‘What? Yes, I’m sure it is.’
‘And that stress is one of the biggest factors in long-term sick leave? I mean, what would happen if I became so stressed that I had to be signed off for months? MONTHS, Frank. In fact, even being dragged in here in full view of everyone is making my blood pressure rocket. I may have to lie down.’
‘Lucy, I know what you’re trying to do here and—’
‘Sure, I was looking at dresses on work time. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t all done something that perhaps HR wouldn’t approve of. Wouldn’t you agree?’
I could almost hear his jaw fall open. Oh, she went there. Both my ears and my face were burning.
‘I liked the cream dress better,’ he said meekly. ‘The white was too frilly.’
Friday June 16th
I awoke to see the old couple from the sex jar staring at me this morning from my bedside table. Oliver had already gone to work but had slipped a request in there before he left.
Buy lube, Henderson. I want a big, dirty hand job.
I snort-laughed loudly, just as Molly burst into the bedroom. ‘Why are you laughing?’ I quickly scrunched his piece of paper up and stuck it under my pillow.
‘Oh nothing. I just remembered something silly Dad said earlier,’ I covered. ‘Do you want some cereal, honey?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, please. Dad is always saying silly things, isn’t he? He’s funny.’
‘He is,’ I agreed. ‘He’s been making me laugh since we were in high school.’
Molly scrunched up her face. ‘Even in the olden days? That’s a lot of jokes.’
I suddenly felt very lucky. Not many people get to have laughed as hard and for as long as I have.
Saturday June 17th
Had yet another dream about Kyle last night! However, this time he had really large balls – like two dangling melons. I remember staring at them in horror, a bit like when Mia Farrow stares into the crib inRosemary’s Baby. I think I’ve now quashed any subconscious desires for Kyle. I don’t want to see that again. I’m done.
Sunday June 18th
Someone on Facebook used ‘lol’ today and it put me in a bad mood. In fact, Facebook in general puts me in a bad mood. If it’s not endless streams of motivational memes, it’s someone posting the same filtered selfie, at the same angle, for the 654thtime. You have a face, it has a good side – WE GET IT. Still, at least I’m not on Instagram or Snapchat, that shit is worse. Maybe it’s my age, but I really have no interest in what your dinner looks like or that you’ve added a dog nose and ears to your face – it’s hilarious but you’re also forty.
Monday June 19th
As I took my make-up off tonight, it suddenly hit me that I’m starting to look old. Not Titanic-survivor-old but certainly not as youthful as I think I am when not confronted by my own face in the mirror. I swore I’d never be one of those overly neurotic women who gets hung up on her ageing appearance but now that it’s happening, I can’t help it. I accepted reality when my tits started heading south because my bra dealt with that but now that everything has started heading south, I’m wondering why there isn’t a hoist to help. My jaw isn’t as defined as it once was and the laughter lines around my mouth aren’t going anywhere when I stop laughing. I feel like Pennywise the clown. Not only am I drooping, I’m also producing grey hair at a rapid rate. Perhaps my first belated New Year’s resolution should be buying a hair dye to deal with the silver roots landing strip which has appeared on top of my gradually sagging head.
Tuesday June 20th
Popped to Boots after work to buy some dye. Why do I feel like the moment I hover near the hair colourants, people immediately start judging me and my hair? I should have dealt with this a long time ago and now I’ve reached a level of self-neglect that only L’Oréal, some rubber gloves and a triple sandwich meal deal can help with. I also picked up some new foundation, nail varnish, oh, and some lube for Oliver’s forthcoming sex jar request. I’ll look groomed as fuck while I’m wanking off my boyfriend.
Thursday June 22nd
Last night I made the very important decision never to buy, smell or be in the same room as strawberry lube, ever again.
Oliver’s hand job request began with him sitting on the edge of the bed and me kneeling between his legs. Instead of the old reach-across in bed, he wanted to ‘look at me doing it, preferably with my tits out’ but that was my call.
Having touched Oliver’s dick hundreds – nay, millions – of times, I knew what he liked – the pressure, the ball cupping, the double-handed moves that made him thrust towards me without warning – so this should have been a no-brainer. As I pulled the top off the lube and squirted some into my hand, the overpowering smell of overly sweet fake strawberry made me want to gag. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the texture of the lube was all wrong. It didn’t glide; it was sticky. It was sticky and it stank. Oliver appeared oblivious, eagerly waiting for me to begin while I casually tried to prize my now-gummy hands apart. Telling myself that what this situation needed was simply more lube, I squirted half the tube over my hands, his knob and the bedcovers, wishing to fuck I’d just bought baby oil.
At first it worked. My hands moved over his cock easily as he watched, occasionally reaching down to make sure my boobs were still bouncy for reasons known only to him. But the lube dried quickly, the smell was becoming overwhelming and the more I applied, the more ridiculous the whole situation became. I was up to my elbows in strawberry glue while dodging the intermittent squirming of a man who was definitely getting the worst hand job of his life. Eventually he moved back on the bed and away from my grasp.
‘OK, enough!’ he exclaimed, picking up the sticky bottle of lube. ‘What in the hell is this shit?! It smells like a mixture of Starburst and spermicide . . . and it’s not even lubey!’
I could feel it crusting in between my fingers. ‘I know,’ I replied, shaking my head. ‘It was on offer. It was an impulse buy.’
