Free Sweet by Julie Burchill

morning?’
    ‘Wahey! – you’re eager, aren’t you! Well, we’re not working till the evening – and I guess it would be sort of special not to do it here for the first time . . .’
    ‘Yes, I think so. Though of course, wherever there are two of one mind, it’s always appropriate.’
    Boy, was he learning fast or what!
    ‘Though ideally there would be three or more of us –’ He caught me by the shoulders and stared at me full on, his eyes searching my face as though he thought he’d find the final rollover number there. Which in a way was the truth, I s’pose, if you want to be smutty about it.
    ‘Steady on, tiger!’ I was getting well hot and bothered now, as a vivid image of me, Asif and Dr Foxy rolling around under the Palace Pier came into my head. Bit parky for it, though – still, just have to stay extra-close for warmth!
    ‘You live in Brighton – would you like to do it there?’ He was well animated now, getting more excited by the minute!
    ‘Well – where do you live?’
    ‘Crawley.’
    ‘No, I definitely don’t want to do it there!’
    We laughed, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like he was a foreigner.
    ‘Shall I come to your house at nine o’clock?’
    ‘Hang about!’ It’s not like Mum was a racist – I mean, look at me! It was a warm day in Sussex when I was born, obviously – you don’t get a black-haired, olive-skinned baby from sleeping with the boy next door, obviously. But there’s caffè latte and there’s double espresso, and these things can make all the difference when they’re banging on your front door – with a view to banging your daughter – at the crack of dawn. ‘Why don’t I meet you at the station? Then we can just stroll down and stop where the fancy takes us . . .’
    ‘What a lovely idea, Maria.’ He looked genuinely moved, which never hurts a girl’s ego, I find. I could have sworn there were actual tears in his eyes! ‘It should be spontaneous – as the spirit moves us!’
    ‘Couldn’t agree more!’ I stroked his lovely face and planted a light, teasing kiss on his lips, making him blush, bless him! Boy – isn’t it great when you find yourself singing from the same hymn sheet!
    So that’s how come, at nine thirty next morning, I was sitting in a Baptist Church in Hove praising the Lord. To add insult to injury, I didn’t recognize one of the hymns – all intro, no tune! On the plus side, the vicar – or ‘pastor’ as they called him – was quite fit, as well as the congregation; lots of lush ethnics there, but no sign of the foxy Maxine. She struck me as the bolshy non-believer sort, anyway. And of course she was an abortionist!
    I sneaked a sideways peek at the gorge God-botherer who’d got me into this as I mouthed the words to one of the tuneless wonders, and he shot me the sort of smile that made it all worthwhile. We finished the alleged hymn and sat down, and bugger me if the pastor didn’t start banging on about how much he ‘desired’ his wife! The irony! And here was I, heading for Nunsville on the No-Sex Express!
    ‘Stand up, Moira!’ yelled the pastor lustily. We all rubber-necked like crazy before our eyes came to rest on this pretty boring broad in that sorta late twenties–early thirties zone, where it’s all going pear-shaped, i.e. RIGHT ON TO THE HIPS! She was looking down at her feet – though with hips like that it’d be a wonder if she could see them, come to think of it. ‘Yes, that’s my wife – Moira!’
    We made sort of approving noises – even me. Well, it seemed a bit bad to shout ‘Oi! – Cankles!’ in a church, which was the first thing that came into my mind to be honest.
    ‘Moira – tell the people – do I give you flowers?’
    Moira mumbled something.
    ‘Speak up, Moira! – TELL the people!’
    Moira cleared her throat. ‘Yes!’
    ‘And tell the people, Moira – do I give you flowers because I feel I SHOULD give you flowers?’ – dramatic pause! – ‘OR BECAUSE I