Page 35 of Untether

I know even among us four co-founders, at the time when we were dreaming up Alchemy, we’d all heard stories of people not enjoying their first time, especially if they were women. It was either traumatic, or uncomfortable, or just plain unrewarding.

So we thought, ‘Let’s design a framework where people can sign up and expand their sexual horizons at their pace, on their terms, according to their, I suppose, risk appetites and kinks’.

AIDA: And it’s not just for virgins. Because that’s the programme I’ve signed up for.

ME: [Shoots her a sexy grin] Yes you have. And, if I understand it correctly, it’s because you’ve come out of a monogamous relationship with the intention of reactivating your sex life with other people, but you’d like things to be more structured, for you, and also more private, because the last thing you need in your position is to be with people who don’t prioritise your wellbeing or who might betray your confidence.

AIDA: Exactly. But I’d like everyone watching to know that you haven’t actually told me yet what the first sessionwill be. Which is incredibly rude, because I’m supposed to be calling the shots here. This is my show.

ME: I’ll tell you when you’re on this sofa next to me. And remember, when you’re at the club with me, it’s my show, baby.

AIDA: Dear God.

ME: I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make it an amazing experience for you. The only thing that matters is that you come out of that first session feeling like the beautiful, powerful goddess you are.The only thing.

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AIDA

This hot-non-boyfriend thing is pretty addictive. There’s a gorgeous guy who’s brought me to orgasm in a club, and pinned me up against a bar and kissed me, and whose way with words is apparently as dirty on camera as it is when his mouth is brushing my ear.

I have to admit, the dynamic is a little like being back in high school. When will I see him? Is he thinking about me? Will he send me a dirty text this evening?

(Okay, I’m way too old to have had a cellphone in high school, but you get the picture.)

It’s exciting. Distracting.

Especially given how great he did on camera this morning. I could tell he was, by Cal standards, a little nervous, but he was perfect. There’s no way a guy can be that smooth talking in real life and not deliver some great banter to the camera, but he smashed my expectations.

I tell myself the reason for my pleasure is purely professional. This is my show. My name on the title. My reputation on the line. It’spersonal. I want it to inspire people, to make them uncomfortable, to pose questions they’d rather notthink about. I want it to stretch them and, maybe, even alter their worldview a teeny bit.

So when Cal sits in front of me and Lizzy and delivers his lines like he’s been writing TV soundbites all his life, it’s a good thing. It bodes well for the success of the programme and for its uptake on social, especially TikTok and Twitter. If we’re all to be reduced to a meme, if the documentary of my heart will live and die by a one-liner on social, then those soundbites may as well be good.

But he nailed it. I snicker to myself as I recall his answer to my jokey question about whether Alchemy has celebrity members.

We do now, baby.

The killer moment, though, the part that gave me purely professional goosebumps, was what he said to me at the end.

The only thing that matters is that you come out of that first session feeling like the beautiful, powerful goddess you are. The only thing.

Yeah.

That’ll get a girl all types of flustered, because comeon.

I already know the nation will fall hard for Callum Sinclair and his ridiculous good looks and ability to speak straight to a woman’s vagina.

No judgement here, ladies.

We’re shooting the interviews in the drawing room of a suite at the gorgeous Lanesborough Hotel by Hyde Park. The location is in keeping with the aspirational vibe of the programme, and the hotel has agreed a sensible rate for the suite when we need it, which will be once a week for the next eight weeks.

Because if I’m gonna sit next to a relative stranger and calmly discuss why I intend to let him fuck me in a totallypremeditated, almost choreographed way, then I’m sure as hell gonna do it on a fancy couch in a four-figures-per-night hotel with a crystal glass in my hand.

And the suite is gorgeous. There’s a bookshelf behind us with old leather-bound books and an oil painting of some lady with a powdered wig and a virginal blush on her cheeks. It’s there non-ironically, too. It’s like we’re hoping that if we make our surroundings as elevated as possible, our viewers will forget to sex-shame us. Sex-shameme. I doubt Cal cares. And men don’t get sex-shamed, anyway. Not as much as we do.

The major risk, obviously, is that all these attempts to elevate our subject matter makes the programme feel elitist and out of touch. And it probably is. After all, Alchemy membership is affordable for only a fortunate few in our society. The entire creative team and I are well aware of that, and we’ve made peace with it.

Our lengthy, circular dialogue on the topic has converged to a level of agreement on one thing: that this peek into the world of elite sex clubs will be as alluring for many as the discourse around female sexuality itself. I’ve compromised; I’ve made concessions. But I’ve stayed unwavering on one thing.

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