His first envious reaction falls as he realises the constraints of that. “Does that not get… I don’t know, feeling a bit mechanical?”
“It’s OK. We’ve done OK at keeping it fun, mastering the ten-minute quickie. Taking more time every week or two.” I sigh. “I can’t pretend it’s not taking a toll. I know he’s hardly shagging Sheena at all, or anyone else he’s been seeing. I’ve not been seeing anyone but Damien since Becky, and that’s not that frequent. I miss the different stuff, you know? The wanting to talk about sex, the anticipation, know what I mean?”
“And this is where I come in? But serious, sweetheart, you can’t go on like that for ever. Have you thought about IVF? Or giving up?”
“I’m never doing IVF. My mental health wouldn’t stand for it, and the hormones… The stuff they have me on just to trigger ordinary ovulation — it has side effects. Not as bad as the meds to produce a period first…”
“What happened?” I’m chuckling, so he’s curious.
“Well, part of PMT is hormones telling you to fuck anything in sight and be pissed off if they won’t. Imagine that, dialled up to eleven… My god, I was having to sit on my hands on the Tube so I didn’t grope anyone gorgeous! And suddenly ninety percent of the carriage seemed gorgeous too…”
“Oh god!”
“Yeah. I was just about coping, then second time I was on it I had to go to a meeting near Hyde Park. Mounted police. I went down this alley and there’s this cop in his black jodhpurs and shiny black riding boots…”
“Nice…”
“Exactly! Right next to me, and I’m gripping my coat pockets so I don’t end up grabbing his inner thigh…”
“Wise. Don’t grope cops without asking. Good rule for life.”
“And then he swings himself up onto his horse so I get a huge eyeful of the inside leg on both sides, and the package at the top, and his arse…”
“Mmm…”
“You can’t imagine how good it looked. Only I swear I was burning up inside, with the effort not to pull him back off his horse! He trotted off quickly; I have never been so relieved in my long life!”
“Oh, dear! Poor you.”
“And the hormones for IVF are about ten times as strong, to get you to superovulate. So, just, no.”
I knock back the rest of the whisky. “So I figure I’ll give it a go until I’m forty, then resign myself to the happy DINKY lifestyle with lots of fancy holidays with Dave, being a disreputable aunt to Jack and Rosie and any other kids the gang produce.”
“Nanny Ogg, basically?” He’s got a cheeky glint in his eye, and I pull his ear and tweak it.
In response, he uses his legs to hold me down while he pushes me onto my stomach, and then sits on my ankles as he examines my outfit. He’s running his hands up the stockings, tentatively pressing at the bare skin at the tops as if he were a naive teenager again, unsure how far he’d be permitted to go.
“Seamed stockings. Nice,” he comments. Then he must have caught sight of my arse where my skirt had ridden up, as he calls out, “Whoa!”
His hands leap up to my bum cheeks, thumbs running down the edges of the little thong, then over the scrap of fabric. “I’m gonna have to readjust my fantasies, you realise. I’d always been thinking of you in far more sensible undies.”
“You know how you’re told clean underwear is vital in case someone sees it? Well, I figure if someone’s definitely going to see it… Special occasion.”
“I’m honoured, I truly am.” He drawls the words out, hokey cowboy — Irish freedom fighter? – all ‘ah am’, and I feel myself getting wet even before he touches me over sensitive bits.
And then I’m getting wetter. I hadn’t really expected much, but he’s diving in there, sinking his face between my legs, inhaling, loving it, pressing with fingers where that damp cloth is, kneading my arse.
“Turn over.”
I obey. Why wouldn’t I?
He lays his hand down over the crotch of my pants again, this time able to find my clit through them and circle it with one finger.
“Gotta feel sorry for Linz and Will, having us two influencing their kids,” he says.
“Naah. It’ll be — aah! – good for them. Stop Will being so — oh, yeah… – pompous git.”
He grins and sucks one nipple, letting his hand continue driving me mad. Then he shifts to use his other hand on my tit, pinching gently but not letting it drop, so I’m pushing my groin into his fingers while he continues conversationally, “Be harder with Stu’s kid. Can’t see him or Julie being so welcoming of bad influences.”
Julie’s also a determined up-and-coming civil servant, with a temporary Directorship under her belt. She’s lovely, but you don’t cross her. I should put a fiver on her becoming the first black Permanent Secretary. I get the impression her word is law in their house. Though with maternity, who knows? Stu might become a trailblazer for taking his paternity leave and then some, or maybe she’ll take a few years out and take over the school PTA?
Ade continues, “One thing’s for sure, they won’t have nearly so much time to do things like this… you’d best enjoy while you can…”
He’s right, of course he’s right, and with what he does with his body weight over my thighs, his hands and his face, his hair brushing over my sensitised skin, I’m not arguing. Not at all.
We’re lounging in the bed still, with another excellent whisky — a cask strength Ardbeg, glass of water on the side. I agree, a teaspoonful opens it up no end, letting the various notes shine out rather than being lost under the alcohol. And Adrian’s bare chest is next to mine, my arm rests on his denim-clad thigh, and he’s as relaxed as I’ve ever seen. I could really get used to this, hanging out with him, not having to worry about the sexual tension at all, because the tension’s all gone, replaced by open curiosity and discovery.
It’s really nice. I get dressed again reluctantly when it’s time to head home, though I’m also looking forward to getting home and getting a damn good rogering from Dave! I’m nearly ready when it occurs to me.
“That Dan you saw again — seen him since at all?”
That quirk of Ade’s mouth must be a smile he’s hiding. “Aye,” he says curtly.
“Uh-huh. Going to see him again?”
A moment as he looks up, to his left, considering lying. Decides against. “Aye. I am.”
I don’t need to have known the guy twenty years to tell he doesn’t want to talk about it because he’s terrified of jinxing it. Bless him.
“That’s nice. Him not bailing when he saw me that first time was a good sign, I thought.”
“Aye, he’s got balls. Anyway, that you? Safe home, text us when ye get in. Regards to Dave.”
I spend the train journey from London Bridge sexting Dave, who pounces on me the moment I’m through the door, and does a great job of fucking me senseless. For once, I’m relieved to shove a pillow under my arse and lie back for ten minutes, attempting to give his sperm their best possible chance to get to my probably non-existent egg.
Great sex does exist. I try to count my blessings and focus on that.
It’s nearly midnight when I get a text from Adrian — I forgot to message him when I got home.
‘You OK, woman?’
I tap fast. ‘Very much. Sorry, just had to let Dave do his duty, and all that.’