Free Maid for You (Regular Sex Issue 5) by Kitty French Page A

how am I ever going to be
brave enough to suggest using them with Don at the weekend?
    Second note to
self: buy gin.
     
    Oh, I bought gin all
right, the biggest bottle in the store. I needed it after inspecting the
contents of that delivery box. I've hid it in the ottoman in the spare room for
now; I just hope the kids don't find it over the next couple of days because I
can't think of a way to innocently explain the black latex mask they sent as a
freebie because I'd spent over a hundred big ones. I'd spent more than two
hundred actually; I'm lucky they didn't send me the full latex morphsuit. The
idea of Don trying to wriggle into that makes me feel slightly hysterical, he'd
throw his dodgy shoulder out for sure. I'm really not sure I can do this.  
     
    So, it's Saturday
morning, and Don's just gone off to drop the kids at his mother’s. So far, I'd
say he's had a pretty decent, if somewhat predictable start to his special day.
Breakfast in bed provided with a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday, prezzies and
cards from the kids, and a watch I know he's had his eye on for some time. He
thinks we're going out to dinner tonight at the little Italian in town we
usually go to for anniversaries and birthdays. Jeez, I hope he's not
disappointed when he knows we're not going there, he is pretty fond of their
lasagne. I bite my nails as I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. It's
coming up for midday now, and he's duty bound to spend an hour with his mother
or she'll grumble, which means I've got ninety minutes or so to get
preparations underway here. I'm going to the shower, via the ottoman. Wish me
luck.
     
    Don's just pulled
into the drive, I'm watching from our bedroom window. God, I feel sick! He's
out the car now and has stopped to pass the time of day with our neighbour, Vanu.
'Keep him talking, Vanu,' I whisper against the glass, because I have a bad
case of stage fright now that I've moved from the planning stage to execution. I
look at him, really look at him, and my breath catches in my throat. No wonder
the nurses at work call him hot Dr. Don. He thinks I don't know, but I've heard
it lots of times over the years at functions and at rowdy, late night leaving
do's in the pub over the road from the hospital.
    Outside of work he's
a relaxed man in every sense; his dress sense is all about old jeans and well
loved T-shirts, and he has an easy way with people that means he's never stuck
for the right thing to say. In short, Don is very cool indeed, and I love the
bones of him. He proposed to me on the beach in Lyme Regis on a wintery day,
huge stick letters in the sand as he kissed me senseless; from that day to this
he's been my perfect man. He tells me I'm his perfect woman, too, our marriage
is ship-shape in every way except for one.
    I can hear his
keys in the door, and he's whistling. I wonder if he's hoping to watch the
match on the TV without the kids buzzing around him. Will my proposition be more
appealing than a couple of cold beers and an afternoon in the armchair? It's a
sorry thing that I'm not confident about the answer, isn't it?
    'Cheryl?' Don
calls up the stairs to me. 'I'll be in the snug if you're looking for me, darl.
There's a game on. Would you grab me a beer seeing as it's my birthday?'
    He laughs,
good-natured as always. He's a good man, a good husband. I wouldn't normally
mind grabbing him a beer on his birthday. I just wish... I don't know. I hoped
he'd come up and find me rather than me having to go down there to him, it
would have made it easier.
    I catch sight of
myself in the wardrobe mirror. Given how I look, maybe it's a good thing he's
asked me to fetch something for him. God, I hope he doesn't laugh at me.
     
    'Beer?' I say, walking
through the door from the kitchen into the snug to stand beside his chair. He's
on the edge of his seat, gripped by the game, and he holds his hand out and
takes the beer without even glancing my way.
    'Thanks honey.' He
knocks back a long swig and then