Cheryl's Got the X-Factor

The nightclub's pink spotlights reflected across the busy dance floor. I ran my fingers through my long and blonde, sweat sodden hair while swaying my hips gently by my side. My head thumped, like as if I had been knocked into a satisfying sense of unconsciousness, without any care as to what was happening in the world around me, but this feeling of euphoria was short lived. Slowly I felt the presence of my friend and I realised I had to step out of my dream world and into reality, for the time being.

"Mich," my friend shouted through the heavy bass line of the dance music, "Mich, come here a second." Mich was what my friends and family called me and was short for 'Michelle'.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion but grabbed her hand and let her lead me to the bar where it was quieter, anyway.

"What?" I asked, brushing back a few balls of perspiration that had formed upon my forehead. "A water please." I said, this time talking aside to the barman serving drinks to the side of me.

"I got us in with the VIPs." My friend said, obviously elated with excitement, "come on," she repeated, clawing at my weak limbs.

"No, I'm too tired. I've been dancing for ages and I have work tomorrow." I moaned, grabbing the glass of water just served to me and taking a long sip, "anyway, who is the so called 'VIP'?"

I will be honest; I was not exactly the most enthusiastic person when it came to celebrities. Even from a young age, the only reason I would be interested in them was because everyone else was, and when I grew out of wanting to be like everyone else my little interest with them disappeared. However, if it was actually some celebrity worth visiting, like Madonna or someone, which I highly doubt it was, then there was no way I was going to waste my time.

"I'm not sure, I saw Cheryl Cole though." She said,

"I think I'll pass." I replied apathetically, "if you think I'm being your moral support just so you can get some un-talented tramp's autograph, you have another thing coming." I grinned after I had said my piece, thinking myself to be rather funny at times; although many people begged to differ, I was sure.

"Oh," she gasped, "please, if you don't I won't ever come to your gay bars ever again." I laughed, she was persistent, I would give her that much, so she must have desperate to visit the VIP area.

"Oh, fine." I said as I rolled my eyes admitting defeat, "but if you think I'm going to be up their arse, or even care for that matter, you'd be wrong."

"I love you Mich, you know that?" she giggled as we headed up the highly guarded staircase leading up to the VIP lounge. The security guard winked at my friend, her name being Charlie, which I suppose made me a tad suspicious as to why he was letting us up here. Nevertheless, I did not really care.

As we neared the top of the stairs, I could hear Cheryl Cole's voice, as well as a few other less distinctive voices, an accent I found rather annoying. She was from Newcastle, I believe, or at least spoke as if she came from somewhere around there.

"That's not true..." Cheryl said in mid laughter. It sounded as if twenty or more people were up here, but the whole situation still seemed alien to me and filled me with a dread.

"Hi guys!" Charlie shouted as we entered the lounge. I nodded my head in embarrassment and hesitated entering the room with her. I gave the small room a glancing survey before I finally decided to leave, but before I could go, I felt Charlie's arm grip me and heard Cheryl's northern voice.

"And where'd you think you're going?" She asked obviously aiming it at me. I had not even been aware she had even looked at me, nor Charlie.

"She made me," I said nearly developing a stutter. Shit, I thought to myself, I was acting like a goof in front of all these successful, and some famous, people.

"Come in," Cheryl said with a curious smile across her face, "I don't bite, you know." She laughed afterwards, a long with the small crowd she had been talking to, which made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were all laughing at me, judging me and mocking me.

Charlie had already left me and disappeared into the crowd, so I turned around and headed back down the stairs hoping to forget how much of a dork I really was. What I did not expect, however, was to realise I had been followed outside and that one of Cheryl's agents was following me to my taxi.

"Wait," he shouted from behind me. I turned around and opened the taxi door, curious to why this man was shouting me. If he was another cocky bastard, I thought to myself warily, I would have to pretend I was foreign or something, like I did with all men who thought I was heterosexual. If I told them I was a lesbian, they would usually reply with 'that doesn't matter' or 'that's hot', like they could convert me or I just had not found the right man yet. I, however, had not experienced a messy heterosexual relationship, or anything like that, but simply just found other women attractive.

"What?" I said passively as he approached me closer.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He asked, eyeing up the taxi driver suspiciously. I looked in the driver's wing mirror for a moment before deciding I may as well see what he needed to tell me, he seemed adamant.

"Sorry," I whispered to the taxi driver before getting up and standing slightly away with the man.

"I'm Cheryl Cole's agent and she said she wants your number." He whispered nervously, obviously not wanting anyone to overhear. I jumped back, was this some kind of joke?

"What?" I said, rising my voice in surprise a tad, unsure how to take him.

"Your friend said you were a lesbian." He whispered again,

"Did she?" I asked. I did not want to repeat 'what?' for the third time and embarrass myself again.

"Yes, and Cheryl is..." He paused for a moment. I pushed my head forward as if willing him to say the word, "interested in you."

"Interested?" I asked, asking was all I could seem to do, unaware that my mouth had gaped open.

"She's bi-sexual and likes you!" He proclaimed, almost as if I had been too dumb to understand.

"Oh." I pulled away from the private circle he had seemed to create, "this is just... Weird." Her agent laughed and nodded his head,

"Yeah, she makes me do this a lot." His nerves had now eased up, "so are you interested?"

I lulled over the question for a few minuets, if someone would have asked me if I found Cheryl Cole attractive, prior to this, I would have said no. However, now the opportunity had somehow landed in my palms, I was unsure whether my previous assumptions had been at all accurate.

"Okay," I nervously replied before handing him my mobile phone and watching him take down my digits. "I am guessing I shouldn't tell anyone about this."

He laughed again, and then said, "No, she'll deny everything and you'll probably ruin any career you might have had if you do." I felt almost threatened by that, threatened by someone saying if I mention anything to anyone all my dreams would probably be finished. "Thanks."

He handed me back my mobile and as if by routine just headed back inside the nightclub unfazed. I was not sure whether I was up to being part of a celebrity's experiment. I was nothing more than average, average blue eyes, average nose, average shaped lips, average height and an average weight. Yet, at any beckoned moment, I could be locking lips with one of the most beautiful women in England, and if not the entire world.

Two gruelling weeks passed before she contacted me, two weeks when all I could think about was what would happen if she actually did ring me. The whole situation had seemed so random that I actually started to believe I had dreamt the whole thing up. However, it was at about six pm and I was fixing myself dinner. I slowly chopped away at a long and ripe cucumber, watching in a bored fascination as the knife slid through the flesh at ease, and attempting to take my mind of what I wished would happen.

I jumped slightly, surprised by the penetrating ring of my mobile phone, before rushing to my living room to answer.

"Hello?" I answered curiously,

"Hi, it's Cheryl Cole." She said, but it was obvious who it was, her accent was unmistakably distinctive.

"I kind of guessed." I said, wheezing in a nervous laughter, "You celebrities have a complicated pick up line."

"Yeah," she giggled too, I could hear her breath hit the phone on her side, "it would have been simpler if you hadn't have run off on me."

"Sorry," I sat down at my sofa now seeing as my heart was more at ease, "but like, I had no idea this sort of thing went off."

"It's not like I just go around picking up random girls at bars," she laughed but there was seriousness about her tone of voice, "you make it sound like some kind of sordid thing I'm doing."

"No, then why pick me?" I asked. It was something that I had been wondering ever since.

"I thought you were really cute, and when your friend blurted out that you're gay I just thought to myself, why not?" She had not laughed this time, which, I suppose, meant she was serious about what she was telling me.

"You're married; that's one reason why not." I said, putting a downer on things like usual. I kicked myself as soon as the words had came rushing out of my mouth, but it was the truth. She was married to a very rich, and admittedly attractive, footballer. Why would she potentially jeopardise that for someone as average as me?

"Trapped more like. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it and I really doubt you do either. I want some fun and I was hoping you'd give it me, okay?" She continued, "What are you doing on Wednesday?"

"Nothing." I croaked

"Okay, meet me at Ego, what time?" She said. This time her tone had turned distinctively bossier.

"Eight?" I asked, not really knowing what time was suitable for a secret rendezvous with a celebrity.

She laughed, before answering, "Great, and I'll be in the back so tell Steven you're there when you arrive."

"Steven?" I asked despite already guessing that was the name of her agent or something.

"My agent, and listen, I honestly don't bite so please don't run off like last time." She said sincerely. Sometimes, in just this short phone call, I could sense there was more to Cheryl Cole than I could have ever anticipated.

"I'll try not to be a complete ass." I wheezed,

"Good, I'll look forward to seeing you then," she finished.

"Yeah, me too, see you."

"Bye."

I put my mobile phone down and sighed to myself, it had only just hit me that I, Michelle Gibson of the ordinary folk, had just spoken to

the

Cheryl Cole. Not only did I talk to her, but also she seemed as though we were just two ordinary people sharing an ordinary phone call.

It had been a Monday when she had rang, so I had a whole two days to wait through. Tuesday had been hard, at work in the classroom, trying not to blurt out that tomorrow, of all days; I was going to meet Cheryl Cole. You see, at the tender age of twenty-three, I had managed to land myself a job as a teaching assistant in a small, not that well known, college. This mainly meant I had to watch over boring lectures and bring my superior tea. Occasionally she, the fully qualified teacher known as Mrs Grey but known to me as Sue, would allow me to teach one of her classes. However, instead of being for my learning purposes, the classes I often taught were the most troubled. This meant Sue would be off shopping, or something else, while I would be back at the college stressing over how to approach the students whom seemed as though they had taken several opiates before their lecture.

Luckily, for me, as it happened, Sue had been at work all week so I just had my usual filing and tea making to do. A job that suited me fine, especially considering how much I had on my mind.

We sat in the staff room on one of the hard leather couches mulling over a cup of tea and our lunch while the students enjoyed their lunch break. I watched as one of the English department teachers read some of her teaching material and occasionally scribbled down some writing about god-knows what. She finished reading, finally, and then got up and disappeared to the toilet, I think, because she returned shortly to resume what she had started. There always seemed to be an awkward silence in here, as if as if no one dared to speak because what ever anyone said it would be overheard. Finally, the bell run and the rest of the day continued to speed on by.

That night I just stayed in watching television, wondering what Cheryl Cole would be doing right at that moment. I found it hard to believe that she would be watching television too, but instead imagined her to be hard at work in some anonymous studio surrounded by cameras and giant spotlights. I imagined her to be with her girl band, girls aloud, in a music studio, next, singing dreadfully out of tune to some rubbish their producer had made them promote. I wondered if Cheryl could actually sing, and if everything I had thought up to now had been completely unfair. Finally, while watching some cheesy hospital drama on the box, I decided she probably was everything I had originally stereotyped her as being; and that she meant nothing more to me than just a cheap fuck. However, I had never considered anyone I had shared a romantic confrontation with as being anything closely resembling a 'fuck'. Everyone I slept with, I made love to. I guess it was the reason why I never found men particularly attractive; there never seemed to be any passion about them. If I found a man who was passionate and sensual, however, I could easily fall for him.

Wednesday night had finally come around, and I know I must have spent at least three hours getting ready. I had tried on more than ten outfits that night, but finally I had settled on the 'casual but sexy' look, which consisted simply of a pair of black jeans, my favourite high heeled boots and a long, white vest top. I ruffled my straight, blonde hair while looking at the reflection of myself in the mirror. I actually looked quite good, I thought to myself, as I admired the natural beauty in my features. I suppose I looked a little better than average, but I still would not be noticed if I was to enter a room full of other women. What-- the voice inside my head thought-- did Cheryl see in me? This must have been some kind of sick joke, and I was falling foolishly right into their trap.

I had gotten into the taxi just shy of eight, hoping to be only late by about five minuets, but arrived at about quarter past. I rushed inside the nightclub and hastily scanned the room for Steven, her agent, so I could hopefully regain a little of my lost time. However, he was nowhere as far as I could see. I walked further into the nightclub and towards the bar, I had been here once or twice before but it was a little too popular for me, and waved to let the bar man know I wanted his service. He, however, was already busy with several other rowdy partygoers, so I decided to wait patiently and scan the dance floor some more.

I turned my head, sensing someone was approaching me, and watched as Cheryl's agent, Steven, shouted, "You're a bit late, aren't you?"

I nodded and then mouthed "Yeah, sorry," while I dismissed the approaching barman. He took my hand gently, an alien sensation for me—to feel a man's hand against my own, and lead me around the back and towards a heavily secured area. He smiled as we approached a closed door and patted me on the back supportively.

"See you," he said as he opened the closed door before us and introduced me to a room only containing Cheryl Cole. She turned and smiled at me, taking a sip from a tall glass containing sparkling champagne.

Bye, she silently worded to Steven as he left and I entered nervously. She stood up, she was so small and petite I felt like I towered over her in comparison, and poured me a glass of champagne too. There was a large pole in the middle, a stripper's pole I guessed, and two rows of seats on opposite sides to it.

"I hope this isn't a hint," I said, pointing at the pole. She laughed in response and winked.

"Unfortunately this is as romantic as time with me gets." She said, still giggling. I sat down in the seat opposing her and sat silently, not really knowing what to do with myself. I took a sip of the champagne and then winced afterwards, it tasted expensive and I did not want to have it wasted on me.

Noticing how uncomfortable the situation had become, Cheryl got up and sat next to me on the seat, she did not say anything but I knew what she expected of me. I took off my leather jacket, first, and then leant towards her to embrace her. She pulled away, however, and just stared into my eyes. I clenched my jaws in a mixture of confusion and frustration.

"I don't understand what you want from me, to be honest." I stuttered, leaning back as about as far away as I could without falling off the seat. Her body language was saying she wanted to kiss me, but it was as if she was not in the room with me.

"I don't expect anything from you." She answered as she reached out and caressed my cheek. I cupped her hand into mine and stared at her, "You're really beautiful." She finished.

"Hardly," I interrupted, noticing how her short and perfectly formed legs were now pressed up against my waist, "You have amazing..." I touched her leg gently with my palm and then grazed my way up to her thigh, "everything."

She giggled slightly and then took a drink of her champagne. I think I made her nervous when I touched her because she went a little tense. She struck me as the type of person who had always been the one making all of the advances, all of her life, and for someone else taking control; I guess that is why she suddenly pulled away from me.

"So," she said, obviously attempting to steer the conversation else where, "what do you do for a living?" As she had asked me, she had topped up my glass with more of the expensive bubbly.

"Teaching assistant, I guess I don't have to ask you, though." I replied. We giggled together but it seemed almost contrived, and the whole room felt awkward.

"No," she paused and nodded, "I guess you don't."

"And this is why I don't get out much," I said randomly, Cheryl looked up at me almost startled, "I completely can't socialise."

"No, it's me honestly. You are more human than the people I usually feel attracted to. It's scary," she continued, "in a good way." After she had spoken, she took a long drink of her alcohol and then put her glass next to mine on the floor. I leant over to her, again, and grabbed the space behind her ears before pressing my lips against hers. I closed my eyes, trying to remind myself this was not a dream, as I slipped my tongue gently in between her lips and thrust it into the warmth of her mouth. I revelled in her taste, the taste of sweetness and all things forbidden, as we became lost in a passionate embrace. I felt her hands wander behind my back and explore the gently curves of my hips. My own hands, however, remained locked against her neck and tickling her ear lobes. The room was completely silent, apart from the noises of our wet lips parting and our tongues caressing together, as we kissed for a good two minuets.

She was the first to pull away, and instead of stripping me naked or moving onto the next step, as I had expected, she just stared bizarrely into my eyes. I licked my lips as her brown eyes glazed over.

"What?" I giggled. I was still holding behind her neck and she was still caressing the back of my hips and above my buttocks.

"I've never slept with another woman." She whispered. I was not sure whether to believe her, I mean, if what her agent had been telling the truth about having to ask girls out all of the time; then she must have had plenty of girls begging to be fucked.