Monday, 21 January 2013


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?

Friday, 18 January 2013


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.

Thursday, 17 January 2013


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.

Saturday, 12 January 2013


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.

Monday, 7 January 2013


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.

Thursday, 3 January 2013

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.