Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions. Timothy Lea

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      It sounds such good sense doesn’t it? I wonder if I could volunteer to give it away on the National Health?

      ‘But I don’t know you. I mean you’ve been very kind and nice but–’

      ‘What could be better? You don’t want to know me. Just look on me like some kind of doctor who’s about to give you an examination.’

      I squeeze her hand tenderly and pull her towards me. ‘You make it sound so convincing,’ she says apologetically. ‘Oh, I did look forward to it so much before we got married.’

      ‘It’s not always easy at first,’ I say, kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘It’s like learning to ride a bike. You have to be prepared to fall off a few times.’ On reflection that does not seem the best way I could have put it but it is too late to rephrase it now.

      ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘You’ve got a hairy chest. Just like Roger.’

      ‘Just think of me as Roger,’ I purr, sliding my arm round her waist. ‘Close your eyes and imagine that he’s come back and is sliding into bed beside you.’

      ‘Do you mind drawing the curtains a bit?’

      ‘Nobody can see.’

      ‘I know but I feel happier when it’s a bit dark. I’m shy, you see.’

      She is sitting there obediently with her eyes closed so I half draw the curtains, turn the key in the lock, and whip my clothes off so quickly that one of my fly buttons rolls under the wardrobe.

      ‘That’s a very pretty nightdress,’ I murmur as I slide in beside her. ‘Very pretty.’

      ‘I made it myself. Can I open my eyes now?’

      ‘Of course. How do you feel?’

      ‘Frightened.’

      ‘That’s nothing new, is it?’

      ‘No, I suppose not.’

      ‘Well, I’m not frightened, I’m excited.’ I take her hand and guide it down the front of my body. ‘Feel.’

      She touches me gingerly as if trying to remove a piece of cheese from a mousetrap.

      ‘It’s huge,’ she says.

      I shake my head sadly. ‘I wish you were right. It just feels like that because you’re not used to it and you can’t see it.’

      ‘I could never get that inside me.’

      ‘Let me worry about that,’ I kiss her gently on the lips and slip my hand under her nightie.

      ‘Relax. Don’t stiffen up. Come on, you’re very pretty.’

      Slowly but surely her tongue darts out and stays pinned between her teeth. Her small breasts seem to grow beneath my hands and her hard nipples quiver expectantly.

      ‘You like that, don’t you?’

      ‘Um. Lovely! You have very gentle hands. Are you going to touch me there?’

      ‘In a minute. There’s no hurry.’

      This is not strictly true but I have left the key in the lock in case somebody comes to see what’s happened to me.

      ‘Oh, that’s heaven.’

      I run my fingers over her belly and lightly brush against the soft hairs that nestle below it. Tiptoe to the two lips, in fact. Very gently I plough the moist furrow and–

      ‘Oh, be careful.’

      ‘This doesn’t hurt, does it?’

      ‘A little.’

      ‘I’m going to move my finger about a bit. How’s that?’

      ‘Alright. In fact it’s quite nice, really.’

      We go on like this for a bit and I am beginning to feel fruitier than Covent Garden. There is a nice pink flush in her cheeks and her eyes are closed contentedly. It must be chronic, if you can’t get your end away, mustn’t it? You forget what some poor devils have to go through–or not go through as seems more the case.

      ‘I’m going to try it with two, now,’ says kindly Doctor Lea .’Try and grin and bear it. Remember it’s in a good cause.’

      ‘Think of Roger.’

      ‘That’s right. Think of Roger.’

      ‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’

      ‘Positive. Anyway, it’s a bit late to worry about it now, isn’t it? Now, we’ve got this far.’

      ‘Ouch!’ Her hands close around my wrists. ‘This is the bit that always hurts.’

      ‘I know. But we’ve got to do it. Come on. Think how nice it’s going to be later on.’

      ‘I hope you’re right. Ouch!’

      I pull her close to me and make her move her legs around while I offer encouraging noises. It is all a bit clinical for a bloke of my tastes and I can feel J.T. Superstar beginning to get perplexed. It would be a disaster to do a Roger, wouldn’t it? The very thought sends cold shivers down my spine. Luckily, the bird is far from passive as far as the old moaning and groaning goes and this helps to keep me on the boil. I can’t stand the ones who lie there as if they are wondering what shade of brown to paint the ceiling.

      At last I reckon the time has come to do some real plumbing and I gently lever myself between her legs. Such a tiny bird, she is. Her nose is practically pressing against my belly button.

      ‘Here we go,’ I say. ‘Stand by for blast off.’

      For some reason I think of one of those old-fashioned costume movies with a battering ram being positioned outside the gates of the castle. At least nobody is pouring boiling oil down my neck.

      ‘Ouch! Oh, no! Oh!’

      ‘Hang on, we’re nearly there. There!’

      ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ Her voice rises in a series of shouts progressing from the pained to the triumphant. ‘Hurrah!’

      ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

      ‘Wasn’t too good, either, but thank you very much. You don’t know what this means to me.’

      She puts her little hands around my big end and hugs me to her.

      ‘It’s nothing. All part of the room service.’

      She kisses me warmly on the mouth and together we engage full revs and rocket off into the stratosphere–well, would you believe the bed hopped six inches from the wall?

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