Veena/Thursday, 27th April

Fiona came round to our house this morning and totally threw me. I thought she was spying on us, or had come to check on our progress or something. I had a notion to check her for stopwatches and theodolites. Turns out she’d given us the wrong bag of books and had come to swap them. Phil was a bit distraught at losing his Bizarre Facts book and made a great issue of noting the title, author, publisher and ISBN number before he handed it over. As if he’s going to walk into a shop and buy a book!

Fiona also gave us both a list of sexual scenarios we should explore. I read it on the way to work when I’d stopped at the lights. It was so shocking that I stalled the car when the lights changed. Does she seriously expect us to get up to these shenanigans? Some of it is bizarre, some of it is repulsive, and at least half of it is disgusting.

I’m going to type it in here because I have to destroy the evidence in case Roddy finds it.

SEXUAL SCENARIOS

(1) Sex Toys. Try vibrators, dildoes, love balls.

(2) Make love in other parts of the house, away from the bedroom. Try the kitchen, hall, bathroom.

(3) Watch yourself making love in mirrors. Use a video camera if you have one.

(4) Make love outdoors or in the car. Enjoy the sense of danger at the possibility that you might get caught.

(5) Gender swap. Wear each other’s clothes. Let the female partner be the aggressor. Experiment with a strap-on dildo.

(6) Spontaneous oral sex. To be performed when your partner least expects it.

(7) Anal sex. Does not have to include penetration if this is too painful, but the anus is rich in nerve endings.

(8) Bondage. Many people find the thought of being powerless to resist during a sexual session a massive turn-on.

(9) Sado-masochism. This can range from mild chastisement, in the form of a hand slapping buttocks, to whips, paddles and canes.

(10) Latex/Rubber/Leather. Many people find these give a sensuous tactile experience and are also visually stimulating.

(11) Voyeurism. Would you like other people to watch you making love? Would you like to watch other couples making love?

(12) Partner swapping. Not a way to have extra-marital sexual affairs, but a life-enhancing way to share and enjoy your partner’s pleasure with other lovers.

No, thank you very much.

Phil/Wednesday, 26th April

Problem. Sheena phoned me on my mobile to cancel our lunch date. She’s afraid Arthur will find out and it seems he’s the jealous type. I don’t know why she’s so bothered, this is totally innocent, just two old pals having a gab. I’d have no problems telling Veena, though I haven’t yet.

Sheena opened up a bit and told me she was having problems with Arthur. Seems he knocks her about now and again. No punches, just pushing and shoving, but she’s scared. I was furious and told her I’d go down and sort him out, but she said that would just make things worse. I offered her the services of a couple of brickies from one of the sites. When it comes to scaring people, these guys could give Dracula lessons. She laughed at that, but said it wouldn’t work.

“So, is that it?” I asked, “We bump into each other after all these years and then just disappear from each other’s lives again?”

“What were you expecting?” Her voice was soft, confidential.

“I don’t know. Talking. Remembering how daft we were when we were kids. Just a bit of fun.”

“You have a wife and child. I have a husband and two children. That makes it very difficult.”

“Hey, can people not just be pals any more?”

“Of course they can. But ....”

And it struck me like a bolt of lightning - Sheena was up for it!

“Listen, Sheena, I’m not chasing you. I’ve no intention of having a fling with you or anything like that. You can forget it.”

“Ohh.”

And she hung up on me.

I wanted to explain to her, but I hadn’t taken her number, didn’t want to seem pushy, gave her mine.

It’s good for the ego, knowing somebody fancies you, but a lucky escape methinks.

Big Phil called me into his office later. He’s actually shorter than me, but he’s rounder and he’s the boss, which is why he’s Big. Told me the rest of the guys were getting a bonus this month and I wasn’t. I didn’t have to ask him why. He’s just having his little bit of revenge because of last year.

Like he said, “What am I supposed to give you, a disloyalty bonus?”

Veena/Wednesday, 26th April

Uh uh, big problems at work today. I invited Tommy Carter to the Drama Club after school. Not a good move.

We were doing Shaw’s The Devil’s Disciple and I wanted him to read for Dick Dudgeon. I thought he had the touch of devilishness about him which Dick requires, and I was proved only too right.

He picked up on the character right away and, though he had difficulty holding the accent, I was well pleased with him and secretly pleased with myself for unearthing this rare talent.

After the reading was over I gave everybody their notes and called it quits for the night. We’re not doing the production till end of term, so we’ve plenty of time for rehearsals. Everybody drifted off, apart from Tommy, who helped me by collecting the scripts. He asked me how I thought he’d done, though I’d already heaped praise on him during the notes.

“You have a talent, Tommy,” I confirmed, “But what you do with it is up to you. If you decide to take up acting as a career there’s a long road ahead of you, and lots of hard work.”

He gave a little moue, a la Bruce Willis, and said, “I can do it. I want to do it.”

“So why didn’t you come to the Drama Club in first year, instead of waiting so long? You could have had four years of experience under your belt by now.”

“I had to wait ... for you to notice me.”

He was looking me right in the eye, which I found quite disconcerting.

“Don’t blame it on me, Tommy, you’ve not always been in my class for me to notice you.”

I started stacking the scripts in the cupboard as he passed them to me.

“I thought it would be boring. Shakespeare and stuff, like we do in class....”

“We do Shakespeare in Drama Club. Quite often actually. I’m not offering classic training here, but if you can master a bit of iambic pentameter, you’ll have no fears doing the stuff they churn out nowadays.”

He passed me the last script and his hand lingered against mine. “Thanks for taking an interest, Miss, I really appreciate it.”

He winked at me, picked up his bag, and left.


He winked at me!!!!

Call me a paranoid old bag, but I think a certain Master Carter has a crush on his English teacher.

Phil/Tuesday, 25th April

Well, that was a waste of time. Fiona’s books were what you’d get if Mills & Boon did technical manuals.

More importantly, today my dream came true!

Well, almost.

I was driving downArgyle Street this afternoon when I saw this woman at the bus-stop, and I swear she was exactly like in my dream - Sheena Gray.

I parked the car, double-quick, and ran back to the bus-stop. Luckily there was no-one else there, because when I got up to her, I realised I felt like a right prat. What was I meant to say to her?

I stood at the stop, glancing around casually, and she turned at one point and looked right through me. I realised I’d have to do something pretty fast, or her bus would come and I’d be left standing there like an utter prick.

Finally, I gathered together the small amount of courage I’ve got left after 15 years of marriage and cleared my throat noisily.

“Ehh, excuse me. Your name wouldn’t happen to be Sheena Gray would it?”

She shook her head and said, “No.”

I shrugged, smiled weakly, and was turning to walk away when she added, “But it used to be.”

Would you believe it - Sheena Gray! After 25 years!

Well, it’s Sheena Burns now, because she’s married to some fella, Arthur or something, who works in computers in East Kilbride. We were having a right good gab when her bus came, but I said bugger it, took an unscheduled half-day and gave her a run up the road. She’s still a sweetheart, full of fun, laughs all the time, and we're going to have lunch tomorrow and talk about the old times, looking forward to it.

Veena/Tuesday, 25th April

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.

Veena/Monday, 24th April

Phil seems to have partially emerged from his Neanderthal period and I hope we can now proceed on a more civilised basis.

Fiona has given us some books and magazines to look at (which I’m going to have to keep well-hidden from Roddy). Again, I’m not too convinced by this. Phil has no difficulty in looking at dirty books, magazines, pictures, videos etc. His problem lies in doing something about it, vis a vis me!

Still, if we share our perusal of these manuals in the comfort and privacy of our own bed, perhaps we can both get turned on enough to benefit. In any case, I hope this will only be the fire that lights his touchpaper. The thought of basing my future sex-life solely on Phil getting turned on by strumpets displaying their sordid wares makes me want to throw up.

This is me that was trying to encourage him to look up porn on the web. It’s no wonder he’s confused. I’m confused.

Fiona also said she wants us to be generally more adventurous. This worries me.

Phil/Monday, 24th April

Hey, she’s not a bad old stick, Fiona. Gave us a pile of dirty books to bring home. At least I can now see some tangible benefits from the fortunes we’re paying her. If they’re any good I might take out a subscription.

The thought of reading them with Shorty isn’t too appealing, because I know what her reaction will be. If she’s not criticising some poor girl for having nail polish and shoes that don’t match, she’ll be having a go at them for being dirty trollops.

It’s a small step from there to feminism and human dignity, and me having no respect for individuals in general and women in particular. We’ve played this game before. I then say, ‘These women are exhibitionists. It’s a medical condition, and you’re impinging on their human rights by not allowing them to display themselves in the scud and fulfil themselves as human beings.’

This, of course, is red rag to a bull. She thinks I’m trying to be funny about a very serious subject and I get a lecture on exploitation. I counter that if that’s exploitation then I’ll have a large dose of it. Give me a couple of grand to get my kit off and wiggle Willie-Boy about. This gets a dismissive snort and I’ll fall asleep worrying that Veena’s not really happy with Willie-Boy’s general dimensions.

Be clever, Phil, you can see it coming, so let’s not go down that road. Agree with her!

Veena/Saturday, 22nd April

Pig-face got drunk last night. Came home staggering and giggling away to himself. Has spent the entire day lying on the couch moaning and drinking irn-bru. A fine example to set our son. If he won’t bother I don’t see why I should.



Phil/Saturday, 22nd April

Writing this on a bus on Sunday morning. Have to go and pick up the car after a bevvy session with the guys on Friday night. Hope I can remember where I left it.

What a hoot of a night. MacDonald had had lunch with one of the contractors, so was a few paces ahead of the rest of us. At one point he cornered me at the bar and started on about Veena again. I was trying to tell him to sober up when he stopped me in my tracks.

“It’s her arse,” he said, “ I adore it. Worship it.”

I was going to get ratty with him, when I noticed there was a single tear coursing down his cheek. Now I felt sorry for him, his was one of the wives who didn’t rate a mention yesterday.

“Oh aye,” I said, “Worship it?”

He nodded eagerly. “Aye. It’s perfect. It is the epitome of the female posterior. The best tush in town.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Ah, it’s not bad.”

Charlie Webster, who was leaning over us to get to his drink, heard me. “Veena’s arse? Who are you kidding, it’s a work of art. You’re a lucky bastard, Wilson.”

“It’s only a bloody bum,” I said desperately.

“A bum? A bum?” MacDonald had grabbed my shoulders. “How can you say that? I’m telling you, it’s beautiful, and I worship it.”


Writing this on a bus on Sunday morning. Have to go and pick up the car after a bevvy session with the guys on Friday night. Hope I can remember where I left it.

What a hoot of a night. MacDonald had had lunch with one of the contractors, so was a few paces ahead of the rest of us. At one point he cornered me at the bar and started on about Veena again. I was trying to tell him to sober up when he stopped me in my tracks.

“It’s her arse,” he said, “ I adore it. Worship it.”

I was going to get ratty with him, when I noticed there was a single tear coursing down his cheek. Now I felt sorry for him, his was one of the wives who didn’t rate a mention yesterday.

“Oh aye,” I said, “Worship it?”

He nodded eagerly. “Aye. It’s perfect. It is the epitome of the female posterior. The best tush in town.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Ah, it’s not bad.”

Charlie Webster, who was leaning over us to get to his drink, heard me. “Veena’s arse? Who are you kidding, it’s a work of art. You’re a lucky bastard, Wilson.”

“It’s only a bloody bum,” I said desperately.

“A bum? A bum?” MacDonald had grabbed my shoulders. “How can you say that? I’m telling you, it’s beautiful, and I worship it.”


“Me too,” Webster added.

“Aye, but I was first,” MacDonald argued, “I am the first disciple of Veena’s arse.”

“Hey, hold on, I’m her husband.”

“True. You are in possession of the holy grail, so to speak. And we’ve no argument with you on that score.

As long as you don’t mind us adoring, admiring and worshipping it ... from a distance, of course.”

The rest of the guys had gathered round us now and were nodding in agreement.

“It’s like a religion, Phil,” Wee John said, “And you’re the Pope.”

“Here, that’s a bit sacrilegious. I’m not a very good Christian, but I know my commandments - Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife’s ass.”

“But I’m not your neighbour. I live in Rutherglen.”

“Oh well, that’s okay then.”

Anyway, that’s how the night started, and it only got worse after that. If Veena ever finds out, she’ll kill me.

Veena and Phil have not had a good week. Diary writing seems to have hit an impasse at the weekend as a War of Silence ensued. Phil’s binge drinking is obviously a factor, though not a primary one I suspect.

On reflection the Beyond the Beast therapy does not seem to be right for them. I had hoped the challenge would help them to re-engage, but the reverse seems to have happened.

With a view to encouraging them to explore new areas of sexuality together, and therefore re-ignite a sexual spark, I have given them some literature which I hope they find stimulating both erogenously and intellectually.

Phil seems to be taking the process more seriously now. He was very attentive during the session and didn’t feel the need to punctuate the conversation with rude remarks. This may be due to the bollocking Veena gave him for his inebriated behaviour.