my makeup is messed up. Luckily, I manage to get myself straightened up and begin looking through my notes to make sure I am prepared for my first meeting. Only seconds from my destination, the sat nav begins flashing again and the car slows down!
Right… well… have some self restraint Billie, I tell myself, tentatively waiting for the door to open. To my complete surprise it’s-
“Mr Hardigain!!!” I exclaim, anxiously as my new boss gets into the car. Straightening up my glasses on my nose, I try my best not to appear nervous. “Billie!” he replies “What are the odds- are you prepared for our 12:45?”
“Oh yes Mr Hardigain I am. I was thinking, if we go in for anything less than 4% they’re going to know we’re keen to sell and try to drive the price even further down, so if we start at around 7 or 8%, the Chinese won’t want to risk… Um, Mr Hardigain??
Mr Hardigain is making it very obvious he isn’t listening, and has moved his leg ever so slightly across the seat to rub against mine.
“You are one sexy little minx” he says, looking me up and down, my stocking-clad legs crossed conservatively, leading down towards my extra shiny stilettos “Now I remembered why I hired you. You leave the negotiations to me, your job is to make sure I’m… nice and relaxed for meetings. Do you understand?”
“I think so Mr Hardigain. But you should know I have a first from Kings and…”
“- Every morning I want you in the office half an hour early. I will tell you what to wear. I will tell you what to do. I will tell you when to swallow when to lick my arse when to ride me and when to give me a massage and when to bend over and when stay still. Do. You. Understand?”
Shocked, I feel the wet patch and the front of my silk knickers spreading.
“Yes. Yes Mr Hardgain. Yes I do.”
“Good. So bend over and stay still.”
I manoeuvre myself in my tight pencil skirt and bend over. I feel his hands rolling my skirt up, over my stockings, then suspenders, then over my bum. I feel him grabbing my bum and jiggling it about.
“You want a fucking promotion?” he asks, two fingers gently resting on my clit “well how does Executive Personal Assistant with company car sound?” he asks. “A nice Mercedes S-Class with a driver?”
“Oh Mr Hardigain! Thankyou… that would be so lovely!”
“Well you’re going to fucking earn it Billie. Now beg me for a promotion-”
He moves my now soaking silk knickers to one side and begins doggying me very roughly in the back of the car, my face pressed hard against the seat. With sufficient motivation, I find myself to be very good at begging indeed.
“Pleaase…” I beg “Please Mr Hardigain… Please… I’m begging you… Please Boss…”
He puts his hands around my neck and begins choking me, going so deep my eyes start to water and my body begins shaking, trying to escape. I fall onto my font, and he climbs on top of me, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, kissing me roughly and spitting into my mouth. Flattened onto the seat, with his full weight on top of me, I scream out loud, cumming very hard, twice in a row, as he goes harder and deeper, calling me a slut.
“Beg me for my cum” he drags my hair round so I’m facing him
“Please Boss, please can I have your cum. Please-“
I begin licking Mr Hardigains balls as he wanks himself, taking them into my mouth and looking up at him, cheeks stuffed
“OH YOU LITTLE… NASTY…”
He says, holding my head onto his cock and cumming down my throat. After he’s finished he keeps my head there, making sure I swallow every drop.
I watch, still aroused, as Mr Hardigain fastens his black leather belt. He pulls out a leather wallet and takes out some notes.
“By Thursday I want you to get some proper stockings. None of this hold up synthetic nonsense, I like silk. And I want a white blouse. Take this.” He hands me some money to buy the things with.
“Thankyou Mr Hardigain,” I say, leaving the taxi behind him and walking towards the office in my smart shiny heels.
At 12:45 myself and Mr Hardigain arrive on time at City Social for our client dinner and are directed to the private dining area. We walk in, and I feel prepared and confident about for todays meeting, but… oh no!!!
“Billie, this is Ben Thornton,” he says nodding me towards an all too familiar face. It’s ben from the Uber! Humiliated, and hoping he doesn’t say anything, I shake Bens hand
“Well hello Billie” Ben says, staring at my blouse, “An absolute pleasure to meet you”
“And this is Gregory Pennington” Mr Hardigain says, introducing me to the second older gentleman from the taxi!
Surely the world can’t be this small.
“Hi Gregory, really nice you could make it” I say, trying not to make eye contact.
“Oh no problem at all” he says, smiling at me “Luckily I got an exceptionally speedy Uber taxi earlier today” He winks at me as I stand there, feeling uncomfortable.
“Now Billie,” Mr Hardigain says, locking the door to the dining room and facing me. Ben and Gregory have told me a few interesting things about some skills you have that you appear to have left off your CV-“
I see Ben and Gregory watching me, as Mr Hardigain continues-
“We’ve been talking about the distinct lack of female talent in The City, and how fantastic it is that a young upstart like yourself had decided to pursue a career in finance.”
I stand there uncomfortably, not saying anything.
“Ben and Gregory are going to leave now. We need to have a talk about that… promotion I mentioned before”
The two other gentlemen leave the room.
“Mr Hardigain, I am so sorry! I’m not sure what they told you but basically it was all one big accident because what happened was, I took an UberPool, it’s this new thing that just came out and then I was in the car and then they got in the car and honestly I’m not the type of person who-”
“Here’s what we’re going to do” Mr Hardigain interjects, speaking over me “In order to be my PA I’m going to need you to exercise some bloody self-control. I pick my PA’s very wisely. No more of this ditzy promiscuous nonsense. Let this be an end to it. You will be MY personal assistant and no one else’s. Am I understood?”
I prickle with embarrassment.
“Yes Mr Hardigain” I reply.
He steps towards me, towering over me even in my heels and pulls me by my waist towards him. Our bodies pressed against each other, we kiss deeply and passionately.
To be continued…!
Respite from the winter
5 foot 4
Of sin and serendipity and
A bar on the edge of Sloane Square;
Rain rolls down vintage Rovers and redbrick
Rain like constellations garnish
Paving slabs and parquet floors
Beautiful part of town.
A man smiles at me and I
Grin foolishly and narrowly miss
Colliding with a
As I watch him walk away
My shoulders and feet are damp from rain
God I need a-
“Cocktail list, madam?”
The bartender hands me a
Catalogue and I pick
“A G and T with Cotswolds gin? Please.”
You enter the bar and stand to my left
Covertly survey you;
You look how I feel.
And dump a long, cane umbrella and
Rain wrecked briefcase
Under the bar.
A nesting crow in a
Damp rain coat on the
Darkest day in December
Your cuff falls back to reveal an
IWC on your wrist
You are tall
Brown leather shoes
The waiter returns with my receipt
Just as the moment passes.
“Would you like to open a tab?”
You reach into your pocket and pull out a black slim leather wallet,
(Smythson I think)
glancing at me
“Alright Harry Potter?”
Smiling at you
You stand there fiddling uncomfortably with the edge of your glasses.
Then it happened
Waited 20-something years for this
A pat on the head and a BJ:
A sober man
Who looks capable of ironing his own shirts
Decided of his own accord to
Offer to buy me a drink
In the real world.
Must be the lockdown effect.
I turn my shoulder slightly so you
Get my phone out
And begin typing furiously under the bar
My french manicure slamming the screen at
“MARTYNA OMG SUPER HOT DAVID CAMERON TYPE BUYING ME COCKTAILS ON SLOANE SQUARE VERY CONSERVATIVE AND HAS A HARD ON THANK YOU FATHER CHRISTMAS HALLELUJAH!!!!!-“
And press send.
Coolly, I turn to face you;
I suck on my Gin and Tonic and you tell me some things
None of which I think are lies
You are a hotelier
You live in Cambridge
You used to think you were liberal but now you’re
Not so sure
You have three children a grandchild and a dog named Casper
I tell you we shall have to get
Rid of the dog as I am a
You tell me Casper is a very sweet natured beast
Get out your phone to show me
Photos of a small
Black haired cockapoo
Running around on a beach with its tongue hanging out
“You fancy me because I look like your dog!?”
I ask in a mock-accusatory tone
Grinning at you.
You say you often holiday in Portugal or Monaco and you
Quit drinking 20 years ago so you’re having a soda and
Lime and many years ago
When you were living in the States
One of your
Looked just like me and
You like my shoes
“But anyway Billie, what are you doing in here by yourself talking to an
Where is your boyfriend?”
I imagine having sex with you
As a beautiful thing.
We are walking down Kings Road.
Have an umbrella
In one hand and my
Arse in the other
I quite like it.
Just before we reach The Botanist,
You bottle it,
And hail me a taxi,
“Have a safe journey home, Billie.”
I jump inside
Obediently and wave
The road more travelled by).
I watch you slowly disappear:
From a man
To a smudge in the distance,
To an unforgettable and
To a poem
Martyna has text me back a series of smiley faces and love hearts.
“Tell me what’s happening?!” she implores.
I exhale and reply.
This is a re-draft of a poem that I wrote maybe 3 years ago. I was reminded of it in a deja-vu type experience, and decided to find it (harder than it sounds – I have poems hand written and drafts here and there in old phones and email accounts, or saved on Word under un-useful and difficult to remember document names like “Document 3”).
This poem is about the “sliding doors” moments we’ve had in our lives (I’ve had plenty) where a decision is made, not to start. A “non-starter” in this context of this poem is about dipping your toe into new friendships or relationships. A few times in my life I’ve thought – I wish that thing had progressed. This poem is about the split second decisions we make in life, to choose comfort zones over the unknown, and routine over adventure. “You picked the road more travelled by” is a reference to “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost – he talks about being at a fork in the road, in the woods, and deciding to take “The road less travelled by” the less worn road – as a metaphor for not taking the predictable, common path in life that most people take, and instead doing something different.
Unlike Frost, in this poem the spectacled agonist takes the path more chosen by – to stop the adventure in its infancy – or run from it. I really enjoy French cinema, and one of the things I like is how some films stop with no conclusion – you can be in the middle of a scene and then it cuts and the credits roll and that’s it. This is so true to life – not everything gets cleanly wrapped up and concluded – sometimes the story (or rather the lesson) is in the things that don’t happen, not the things that do. I try to build the poem from a micro level of exact times, heights, raindrops, to a macro level of whole whole moments and ideas, and then cut it off, abruptly, as life often does – without the luxury of closure or explanations.
The poem is a modern tragedy – an ode to the things we don’t do, and what those things could have been.
A long awaited venture East, to Brat at Climpson’s Arch – a creative offshoot of the Michelin star Brat in Shoreditch.
Velvet crab and duck breasts sizzle in the open air. A special meal – thank you! x
Will see you now.
Just a quick update on something I already suspected. For my piece of mind and yours, I decided to take a private BUPA antibody test – important to me as I am back globetrotting soon. The results arrived today. I do indeed have the antibodies (a good thing – meaning I have already caught Covid and fought it off, and am likely to now be immune – thanks Cheltenham races!). Thus technically making The Billie experience a holistic medical treatment, and tax deductible expense (or so Boris keeps telling me!)
Just thought I would share – I hope you are well, and it’s good news to know I most certainly am!
A Classic date, A Modern lover, A Fantastic evening. Thank you!