It’s Just Not Good For You, Not Doing It At All


I’m lying in bed with no knickers on. I’m nervous but I know I’m doing the right thing. I didn’t know you could pay for this. Seems so much more civilised. When my friend told me I was quite shocked but she said he was very professional and so thorough. I suppose he has had a lot of practice if he’s been doing it since he was 25. Strange profession to choose in some ways but apparently men have been doing it almost as long as women. She says he is actually very passionate about what he does. And rather good looking as well. That made me blush; which made her laugh. There’s no taboo nowadays, she said. And its just not good for you, not doing it at all.

I’ve been putting it off for so long. I remember thinking about it a lot at university but I was always put off by other people’s stories. It sounded so, well, gross. When I phoned up to make the appointment a lady answered the phone, I was suddenly afraid that it was his wife but then realised I was being silly. I stuttered and explained what I wanted. I could feel her patting my hand through the phone as I stammered that I’d never ‘done it’ before. She had such a soft voice and I could smell the lavender smell of her old ladies hair travelling along the lines. A bit unexpected.

When I arrived, the entrance hall was very plush, and so clean. I was shown straight through to this room, expensive lighting and all. She gives me a lovely soft robe to change into. Her hands are bubble soft as she hands it to me. Make yourself comfortable, she says, he’ll be through shortly. The sheets smell so clean, it’s delicious in here. The pillows feel firm and cool and I start to feel safe. I wriggle my toes and feel my legs rub together gently. I have shaved and softened them so that they are silky against the sheets. I begin to wonder what he will look like. My friend described him to me but I still can’t imagine him.

The door handle turns and he walks in. A wonderful smile glows out from his handsome face, warming me as I lie in the bed. I glow back at him. He smells clean and masculine as he moves towards me. He passes one hand through his neat dark hair, and says he understands that I’m new to this but not to worry, he’ll be gentle with me. He asks me to relax and tell him a little about myself. I start to stutter about work and my cat until he stops me with a light touch, tell me about your favourite holiday, he says. I describe the Alps and begin to think about mountains and fresh clean air. He smiles and gently lifts my legs into the stirrups.

Photograph courtesy of Mockney Rebel, via Flickr. Used under a Creative Commons license.

Pam Lock

I've been writing for pleasure for about seven years and enjoy writing short stories although I have that inevitable children's novel secreted on my laptop, waiting for some love. I work as a P.A. by day and on a PhD about alcohol in Victorian fiction by night

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