Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 694 by Angharad

We were back to normal, as normal as we ever get or are likely to. Simon spooned around me and I kept my hands off his stubbly groin. He was either going to have to keep it shaven or waxed, or let it grow through the itchy stage.

We’d talked well into the night, like we did before the kids happened. Listen to me, I sound like an old woman–before the kids happened–ha, sounds as if I had them myself, doesn’t it. Maybe I’ll keep that as one of my deliberately vague statements, answering questions like, ‘When did you lose your figure?’ Well, it was after the kids happened… Yeah sounds good.

It was also good that we seemed able to resolve a squabble without handing rings back or walking out on each other, or worse. Simon probably won’t be able to use paracetamol again, don’t know if his liver would tolerate it.

We talked about loads of things, top of which was, ‘Did I still love him and want to marry him?’ The obvious answer is no, which was why I didn’t walk out on him, or throw his ring at him. The stupid man–what a ridiculous question, is he that insecure?

I suppose as well he could have attacked my one area of weakness, my journey to womanhood, but he seems to forget that. I suppose it would be self defeating, because it could suggest he was gay or something, unless it just means he ignores it because he doesn’t see me in that way, and considers me a normal woman. I don’t think I’ll ask him tonight, partly because I’m not sure I want to know.

Of course I want to be his wife, but the thought of organising a wedding terrifies me. I have no experience of it, and I know Stella and Monica would help, I’m still scared. At the moment, I simply don’t have time, looking after three kids is all consuming. I suppose it could just mean I’m terribly inefficient, or inexperienced, but I seem so tired all the time.

I must take Trish to her therapist soon, and now I have to take Livvie to one as well. It just goes on and on. I seem as if I’m never satisfied. I wanted children, and never thought for one minute I’d ever have any, so even my surrogate kids are so welcome, and I shouldn’t complain, but it all seemed to have happened so quickly. One day I have no kids, then a few months later and I have three. I love them all and want to keep them as long as I can–well, until they’re grown up; then they can decide if they still want to keep in contact.

The idea of adoption sounds really good, and I know Livvie wants it. Possibly Trish and Mima do as well, except they’re too young to ask objectively. I could ask them the question any time and manipulate the answer I want out of all of them. So I think we wait, at least until after the wedding–assuming we ever manage it.

Back to square one–the wedding–no wonder I can’t sleep, I keep thinking about this and more in dread than anticipation. Am I marrying Simon because I love him or because I want to be married, to prove a point–not many boys get to be Mrs or Lady So’n’so. It wasn’t something I aspired to, not until I read Jane Austen, and worse, saw the films. Smouldering Colin Firth as Mr Darcy in his wet shirt–I’m getting palpitations. Simon actually is almost as good looking, and in riding breeches and tight shirt, would look equally good. I am now feeling less like sleeping than I did when we came to bed. I can hear Simon gently snoring behind me. Damn, that is like, so inconsiderate of him, and I quite fancy the idea of making love to him bald–you know what I mean. I wonder if it’s possible to do it without him waking up? Nah, it’s women who sleep through it, not men–not even if I put a rubber band around it.

I tossed and turned in mild frustration, I’m not usually like this–okay, I get a bit turned on now and again, but this is like, well, like nothing I can honestly remember before. My whole body is wanting him, or Colin Firth, I’m not that choosy. What is going on?

I got up and went downstairs for a cuppa–when in doubt, put the kettle on. As I made some tea, Stella appeared. “What’re you doing up?” we said almost simultaneously.

“I couldn’t sleep, Pud was restless and kept waking up, she’s gone off now. You?”

“No, I haven’t gone off,” I replied.

“You dopey cow, why are you up?” asked Stella grabbing the first mug of tea I poured.

“Si and I had a squabble.”

“Not again, doesn’t he like his pink pubes?” she sniggered.

“He’s shaved them off.”

“Ooh, sexy,” she chortled.

“That’s what I thought, and ever since I’ve been consumed by lust in a way I’ve never felt before.”

“What? You’re joking?”

“Stella, I never joke about such things. I was thinking about one or two things and suddenly thought about Jane Austen, then Colin Firth and then Simon, ‘cos he looks a bit like Colin Firth. Anyway, what do you mean, sexy? He’s your brother for God’s sake.”

“I’m not surprised you thought about Simon after Colin Firth, but I mean, how could any one fancy Jane Austen?”

“Jane Austen? I don’t fancy Jane Austen. I was thinking about the wedding and being Colin’s, I mean Simon’s wife…”

“Ha ha, Freudian slip.”

“Oh shut up, I was thinking about weddings and things and for some reason Pride and Prejudice, came into my mind and Colin Firth, and my hormones kept squealing that they wanted a ‘good seeing to’ which I believe is the vernacular.

“Have you been sniffing something?”

“Don’t be silly, Stella, I just got randier than ever before. Normally, it’s just an itch somewhere that Simon has the requisite instrument for scratching, but tonight, my whole being was aching for it.”

“You haven’t had any blood showing anywhere have you?”

“Blood? Where?”

“Where do you think?”

“What? Down there?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be daft, it’s a dead end. The only time it bleeds is if Simon gets too enthusiastic.”

“Sounds to me, like someone who’s in ovulation.” Stunned, I dropped the mug and splashed tea all up my legs and over my slippers.

As we cleared up the mess, I asked if there could be any other reason why this happened tonight, I mean even if I were female in a biological sense, I’d have been ovulating for years not starting at twenty four. Stella couldn’t think of one.

I cleaned up the mess and decided I was deluding myself. It wasn’t real, just my silly mind trying to make me feel more authentic and pulling up stuff I’d probably read elsewhere during my biology training.

It was two o’clock before I got back to bed, and Simon grunted as I snuggled up beside him. I wondered if Colin Firth snored.