Page 14 of Happily Never After
‘I really don’t want that mental image, thank you. Anyway, I suspect they’re more of a single person thing, aren’t they?’
‘Also not true. The vast majority of sex toy consumers are in relationships, apparently.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Where are you getting all these statistics from?’
She smiles. ‘I told you. I did some research.’
‘Of course you did. Anyway, back to Goliath the dildo here.’
‘It’s a vibrator, as I’ve already explained, but I like that you’ve named it. Every sex toy should have a name.’
‘Even if I could, umm,accommodateit, the idea of trying to use it when you’re literally in the room next to me and can probably hear everything is a massive turn-off.’
‘You’re assuming I’ll be listening. Anyway, you have the place to yourself all day most days. Now, do you have any other weird hang-ups you’d like to discuss before I get back to myCrème Pàtissière?’
‘I’m not repressed or frustrated,’ I repeat sulkily.
‘How would you describe it then?’
‘I’d say I have a healthy, normal attitude to sex.’
‘If that’s the case then not getting any would definitely cause some frustration. Think of it this way. If we look at your sex life with Angus as a pastry, it would be a jam doughnut. Unfortunately, the jam doughnut has buggered off so, until you find a new supplier, you have a choice.’
‘Which is?’
‘You could try to style out the doughnut famine, but I think that’s making you miserable, probably in danger of getting some kind of wrist injury and affecting your writing.’
‘Or?’
‘Or you could satisfy your need for sweet treats with the custard doughnuts of Goliath there. Does that make sense?’
The honest answer to her question is no, she’s not making any sense at all with her doughnut analogy, but I can see she might have a point generally. Goliath is way too intimidating, but perhaps I should do some research of my own and see if there’s something less likely to injure me that I might enjoy.
6
Thankfully, after our discussion in the kitchen of the pâtisserie, Liv seems to have given up trying to micro-manage my sex life. I don’t know whether she’s accepted that her gift just wasn’t for me, or whether she’s assuming that I’m spending every hour she’s out of the house in some kind of battery-powered state of bliss with Goliath, but I am enjoying her not going on about it any more. We obviously have wildly different attitudes to this subject, but I would argue that mine are fairly normal compared to Liv’s, which I think most people would describe as extreme. Goliath is still in the box, which I’ve shoved under my bed and done my best to forget about, but I have done a bit of online research of my own. After reading the product descriptions with mounting incredulity – who do they get to write this guff? – and looking at the surprisingly frank reviews, another box arrived yesterday. It’s also under the bed with Goliath, waiting for the right moment.
‘Is there anything you need to tell me about before we get to your parents’ house?’ Liv asks.
‘Such as?’ I ask her.
‘Oh, you know. The usual. If Great-Aunt Maude has fallen off a ladder and broken both her legs, it’s probably not the best idea to ask how her marathon training is coming along.’
‘Great-Aunt Maude won’t be there.’
‘Have you actually got a great-aunt called Maude then?’
‘No. That’s why she won’t be there.’
‘Phew. I thought for a moment that I might have forgotten one of your relatives. Are there any other family things I need not to mention?’
‘I think you’re reasonably safe. Steer clear of the usuals and we’ll hopefully get through without any issues.’
‘The usuals?’
‘Sex, politics and religion.’
She grins. ‘Damn, that’s my whole set of conversation starters out of the window.’
