Page 63 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
I don’t know what to say. There is so much to vocalise here. Is this some manifestation of suppressed sexual desire that he thinks is more socially acceptable than an affair? I wait with bated breath to hear his take on everything. ‘Stu is an idiot most of the time but he has a point. What we have, our girls, this life…that’s what I’m here for. I wouldn’t be without you.’
It’s a strange and frank admission of love.
‘This. The drawing stuff is not about us and the sex we have. You need to start believing that.’
Whilst I appreciate the sentiment, it might be easier to believe if I wasn’t stood at the edge of our marital bed wearing this thing.
‘Is there anything you want to try?’ I ask.
Danny pauses for a moment. ‘There’s something new we could do?’ I hold my breath. Please don’t let it be nipple clamps. I’ve breastfed, my nipples have been through enough. ‘Can you send me photos?’
‘Of what?’
‘I dunno… it was fun taking pictures of your tits the other night.’
I nod, my eyes scanning the room. I think I can do that.
‘Do you want to try anything new?’ he asks back.
I pause for a moment. I look down at my fake penis and the body holding it up. I have no bloody idea what I want. All my bodily parts that I once associated with sexual pleasure were loaned out to babies and now I have a complex relationship with said bits. They don’t look like they once did, they’ve succumbed to age. It’s a natural part of the process, but at times I just don’t see the attraction. It’s a sobering admission to make to myself let alone to someone I love.
‘I just want to feel like me again. Like us. Like back when we first met…’
‘When we had sex on stairs…’
‘Right?’ I smile. ‘Sex is a feeling as well, an energy, being confident in yourself. I don’t really feel like that about me, my body…’
I purse my lips as I realise talk has made me a little emotional. I sit here, the world’s saddest wearer of a strap-on ever.
‘Why are you getting sad, you silly bint? Come here.’
He unstraps me from the harness and brings me in for a hug. For the first time, I think he may finally realise how all these pictures have made me feel about myself.
‘It’s not like I’m some frigging model of thirtysomething fitness. Have you seen my six pack recently?’
‘Family pack…’ He pokes me in jest. I rest my head on his shoulder. ‘My babies grew in that body. That’s everything.’
That’s the thing about Danny Morton; he doesn’t do full disclosure emotional outpourings too often so when he does, they’re the sort of moments that you know mean something. I look him in the eye, grab his cheeks and kiss him.
‘I love you,’ I mutter near his mouth. He kisses me back. And maybe this is what I’ve missed the most: the chance to have a long lingering kiss with my husband. Because I forgot that he is a great kisser, forgot the way he runs a tongue over my bottom lip, and places a hand to the back of my head. I get lost in it for a moment as he pulls away from me and studies my face, from my constellation of freckles all the way down to the wrinkles on my chin.
‘You’re a terrible model, you’re very distracting.’
‘It’s because I’m not paid.’
‘I can think of ways to pay you…?’
We both laugh. He continues to kiss me but this time takes off my top, and unclasps my bra with one hand. He lays me on the bed and kisses down my neck, my cleavage and my breasts, slowly circling my nipples. I giggle and he smiles knowing it’s a well-rehearsed move that is guaranteed to do what’s needed. He trails down to my stomach where his tongue moves all along my skin, rippled and stretch-marked but he takes no heed. He then pulls down my knickers and leggings together and stands there at the edge of the bed getting undressed. And before he comes to join me again, he looks at my body up and down with a raised eyebrow. There’s no hiding my doughy, crepey flesh in this Sunday morning light, but he smiles, grabs at my ankles and pushes my knees up to my chest. It catches me by such surprise that I put my hands over my head and I wait for him to enter me, catching my breath as he does and his face comes to meet mine. For the first time, in a long time, I feel it. Electricity. He looks me in the eye and smiles, all those finely engraved lines by his eyes creasing up.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m Danny. Nice to meet you.’
‘Meg. Nice to meet you too. You come here often?’
‘Once in a while if my wife allows for it.’
‘You’re married! I’m shocked.’
‘So are you by the looks of that ring. Your husband mind you’re here?’
