My vagina clenches at the thought. “Show me yourself.”
The camera pans down and I can see the ridge in his trousers. “Take it out,” I demand.
The view shakes as he unzips himself with one hand and exposes his fully erect manhood. I wet my lips.
“Touch them,” he says.
Fair enough. I prop the phone on a pillow and move both hands to my tits, tweaking my nipples. His cock surges and hishand strokes. Another bolt of lust courses through me. We move together. “Now your clit,” he says and I obey. I like this.
I hope his door is locked because I don’t want to stop. I’m on my knees on my bed, one hand between my thighs, one on my breasts, my eyes glued to the phone screen and his cock.
And then he groans. Shudders overtake me at the sound as the tension in me bursts.
“Oh, fuck, Cora. You’re so beautiful.” The words are a moan. “It’s killing me I’m not with you.”
The joy that brings is incredible. “Tomorrow,” I promise.
Then we say our goodnights and I snuggle down.
Turns out Cora, the boring old mum, is a phone sex goddess.
Dinner With my Daughter
I don’t know why I’m nervous. Effie has met Anders before. We’ve even eaten together at our picnic on Primrose Hill. But somehow, this seems more significant.
My daughter doesn’t appear at all anxious, calmly building Lego on her child-sized table in her toy corner. I’m keeping an eye on the macaroni cheese baking in the oven. I’ve even made pudding – Eton mess with shop-bought meringues (come on! I’m a working mum) – and it’s chilling in the fridge.
When the door buzzer sounds, I say, “That will be Anders.”
Effie’s head comes up. She stands. “Don’t mess this up for us,” she warns before falling in beside me.
I feel like rolling my eyes as I open the door. Then Anders is in front of me, still in his work uniform of black jeans and tee, and I don’t know what to do. Should we kiss? Should we even touch? Effie is watching my every move with judgemental eyes.
Anders takes the decision out of my hands by giving me a peck on the cheek before leaning down and offering a fist to Effie. She responds.
“Mummy’s cooked,” she says by way of greeting. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” My dear daughter has had too much of Fiona’s cooking when staying over with Max.
We step back, and Anders enters. Effie leads him to the sofa as I make him the coffee he requested. He puts down his rucksack, opens it and pulls out a bag of American marshmallows. “For you,” he says, offering it to Effie.
“Thank you,” she says formally. Then she looks at me.
“One,” I say. “After dinner.” Effie isn’t one to gorge. This bag may well last her months. The gift means more to her than its consumption.
“And for you,” Anders produces a box of my favourite chocolates, with its distinctive orange packaging. I receive them with a small qualm. He does realise he’s only getting macaroni cheese? I feel like a hostess outclassed by her guest.
While I get busy in the kitchen, I hear Effie asking, “How is your daddy? Mummy told me he was sick.”
“He’s getting better now. We just have to stop him doing too much on the farm.”
“Farm?” I hear the intense interest in Effie’s word. “Does your daddy have a farm?”
“Yes. It’s a dairy farm, so he has cows. Wisconsin, where I come from, is known for its cheese.”
“I like cows,” she says. That’s new. Penguins and dolphins and reptiles, yes. Now cows, apparently. “I’ve never been to a farm.”
She’s blatantly angling and Anders falls into her trap. “I could take you to visit.”
“We’d probably have to bring my mummy,” she says.
