I treated myself to a new weekend bag for some upcoming trips I’ve scheduled to break up my sadnesses a little. And so I got to thinking about what I should bring on my excursion to London. I may have overpacked.
In the last week, whilst I have been trying to increase/streamline/provide evidence of my web presence as a writer, I started worrying. Yes, the book we do not speak of has made erotica – and specifically BDSM flavoured erotica – more culturally acceptable as a genre, up to a point. We read these books in public and no one bats an eyelid, even though most of them know someone is getting something eye-smartingly painful done to them within those pages at any given time. And yet, when I link my extracts of works in progress, I feel resistance within myself. For this is dirty work, in anyone’s language. This is wet and sticky and I am very proud of my words, but there is still that kernel of doubt that I am going too far.
On Sunday morning, I am wrapped around you like a blanket, drawing a smiley face in your chest hair.
“I’m hungry.” I say. It’s 10am, at 9.30am I was spread-eagled on the sheet, your face nestled between my thighs with my fingers knotted in your hair.
“Hmmmm. I’m hungry too.”
“I ate the last of the bacon yesterday.” At 9.45am I was riding you, the mains-powered wand grinding my clit and you were using me in my favourite way as I came for a second time and you flooded my cunt.
“Hmmmm.” I frowned. “So, you’ll go and get the bacon?”
He laughed and held me tighter. “Yes, kitten – I will go and buy some bacon.”
“Good.” but as he tried to pull away and sit upright I threw my legs over his.
“But you stay here where it’s warm.”
“Ok…..” He lay back down. I bit into the flesh of his bicep.
“But where’s the bacon?”
“In the shop.”
“Ok you go and get the bacon. But also stay here.”
“Where’s the bacon?”
There was a pause.
“In the shop.”
“Ok. You go and get the bacon but also stay here where it’s warm and I can cuddle you. Ok?”
“Ok, I’ll stay here but also get out of bed and go to the shop where the bacon is and you can stay here and keep the bed warm for me and then I will come back and cook the bacon and get back into bed for the cuddles to continue. Ok?”
“But….You stay here?”
“How much do you want a bacon sandwich?”
In his defence, it was a very good bacon sandwich.
This is the sequel of a sort to Girlfriends
I’d noticed her before, all bossiness and tits.
Not her friend, though. She was new. A dark-haired piece in a too-small dress. It clung to her body, to everywhere. Stomach rolls, and fat acres of thigh.
They might as well have been on a date, ignoring the rest of us, crammed in the smallest bar of the pub because the Christmas do hadn’t been booked until October. I turned back to the knot of management behind me and when I next allowed my gaze to flutter over to those women, they were still talking, avoiding the rest of us. They could have been on a date. Lesbian canoodling on the company dollar.
I snorted into my pint and, catching Jay’s eye, went to join in with the departmental singalong of We Are the Champions. And every so often, I’d turn back and look at them, at their heads bent together, still ignoring the rest of us. I must have known.