Confessions of a Kinky Wife

We wrestled in the pine grove, shrieking and giggling, until he had me pinned to the ground on my stomach, straddling my hips.

‘Now you’re for it,’ he promised, reaching underneath to unbutton my shorts.

‘Dan,’ I whispered urgently. ‘Somebody really might come.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said gravely. ‘Somebody might.’

I got more spanking on my thong-clad bare bottom, but it wasn’t hard and by the time he’d warmed me, stranger danger was the last thing on my mind.

The first thing on my mind glided up inside me, the thong pulled rudely aside. I pushed my bottom back to help him get deeper, breathing in the forest scent and the smell of him on top.

‘You don’t get to wear shorts like that and make it through the journey unfucked,’ he growled into my ear, thrusting hard.

I was very glad to hear it, and the tetchy tempers and impromptu punishments mutated into a glorious bone-melting shag.

I had needles stuck to my hands and knees, a stinging bum and a hot, sticky gusset for the rest of the motorway trip, but I was pretty happy with that. We listened to a CD we both liked

and we were both in bloody good moods, all the way to the sea.

Which was where things went a bit wrong again.

I swear, that town is like Looking-Glass World. You follow a sign for the town centre and find yourself on some arid stretch of suburban road, logjammed between massive retail parks.

Sans SatNav, we had to rely on the road map, and I’m not a big fan of road maps, especially when they are twelve years out of date and don’t show which streets are one-way.

‘Shit, where’s that junction come from? It’s not on the map.’

Dan made it to the other side of the traffic lights without a collision, but it was close enough.

‘You said there was a roundabout there!’

‘There … was. It’s gone.’

‘Look, where do I go now? Left or right?’

‘Um, left, I think. Shit, no, that’s a dead end. Bugger. Too late.’

This went on for a very long time. Neither of us was at fault exactly, but the combined effects of confusion and panic and being cooped up in a small, hot tin box burned our wicks right down to the fuses.

‘For fuck’s sake, there. That way.’ I flapped my hand at a brown signpost perched precariously on a traffic island.

‘There’s no need to swear at me,’ said Dan between gritted teeth. ‘Next layby I see, I’m going to pull over, bend you over the bonnet and give that cane a good workout.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You don’t think I’m serious? Try me.’

But before I could (although I was inclined not to), heaven arranged for a perfect view of the beach, the sea and the way down to it, and we concentrated our combined attention on achieving our mission of finding a parking space.

The sunshine and the blue surf evened out all rough edges of temper. We were there to have a good time, and we had it, lazing on the beach until it was time to find our friends for the promised barbecue party. The cane lay, neglected and forgotten, baking on the back seat.

Kez and Ginnie are friends of mine, dating back to a chaotic flatshare at university. They stayed down here in the sun, living the bohemian life, while I moved up to the city and met Dan. They always tease me that I’m their big sister, growing up and doing all the adult stuff like getting married and taking on a responsible job and mortgage while they still hang around bars picking up surfer dudes and smoking spliff into the early hours before going to their ever-changing jobs in art galleries and tapas bars and what have you. Kez is a vigorous member of the local alternative political scene while Ginnie is more an unreconstructed party girl. They both disapprove of Dan (whose presence will severely limit their drug consumption tonight) but put up with him for my sake.

‘Time for me to say a little prayer,’ said Dan, eyes fixed on the setting sun, having finally found a parking space in the district of winding hills and jumbled cottages in which my friends had made their home.

‘Oh, don’t. They like you.’

‘They hate me. But they like you too much to show it.’