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obviously liked it. Is this how you normally like it?” He was choosing his words carefully and speaking haltingly. The tone he was trying for was blasé, but the one he was achieving was somewhat more like gobsmacked.
    “Christ, I dunno, I’ve never done it before either, but it was the best sex I’ve ever had.” I managed to splutter out. This was really embarrassing, much worse than the usual after-sex autopsy. And I hadn’t a clue where I stood with him, especially after the row. I certainly didn’t want to be having this discussion with someone I might never go out with again.
    “Fuck, me too, I don’t know what to say. In one way I feel like some kind of horrible woman beater, but in another I feel on top of the world. Like the king of the jungle.”
    “Would you do it again if you got the chance?” I asked with genuine interest, not so much to see if we would have another date, but to see if he really liked it.
    “Damn right I would, but I don’t know if I should, it seems wrong.”
    “Was it wrong if I loved it and had asked you to do it?” I reasoned.
    We went round in circles debating the good and the bad, but we didn’t discuss whether we would go out again or where we stood. Finally I said it was time for him to go: I had things to do that evening. He wanted to stay, but I really needed him gone. I had a lot to figure out. He pressed me to see him again the following night, but to me it seemed to be too much, too soon.
    “Next weekend. I thought you said you weren’t a stalker.”
    “Yeah, and you said you were innocent. Wednesday, and that’s my final offer.”
    “Fine, but tomorrow at work, none of this ever happened, right?”
    “Shiv, I don’t want to be pedantic, but it did happen. And I don’t want to pretend it didn’t.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s my final offer, if you want to meet up on Wednesday, then we keep it quiet.”
    “What about the spanking? Do you want to do that again?” he asked.
    “Can we think about it and talk about it later? I have to process it in myself first.”
    It seemed a fair enough request; it was after all only one date, albeit a startlingly eventful one. He seemed happy to drop the subject for now. Michael was dressed first and went down to say hi to the girls, closely followed by me.
    “One housemate returned safe and sound, sign here please, ladies.” I heard him say as I came down the stairs.
    “Not ‘til I make sure the goods aren’t damaged,” I heard Claire reply with the typical Irish caustic sense of humour. As I came in, she looked at me.
    “Humph, they might not be damaged, but I doubt they’re intact,” she commented at my flushed expression, hastening Michael’s exit. I guess he just wasn’t used to the Irish forthright wit. She giggled at his sudden departure. I went to the door with him.
    “Go easy on me, I want to be able to call again,” he said as he kissed me goodbye.
    “Whad’ya mean?”
    “I mean with the girls. I don’t want them meeting me with the sweeping brush the next time I call. You’re not going to tell them about the spanking, are you?”
    “Dunno, I s’pose it depends on how much wine I have,” I said honestly. “See you tomorrow, and I mean it, back off at work.”
    “Ok. Ok. Tomorrow…” And with that he was gone.
    As per usual, we all spent the next couple of hours organising ourselves for the following week, ironing work clothes, etc. Then it was time for wine, music, and cards, our normal Sunday night ritual. We put The Eagles into the CD player, popped the cork, dealt the cards, and discussed our weekends. Tara was first up. She had scored at the club and that was why she was missing in action all weekend. A lad called Dave whom she had no intention of ever seeing again.
    Claire was next; it had been a normal weekend for her: an Indian takeaway followed by a couple of drinks before closing time in Pete’s local, joined by some of his football mates.
    My turn. How much to reveal and how much