Page 60 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
‘WHAT IS IT?’
There is no response. If this is him asking me to get a new loo roll then he can do one. I put down the piles of socks I was hoping to sort and climb the stairs to our bedroom.
‘For the love of crap, Danny. What are you doing?’
It’s hard to explain what my eyes see before me. I thought I’d seen and heard it all in the last month: the sex toys, my brother-in-law with my sister, our good family friends who are into sex with feet. However, currently my husband is sat on our bed with a large sketch book. At the foot of the bed is Honey Bear. Honey Bear is one of those stupid four-foot bears gifted to us one Christmas, whom I haven’t had the stealth nor energy to hide or donate to a charity shop yet. I always thought Honey Bear didn’t have a use. I was wrong. Today he sits there with the strap-on that Danny bought a few weeks previously. His sewn-on smile takes on a whole new meaning as he sits there in a harness with an impressively lifelike protruding cock.
‘Poor Mr Honey Bear, you’re corrupting the little bugger…’
‘Well, he’s a shit model. Furry git won’t sit up properly.’
I grab him by the shoulders and try to pull him back.
‘The dildo’s too heavy, it’s weighing him down. He’s filled with cotton wool, he can’t support it.’
I look over at the edge of the bed where several pieces of paper are scrunched up on the floor. He wasn’t wrong; Honey Bear needs to find a different vocation in life.
‘Come here, I’ll put it on?’
He looks at me. I’m not sure what I’ve offered up here but it seems a better option than defiling a child’s toy.
‘Really?’
‘You don’t want me to use it on you, do you?’
‘No,’ he mutters sarcastically. ‘I just need to see how the straps sit around the leg and groin area.’
‘What are you drawing?’
‘Stuff.’
I’m hoping it’s not a couple of bears having sex. Isn’t there a whole group of fetishists who have sex with furry toys? I don’t question it. I just take the harness off the bear and start to fasten the straps around me.
‘Do I need to take off my pants?’ I ask, slightly horrified.
‘Nah, just put it over your leggings.’
I do as I’m told. It is very much like wearing a climbing harness. I tighten the straps around my thighs and stand there looking down. Is this what it’s like to have an erect penis? I expect a real one is not as malleable nor has such bounce. I stand there and jump up and down, rolling my hips to make it circle in the air like a wand.
‘Whenever you’re ready…’
I put a leg on the bed and lunge forward.
‘Where do you want me?’
He flares his nostrils, trying not to laugh. ‘Just stand there, legs slightly apart…maybe your hips slightly forward?’
I try a variety of positions. ‘There…just like that.’
He starts making rudimentary sketches. I put my hands on my hips. I’m reminded of someone I went out with at university called Ben who was always very proud of his erections and used to adopt this exact pose. Truth be told, he had very little to be proud of, though I never told him that.
‘Well, we’ve never done this on a Sunday before…’
‘Beats going to church.’
‘Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack…’
He laughs before falling into a deep concentration as he moves the pencil across the paper. I watch him as he does it. I’ve never studied the process before but it’s quite intense and dare I say it, a little sexy. By the look of his trouser regions, it’s not arousing for him but there’s definitely a strong focus there, a look in his eyes which is engaged and absorbed.
