LB29
The night of my hen party, I have the house to myself.
A chicken pizza with extra cheese is currently being made for me in a place called Red we were drunk at the time, and I told him to show me an example of what he liked.
We watched a man and a woman going at it, but it was friendly enough, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.
I assumed, going forward, that’s the kind of thing he’d be watching, and I didn’t mind that.
I read a statistic that 80 per cent of men view porn every single week, so I would be naive to think that Josh didn’t dabble.
BUT THIS? The violence, the frequency, is something I can’t get my head around.
I don’t understand how he hasn’t got PTSD from watching it, let alone getting pleasure from it.
I put the laptop back and sit at the end of the bed, staring at it, not sure what to do next. I call Lace. She picks up after three rings.
‘Lace, I need your help,’ I say.
‘Oh, hey.’ The low tone of her voice catches me off guard. I’m guessing it’s something to do with the Woolly Hat Man.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. Everything is bright and beautiful.’ It sounds forced. I wish she would be more open with me, especially as I weirdly feel I can tell her anything, even if we have only known each other for less than a month.
‘No . . . man troubles?’ I push. I wish I could directly ask about the Woolly Hat Man, but I can’t without revealing that I followed her like a little creep.
‘Man?’ she says, as if she’s never heard of the word.
‘Yeah . . . you know, the other type of human.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be on your hen party?’
‘Well, Officer Harry Hung saved me from a night in Reading with my mother-in-law. Thanks for that, by the way . . .’
‘You can always rely on Officer Harry Hung.’
‘You can indeed. Look. I called you because . . .’ I stop and contemplate how I’m going to say this. I suddenly feel shy and stupid and wonder what came over me to ring her about something so personal.
‘Are you still happy that you’re getting married to Josh Butters? Because if not, let me know. I’m stitching your wedding dress together right now.’
‘I’m happy. I am happy, but . . .’ I look at the laptop. ‘Here’s the thing,’ I say, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘I’ve found Josh’s porn, and, well, it seems like he has taken to . . . pegging.’
‘Pegging?’
‘It’s when you put the dildo into the man’s . . .’
‘Bottom. I’m aware.’
‘Should I be worried?’ I ask.
She exhales. ‘Do you want to peg him?’ She suddenly sounds very tired.
‘Erm, I don’t know. Do you think I should?’
‘You need to do what you feel comfortable doing.’
‘That’s very politically correct of you,’ I say.
‘All I’ll say is sex is meant to be a fun and loving way in which humans connect.’
‘Let me tell you, the men in the films don’t look like they’re having fun. You should hear the noises they make. They were like, AHHHHH!’
‘Amy. You need to talk to your fiancé about this,’ she says firmly.
‘Trust me, I would, but I don’t know how to talk to Josh about basic sex, let alone . . .’
‘Have you got those types of toys?’ Lace asks.
‘Do you think I should get some toys?’
‘If you want toys.’
I groan. Sex is like the arts; there are no wrong or right answers. Nothing is black and white, just a mash-up of emotionally led actions. That’s why science is so easy; you do tests, and something is wrong or right.
‘I’m sorry to do this, doll, but I need to get on with this dress before the red wine kicks in.’ She says, obviously losing all her patience with me. I don’t blame her, I’m sick of me too. Here I am, ONCE AGAIN, moaning about my love life when she is going through her own man issues.
‘Lace, I’m here if you need to talk about anything.’
‘I know. Good night, doll.’
She hangs up.