Erotica
for
Fabienne
and
Guy De Maupassant
T welve months we’d been trying and no luck.
Mike came back from the garage at lunchtime
as promised. He hadn’t cleaned up and I could see there was still oil under
his fingernails. Not that it mattered. Foreplay was something he left for the
golf course when he went out with his mates for the Sunday escape.
I was already in bed waiting.
Everything was right. My temperature was up
and it fitted in with the chart the doctor had given us.
I had the pillow under my hips and the
electric blanket was keeping me warm.
Mike didn’t say a word when he undressed.
He hated it when I was ovulating. The pressure was getting to him, I knew
that.
First of all he couldn’t get it up. It was
always like that these days.
I had to give his cock a suck to see if I
could bring out the giant I knew was lurking there, but there was nothing.
Mike blew air from his nostrils like a
dragon unable to produce flames. He pushed my head away and picked up the book
from his bedside table.
‘Erotica’ it was called. There was a
picture of a woman’s mouth on the front with a cherry teasing her lips.
It’s what he had to do to get a hard on.
He read holding the book with one hand and
rubbing himself with the other until the job was done.
When he was ready he put the book down and
thrust inside me.
I’ve never lost the pleasure of feeling him
there. It’s like he’s reaching into my stomach he’s so huge. But it’s not the
same. Not like it used to be. He grunts, moves back and forwards and never
bothers to kiss me. He pushes harder and faster and just before he comes he
gives out a moan like he’s in pain. He squirts and rolls off me then lies back
like a beached whale.
So his job's done.
He lit up a cigarette and stared at the
ceiling.
With the pillow under my hips, I sank down
into the mattress and let gravity take his sperm down to meet my egg. That’s
if there was any sperm.
Mike looked at me and seemed to read my
doubts.
We’d talked about it. About him going to
the doctor. It just made him cross.
I reached over and touched his hand.
“It’ll be all right this time, you’ll see.”
“Yeah,right.” He pushed my hand away and
threw the duvet to my side. “You know, it would be easier if you were more like
Crystal.” He reached over and lifted his book, then held it up to me like it
was the bible and he was some kind of preacher. “Crystal likes sex. Delights in
it. She’s a real woman. Why the hell didn’t I marry a real woman.” There was
so much bitterness in the way he said it that the tears were rolling down my
cheeks before his words were finished.
I watched him as he picked up his overalls
and left the bedroom slamming the door shut.
It took me a few hours to pull myself back
together.
I’d stayed in bed to help that sperm.
There was no point standing and letting all that work go to waste.
Some women, mothers, say that they can tell
the moment of conception as if there’s been a tiny kick inside them or
something. I couldn’t feel a thing.
I cried some more and fell asleep.
When I woke up, the light was already
fading outside.
I switched on the lamp and looked at the
book Mike had unceremoniously dumped on his side of the bed.
Erotica.
I wasn’t even sure what that meant.
Maybe, I thought, if I read a little and
became a little more like this Crystal character...
page 53
EROTICA - Paris: Day 3
Paris is all I thought it would be and
more.
Today I wandered through the streets
soaking it all in.
Everyone’s so beautiful.
The men come in all shapes and sizes, but
no matter what they’re either handsome or rugged. Each one of them looks like
they know how to treat a lady.
The women are beautiful. All of them.
Even the old dears who wander with their tiny dogs for company.
It’s the younger ones I love. They’re so
elegant. Their summer dresses flow off their bodies and suggest untold
treasures
for
Fabienne
and
Guy De Maupassant
T welve months we’d been trying and no luck.
Mike came back from the garage at lunchtime
as promised. He hadn’t cleaned up and I could see there was still oil under
his fingernails. Not that it mattered. Foreplay was something he left for the
golf course when he went out with his mates for the Sunday escape.
I was already in bed waiting.
Everything was right. My temperature was up
and it fitted in with the chart the doctor had given us.
I had the pillow under my hips and the
electric blanket was keeping me warm.
Mike didn’t say a word when he undressed.
He hated it when I was ovulating. The pressure was getting to him, I knew
that.
First of all he couldn’t get it up. It was
always like that these days.
I had to give his cock a suck to see if I
could bring out the giant I knew was lurking there, but there was nothing.
Mike blew air from his nostrils like a
dragon unable to produce flames. He pushed my head away and picked up the book
from his bedside table.
‘Erotica’ it was called. There was a
picture of a woman’s mouth on the front with a cherry teasing her lips.
It’s what he had to do to get a hard on.
He read holding the book with one hand and
rubbing himself with the other until the job was done.
When he was ready he put the book down and
thrust inside me.
I’ve never lost the pleasure of feeling him
there. It’s like he’s reaching into my stomach he’s so huge. But it’s not the
same. Not like it used to be. He grunts, moves back and forwards and never
bothers to kiss me. He pushes harder and faster and just before he comes he
gives out a moan like he’s in pain. He squirts and rolls off me then lies back
like a beached whale.
So his job's done.
He lit up a cigarette and stared at the
ceiling.
With the pillow under my hips, I sank down
into the mattress and let gravity take his sperm down to meet my egg. That’s
if there was any sperm.
Mike looked at me and seemed to read my
doubts.
We’d talked about it. About him going to
the doctor. It just made him cross.
I reached over and touched his hand.
“It’ll be all right this time, you’ll see.”
“Yeah,right.” He pushed my hand away and
threw the duvet to my side. “You know, it would be easier if you were more like
Crystal.” He reached over and lifted his book, then held it up to me like it
was the bible and he was some kind of preacher. “Crystal likes sex. Delights in
it. She’s a real woman. Why the hell didn’t I marry a real woman.” There was
so much bitterness in the way he said it that the tears were rolling down my
cheeks before his words were finished.
I watched him as he picked up his overalls
and left the bedroom slamming the door shut.
It took me a few hours to pull myself back
together.
I’d stayed in bed to help that sperm.
There was no point standing and letting all that work go to waste.
Some women, mothers, say that they can tell
the moment of conception as if there’s been a tiny kick inside them or
something. I couldn’t feel a thing.
I cried some more and fell asleep.
When I woke up, the light was already
fading outside.
I switched on the lamp and looked at the
book Mike had unceremoniously dumped on his side of the bed.
Erotica.
I wasn’t even sure what that meant.
Maybe, I thought, if I read a little and
became a little more like this Crystal character...
page 53
EROTICA - Paris: Day 3
Paris is all I thought it would be and
more.
Today I wandered through the streets
soaking it all in.
Everyone’s so beautiful.
The men come in all shapes and sizes, but
no matter what they’re either handsome or rugged. Each one of them looks like
they know how to treat a lady.
The women are beautiful. All of them.
Even the old dears who wander with their tiny dogs for company.
It’s the younger ones I love. They’re so
elegant. Their summer dresses flow off their bodies and suggest untold
treasures
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