Relight my Fire

by Joanna Bolouri

  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 us and Molly . . . 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.

  Forty-five minutes later, I had come up with fuck all, so I grabbed my phone and called Lucy at work.

  ‘Can you speak?’ I asked, grateful that she picked up her extension and I didn’t have to make small talk with my colleagues. ‘I need some advice . . .’

  ‘On what?’ she answered with a slight pause. ‘Oh God, you’re not pregnant again, are you? Why would you possibly want to have more people in your life?’

  ‘No!’ I laughed. ‘I need some ideas of stuff to try with Oliver for the sex jar.’

  I heard Dorothy call her name in the background. ‘I need to go but I’ll have a think. But if my ideas are so sexy, you get pregnant again . . .’

  ‘I’M NOT GETTING PREGNANT AG—’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  She hung up.

  Thursday March 2nd

  ‘Right! I have an idea for you,’ Lucy said, placing some salt ’n vinegar crisps inside her ham sandwich. ‘You should pretend to be someone else for the night.’

  ‘Someone else?’ I questioned, watching her crunch into her sandwich. ‘Like who? John Travolta? Joan of Arc?’

  She snorted. ‘No. I mean, like role play. You create a different persona. And so does he. Meet up in a hotel bar or something.’

  I groaned. I remembered the various role plays we’d done years earlier. It had ranged from awkward to downright embarrassing but we’d had a good time. Maybe I was just too old for this kind of thing now? Lucy saw the look of uncertainty on my face. ‘It doesn’t have to be elaborate. Just give yourself a night off from being you; from being “mum”. Be the woman who meets a hot man in a hotel bar and gets a room.’

  As she goes back to munching on her sandwich, I begin warming to the idea. Molly could stay with Hazel. I could buy new underwear. I could pretend to have an affair. I could be the filthiest—

  ‘Earth to Phoebe.’ Lucy laughed, knowing exactly where my imagination was headed. ‘I definitely think you should do it. And then report back.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied, grinning. ‘It has certain merits . . .’

  *

  After lunch I went to visit Jay, who fortunately appeared to be a tad less bored to see me this time.

  ‘Oh! You’ve come. Great. I’ve convinced my boss to take some advertising,’ he informed me. ‘We’ll do four adverts – quarter pages. We’ve been open for a year now, so we’re having a few promotional nights to celebrate. I’ll email all the details over.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ I replied. And it was. Not only have I bagged a new client, but it means I have less space to sell to the other poor chumps who don’t realise what a fucking money pit advertising is. ‘I’ll get you a top-right position if it’s available.’

  He smiled at me, and walked behind the bar. ‘Good to know. You want a quick beer while you’re here? Soft drink?’

  ‘That’s very kind, but I have another meeting soon.’

  I collected my things and thanked him, wondering why he didn’t just email everything in the first place, and headed back to the office.

  Of course the meeting thing was a total lie. I could have had a beer. I could have had a shot of tequila, kicked off my shoes and showed him the new dance routine Molly and I had been working on, but it’s hardly professional. Also there’s the small matter of HE’S SEEN MY VAGINA to consider (even if he doesn’t remember it). It’s too weird.

  Friday March 3rd

  With Molly in bed, we retreated to the bedroom to begin our dalliance with the sex jar. I sat at the head of the bed while Oliver retrieved the jar from the top of the wardrobe. This felt so fucking weird. Like we were being forced to tell each other sex secrets, hoping the other didn’t shout, ‘THAT’S DISGUSTING! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE!’ and storm out. I was nervous.

  Oliver reached into the jar and grabbed one of my requests between his fingers before lifting it up to his nose.

  ‘This still smells of pasta sauce,’ he inhaled near it twice, just to make sure.

  ‘Will you stop sniffing it and just read it!’ I insisted, plumping up the pillows behind me, completely aware that I’d now have to sniff it too because I’m easily led.

  ‘Chill out,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to . . . this isn’t going to ask me to piss on you or anything, is it?’

  ‘OLIVER!’

  He laughed and unfolded the paper, taking a moment to read to himself before he looked at me and raised one eyebrow. He cleared his throat, reading aloud my first request.

  Control my orgasms. For three days, you have the power to control how and when they happen.

  ‘Fuck, Phoebe,’ he breathed. ‘You really want that?’

  I nodded. ‘Is that weird? It’s just when we were abstinent, you worked me up into such a frenzy . . . Oh God, it is weird, look – you don’t have to—’

  ‘It’s hot as fuck,’ he interrupted, reading the request again. ‘So you can’t cum unless I allow it? Wow . . .’

  As he scrunched up the note and put it in his pocket, I realised that I was either going to fucking regret this or be in a constant state of arousal until given further notice. And the fact we were now both sitting in silence thinking about him having control over my next orgasm was already the best thing I’d done this year.

  Saturday March 4th

  I met Lucy and Haze
l for lunch, not only because we all had the afternoon free but also because Oliver had already began messing with me.

  ‘He’s just sent me a lengthy text describing going down on me,’ I informed them, stabbing my salad with a fork. ‘Oh, and this morning he came into the shower, pressed me up against the tiles and, well, he got me halfway there before he stopped. It’s so intense. I’m dying here. Everything he does is carefully planned to make sure I’m thinking about nothing else.’

  Lucy picked up her napkin and fanned herself, laughing. ‘Oh my. And this was your idea? I’m so fucking impressed. I’m totally doing this with Kyle.’

  ‘Why didn’t I go to your therapist?’ Hazel moaned, ripping her bread roll in half. ‘In fact, I’m tempted to stop sleeping with Kevin, just so we can visit her. We never do any cool shit – well, not to this extent.’

  Lucy stole the other half of Hazel’s roll, ignoring her request to ‘fuck right off’. ‘I wonder what Oliver has written down,’ she pondered, smothering the bread in butter. ‘It’ll have something to do with his knob. Men are very basic.’

  We all nodded.

  ‘You’d better tell us,’ Hazel insisted. ‘I know he plays football with Kevin sometimes but I promise I won’t say a word. It’ll be our little secret.’

  ‘And Kyle’s.’

  We both turned to look at Lucy, who stopped chewing for a second. ‘WHAT?! Oh, come on – this shit is gold. You can’t expect me not to share with the man I love . . .’

  I poured more vinaigrette dressing over my salad and smiled. ‘It’s fine!’ I reassured her. ‘Of course you’ll share. Oliver was the first person I told when Kyle went through that phase of preferring you to wank him off using your feet.’

  Lucy scanned the room to make sure that no one had overheard, while Hazel just lost it, weeping with laughter.

  ‘Fair enough,’ she conceded quietly. ‘Let’s stop doing that.’

  Sunday March 5th

  It’s the second day of my sex jar request #1 and I’m ready to explode. Everything is turning me on. I was practically drooling over his stomach watching him get dressed this morning (it’s frustrating – since I had Molly, my stomach now has two apron-style folds, one on each side, and a variety of stretch marks – which if inspected closely, will result in your murder). And later this evening, he insisted I watch Secretary with him, knowing that I find the film disturbingly sexy, especially with him lightly stroking my neck as we watched it.

  ‘What if I just pulled down your jeans right now?’ he said quietly. ‘Just let my fingers do the work?’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ I exclaimed. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

  When he leaned in and kissed me hard, my body went up in flames. When he slipped his hand into my knickers, I moaned so hard, I feared I’d wake Molly.

  ‘Is this what you want?’ he asked, moving his hand slowly but with enough force to make me gasp. ‘You think if I did this hard enough you’d cum on my hand?’

  I could barely speak, I just nodded and let him continue, knowing that it wouldn’t take long.

  ‘God, you’re making me hard,’ he confessed, pulling my jeans down a little further. The sound of the film faded in the background against the sounds of our breathing, the sound of clothes being removed and the sound of him pounding me hard with his hand. I reached down to feel him but he stopped me.

  ‘My rules, remember. I might not even let you cum yet.’

  ‘If you want to retain the use of that hand, you’ll keep going.’

  He grinned. ‘This hand? Oh, just wait until the rest of me gets involved.’

  What followed was the most extreme, three-fingered, two-lipped, one-tongued orgasm that I’ve ever experienced in my life! I swear he must have researched this on the sly. God bless the internet.

  We went to bed shortly after, me with wobbly legs and a flushed face and Oliver looking very pleased with himself. He kissed me goodnight and just before he turned off the light said, ‘We’ve still got tomorrow. Prepare yourself.’

  Monday March 6th

  ‘Mum, I asked for jam, not peanut butter. You know I hate peanuts.’

  I turn around to see Molly standing with the plate of crustless peanut butter and toast I’d made her for breakfast.

  ‘Molly, you chose the peanut butter. You’ve eaten half the jar already. What happened between yesterday and today to make you hate this poor defenceless jar of delicious sludge?’

  She shrugged. She didn’t need a reason. She’s four.

  ‘I’m not wasting food, Molly. If you eat that, I promise you’ll never have to eat it again as long as you live.’

  She grudgingly took back the plate and walked to the living room where CBeebies was already playing loudly on the television.

  After his comment yesterday, I had hoped for some early morning fumbling but Oliver had already left early for a meeting, leaving me to get Molly and myself organised and out of the door for 8.15 a.m.

  Jay from Downtime had emailed over his advert copy and dates he wanted it to run, along with an invite to the party itself on Thursday. As awkward as I feel around him, it’s a closed venue with a free bar. How the fuck can I not go? I’ll take Lucy.

  As mind-numbing as my day was, things took an interesting turn around 3 p.m. when Oliver texted me.

  Take your phone into the bathroom.

  What? Why? I’m working!

  Just do it.

  Confused, I left my desk (where I was terribly busy looking at cat gifs) and took myself off to the bathroom. Given the nature of what was about to follow, I’m grateful it was empty. I checked my phone again.

  Get in a cubicle

  I chose the end cubicle, nearest the hand dryers. I locked the door just as my phone began to ring.

  ‘Hello? Oliver, why are you being weird? If you want to hear me pee, we have a perfectly good bathroom at home. But don’t do that.’

  ‘Shut up. Remember that scene in Secretary when she’s in the bathroom at work? You’re going to do that.’

  ‘Oh, am I? And what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to listen.’

  ‘But I’m not even turned on!’

  ‘I am. In fact, I’m hard right now. I came home early. I’m naked and I’m going to get off, listening to you. Now put your fucking hand down your pants.’

  Ten minutes later, me and my shaky legs exited the bathroom. Sex jar request #1 completed.

  Wednesday March 8th

  I texted Lucy this morning to remind her that she was going to this birthday thing at Downtime with me tomorrow and could she give them a quick email on my behalf to say I’d be coming along? She responded almost instantly.

  WHAT DID YOUR LAST SLAVE DIE OF? (but free bar, right?)

  There’s a part of me that thinks I shouldn’t go to this party at all. Under normal circumstances, I’d be going along to support a client, but this isn’t just a normal client. This is a client that has seen my bare arse – and from what I remember, from several different angles. Thankfully, my arse (and the rest of me) seems to be quite unmemorable, though, so at least I can do business with him without him thinking about it, too. Oliver is slightly miffed that I’m going out as he’s champing at the bit to get started on his first sex jar request, but I’ve promised we’ll do it on Friday. God knows what he has in store for me.

  Thursday March 9th

  Against my better judgement, Lucy and I attended the private birthday party for Downtime, which was heaving with guests who all shared the same love for a free bar on a school night.

  Lucy, dressed in skinny jeans and a sleeveless cape, went in first, heading towards the nearest open space at the bar.

  ‘Two tequilas, please,’ she requested, smiling at the contoured girl I’d seen here previously. ‘And a couple of vodka tonics – no ice in mine.’

  ‘It’s roasting in here,’ I complained, taking off my coat. My armpits were already beginning to stick to my top. ‘I won’t be able to stand this for too long.’

&nbs
p; ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she replied, rolling her eyes. ‘Nothing to do with the fact that you’ve shagged the amnesiac manager.’

  ‘Shhh!’

  We took our shots and downed them, wincing as the alcohol burned in our throats. Lucy sucked on her lime, demanding I point Jay out.

  I scanned the room, spotting him in a booth near the back. ‘Over there,’ I indicated, trying not to look obvious. ‘White shirt, brown hair. Beside the woman in the blue dress.’

  ‘Oh my.’ She took a sip of her vodka tonic. ‘I can see why you’re pissed about this. He’s hot. I’d want him to remember me.’

  ‘I’m not that bothered!’ I protested. ‘Sure, he’s good-looking but—’

  ‘He looks dirty,’ she continued, ignoring me. ‘He looks like he’d leave a handprint.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘He looks like the kind of guy who would spit on his own cock.’

  I started to laugh but subsided when I noticed him waving me over.

  ‘He’s waving you over,’ Lucy confirmed.

  I waved back. ‘Right, let’s say hello.’

  As we walked towards his table, Lucy whispered, ‘He looks like the kind of guy who would change the safe word during sex and not tell you what it was.’

  ‘I will kill you . . . Hi, Jay! Great party. Thanks for the invite!’ Oh God, did he hear her? Was I blushing? I hoped not. I hoped that Estee Lauder Double Wear covered both imperfections and mortified-as-fuck syndrome.

  ‘Glad you came,’ he replied. He smiled at Lucy, who in turn smiled back, though I could tell she was secretly wondering if he had a sex swing in his office.

  ‘Sorry, Jay, this is my friend Lucy. She also works at The Post.’