by Sam Anthony
“God, yes!”
“Oh, that’s so good!”
(Sigh!)
“Slower.”
“Deeper.”
“Right there. That’s it!”
(Gasp!)
“Oh my God!”
“Don’t stop!”
“I’m so close!”
“You’re amazing!”
“Mmmmmmmmm!”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
“Oh, Lee!”
I hope I never go deaf.
◆◆◆
Sophia and Joe climax loudly at the same time. Or she fakes it. I honestly don’t know anymore.
They’re both panting heavily as they try to regain their composure.
“Oh my God, babe! I’m going to have to come home at lunchtime more often,” Joe says, in between gasps.
“Yes, please. That was wonderful,” Sophia says.
“I love you so much, Soph.”
“I love you too, babe.”
I can hear them retrieving items of discarded clothing from the floor, and getting dressed.
“Did you finish?” Joe asks.
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Hell, yes! You always make me come, but that was particularly hot. We should have breakfast-bar-sex more often. How was it for you?”
“Awesome! Have you seen my other sock?”
“By the kettle. I’ll get it.”
“Ta. Sorry to love you and leave you, but I’ve got to get back on the road. I’ll just grab my file from the living room.”
I hear retreating footsteps as Joe moves from the tiled kitchen floor onto the carpet of the hallway.
“Stay there!” Sophia whispers.
I take the opportunity to tuck away my floppy appendage and zip up, but I don’t reply.
The click of a handbag and swishing sounds tell me that Sophia is brushing her hair.
She picks up two jangling sets of keys from the breakfast bar as Joe re-enters the room.
“Got it. Right, I’ll see you later, babe. Probably around eight-ish?”
They kiss.
“Okay. I’ll walk out with you.”
Two sets of footsteps get quieter as they make their way to the front door. I hear it open and then slam shut. In the distance, two car engines start and slowly fade as the vehicles move off down the drive.
Silence.
I’m in Sophia’s house on my own.
◆◆◆
I don’t move for five long minutes.
I just listen.
I can hear the hum of distant traffic on the main road, a blackbird singing in the back garden, a clock ticking somewhere in the kitchen, and the deep rumble of the washing machine in the utility room as it removes the guilty stains from the soiled sheets.
I raise my head above the breakfast bar and scan the room.
The kitchen is deserted.
I stand and walk cautiously to the window.
The drive is empty of cars.
I’m already late back for work, but I can’t resist the opportunity to have a snoop around Sophia’s house while I’ve got the chance.
I head upstairs.
◆◆◆
My primary interest is Sophia and Joe’s bedroom. I’ve never been in it before, having only been invited to use the spare room and the bathroom. It’s large, tastefully decorated and dominated by a huge double bed. I’m surprised they still sleep together. That certainly isn’t the impression Sophia gives when she describes their relationship, but I can’t remember her explicitly saying that they no longer share a bed.
The first place I explore is the nearest bedside cabinet. Inside I find two books; one’s a spy thriller and the other a self-help guide for boosting self-confidence. There’s also a phone charger, Joe’s passport, some earplugs, a half-empty bottle of over-the-counter painkillers, a golf magazine, some headphones and a packet of tissues.
Well, I’ve learnt something new about Sophia: she sleeps on the left side of the bed.
In her bedside cabinet – which is much fuller than her husband’s, and more cluttered – there’s a romance novel, lip salve, a rabbit vibrator, a diary, moisturising cream, cotton buds, massage oil, lubricant, nail varnish remover, some batteries, thrush ointment, a glass dildo, a purse containing £3.71 in coins, several miscellaneous chargers and leads, an old cell phone, a pack of playing cards with a different sex position on each one, an out-of-date packet of condoms, a very out-of-date packet of contraceptive pills, a hairbrush, a bar of chocolate, an eReader that won’t switch on, a digital camera, some toy handcuffs, a pocket vibrator, a well-thumbed book of erotic short stories, a few photos of Sophia and Joe on a beach somewhere sunny, and a large, sharp kitchen knife.
I leaf through the diary.
At first glance, it doesn’t seem particularly interesting. Sophia has recorded a few events retrospectively; films she’s seen at the cinema, medical and dental appointments, phone calls she’s made or received, and outfits she’s worn to social functions. There are also quite a few apparently random letters, squiggles and dots.
Flicking back and forth through the diary, and doing a quick mental calculation, I suspect that ‘P’ on five or six consecutive days, roughly four weeks apart, is likely to be something to do with Sophia’s monthly cycle.
But what do the other hieroglyphics mean?
Some dates have tiny dots in the corner. Last Friday has two; so does the previous Friday, and the one before it has three. There’s also a Saturday a few months ago with three dots. It doesn’t take much thought to realise that these dates correspond with the days when Sophia and I have had our liaisons. I guess the dots represent the number of times we had sex, or possibly the number of orgasms Sophia had.
On the days with the dots, there are also letters and numbers in tiny writing. I try to figure out what they could stand for.
M.
Missionary position?
C.
Cowgirl? Cunnilingus?
O.
Oral sex?
O with a dot in the middle.
Oral sex the other way round? Cunnilingus versus fellatio?
4.
A score out of ten? A percentage?!
Q.
Absolutely no idea. It can’t be ‘quickie’. We don’t have those.
V.
Vibrator?
P.
Period? Porn? Penis? Penetration?
R.
Role-play? Reverse cowgirl?
F.
This one comes up a lot. Almost every time we’ve had sex. Fellatio? Fornication? Fantasy? Fisting? Fantastic?
D.
Dildo?
9.
Length of my penis? In inches? I wish! Definitely not in centimetres.
A.
Anal?
X.
Xylophone? Is that a sex thing? X-ray? I’ve got nothing.
S.
Sixty-nine? Standing up? Shower? Sausage insertion?!
I realise I’m simply guessing and I could have many of these completely wrong, but when I think back to what we got up to on these dates, it’s probable that at least some of my guesses are accurate.
What on earth is Sophia doing keeping a record of our sex life? If I can find her diary and figure out what the symbols mean, surely Joe can too.
On the one hand, this is alarming. It contains evidence of our affair; the very thing I’m trying to eliminate. It’s the complete opposite of rule one: delete everything. She’s actually recording everything.
On the other hand, it’s a relief to realise that I’m not quite as abnormal as I’d thought for keeping a record of my sex life.
◆◆◆
On the bedroom wall, near Joe’s side of the bed, there are eighteen framed photographs of Sophia; on the beach, in her car, at restaurants, in their garden, at a wedding, amidst mountains, near a river or a famous landmark. They have one thing in common: Sophia looks beautiful in all of them. It’s obvious that Joe h
as chosen his favourite photos of his wife and displayed them on the wall by his bed as a kind of shrine to the woman he loves.
I try not to think about how much it would hurt Joe if he was to become aware that his cherished wife and I have turned him into a cuckold. This snooping hasn’t helped ease my conscience. I pause for a few minutes, looking at the photos and feeling guilty for what I’m doing to this poor deluded man.
It’s an unarguable reason why Sophia and I should just end our affair.
◆◆◆
Before I leave, I can’t resist having a sneaky peek through Sophia’s underwear drawer and, I’m embarrassed to say, having a quick sniff of some of her knickers. Why am I doing this? Is it anything to do with my ape ancestors sniffing the bottoms of potential mates? I certainly hope so, otherwise I’m a pervy knicker-sniffer as well as an adulterer.
It's not been a good day so far. My self-esteem has reached an all-time low.
◆◆◆
Now I’m really late back for work. I jog downstairs, pick up my jacket and put it on. Checking the pocket for the bag containing one used condom and its wrapper, I exit the house through the back door as usual, only then realising that I’m unable to lock it. Sophia usually does this from inside the house after she’s kissed me goodbye. It can’t be helped. There’s no way I’m going to leave through the front door. That would look too suspicious to anyone who saw both homeowners departing, followed ten minutes later by me, skulking guiltily away.
As I’m walking to the car, my phone vibrates. It’s a text message from Sophia.
“I’m so sorry about that. I had no idea he was coming home. Xxx”
I don’t reply.
Two minutes later, “Are you there?”
I don’t reply.
One minute after that, “I feel terrible. Are you ok?”
I reply.
“I couldn’t lock your back door.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m really sorry, babe. Xxx”
“Don’t call me babe. We need to talk, but not now. Driving.”
“Please don’t be cross. I’m crazy about you. Xxx”
I don’t reply.
Chapter Fourteen
The Car
I arrive back at work at least forty-five minutes late and head straight to my desk, carefully avoiding looking in Sophia’s direction.
My phone buzzes every few minutes to signify incoming messages, but I ignore it and try to focus on my task.
After an hour or so, Sophia leaves her office and comes over to talk to me.
“Lee ...”
“I’m sorry, Soph,” I interrupt. “I’m swamped at the moment. Can you come back later?”
I smile insincerely.
“Sure. No problem,” she says breezily as she pivots and returns to her office.
I can’t resist admiring her retreating backside. She swaggers with the confidence of a woman who’s had two cocks inside her during one lunch break.
I recommence my task, pausing only to switch my phone to silent mode in order to stop the onslaught of pings and vibrations that have just resumed.
As soon as the first person in the office packs up to leave, I do the same, calling “See ya!” and “Have a good weekend!” to a few nearby colleagues.
I don’t say goodbye to Sophia, however. I know I’m being passive-aggressive, but I’m still feeling angry and humiliated, and I just want to go home and unwind.
As I’m getting into my car, I hear someone calling my name in the distance, but I ignore it and begin driving.
I’m about halfway home when, in my rearview mirror, I see headlights flashing far behind me. Within thirty seconds there’s a car right on my rear bumper, lights flashing and horn honking.
It’s Sophia.
In the mirror, I can see her gesticulating towards the side of the road. It’s obvious that she wants me to pull over.
I keep driving.
She keeps flashing, honking and pointing.
Surely she’s not going to follow me all the way home.
It looks like she is.
I keep driving.
It still looks like she is.
I pull over.
She comes to a stop behind me, gets out of her car and runs towards mine, not even pausing to close her car door. She yanks open my passenger-side door and takes possession of the seat beside me.
◆◆◆
“What was that?” I shout.
“I’m so sorry, Lee.”
“You said he never comes home at lunchtime.”
“He doesn’t. That was the first time he ever has. I swear,” Sophia says, tears welling.
“Do you realise what could have happened?”
“I do. Please don’t shout at me.”
Sophia starts to cry. Big fat tears are rolling down her cheeks, combining on her chin and dripping onto her blouse.
“What if he’d found me?” I say, my voice still raised.
“He didn’t. We’re okay.”
“But what if he had? He might have literally murdered me. Or worse: he might have cut off my balls. Or worse still: he might have told Tamsin about us.”
“But he didn’t, Lee. He doesn’t know anything about us. Nobody knows. Everything’s fine.”
“I was terrified! I thought I was going to wet myself.”
“I can only tell you how sorry I am. Please don’t be cross with me. I don’t like it.”
She looks at me pleadingly, making eye contact for the first time since getting into the car.
I’m not ready to stop ranting yet.
“It’s all right for you. You were having a great time.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I could hear you. You were loving it.”
“I was just trying to distract him.”
“You’re kidding! I’ve never heard you come so loud.”
“No. I was pretending. I love you, Lee. I was trying to keep you safe. I did it for you.”
“What!”
“It worked, didn’t it? He was so focused on me, he didn’t even notice your jacket on the back of the chair. I distracted him and he left. All’s well that ends well. Can’t we just move on?”
She puts her hand on my thigh and looks at me imploringly.
“You had sex right above my head!” I shout even louder.
“He’s my husband. What was I supposed to do?”
“You told me you hadn’t had sex for eighteen months. That’s not what it sounded like to me.”
“I don’t think I said that. I might have said we’ve hardly had sex for eighteen months.”
“No, no, no. You definitely said you hadn’t slept together for at least eighteen months.”
“You must have misheard or misunderstood. Anyway, what does it matter? The bottom line is, we hardly ever have sex, and I’d far rather be with you.”
“Did you have to orgasm so enthusiastically?”
“I was faking it. Couldn’t you tell?” She’s starting to sound exasperated.
“No, I bloody couldn’t! It sounded genuine to me. Have you been faking it with me too?”
“Of course not. You always satisfy me. You know that.”
“I don’t think I know anything anymore.”
My shoulders slump.
I’ve run out of steam.
“Look, I’ve got to get home,” I say.
“I’m not leaving it like this.”
“You haven’t got a choice. I’m going home. Out you get.” I gesticulate with my thumb.
“No. I’m not leaving until we make up. I have to convince you how much I love you.”
“Don’t you mean how much you love having sex with me?” I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“No. I don’t mean that. Lee, I fell in love with you ages ago. Long before we started sleeping together. You must have realised.”
“What?”
“I’d already been in love with you for months before you fondled my bottom. I was so happy that day.
I didn’t realise, until that moment, that you saw me in that way. Why do you think I suggested we have an affair?”
“For sex?”
“True. But I wanted to have sex with you because I was in love with you. I thought it would bring us closer together.”
“Why didn’t you tell me back then? I would never have agreed to an affair if I’d known you already had feelings for me.”
“I didn’t want to scare you off. I guess I was right not to say anything.”
“So, what was your plan? Seduce me, make me fall in love with you ... then what?”
Sophia sighs, but says nothing.
We sit in silence for a while.
I’m wondering about the best way to get out of this mess that I’ve got myself into. Our affair is no longer what I thought it was. Sophia isn’t just in it for the sex, like I am. She’s in love with me. How many other lies has she told me? She’s obviously still sleeping with Joe. From what I heard and saw at their house earlier, Joe loves his wife very much. I’m feeling overwhelmed with guilt. Guilt for cheating on Tamsin, guilt for what I’m doing to Joe, guilt for upsetting Sophia. My life has become way too conscience-stricken.
After a few uncomfortable minutes, Sophia turns on my car radio and tunes it to a station playing classical music.
“Do you mind?” she says. “This silence is unbearable. Please say something, Lee.”
I take a deep breath.
“I think we should end it.”
“No!” Sophia screams. “We can’t end it. I love you.”
“We can end it. Rule fourteen: no falling in love, and rule fifteen: either of us can end it at any time.”
“Forget your stupid rules, Lee! We’re so good together. We can’t throw it all away.”
“It’s too stressful. Let’s just call it a day.”