Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee by Fox Lana

Author:Fox, Lana [Fox, Lana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-03-21T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Frisson at Buttercup’s

Thursday, 22 March

Dear Kitten,

Well, when I got home, I was still rattled – not only by seeing Guy and Valerie curled up together, but also by my embarrassing behaviour last night. I know I vowed to be sexual, Kitten, to stop living a life that was riddled with repression, but if being sexually adventurous results in as much betrayal as being shy and unadventurous, then why should I bother?

Anyhoo, I left without waking Guy and Valerie, and got the bus home. Then once I was at my house, I couldn’t find my key. So I ended up sitting on my own doorstep, emptying my bag, object by object, trying to stay calm. A few minutes after I’d started this process, the front door opened and Janey appeared. ‘What you doing?’ she asked, blinking, surprised.

I’d spent all this time emptying my bag, chiding myself, when I could have just knocked. ‘I thought you’d be at your lectures,’ I said.

‘Dissertation day,’ she said, gazing at the step where the innards of my handbag lay displayed: a pack of hankies, some nail polish, my asthma inhaler, my purse, a book of stamps …

I opened my mouth to say, ‘I lost my key,’ but I couldn’t say the words without bursting into tears.

Before I know it, Janey’s clearing a space on the step by my side, sitting down next to me and wrapping an arm around me. ‘Oh, Debs, please don’t cry!’ she says. ‘Whatever happened, we’ll sort it out.’ And I look up through my tears, because the way she said ‘we’ makes me feel like I matter. ‘Look,’ she says, opening my pack of tissues and passing one to me, ‘I was just popping out to get a pastry and some coffee from Buttercup’s. Dissertation food.’ She gave me a wink. ‘Join me? I’ll pay. I need some time off.’

And I’m so touched that I agree.

Buttercup’s is a bakery round the corner from where I – or we, rather – live. I don’t go in there often because it isn’t en route to the bus, but once we’re seated in the tiny front room, with sunlight falling warmly on our red gingham tablecloth, I feel better – especially when the rosy-cheeked waitress brings us each an almond croissant and coffee in mugs. There’s a small fake carnation in the middle of the table, in a small glass vase. Not classy, but sweet. Perhaps that’s a little like me.

As I tell Janey about my night, including my becoming a total dominatrix, she doesn’t laugh or look amazed. She tips her head, watching me intently, her eyes so blue that it’s as if they’re lit from behind. Of course, I gloss over the sex, just explaining that it was way out there for me, and at times I speak in whispers because there are others nearby – there’s an elderly couple next to us, each doing a crossword puzzle in a different newspaper, and behind them is a girl with a

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