Free Putty In Her Hands by R J Butler Page A

if it’s really yer
first go, take a quarter. Anything else?
     
    What? No, thanks.
     
    You sure? We’ve got a new batch
of anal DVDs, and a great one for Granny fuckers. And what about
dwarves? You look like a man who likes a bit of midget banging.
     
    What?! Most kind but I’ll give
it a miss for now. Thanks anyway.
     
    I left, walking briskly back up
the pavement, head down, not wanting to look at the bus queue
opposite, trying to shake my mind free of banging midget
grannies.
     
    Thursday, 3 January
    12.45 p.m. I feel on
edge all day; can’t concentrate. Even my work on absence monitoring
holds little joy. Lunchtime, I trot off to the library near work,
library card in hand to choose my DVDs. A rather different
selection from the one in the sex shop. The library’s only just
re-opened and it looks great – spacious, clean, smiley staff, good
stock, lots of PCs; a far cry from the library my mother used to
take me to all those years ago, when the female librarians doubled
up as prison wardens ready to pounce on you for the slightest
indiscretion, quoting by-laws and pointing to a mass array of ‘DO
NOT…’ posters. As I enter, the children’s section seems full of
lactating mothers bouncing new-borns on their knees in time to a
muted rendition of Incy-Wincy Spider. I pick out four DVDs,
carefully chosen to hopefully have limited appeal for Dawn. Job
done, I’m on my way back to work, hurrying against the cold, and as
I pass by De Niro's, a familiar voice calls me back. It’s Paul,
offering to buy me a coffee, and tempted though I am to make
excuses I feel I can’t refuse his peace offering.
     
    Settling down at the table
beneath a poster for ‘Heat’, I opt for a small Americano and an
apple Danish.
     
    That’s a lot of DVDs you’ve got
there, Rob. Planning a night in?

Something like that.
     
    So, he says, after we’d
dissected the weather, how did you get on with Dawn that
night?
     
    What do you mean?
     
    You know, when she took you
home. You both left fairly sharpish.
     
    Nothing happened, I say,
visualising her straddled on top of me on the bedroom floor, the
khaki bra, the feel of her breasts in my hands. She drove me
back and dropped me off outside my house; that was all. But look,
Paul, I’m sorry –
     
    Ah, don’t worry about it. All
fair in love and war, and all that. Anyway, it was obvious she only
had eyes for you.
     
    Was it?

Totally, you lucky bastard.
     
    Paul, you forget she’s
married.
     
    And so are you.
     
    Oh yes, so I am.
     
    You rascal, you. So come on,
what really happened?
     
    For a moment, a nanosecond, I
almost tell him, a part of me wanted to, to tell someone, even
moon-faced Paul, that I am falling in love with Dawn but just in
time, at the last moment, I spot the trap and neatly avoid it. Like I said, Paul, she simply took me home. End of.
     
    I believe you, he said
in a tone that implied the total opposite. Well, whatever, he added. Good luck to you, mate, she’s one heck of a
babe.
     
    She is that! He shoots
me a gleeful look. I mean, not that she does anything for
me .
     
    Yeah, right, and your blood
runs cold. But don’t worry, mate, your secret’s safe with me.
     
    There is no secret, Paul, just…
just leave it.
     
    OK, OK, I can take a hint.
     
    5.15 p.m. I’ve stopped off at De Niro’s again, deciding
that one Danish pastry is not enough sustenance for a day, and I’m
forcing down a baked potato with baked beans and melted cheese,
washed down with a cup of tea. But I’ve also come here to calm my
nerves. I’ve been in a state of such high tension all day. Tonight,
if things go according to plans, I’ll be committing adultery. Not
something to value, not something to be proud of, but something I
desire nonetheless. Perhaps if Dawn had been less beautiful, less
sexy, less so damn nice , I wouldn’t be in this situation. But to me she’s what Bo
Derek was to Dudley Moore in ‘Ten’ – Dawn is my ten, my
interpretation of perfect