cheeks quickly fades.
‘What do you mean?’ Alice says icily, as Emily wishes she could take the words back, wishes she’d never said anything, not that she knew where it came from anyway. But she knows there are certain subjects about which she has to be sensitive, and Joe’s priapism is clearly one of them.
‘I was joking,’ Emily says softly. ‘I just meant you always used to say that Joe’s always up for it, that was all I meant.’
They both know that’s not true, not now, not any more. Once upon a time, when they were first married, Alice did say exactly that. How can a man want this much sex, she’d ask Emily in amazement, after the nights when Joe had rolled over in bed and made love to her twice, three, often four times.
‘I don’t know, but if I were you I wouldn’t question it,’ Emily had groaned in jealousy. ‘Just be bloody happy you found him.’
Now, five years on, months go by when Joe barely touches Alice. Alice has tried everything. She has spent fortunes on sexy, lacy underwear from La Perla, then tried the other extreme and – she shudders with embarrassment when she remembers how desperate she was – attempted cheap nylon crotchless panties and even a maid outfit from Ann Summers.
She has tried talking dirty to Joe, stroking his thigh softly as she whispers in his ear what she would like to do to him, blushing furiously as she speaks, then having to deal with the humiliation when he doesn’t move, continues to pretend to sleep.
She even phoned Ty and told him she was planning a hen night for a friend, and they thought it would be a laugh to get some porn films, did he know where she could get them, or would he get them for her? She had ended up watching them on her own, masturbating miserably and wishing she’d invested in a vibrator that time she’d been to Ann Summers for the underwear.
Joe claims it’s the pressure of work, sheer exhaustion that’s killed his sex drive, and the alternative is too terrible for Alice to consider. She knows that at some point it will come to an end, that one night he will come home with flowers, or jewellery, and he will kiss her and put his arms around her, and say a major deal has come to an end, and that night they will go to bed and have sex all night, and Alice will pray that she has her husband back for good.
Alice looks at Emily, sees how innocent her remark was, and forgives her. Emily would rather die than do anything to upset Alice, and Alice knows that.
‘It’s okay,’ she says finally, after an awkward silence, the colour slowly returning to her cheeks. ‘Don’t worry about it. As it happens, the last few weeks he has pretty much had a permanent erection. It’s lovely. For once I’m thrilled to have these bags under my eyes.’
Emily laughs with relief as Humphrey starts to bark at a Rhodesian Ridgeback walking past. ‘Poor Humphrey. He needs to have a run around. Shall we take him for a walk?’
At the mention of the word ‘walk’, Humphrey starts to leap up and down in a frenzy, and the two girls laugh as they unravel him yet again and set off.
Alice strides ahead, loving that she’s not dressed up, that when she’s with Emily she doesn’t have to put on an act, she can wear her oldest, most casual, comfortable clothes, and really be herself. Her jeans may be Earl, but today she’s wearing her gym sneakers, a Gap sweatshirt and a baseball cap pulled down tight over hair scraped back into a ponytail. She can really walk in these clothes, can sit with her legs apart, resting her elbows on her knees, can run and play games with Humphrey, scooping him up for a cuddle without worrying that he might be getting mud on – heaven forbid – a Chanel jacket or a shearling coat.
They walk up the hill, stopping every few minutes to watch Humphrey excitedly stop to greet other dogs. Emily chats away to the owners, sharing Humphrey’s story, explaining how she went to the shelter with the intention of getting a cat, but
‘What do you mean?’ Alice says icily, as Emily wishes she could take the words back, wishes she’d never said anything, not that she knew where it came from anyway. But she knows there are certain subjects about which she has to be sensitive, and Joe’s priapism is clearly one of them.
‘I was joking,’ Emily says softly. ‘I just meant you always used to say that Joe’s always up for it, that was all I meant.’
They both know that’s not true, not now, not any more. Once upon a time, when they were first married, Alice did say exactly that. How can a man want this much sex, she’d ask Emily in amazement, after the nights when Joe had rolled over in bed and made love to her twice, three, often four times.
‘I don’t know, but if I were you I wouldn’t question it,’ Emily had groaned in jealousy. ‘Just be bloody happy you found him.’
Now, five years on, months go by when Joe barely touches Alice. Alice has tried everything. She has spent fortunes on sexy, lacy underwear from La Perla, then tried the other extreme and – she shudders with embarrassment when she remembers how desperate she was – attempted cheap nylon crotchless panties and even a maid outfit from Ann Summers.
She has tried talking dirty to Joe, stroking his thigh softly as she whispers in his ear what she would like to do to him, blushing furiously as she speaks, then having to deal with the humiliation when he doesn’t move, continues to pretend to sleep.
She even phoned Ty and told him she was planning a hen night for a friend, and they thought it would be a laugh to get some porn films, did he know where she could get them, or would he get them for her? She had ended up watching them on her own, masturbating miserably and wishing she’d invested in a vibrator that time she’d been to Ann Summers for the underwear.
Joe claims it’s the pressure of work, sheer exhaustion that’s killed his sex drive, and the alternative is too terrible for Alice to consider. She knows that at some point it will come to an end, that one night he will come home with flowers, or jewellery, and he will kiss her and put his arms around her, and say a major deal has come to an end, and that night they will go to bed and have sex all night, and Alice will pray that she has her husband back for good.
Alice looks at Emily, sees how innocent her remark was, and forgives her. Emily would rather die than do anything to upset Alice, and Alice knows that.
‘It’s okay,’ she says finally, after an awkward silence, the colour slowly returning to her cheeks. ‘Don’t worry about it. As it happens, the last few weeks he has pretty much had a permanent erection. It’s lovely. For once I’m thrilled to have these bags under my eyes.’
Emily laughs with relief as Humphrey starts to bark at a Rhodesian Ridgeback walking past. ‘Poor Humphrey. He needs to have a run around. Shall we take him for a walk?’
At the mention of the word ‘walk’, Humphrey starts to leap up and down in a frenzy, and the two girls laugh as they unravel him yet again and set off.
Alice strides ahead, loving that she’s not dressed up, that when she’s with Emily she doesn’t have to put on an act, she can wear her oldest, most casual, comfortable clothes, and really be herself. Her jeans may be Earl, but today she’s wearing her gym sneakers, a Gap sweatshirt and a baseball cap pulled down tight over hair scraped back into a ponytail. She can really walk in these clothes, can sit with her legs apart, resting her elbows on her knees, can run and play games with Humphrey, scooping him up for a cuddle without worrying that he might be getting mud on – heaven forbid – a Chanel jacket or a shearling coat.
They walk up the hill, stopping every few minutes to watch Humphrey excitedly stop to greet other dogs. Emily chats away to the owners, sharing Humphrey’s story, explaining how she went to the shelter with the intention of getting a cat, but
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