Chapter 2

The first time it happened, I put it down to indigestion after some work mates had invited me out. ‘ We’ll grab a curry,’ they said, ‘and then go clubbing. It’ll cheer you up. Take your mind off things. We’ll have a laugh.’

The curry was nice but I didn’t have a laugh, I had wind and by the time I left the nightclub with my ears ringing and a smudge of something mustard yellow down my top, my stomach was rolling and I felt totally sick.

Once home I dashed for the loo and stuck my fingers down my throat, figuring if I could be sick, then at least I might feel better. The face of a bulimia patient instantly popped up in my head the moment I did it, but I shoved her rudely away and told myself I wasn’t adopting an eating problem just trying to get rid of problem eating.

Unfortunately, I threw up precisely nothing. The curry I’d eaten clearly wasn’t about to shift so I gave up and headed for the next best thing, the kettle. In my family it has long been believed that if a cup of tea doesn’t sort you out, then nothing will. Sadly, this unshakeable faith doesn’t always work as my cousin found out when he had appendicitis and although in total agony, in honour of family tradition, he still gamely tried to drink a mug whilst writhing around on the floor of the lounge.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t stay down and the paramedics were not pleased at being sprayed with regurgitated Tetley in the back of the ambulance. Neither was my Aunt, who, despite her son’s great discomfort, pronounced it the waste of a good cuppa.

I, however, was still willing to give it a try, so the kettle went on and the action of stretching up to reach the teabags managed to produce a burp loud enough to rattle the saucepans in my kitchen. The vulgarity of it made me laugh and I briefly contemplated calling my Aunt to restore her faith in the family cure all. Instead I simply abandoned the tea and went to bed.

***

At first I couldn’t sleep. I was still burping for one thing and thoughts of bloody Alice kept popping into my head. Our first date for instance, buying this place together, her leaving me with the mortgage to pay on my own. Our first kiss. Trips to the coast. Her leaving me without so much as a proper goodbye.

I was never going to get to sleep.

I resorted to plan B. The same plan B that everyone probably thinks of. Sex.

I keep a dildo in my bedside cabinet. It’s a pale cream in colour and I’ve had it for years. It used to have three settings but only two work now, not due to ample amounts of vigorous sex I hasten to add, but because I used it to throw at an annoying fly that was buzzing around my head and hit the wall instead. Hence the two setting and the lovely dent I have in the plaster opposite the bed.

The bedroom was dark. Why that should matter when I was on my own, I have no idea, but it just seemed nicer pleasuring myself in darkness.

I started with my breasts. Just fondling them really, enjoying their weight, my thumbs lightly running over my nipples.

I like my breasts. They’re not too big and still point in the right direction when I’m lying down. I think my right nipple is slightly larger than the left but no one’s ever commented.

I squeezed my nipples and felt that delicious rush of pleasure that shudders straight down to your pussy and has your legs falling open of their own accord. The air felt nice on my pussy and I knew I was beginning to swell. I could picture myself down there, all wet and glistening and my hand strayed down to check. Sure enough my lips were gorged with desire and as I rubbed a finger along my slit, spreading the juices, I teased myself by staying away from the one place that was longing to be touched. Instead I grabbed my faithful dildo and carefully inserted it into my cunt. It slid in easily, the tide of juices sucking it in and holding it fast, and turning it on, I fed it in and out of myself and relished how cool it felt against the heat of my insides.

I screwed myself for some time, wanting the pleasure to last and hoping that if I gave myself a big enough orgasm I would fall asleep straight after and know nothing more till morning. I caressed my nipples and squeezed them until they were tender. My pussy throbbed. My clit ached to be touched. Yet still I resisted and fucked myself harder, knowing I was running with juices, knowing that the moment I let my other hand stray to my clit I would go off like a rocket. It was amazing and I fed the dildo in and out with increasing speed, hearing the moisture as I thrust and thrust until I could bear it no longer. I had to touch myself and my fingers fled towards my clit, finding my pussy lips massively swollen as I wound my finger around the throbbing nub and began to rub.

It didn’t take long. Shoving the dildo in as far as I could without loosing my grip, I fingered my clit and came long and hard.

And I didn’t say Alice’s name once of which I was very proud of myself. But I think I might have got God’s attention.