Playground

There are few secrets sacred in the playground,

where we all compete, all

bitch about each other, silently

ungenerously, unwomanly: how that one is too

posh to wash; how this one flirts outrageously with the

First-Team coach; how she shows her

Botox to the world, but wouldn’t show her

husband her arsehole.

And me? Quiet me, trying to look

inconspicuous? What are they all

thinking of me as I avoid their looks,

scan the heave for my children as my

lover’s sperm drips by the million into the

gusset of my Marks and Spencer knickers?

Eyes

Some women stare into the one eye that can

sting them, fascinated to see what their

mouths and hands have wrought, others

stare into your eyes, searching intently for the

paradox of pain in pleasure, and others

close their eyes to savour everything from

sore knees to bruised lips to the

hand knotted in the hair and the sudden

flooding in the throat.

Webcam

Why do the shy strip so erotically?

She knows no bump and grind, no

lasciviousness; she chose music she could

dance to, not something sultry; spent

most of the song playing with her

sundress, then undressed quickly and

forgot how knickers get

tangled on ankles, the sexy look

succumbing to a blushing smile becoming

confusion as the track ends with her

nakedly self-conscious and a dash to

cut the webcam, proffering a final

unintentional close-up of her nipples, like

sea-glazed pebbles.

Clutch

She thought her days of doing this were long gone,

but then so was her ex-husband, there was a

babysitter at home and the guy’s wife wasn’t keen on

late-night visitors, apparently, whilst the general

lack of money for luxuries like hotels and

beds lead them to this dark lay-by where she was

discovering how unlimber she had become, how hard it was to

bend enough to suck adequately, how modern seats

prevented deep penetration, how easy it was for her

foot to become wedged under the clutch, how much she

regretted getting cloth covers, how

desperate for an orgasm she had become, how

much in need she was of a

bigger car.

Technology

She wondered which of the gazillion programmes on her

washing-machine wouldn’t ruin the

secrets Victoria had vouchsafed, what to

defrost in the microwave with its

rebarbative instructions, how to

schedule the Skype meeting with the

Execs from four time-zones; how to get them to

stop blabbing so she had time to

shower and shave and

dress sexily for her lover, show him how the

happy-snaps worked, make sure the

video was plugged in, and the

laptop with the webcam was

well-positioned so her

husband working abroad could watch her being

well fucked, and where were the batteries, and---

oh ma-a-an, she moaned as the

cock did its job, a

woman’s work is never done.

Braced for Love

He remembered the first girl he’d kissed at school,

how their braces had clashed, how they’d

laughed and then got that serious look and

got on with the business of kissing determinedly.

Well, his teeth didn’t need bracing now but his

body did, as did this woman’s, and after so many

kiss-less years, the yearning was

palpable as mouth leant towards mouth and their

chair-wheels clashed with the same sound as

brace on brace, and for a moment they

stared into each other’s eyes, then laughed and

got on with the determined business of kissing seriously.