I typed ‘having sex in open spaces with people watching’ into Google to see if other people enjoyed it too, and quickly discovered it’s called ‘dogging’. There are multiple websites listing locations for this activity, talking about it like it’s a meeting spot for dog walkers to meet for a cup of tea. The language is so casual. Stuff like, ‘Many doggers like to remain in their cars, others enjoy having sex on the bonnets or against a nearby tree.’
People all over the country are doing this in their lunch hours. Apparently, for married people who like to watch strangers have sex, it’s the best time to get away with it as it doesn’t eat into family time. Wow.
The ‘doggers’ drive to a known location and have sex in (or on) cars. Some just watch, others participate. Of course, I’ve heard of dogging, but it always sounded so much more sinister than what I experienced. Other than the act of having sex in an open public place, it didn’t feel sinister. It felt exciting. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way the man looked at me, the way she didn’t want him to stop. They knew I was there. That was the whole point. Apparently by doing it in the open air like that they were potentially inviting others to join in. I can’t stop wondering what it may have been like if I had.
‘Beth, did you finalise the foyer arrangements?’
I’m looking at a website for a woman who says she travels the country dogging and likes sex with as many strangers as possible. Once she even got tied to a tree and was left there, so whoever was passing could give her a quick bang. There is no mention of how she got down.
That feels extreme.
‘Beth, earth to Beth, the foyer arrangements. Did you finalise the flowers?’
‘Pardon?’
‘The flowers, for the foyer?’ Risky says, a little impatiently.
‘Oh, no. Can you please?’
She gets up from behind her desk and walks over to mine. She’s wearing another crop top. I have half a mind to ask her to stop dressing so seductively at work. I realise that would not be OK.
I slam my computer shut.
‘Beth, are you OK?’ she asks, concerned.
‘Yup, absolutely fine. Why?’
‘You just seem a little distracted.’
‘Me? No. Just busy. Busy busy busy.’ I make a buzzing sound, like a bee. Risky’s sympathetic look gets even more sympathetic, as if I am losing my mind.
‘You know, I can totally hold the fort here if you need a day off. Go home, get some sleep, spend some time with Tommy and Michael.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s a lot. Having a baby, working full time, breast feeding and pumping all day. You’re exhausted and unfocused. When my sister had a baby she didn’t realise she had a problem for months.’
‘A problem? What problem, I don’t have a problem,’ I say, defensively. Can she somehow see my search history? Jesus, I only went dogging once, and that was an accident. I’m only googling it to see what it was called.
‘You must miss Tommy and Michael so much, the timing of this wedding is very unfair on you. I really admire you for keeping going. You’re an inspiration to me, you know.’
‘An inspiration?’ I ask. I wonder how inspiring she would find me if I told her I am fantasising about cheating on my husband. How I am so tired that I can’t remember if I gave my son a middle name or not. And how all I can think about is that man’s bottom smacking into that woman from behind. But sure, a total inspiration.
‘You need to consider more self-care,’ Risky says, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows. ‘I’ll look on Groupon and see if I can get you a good spa deal, OK? You’re so frantic. Have you thought about meditating?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘OK, well maybe you should download these apps.’ She slips me a Post-it note with the words ‘Time for Me’ and ‘Get Away with Yourself’ written on there. She obviously had them written down for some time and was waiting for an opportunity to give them to me.
‘You need a better work–life balance,’ she says. ‘If women are going to have it all, they’re going to have to take better care of themselves.’
‘You know what? Maybe I will go home today,’ I say. I should try to make things better with Michael. We have a baby. We can’t fall apart.
‘I think you should. I’ll call if I need you but I’ve got this.’
‘Oh but Gavin’s brother is coming in later to get the cake toppers. Apparently, he lives nearby so can whip in.’
‘Boss, I think I can handle giving him the cake toppers. Honestly, take a day, I’ll be fine,’ Risky says. And I know she is capable.
‘OK, thank you,’ I say, packing up my computer and putting it in my bag. ‘I’m very lucky to have you,’ I tell her, because I am. She is a lovely assistant. A true romantic, and an actual nice person. Apart from the anal, which makes me wonder if she has a dark side. Or do sweet people do anal too? All I know is I’d take it up the nose if someone was offering it to me right now.
‘I’m lucky to have you too,’ she says. ‘Now come on, go be a mum for an afternoon, you deserve it.’
When I wake up my first thought is for my mother. It’s very annoying to be programmed to care, when I would rather just forget about her entirely. I send her a message, just for my own peace of mind.
Good morning, Mum. Here is a picture of Bonnie from the park yesterday.
I attach a photo of Bonnie playing. My mother doesn’t reply but the message shows as ‘read’. She isn’t dead. I can now get on with my day.
Surprisingly, Bonnie doesn’t fight me as I get her into her buggy this morning. Getting dressed isn’t awful, breakfast doesn’t end up on the floor. She watches TV as I get ready and doesn’t scream the house down when I turn it off. I give her some raisins to eat on the way to her new nursery, and she says thank you. Which almost blows my brain right out of my head.
‘Where do you think the mouse is now?’ she asks me on the way.
‘Probably with his family,’ I say, confidently, yet shivering at the thought of a bunch of mice breaking back into my house.
‘Why are we going this way?’ Bonnie asks me, realising our route has changed.
‘You’re going to a new nursery today, how exciting,’ I say.
‘Why?’
I don’t give her an answer.
We arrive at the location, and a tatty door with an intercom. I ring the buzzer and the door clicks open. Almost immediately a strong smell hits me as we go inside.
‘Pooh! What is that?’ Bonnie shouts, pinching her nose in a cartoon fashion.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, covering mine too.
The smell is terrible, but the dirt on the floor is worse. This place is not clean, it feels depressing and the few children, all much younger than Bonnie, look like zombies with streams of green snot hanging from their noses. A young woman comes over to us, her clothes covered in paint. Her hair is greasy. I want to ask her if she has ever even heard of dry shampoo. I did notice there was no Ofsted rating on their website but assumed it was because it was newly opened. Nothing here looks new.
‘Hello, I’m Maria. Are you Ruby and Bonnie then?’ she asks me.
‘Yes …’ I reply. ‘What is that smell?’
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘We have a blocked toilet. Should have it fixed today, they kept cancelling. But they said they’d come out today so that’s good.’
‘How long has it smelt like this?’ I ask.
‘Only three days. Hello, you must be Bonnie?’
Bonnie turns her head to the side, suddenly very shy. Or nervous. Or repulsed.
‘Say hello, Bonnie,’ I say. She doesn’t. I undo her straps and try to get her out but she goes stiff as a board.
‘Come on now Bonnie,’ I say gently. ‘Do you want to play with the other children?’
After looking at the other children, she shakes her head. I ask her again. This time she screams no, and throws her arms around my neck, almost choking me. I can’t pull them apart.
‘Bonnie, come on now, this is your new nursery.’
The stench is horrific, but we are here and I need to work today. I can find somewhere else, but for now, this is it. They will get the smell fixed, and maybe the cleaner is ill. I’ll suggest I pay week to week as it’s mid-term.
‘Bonnie, please, come on.’ But she won’t let go. She is crying painfully, and screaming. It’s not her usual tantrum, it’s more desperate than that. More genuinely upset than her just trying her luck.
‘This happens a lot,’ Maria says. ‘Separation anxiety. It’s normal when a child has been one-on-one with the mother until now. She’ll settle – sometimes it takes a week or so but they always calm down.’
She thinks Bonnie and I have been one-on-one until now? I don’t correct her.
I look around the room again. The children are playing with toys. There isn’t much laughter, or much action happening yet. But it’s only 8.30 a.m. And maybe the older children aren’t here yet?
‘Ahhh, you’ll miss your mummy? I know. But Mummy has things to do. Here, come to Maria. I have Barbies, do you like Barbies?’ Bonnie shakes her head. She has never had Barbies; I don’t want dolls in the house.
‘What about Lego?’ I suggest.
‘No.’
‘Play dough?’ Maria chimes in.
‘No.’
‘A book?’
‘No.’
‘Would you like to ride a bike?’
‘No.’
‘Have a snack?’
Maria is sounding a little desperate now.
‘Maybe it’s best you just go, I’ll see you in two hours.’
I peel Bonnie off me, Maria pulls her away. She is crying so much her head has turned purple. She doesn’t want to stay, she doesn’t want me to leave. Would I want to stay in a dirty new place that stinks of drains? No. But it’s a nursery, she is safe here. The toilet will get fixed, the floor will be swept, and I need to work.
I head for the door without looking back. The sound of Bonnie’s screams follow me down the street. For the first time I think I understand what people mean by ‘mother’s guilt’. I never imagined I’d be the kind of person to feel it.
Lauren Pearce – Instagram post
@OfficialLP
The image is of Lauren in a bubble bath. There’s a highly indulgent level of bubbles. It is the middle of the day. Candles are lit and the edge of the bath is visible and made of solid marble. There is a glass of champagne next to her. It isn’t clear who took the photo.
The caption reads:
Self-care, guys. Who is with me? If we don’t take time for ourselves then what do we expect? I feel blessed to be living the life I am living, but that doesn’t change the voices in my head saying I don’t deserve it. My anxiety is a daily battle. I wake up and have a green juice, I exercise, I do all the things you’re told to do for a better life, but then BAM, when I don’t expect it, fear creeps in and takes over my day. A voice tells me I don’t deserve this. I am living someone else’s life and any minute I will lose it all. I try to be strong. Every day I tell myself, ‘You are alive, you have it all, you are loved’, but my self-doubt tries to take all of these things away from me. The battle is real. Maybe all of these bubbles will get me through the day #AD #selflove #selfcare #VeuveClicquot #spon #bubbles
@TeddyFerrington12: I’ll give you something to be anxious about love
@LaurensGirl: I wish I could hold you to make you feel better. I could, if you answer your DM’s. I sent you my number. Call me. Wee culd be friends.
@Gapetour40: NOTICE ME
@uptowncreek: Bet Gav loves boning you. I would.
@policypipeline: Not being funny, but do you think it’s appropriate to talk about solving anxiety with alcohol? Not really the right message to all of your young female followers, is it? Please be more responsible if you are going to present yourself as a role model.
@Adriannaspeaky: Thank you for talking out about anxiety, even if you don’t really have it.
As I open the front door to my house, I am met by the sound of laughter. It is Michael and his mother, they are on the sofa. She is rubbing his feet. Tommy is in his bouncer on the floor.
‘Hi,’ I say, softly.
‘Beth, you’re home.’ Michael jumps up to give me a kiss. He seems nervous to see me. Janet sits back, raises her hands up then lets them slap down onto her thighs, as if to say, ‘Well that’s the end of that then.’
‘Yes I thought I’d call it a day at the office, I wanted to see you and Tommy. Janet, hello,’ I say, politely, nodding in her direction.
‘Beth,’ she says, barely raising a smile. She can hardly look at me after Dildogate.
I walk over to Tommy and pick him up. He cries immediately.
‘He’s hungry,’ Janet informs me.
‘I know, it’s time for a feed, which is why I rushed home.’
‘We have a bottle heating up,’ Janet says, getting up to get it. Michael goes all weird.
‘It’s OK, Mum. Beth can feed him herself if she’s home.’
‘But I was looking forward to giving my grandson a bottle. Oooooh,’ she says, like I was walking towards her with an ice cream that I dropped just before it reached her mouth.
‘Beth, is it OK if Mum gives Tommy a bottle?’ Michael asks me. My boobs are so full, I’ll have to pump. Which feels so stupid when I am in the room with my baby. But anything for an easy life when it comes to Janet.
She comes over to Tommy with the bottle, picks him up and starts to feed him. The milk in the bottle looks different.
‘Wait, that milk is so white,’ I say, knowing my breast milk is usually a little more yellow. I look over into the kitchen and see an open box of formula on the counter. ‘Is that formula?’ I ask, the ball dropping.
Michael says nothing.
‘It’s good for the big babies. They need it. I didn’t breast feed Michael,’ she says. I know this because she brings it up a lot. Every time we see her, in fact. It isn’t normal for a mother of a forty-four-year-old man to repeatedly talk about not breast feeding him. I think she feels terrible about it and has spent Michael’s entire life trying to make up for it by being extremely overpowering and offering regular foot massages.
‘Michael, we didn’t discuss this? I’ve been pumping like a mad woman to keep the supply up. There’s still a load in the freezer, why are you giving him formula? NO, Janet, get that bottle out of his mouth. Is that the first one or has he been having it without me knowing?’ I ask.
‘First one,’ Michael tells me, and I feel relief that I intercepted at exactly the right moment.
Tommy starts to cry. I made him jump and he is starving. Janet hyperventilates like I’ve attacked her. ‘Michael,’ she screeches. I didn’t even touch her.
‘We said we would keep going with breast feeding until he was six months. I’m happy to keep pumping, why aren’t you happy to keep giving it to him?’ I ask Michael. He looks like a bullied kid, being forced into admitting to something by a strict teacher. ‘My maternity leave is coming up. I want to breast feed my baby when I’m not working in a few weeks. Can we not just stick to the plan, it’s all that’s getting me through being away from Tommy this much?’
‘I never breast fed any of my children and they are all perfectly fine,’ Janet says, getting her breath back.
‘Are they though?’ I snap. Wanting to explain to her how monumentally fucked-up her son is, but managing to hold myself back. ‘Well, this is not your baby,’ I say, more gently, taking Tommy out of her arms. I sit on the sofa, undo my shirt and feed him. I’m trembling, I am so cross. Janet walks over to me and drapes a blanket over my shoulder.
‘There you go,’ she says. ‘To protect your modesty.’
I rip it off immediately. She snarls at me but turns it into a passive-aggressive smile.
‘I just didn’t want you to feel exposed, I can see you’re not back to your pre-baby self yet. Mind you, you’ve always been a little bit …’ Instead of words, she uses her hands to speak for her. And in the air draws the outline of a very curvaceous body.
‘I’m quite proud of my curves, thank you,’ I say, unsnapping the other bra strap, letting my other boob flop free. I sit feeding my baby right in front of both of them. Both of my breasts out and in plain sight. I am in my own home, this is my baby. If they want to have a problem with my body then they can go and sit outside.
There are a few moments of silence. Tommy’s guzzling noises are all we can hear. But I’m not finished.
‘You can’t make decisions like that without me, Michael. It isn’t fair,’ I say.
‘Isn’t fair?’ Janet says, ready to fight. ‘Do you think it’s fair to abandon your baby immediately after he’s born?’
‘I have not abandoned him, I’m working.’
‘Poor Michael, having to do all of this on his own. That isn’t fair,’ she says, in a baby voice, laying her hand on his shoulder, like a supportive lover.
‘Oh, but if it was me sacrificing my business, that would be fair?’
‘You are his mother. It’s your job.’
Janet is the antithesis of a feminist. Misogynistic women are worse than any man. Literally fighting against their own kind. It takes a whole other level of arsehole to pull that off.
‘Some of us have lives beyond our children, Janet. In the long run it will mean they’re better off.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she says, aghast.
‘Beth, come on. Mum just came round to see Tommy,’ Michael says desperately. He cannot handle confrontation with his mother. He is terrified of her. I am not. If ‘the worst’ happened and we fall out and she never wanted to see me again, fine. That is not a situation I fear. In the meantime, to bridge the gap between that beautiful day and now, I will not be taking parenting advice from someone I consider to be a terrible example.
‘I mean, she was just a mum. She never worked. She doesn’t understand balancing a career and a child,’ I say to Michael, deliberately going for the jugular. Michael looks like he might have a breakdown.
‘Your style of parenting is very different to mine, Janet. I have a successful business. I am the main breadwinner in our family and that is something Michael and I are both very proud of. Right Michael?’
The two women in his life stare at him, both needing his approval. I always suspected he slagged me off to her; now I am certain. He’s been whining about the childcare. How dare he? I am doing my absolute best.
‘Just a mum? Just a mum?’ Janet says, her crocodile tears appearing.
I feel guilty. Because this is what she does. She makes people feel guilty and fundamentally I am a nice person who hates confrontation.
‘Look, I’ll feed him then go back to work. But please, don’t give him formula, OK? There’s plenty of breast milk. If it makes you feel weird to give it to him then, Michael, can you just do it?’
He nods. I lift Tommy up and take him into the other room and feed him privately.
I feel so let down by Michael. Made to feel selfish and cruel. How dare he moan about all of this to his mother? It is such a betrayal.
Arriving back at the office, I feel upset that I was pretty much forced to leave my own house. I was excited to spend the time with Tommy, but the truth is, it’s too confusing for everyone if I try to mould work and motherhood together right now. I just need to get this wedding out of the way, and then I’ll be able to be with my baby. Alone. No Michael, no Janet. Head down, power on. I can do this.
As I walk up the stairs to the office I hear Risky groaning. There is a thumping sound. I run to the door. Is she being attacked, bludgeoned to death in the office? I burst in.
‘What the hell?’
Risky is on my desk, her jeans on the floor and her crop top round her neck. She’s having sex with Gavin’s brother. It’s so weird, I can’t do anything but stare. It’s like walking in on someone else’s dream.
‘Beth!’ she screeches, pushing him away and gathering her clothes. Gavin’s brother, Adam, zips himself up as Risky frantically gets dressed. Her face flushed, her little boobs staring at me like frightened children. Adam scrambles to dress himself, then picks up the cake toppers from the side. He turns back to Risky, and politely kisses her on the cheek before he leaves.
‘Sorry. Not cool,’ he says to me as he goes to leave. But not before turning back and winking at Risky one last time. Absolutely none of this makes any sense.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No,’ I snap.
Risky has been doing her best to be a good employee this afternoon, but I can’t even look at her. I saw Gavin’s brother’s penis come out of her. I saw it glistening as he pulled up his trousers. Yesterday, she was my sweet, romantic, slightly ditsy assistant. Sure, with a penchant for anal but I never thought she was the type to shag a client’s brother on my desk. What the hell was she thinking?
And yet, I get it.
‘Beth, please let me explain,’ she says, desperately. ‘I really love this job and I …’
‘Oh, I know you do,’ I say, like a teacher. ‘You love it so much you rubbed your vagina all over the contracts.’ I pick up a piece of paper from my desk with two fingers, like it is laced with something dangerous.
I’m acting like I’m really annoyed. In a way, I am. She is in breach of contract, I could sack her. But mostly, I am jealous as hell. I want to ask her how it felt. It looked so good. Her face, lost in pleasure. His penis, lost in her. Both of them so beautiful, the sex so lustful. A part of me wishes I’d been quiet, just watched and captured a memory for myself like in the park. But this time with beautiful people, actually worth wanking over.
But I am her boss, it is my job to be annoyed.
Also, I cannot involve my assistant in my fantasies. That simply is not OK.
‘Are you going to fire me?’ she asks, fearfully. I wait a few beats to answer, to keep my authority established.
‘It’s lucky for you that this wedding is coming up. I can’t do without you right now. Let’s get the job done, and the job done well, and then I will have a look at how we move forward. OK?’
‘OK.’ She turns and walks back to her desk with her head slightly drooped. An email pops up a few seconds later.
I am really sorry, boss. It’s just that I’ve been feeling so insecure about this guy I’m seeing, and how he just wants anal. My vagina needed some love too, you know?
Oh, I know very well what it feels like when your vagina needs love, but I can’t tell her that. We sit in silence as she waits for a response. I leave it as long as I can.
‘For God’s sake, Risky. What do you think, you have to live up to your name?’ I say, coming out from behind my desk and heading over to hers. ‘Adam is our client’s brother. He is Gavin’s best man. He could tell Gavin about this, which really wouldn’t be good for my business. It will sound like it’s part of the service.’
‘I know. But he came in here and was so sweet. He said Gavin had told him about me. I mean, Gavin Riley had talked about me? It made me feel so beautiful. I had the cake toppers in my hand and then next thing I knew we were kissing. He’s so fit.’
‘You cannot sleep with all the handsome best men that we work with, OK?’
‘I know but he’s Gavin Riley’s brother. I was star-struck. He was begging me for sex and I …’
‘He begged you?’
‘OK, no, he didn’t need to beg. I mean, he just looked at me and maybe I …’
‘Maybe you what?’
‘Maybe I kind of jumped him.’
‘You jumped him?’
‘Yes. I saw an opportunity and I just took it. I mean, who wouldn’t?’
‘Um, um …’ I say. ‘Someone who takes their work seriously?’
Risky looks devastated. ‘I’m sorry, boss. It won’t happen again, OK? Please, I don’t know what came over me.’
‘I know exactly what was about to come all over you,’ I say, heading back to my desk and trying to seem nonchalant. ‘So … how do you jump someone then?’ I ask, as I pick up some contracts and pretend to look through them.
‘You just, launch yourself at them, I suppose. I mean, it’s good to have an idea that they’d be up for it. But he was definitely up for it. So, I just threw myself at him and started kissing him.’
‘And then what happened?’
That’s it, I’ve blown it now. I’ve stepped down from boss to best friend and there is no going back. But I need to know.
‘And then we just got down and dirty, I suppose. It’s all about confidence, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ I ask. Thinking about my body and wondering if, after being with the same man for ten years, and having had a baby, I could be confident enough to just ‘jump someone’. Also, what am I thinking? I can’t ‘jump someone’, I have a husband, a baby and milk spouting from my tits. But it’s all I can think about. Sex with strangers. I know I won’t be able to get the image of Risky and Adam out of my head. That’s going to be in my dreams tonight, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
‘Well, please try not to jump anyone else while you’re at work, OK?’
‘I won’t.’
We can’t have been quiet for more than a minute before another email pops up.
Just to be clear … can I jump him while I’m not at work?
‘No Risky. Please. Don’t jump our clients full stop, OK?’ I say, standing up.
‘OK. Absolutely boss. No problem.’
‘Good. Now, can you find me the contracts for the magicians please?’ I need to double-check they know not to bring any doves. Mayra is scared of birds.’
‘Sure boss.’
She does as I ask. I sit at my desk and wonder if I will ever experience the thrill of spontaneous rampancy ever again. I am pretty sure I won’t with my husband.
But what if I could with someone else?