I think I have to detail last night’s activities quite precisely because they were so weird. Roddy went off to bed as normal about nine and we sat about watching television till 11.30. The bag of books had been lying in the hall untouched since we came home. I don’t think either of us was very sure of how to proceed. Were we to flick through them casually at our own pace, or follow a schedule covering a certain number of pages each night? As a teacher I would have recommended the second methodology, but Phil has such a horror of programmed learning that I was quite prepared to follow his lead.
I must have been in the loo when Phil brought the books through, because the bag was lying on my bedside table and Phil was already peering at a fairly thick volume. He looked up as I climbed into bed and said quite seriously, “Did you know that if you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days, you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee?”
“No?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t know what it’s got to do with sex, but it’s in this book.”
I checked, and he wasn’t kidding.
“What kind of book is this?”
He flicked to the cover.
“A Book of Bizarre Facts. Is this Fiona’s comment on our sex life?”
“You still headed straight for it. We’re supposed to be learning sexual techniques.”
He arched his eyebrows in a pale impression of Groucho Marx. “Says here the tongue is, pound for pound, the strongest muscle in the human body.”
“Oooh, now you’re talking my kind of language.”
He licked his lips. “That’s me, the cunningest linguist in town.”
“Yes, dear, I’ve never had any complaints on that score. You could lick pussy for Scotland.”
He referred back to the book. “Also, it’s impossible to sneeze with your eyes open, you can’t kill yourself by holding your breath and polar bears are left handed.”
“Fascinating. But is this helping us sexually?”
“No. Sorry.” He pushed the book away and I pulled another from the bag. It was very basic and dry. Line drawings of flaccid penises and ovaries.
Phil made a face. “Naah, does nothing for me.”
“Ditto.”
I pulled out another book, an academic study on why India, a country that had produced the Kama Sutra, had become so prudish, even barring kissing in movies. Was this down to Muslim invasions or British Victorian influence?
Interesting but not stimulating.
“Fiona’s got a strange taste in erotica,” Phil said, “Next up it’ll be the Haynes Ford Escort manual.”
“Is that a sexual position?” I asked.
Phil grinned. “Interesting concept. Sexual positions according to brands and models of motor vehicles.”
I yawned and Phil took the opportunity to shove the books off the bed. He turned out the light and kissed my forehead, then the tip of my nose, and then my lips. We made love in a Renault Megane kind of way.
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