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Stop STOP!!!!!!!! Don’t! Stupid idea. Wait till hotel!!!!!!!!

I peer at the phone, baffled. What is her problem? I fire off another text:Advertisement

Don’t worry, we’re married.

I take a sip of water, then hear another ping. This time it’s a text from Ben.

3rd cubicle on left. Knock twice.

I feel a delicious shiver and text back:

Coming.

As I pick up my bag, I see that Fliss has texted again:

Really, really think you should wait!!!! Save till hotel!!!!

This is getting annoying. I only texted her for fun, not to get some stupid lecture. What’s she worried about, that we’ll get caught and somehow people will link her to me and her precious magazine will be brought into disrepute? I send a cross reply:

None of your business.

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As I cross the lounge toward the washrooms, I’m actually trembling with anticipation. I knock twice on the third cubicle door, and as Ben sweeps me in, he’s already half undressed.

“Oh God. Oh God …”

His mouth is immediately on mine, his hand is in my hair, now he’s unhooking my bra and I’m wriggling out of my knickers. I’ve never moved so fast. I’ve never wanted it so fast. I’ve never needed it so badly in my life.

“Shh!” we keep whispering to each other as we bump against the cubicle walls. Thank God they’re sturdy. We’re maneuvering into position as quickly as we can, Ben’s braced against the wall, we’re both breathing like steam engines, I can tell this is going to take about ten seconds.…

“Condom?” I whisper.

“No.” He meets my eye. “Right?”

“Right.” I feel an extra spurt of excitement. We might make a baby!

“Hey.” He suddenly pauses. “Have you got into any kinky stuff since we last did it? Anything I should know?”

“A bit,” I say breathlessly, hoicking my skirt up farther. “Tell you later. Come on.”

“OK! Give me a chance—”

Rap-rap-rap-rap!

The knocking at the cubicle door nearly gives me a heart attack, and I bash my knee on the cistern. What? What?

“Excuse me?” a female voice is calling from the other side of the door. “This is the lounge manager speaking. Is there someone in there?”

Fuck.

I can’t answer. I can’t move. Ben and I eye each other in panic.

“Could you please open the door?”

My leg is still wrapped round Ben’s back. The other foot is on the loo seat. I have no idea where my underwear is. Worst of all, my entire body is still throbbing with need.

Could we just ignore this lounge manager? Keep going? I mean, what can they do?

“Carry on?” I mouth at Ben. “Really quietly?” I gesture to make myself clear, and the loo seat creaks. Shit.

“If you don’t come out, I’m afraid I will have to use a passkey to gain access,” the voice is saying.

They have a passkey to the loos? What is this, a fascist state?

I’m still breathing as hard as ever. But now it’s with miserable frustration. I can’t do this. I can’t consummate my marriage with a lounge manager listening six inches away, the other side of the door, poised with a passkey.

There’s more knocking at the door. In fact, it’s becoming more like a pounding.

“Can you hear me?” the woman is demanding. “Can anyone hear me in there?”

I meet Ben’s eyes ruefully. We’re going to have to answer, before she bursts in with a SWAT team.

“Oh, hi there!” I call back, hastily hooking my bra up. “Sorry! I was just … fixing my … head.”

My head? Where did that come from?

“My husband was helping me,” I add, searching around for my knickers. Ben is pulling up his trousers. It’s over.

Dammit. I can’t find my knickers. I’ll have to leave them. I quickly brush back my hair, glance at Ben, pick up my handbag, then unlock the door and smile at the gray-haired woman standing outside the door, together with a younger brunette sidekick.

“So sorry,” I say smoothly. “I have a medical complaint. My husband has to help me administer a serum. We prefer privacy for the application.”

The woman’s eyes run over me suspiciously. “Do you need me to call a doctor?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine now. Thank you, darling,” I add to Ben, for good measure.

Her eyes drop to the floor. “Are those yours?” I follow her gaze and curse inwardly. My knickers. That’s where they were.

“Of course they’re not mine,” I say with cutting dignity.

“I see.” She turns to the sidekick. “Lesley, please tell a cleaner to come and refresh this cubicle.” pqdm.com