4.40 p.m.I was about to take Molly over to Hazel’s house when she suddenly decided that she didn’t want to go. I tried to appeal to her better nature by saying that Mum and Dad needed to spend some grown up time together but she didn’t care. Instead she’s just accepted the £20 note in my purse and a promise of two new outfits for her Build a Bear ponies. This shag is already costing me a fortune.
*
5.39 p.m.Oliver is stuck with a client. I’ve threatened to kill both him and his client and make it look like an IT-related accident. Oliver has informed me that I’m being unreasonable and also that I’m sexy when I’m desperate.
*
7.30 p.m.I am sitting here, shaved, scrubbed and wearing underwear that actually matches for once. I have champagne on ice and enough lube to hold a slip and slide for fifty people. The only thing that appears to be missing is Oliver. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
*
11.05 p.m.DRUNK! Turns out a whole bottle of champagne to yourself will do that. I hope my heartburn tomorrow won’t stop me from kicking Oliver’s arse.
Saturday February 25th
So Oliver made it home at midnight, or so he says. I was asleep. Still there’s nothing like being woken up at 6 a.m. by your boyfriend going down on you, which in turn started a chain of filth which continued until 1pm . . .
As expected, our first time didn’t last that long – Oliver was at the vinegar strokes from the moment he started, pulling my legs over his shoulders and forcefully thrusting like he was trying to make my IUD shoot out of the top of my head like Inspector Gadget. The second time, however, was far more considered; lots of oral and teasing before I climbed on top and took charge, making sure he felt everything before we both came. The third time was unexpected; he flipped me on to my stomach and pounded me for ages, making me bury my face into the pillow and scream. I don’t even think he came a third time but I did. Twice.
By the time Molly got home at 3 p.m., we were both dressed and pawing at each other like teenagers. Goddammit, even now I can still feel him inside me. I’m so excited to be with him again, especially now that I know what Pam’s third step has in store. Ugh, please don’t let us fuck this up.
Monday February 27th
Yikes. I logged into my computer at work this morning to find an email from Jay waiting for me. He wants me to ‘pop in’ at some point. He’s either going to give me some business or present me an invoice for a broken side plate.
Thinking that the six minutes of sunshine we had this morning was an indicator of the weather for the rest of the day, a raging Kelly arrived into work, umbrella-free and sodding wet.
‘Don’t say a word,’ she threatened, hanging up her dripping jacket. ‘I’m frozen to the bone. I’m going to end up with bloody pneumonia.’
Lucy and I both looked at Brian, who was clearly trying to think of something clever and witty and scathing to say. But he’s a mouthy little shitbag who works on recruitment and is an all-round sexist pig, so clever and witty he is not. I’m so grateful I never asked him to help me with my sex list all those years ago; I’d never have lived it down.
He screwed up his face. ‘Man, you’re gonnae be damp all day – like a wet dog. If you start to reek, I’m moving seats.’
Kelly calmly walked over to his desk, leaned forward and wrung out her hair into his freshly-made coffee. ‘Makes a change from me spitting in it, eh?’
Now THAT was funny.
Tuesday February 28th
I returned home from work to find that Oliver had cleaned out an old Ragu jar, covered it in a picture of American Gothic and placed it on top of our dressing table. Laughing, I carried it through to the living room, where he sat tapping away on his laptop.
‘So this is our sex jar? Nice picture. Looks like us. Please don’t leave this out though; I’m not ready to explain to Molly what Daddy has written, or drawn, about his knob.’
He grinned. ‘Yeah, we can’t afford therapy for usandMolly . . . you got any ideas yet? I’m eager to see what you come up with.’
I smiled coyly and walked back through to the bedroom where my smile changed to a look of panic. We only have to come up with three each but so far I’ve come up with fuck all. The whole point of this is to get us out of our comfort zone, so writing ‘any old sex – I DON’T CARE!’ on the back of an old receipt kind of defeats the purpose. Of course I want to have all of the filthy sex, but the truth is I’ve become lazy and it’s depressing. I need to snap out of this. It’s not so much that I’ve lost my sex drive, it’s just become fleeting and purposeless, like one of those sneezes that builds up and then changes its mind.
Still, after our session last week, I’m more than motivated to come up with something good. What do I really want to try? The more I think, the more I’m convinced we did everything last Friday . . .
March
Wednesday March 1st
Maggie called last night to say that her son had some sort of weird rash so it was probably a good idea to keep Molly away until it had been checked out by the doctors. Luckily I wasn’t working so I did the morning nursery run.
As it was still damp and cold outside, I wrapped Molly up until only her tiny face was showing from beneath her hat and scarf. I love that face. I could kiss it forever. Ruby didn’t appear to be there today, which meant I could avoid another interrogation from Sarah Ward-Wilson, no doubt wanting to ask how Oliver is and how much our combined income was. I hadn’t forgotten what Molly had told me about her crying in the bathroom at home but I was glad not to have to deal with it this morning.
Returning home, I plonked myself down on the couch with a pen and paper, trying to work out what on earth I could put in the jar. I noticed that Oliver had already written two notes but we agreed not to snoop. I fucking love a snoop. It’s killing me.
