‘I know,’ he said. ‘I see. I know.’
It was a lovely afterglow and he seemed so happy to have found his kinky side and had some fun with it.
But I don’t think his reaction to the book will be good. I think that will change the game completely.
21 July
He waited until after dinner to bring the subject up. Of course, I couldn’t eat. I was too busy trying to second-guess his reaction, but he was playing things totally straight, being normal Dan, full of stories about his colleagues and complaints about form-filling.
I was washing up in the kitchen when he wandered in, picked up a tea towel as if preparing to dry, and flicked it at my bottom, making me jump and rub at it.
‘Oi!’ I said.
‘What? You like that, don’t you?’
‘Not always. Not when I’m not expecting it.’
‘Oh, so it’s you calling the shots, is it?’ He stood behind me and clasped his arms around me, holding me there with his chin on top of my head. ‘Funny, that.’
‘Why funny?’ I asked guardedly.
‘I thought you were into that whole submissive thing these days.’
I twisted my neck round to look at his eyes. His face was quite grave.
‘You saw that book,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I did. You can’t seriously tell me that, after everything you say and do at work, day after day, you believe all that guff about fixed gender roles and male and female energies?’
‘No, Jesus, no, I don’t!’
‘Well, thank fuck for that. I thought a tornado had taken our flat and transplanted it in Stepford.’
I shook my head. ‘I believe the same things I’ve always believed.’
‘That’s what I thought. You like a bit of kink in the bedroom but you’re still the same person … this book is a bit weird, though. I can’t figure it out.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Look, Dan. The thing is, I like kink. I like to be spanked for fun. But … I think I want something a bit more than that too.’ I put my hand in the washing-up water, which was far too hot, and withdrew it rapidly.
‘Put the Marigolds on,’ he said.
I made a face. I hated putting the Marigolds on. They made my hands smell fusty for hours afterwards.
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, tipping a handful of cutlery into the bubbles.
‘You’ll scald yourself. Put them on.’
I ignored him, picked up the cloth, plunged my hands quickly into the water and gasped as I withdrew a fork.
‘Jesus, Pip, why? Your hand looks like it’s been skinned. I can’t watch.’
He let go of me and took a step back.
He was right. That water was boiling and my hand throbbed so much I could barely hold the fork. I put it under a stream of cold water, exhaling with sweet relief.
When the burning was soothed, I turned around and leant against the sink, facing him.