The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2014 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

By the time we got home David had the dinner ready and Simon and Sammi were home, as were Julie and Phoebe, so I just took my jacket off and sat myself at the table. Simon looked at me and then whispered, “If you drop any dinner bags I lick it off.”

Instead of replying and therefore encouraging his schoolboy humour I went and got an apron from the drawer and pulled it on–it reduced the area available on which to drop my dinner. He sat and frowned at me mouthing, ‘spoilsport’. I smiled back with a look of total innocence which belied a number of things including my irritation with him.

When we got to bed that night I was tired and only wanted to cuddle for a few minutes before I went to sleep. He of course was excited by the revealing top I’d worn. I was not impressed.

“Why did you wear the bloody thing if you weren’t up for it?” he complained.

“Oh, so now I have to explain why I wear different clothes do I?”

“Well, let’s face it–you don’t usually wear anything quite as risqué, do you?”

“Risqué? Is that what you think it was? It was simply a top I bought for work.” That was a bit untrue–well okay, a total, outright lie–but he didn’t know it.

“You don’t usually wear that sort of outfit to work.”

“How would you know, you’re usually on a train to London before I’ve decided what I’m wearing to work?”

He shrugged unsure of what to say. “You looked very sexy in it, smart sexy and I fancied you like mad.”

“Did you?” I tried to sound uninterested, I really couldn’t be bothered with sex tonight, I was too tired.

“You know you did.”

“Did I?” I yawned.

“Cock tease,” he muttered.

“That’s not very gentlemanly, is it?” I snapped roused my slumber by his insult.

“Well you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My irritation was growing at an inverse ratio to my libido, which was shrinking.

“You dress very provocatively with absolutely no intention of doing anything other than teasing me and other men.”

“When I dress, I do so for myself–not for what others think.” I turned over and faced away from him. He was absolutely right but I wasn’t going to grant him the satisfaction of knowing it. I’d dressed to excite the male members of my audience–perhaps I should rephrase that–I dressed to provoke the male students I was teaching to get them thinking about breeding strategies in biology. Some are quite bizarre, including some male marsh harriers which imitate female plumage to prevent dominant males picking on them. Don’t know if that counts as transgender or just survival strategy. I certainly don’t think it applies to Sammi in a human equivalent because she gets loads of offers from boys, most of which she turns down. I don’t blame her, she’s still waiting to get fixed down below so could be at risk if she did accept the dates.

“No wonder women get attacked by men, flaunting all their attractions while saying don’t touch.”

“Simon–how could you?”

“What did I do now?”

“What you just said. If that reasoning was logical then just by wearing expensive clothes and driving an expensive car you should expect to be robbed–flaunting your money.”

“Hang on a minute; exposing your body provocatively and exciting a man is just simple biology–getting robbed isn’t, that’s illegal to begin with.”

“So is forcing anyone to have sex with you despite how provocatively they’re dressed. If they say no, to try and coerce or cajole them into an unwilling act is assault, just as mugging someone because they’ve got more money than you have. I surely have the right to wear whatever I want to without fear of being groped or worse because of it.”

“You have a responsibility too.”

“To do what?”

“To avoid raising men’s blood pressure when you have no intention of delivering the goods.”

“I’m responsible for my words and actions, you’re responsible for yours. If I say no and you continue to try and have sex–that’s sexual assault or attempted rape.”

“Even if you did have your boobs hanging out of a top?”

“Even if I was stark naked.”

“That isn’t as sexy as being revealingly clothed.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” or should that have been bare it in mind, as he did or said he did. Men do apparently undress women with their eyes–if I’m in the mood, then I don’t bother with such rituals, I just start pulling his clothes off. Damn, he’s tickling the small of my back, now my bum–that's so nice–the bastard.

“See you are in the mood aren’t you–you just didn’t know it–but they say women have to be encouraged while men are nearly always ready for bit of rumpy pumpy.”

“What?”

“You know–nudge nudge, wink wink.”

“Simon either say what you mean directly or not at all?”

“Okay. You wanna shag?”

Not really but it’s the only way I’m going to get some peace, “Yeah, okay.”

I read somewhere recently that some men fake orgasm. I don’t know if it was an April fool’s joke, because I’d have thought it was pretty obvious if they did or not. That I was standing in the bathroom wiping various fluids from my nether parts tends to suggest it was inaccurate for one man anyway. It also meant I was now wide awake with a cool wet flannel soothing my burning bits–can you get friction burns down there?–while Si was snoring his head off his dirty underpants probably lying on the floor under his side of the bed. He can jolly well pick them up because I’m not.

God, he was like an animal tonight. No concern about how I might like to be seduced, it was wham bam, thank you, mam, tonight–like a randy mink. According to zoologists, male mink are quite capable of gang raping a female and have even been known to drown her, so carried away with lust were they. The same can happen to toads, who get so excited that they grab and mate with whatever they can, including other males, who have a release call.

In the days when I used to help toads across the road–they used to come down from some woodland to mate in a reservoir across a busy road and get squashed in their hundreds–I used to go out at night with other volunteers and pick them up in a bucket and then drop them over the fence by the reservoir. If you had half a dozen randy males in the bucket, it was nothing to hear some them squawking at the others that they weren’t females–presumably having been grabbed by another male.

Nature is wonderful but it can be a bit hard on us females at times. Still, I suppose I should be grateful I’m not a toad or worse, a mink.