The Last Year of Being Single by Sarah Tucker

Author:Sarah Tucker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Dress Ink
Published: 2003-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

8th April

Trip to Bath. Drive for an hour. Visit vegetarian restaurant. Play with food. Lose shoes. Cuddle and kiss in public. Feel furtive and look furtive. Notice other couples not talking to one another who must be married. John buys me a pair of leather trousers. I try on lots. He stands in the changing room watching me try on lots. We go into Agent Provocateur. He wants to see me try on lots but the girl behind the counter says he will have to wait until I get home. He says he is buying them for himself, not me. She smiles and says all the men say that. And it’s not funny or clever any more. I get two pairs of almost-there knickers. One black. One blue.

We go back to hotel. Black and blue knickers get torn off. Waste of eighty pounds. John says it was worth it. I think so too.

Get dressed for dinner. John says he wants me for dinner. I show him dress. He takes it off me, saying it doesn’t look good and I should wear another one. Then admits he just wants to undress me to have sex with me. I tell him I know, but it’s OK. We have another bath. We stay there so long I get chapped fingertips. He finds this a turn-off and suggests we don’t do it again. We splash like children and have a mini-waterfight with sponges. Laugh loudly and dry each other very slowly, making sure all the crevices are dry as well. Start kissing. Then into the bedroom, just reach the bed, and make love again for two hours. Realise it’s nine p.m. Put dress on and ask John not to take it off me. He says he won’t. Just kneels and puts his hand up my skirt and rips off my last pair of lacy knickers for the weekend. I ask him if he is going to replace them. He says that he likes the idea of me not wearing any knickers to dinner. And asks if that is OK with me. I say fine and that I have little choice unless I wear some of his briefs. He says that won’t be a turn-on. And anyway it would give me a horrid panty line.

He makes me come.

Four times. On the bed. In the en suite by the bath. In front of the window. Facing out towards the coming traffic. No one crashes. And over the dressing table. Facing the mirror. From behind.

We are very late for dinner. He rings to apologise and says we have been held up. Thankfully, they don’t ask what has held us up. They probably know. John leaves two of his ties attached to the posts of the four-poster, as though he had tied me up in some sex game. I say it’s a pity he has to pretend to tie me up and that I like the idea of being tied up by him. He says he will when we get back from dinner.

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