Page 74 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
We both go a bit quiet. It’s past five so the sky has darkened and out beyond the thickets and bushes, sky and landscape roll out for miles. The one thing you have to love about this place is the clarity of the night sky, the stars shine that bit brighter. Danny puts his hand out to grasp mine. We interlock fingers.
‘You seriously don’t want to get up to things like that then?’
Danny shakes his head. ‘We don’t have enough bath towels for a start. We’d have to put the swing in the hallway.’
I laugh. If we were inviting someone else in, I’d have to change the sheets too. And shave. It seems like too much hard work.
‘I feel a bit dull in comparison.’
‘You’re not dull. I am though.’
‘But you’re Captain Mintcake.’
‘On paper. In real life, I like my sex with the one person. Less complicated that way.’
‘I hope that person’s me.’
‘Yeah. Always been you.’
And then something quite untoward happens. I’ll admit, I’m a bit of a sucker for Danny’s aloof wordsmithery but tonight, coupled with the dark car, the stars in the sky and maybe in an attempt to prove myself a little sexually adventurous, I reach over and kiss him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in close to me. As I bite gently on his bottom lip, he smiles and opens his eyes.
I undo my seatbelt, take off my coat and then roll my jeggings down my legs with my knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. Danny doesn’t have to say a word. He pushes the seat back and pulls his trousers down from his waist. I try and climb over to straddle him.
‘Don’t fall on gearstick now. Unless you want to…’
I laugh and lower myself over his lap.
‘Mrs Morton. We’re having sex in a car. Around the corner from the headteacher’s house.’
‘I know.’ What the actual hell are we doing? I smile and run my tongue along the inside of his neck, feeling him harden under me.
‘The suspension won’t take it. It’s a Volvo,’ he whispers.
‘You need to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.’
‘I love it when you talk about Sweden.’
‘Ikea.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Meatballs.’
‘Billy Bookcase.’
I laugh, my head knocked back. He takes this as an opportunity to run a tongue along my collar bone. I feel the effect immediately and gasp. His hands reach down, cupping my buttocks, lifting them and slowly lowering them over his cock. We both sigh as he enters me, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.
‘Viggo Mortensen.’
‘He’s Danish.’
‘Same thing.’
He smiles broadly and pushes his hips up, telling me I don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. I grab on to the car seat and lever myself up and down, hearing the effect in his moans, building a rhythm and a movement that sees the car sway from side to side. He looks me in the eye, that goofy smile still plastered to his face. But then he squints. Light. Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head. Oh fuckety fuck fuck fuuuu––
Fourteen
You have kids, you own a house, you get married and are in charge of your own laundry. It puts you on a different plane of maturity, you are grown up and answerable to no one but yourself. You can eat chocolate for breakfast, crisps in bed and occasionally walk around the house in outdoor shoes (unless you’re the McArthurs). It’s the best thing about being an adult, except it turns out you are answerable to certain people in society: the taxman, bus drivers and… the police. Namely, Constable Walsh sat in front of us at a desk peering over his glasses and making both Danny and I feel about two feet tall. The problem is we wouldn’t be sat here if it wasn’t for Danny. Danny who assumed the policeman who caught us having sex in a very public passing place was just a snooping passer-by and had an array of irate and colourful words to say to him. It was made worse when I screamed in his ear, ‘It’s the rozzers!’ I hopped off him a tad too hastily, possibly bending his penis at an unsavoury angle and he responded by opening the car door forcefully. Into Constable Walsh’s face. There was blood (not Danny’s). There was swearing. There was a point Constable Walsh reached down to what looked like a taser and I started crying in fear thinking he was reaching for a gun and my children were about to become orphans which is stupid as police in this country don’t carry guns, let alone Lakeland police who usually have to deal with little else but lost sheep and speeding cars. But that’s not what shoots through your mind when you’ve collapsed out of a car into a country lane without any knickers on, trying your hardest to pull your T-shirt over your bare arse and convincing a policeman that you’re not a violent criminal.
