I had a nasty shock the other day. Three black paperbacks peeked innocuously from between Susan Hill and Rose Tremain. I thought nothing of it, as my wife has a paperback habit that she feeds through regular browsing on Amazon, and I never know what’s going to appear on the shelf next. But then I read about the publishing phenomenon that’s turning middle-class mothers into smut junkies, and something about the title rang a bell…
My wife cringes whenever I mention this. She bought them in all innocence, after Amazon offered them at three-for-two, flagged as ‘Amazon recommends’. Assuming that Amazon must know a thing or two about her reading habits by now — an unusual blend of historical romance and theology — she took the bait. As soon as she realized what was what, she dropped them like a hot brick, and they have remained firmly closed ever since. I suggest the charity shop, but she says she’s too embarrassed to take them.
But apparently there are plenty of women who have no such scruples about being seen with porn in public, and I suppose it’s partly as a backlash (ahem) to them that 365 Mummy has come up with excellent idea of 50 Shades of Parenting. She has invited bloggers to plumb the depths of their parenting fantasies and come up with some escapism that won’t leave welts or chafing.
Now anyone who has followed the tale of Topaz and Cleft in my other blog, Mills & Boon Wannabe, will know that I’m not averse to a bit of escapist fiction, although I admit I have had trouble with the sex scenes. There aren’t any, yet. I thought this little exercise might lubricate my imagination enough to write Topaz ’n’ Cleft’s grand finale at last. It’s a fantasy I expect we all have, especially around six o’clock…
She looked up and her eyes widened as she saw what I held in my hand. No words necessary, we both knew that the time had come at last; the time to abandon ourselves to the desire we had been trying to ignore for too long; the time for utter fulfilment.
Her eyes were hungry as I slowly gripped the end and, with deliberate, circling movements, worked the bulbous tip. Tantalizing her, I held back for a brief moment before, with a grunt, I felt the first seep of liquid run through my fingers.
‘Don’t waste it! I need all you can give me!’ she gasped, luscious lower lip held trembling between her perfect teeth. ‘For God’s sake, fill me up.’
Smiling, I pulled away just as she was ready to take it all, knowing that the final surge of pleasure would be so much more intense for the delay. And then her voice came again, low and urgent:
‘Just give me the blinking champagne; I’ve had a hell of a day.’