Buzzing Easter Bunnies Read online

  Eventually Matt frees himself and pulls his jeans and boxers down, ready to do the deed. I try to part my legs a little, but can't do it much, as the toilet bowl is against one leg, and the door is against the other.

  This is rather like trying to have sex in a plastic coffin.

  Nevertheless, Matt's penis is still happy about the whole thing and he attempts to slide it into me, in order to get the ball rolling on this sexual experiment at 30,000 feet.

  Here's the thing though, staring down at a small steel sink, a soap dispenser, and a disposal unit for sanitary towels is not something that makes Christina Barclay rampantly horny. 'Matt... Matt... MATT!'

  'What?'

  'Stop trying. You're more likely to get it in the captain's ear hole right now than my vagina.'

  'What's wrong?'

  Pulling up my jeans, I shuffle back around so I'm facing him again, and put one hand on his shoulder. 'Let's just say the fantasy of the Mile High Club is so much better than the reality - unless you're into sanitary towel dispensers.'

  Matt makes a face that suggests he's conjured up a mental image that he'd rather not have. This puts paid to any erection he may have been harbouring in case I had a change of heart.

  What makes the failure of this particular attempt at danger sex complete, is that when I open the toilet door again, there is a middle-aged woman standing there, with a poorly concealed look of impatience on her face. Impatience turns to incredulity as Matt sheepishly follows me out of the toilet, along with the faint whiff of poo that had partially put me off the whole idea in the first place. Christ knows what she must think: There's obviously been some sex going on, but the smell of poo as well? What kind of disgusting animals are these two?

  I open my mouth to give voice to an apology, but there really is no point. The plane will be landing in a few minutes, so I won't have to be around the woman for long - sparing me much embarrassment.

  Matt obviously feels differently. 'Sorry,' he says, as he passes her by. 'I was having a bit of trouble, so my girlfriend came in to help me out.'

  As explanations go, this is absolutely terrible. The middle-aged woman is already convinced that we are two sexual perverts with a poo fetish, but now she gets to ruminate on exactly what 'help me out' could possibly mean.

  I try not to look at Matt as the plane comes in to land. If I do, there's every chance I'll strangle him with the oxygen mask.

  TWO'S COMPANY, THREE'S AN ARGUMENT

  So we come to Matt Bunion's final attempt at injecting something kinky into our sex life that might result in me achieving an orgasm for the first time in his company. Without a shadow of a doubt, he's saved the best for last.

  And the worst.

  It's a week before my thirtieth birthday, and I am therefore incredibly grumpy. Anyone who says they are looking forward to turning thirty is a complete liar, and should not be trusted as far as you can throw them. Thirty represents the start of the horrifying slide from youth into middle-age... and don't let anyone tell you different.

  To compound my grumpiness, I've just done ten days at work straight, thanks to stupidly agreeing to take on extra shifts at the beginning of the year. My bank account may approve, but my general state of well-being most definitely does not. Ten days as an inner city A&E nurse is rather like being placed into a tumble dryer on constant spin, while somebody throws morons at you. In the last week and a half I have stitched up so many drunk idiots, it's a wonder I'm not over the legal limit myself, just from fume inhalation. And judging from the never-ending stream of people coming through the doors who have injured themselves at home in one stupid way or another, it's a wonder the human race has survived for as long as it has. It shouldn't be possible to injure yourself with a small biscuit tin or a Sky Plus remote control, but by crikey, some people have a bloody good go at it.

  'A Sky Plus remote?' Matt asks as he takes a bite of his pizza.

  'Yep,' I reply in a flat tone and sip my vodka and coke. I don't normally drink hard spirits these days if I can help it, but on a Friday night in the local Prezzo after ten days of hospital hell, nothing else will do the job.

  'How?'

  'Well, if you drop a plastic remote control on a polished hardwood lounge floor, and are too lazy to pick it up, don't be surprised when your evening is ruined an hour later, when you walk across the room to go for a pee, having forgotten where you left it.'

  'Ouch. Nasty injury?'

  'Yep. Tearing your anterior cruciate ligament when you're a professional footballer is a hazard of the job - doing it when you're watching professional football is just plain stupid.'

  'You sound like you've had it up to here with patients.'

  'You could say that,' I reply, and poke an angry fork into my linguini.

  Matt then changes the subject completely, which is probably just as well, otherwise I'd be likely to launch into a pasta spitting tirade about drunks, idiots, drunk idiots, my new shift pattern, and the whole management structure of the NHS. 'You still coming over tomorrow night?' he inquires.

  Bugger. I'd forgotten about that. While I'd probably prefer a night of Gerard Butler and fluffy dressing gowns, I had promised to spend the evening round Matt's watching a movie. This job can put a dampener on your love life, if you let it.

  Matt sees the expression I'm making. 'Trust me, it'll be worth your while!'

  'Why?' I ask suspiciously. Bunion has a habit of pulling surprise rabbits out of the hat (literally in one testicle swelling instance) and it sounds like there's another homing into view.

  His conspiratorial smile and waggle of the eyebrows confirms it. 'You'll see. Just be round mine at seven thirty.'

  'Matt, I'm not sure if I can take another sexy surprise right now. I've had a bad week.'

  'Like I say, trust me. This will be different.' A twinkle has appeared in his eye. 'This is one thing I guarantee will excite the hell out of you.'

  Okay, despite myself I'm curious again. The bondage gear and plane toilet may have both been mistakes, but I'm a firm believer in third time lucky... for some unfathomable reason. 'What have you got in store for me this time?'

  The smile broadens. 'You'll see. Let's just say I hope you fancy a bit of dressing up.'

  My curiosity withers. 'Dressing up?' I utter, my eyes narrowing. 'If you think I'm doing any kind of kinky nurse and sexy patient stuff, you've got another thing coming, boy.'

  It wouldn't be the first time a man has tried that one on. Can you imagine how unsexy it is to have a man suggest bringing some kind of fetish version of your work clothes into the bedroom? The last thing I want to be reminded of when I'm in bed is bloody work.

  Matt shakes his head. 'Oh come on, give me some credit here. I've got no interest in playing doctors and nurses with you. Especially not after the horror stories you've been telling me over the past few weeks. Being a nurse sounds about as erotic as being a bin man.'

  'Thank God for that.'

  'Don't worry. What I've got planned is definitely something you're going to find sexy...'

  The twinkle is brighter than ever.

  I don't know whether I should be excited, or worried about taking out an even better life insurance policy.

  It is with some trepidation that I ring the bell on Matt's front door the next evening. He flings the door open a scant second after the bell has started playing the Imperial March. 'Evening Christina!' he exclaims happily. Clearly he has been eagerly awaiting my arrival.

  'Evening,' I reply slowly. In the drive over here I have conjured up all sorts of private nightmares about what Matt has in store this evening. I have images of being stuffed into a leather Catwoman costume, while Matt prances around waving his Batarang at my boobs.

  When men say they want to engage in a little sexy dress up, it usually means for their edification, not yours.

  'Come in, come in!' he says, ushering me through the door and down the hallway to the lounge. I notice that Matt picks up a little speed as we pass the door to the spare room, hurrying
me by it. There must be something in there he doesn't want me to see.

  This is all very fishy...

  Once in the lounge, Matt bids me sit down on the sofa. 'Shall we have a drink?' he asks. 'Red wine alright with you?'

  'Yeah, okay,' I reply warily. 'I have a feeling I'm going to need it.'

  'Ha ha! Matt laughs, a little too loudly. He pours me a glass of the red stuff, and himself a beer, and comes and sits next to me. 'So, how was your day?' he asks earnestly.

  'Um... fine.'

  'Excellent! Get up to anything interesting?' Matt leans forward attentively.

  This is just getting weirder and weirder. 'You know what I did Matt. I went to see my parents.'

  'Oh yes! And how are they? Is your mother better from her cold? You said it had gone to her chest. It sounds horrible. How is she?'

  'Look, what the bloody hell are you up to?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'You've never met my mother. Why are you so concerned with her state of health?'

  'Just showing a little interest in my girlfriend's life,' Matt pouts.

  'Rubbish, you're up to something. Spill it.'

  Matt stands up suddenly. 'Oh alright. I'm trying to make you feel comfortable.'

  'Comfortable?'

  'Yes. The article I read online said that before introducing a new and different sexual experience, you should make a woman feel at ease. It suggests that engaging her in conversation about her day would be a good way to do it.'

  'Really? Let me guess, this article was written by a man, wasn't it?'

  'Might've been,' Matt mumbles.

  'Thought so.' I put my wine glass down and exhale deeply. 'Why don't we just get down to what all this is about? I don't think I can take a round of twenty questions about how much phlegm my mother is still producing.'

  'But you have to feel comfortable.'

  'I'll be a lot more comfortable if we don't mention my parents again, Matt. Just get on with whatever it is you've been planning, eh? Didn't you say something about dressing up? A bit of role play?'

  'I did!'

  'Great. Why not break out the Catwoman costume then, so we can get on with it.'

  'What?'

  'I assume that's what you've got for me to wear? Or maybe Princess Leia's gold bikini?'

  Matt looks hurt. 'I'm not that bad.'

  'Really? Are you trying to tell me you haven't thought about dressing me up as one of your fantasy female characters?'

  'No!' He squints thoughtfully. 'Well, yes. Of course I have. But not tonight. Tonight's all about your fantasy.'

  'Is it?'

  'Yeah! And to start it, you need to go into the bedroom. There's something waiting for you in there. I've turned the heating up, so you won't be cold... and nor will I for that matter.'

  'Are we going to have sex dressed as lizards?'

  'Very funny. Just go into the bedroom and put on what you find in there.'

  I drain the rest of my wine and get off the couch. 'Okay. I'll play along.' I point a cautionary finger at him. 'But if this ends in a trip to casualty again, don't blame me.'

  'It won't, I promise. Just put on the outfit lying on the bed, and I'll be in shortly.'

  'Are you dressing up too?'

  He rocks his hand back and forth. 'Sort of. It's more dressing down to be honest.'

  I raise an eyebrow, but say no more. This is sounding stranger and stranger by the minute, but what have I got to lose? After all, we're in private and alone, so whatever transpires will just be between the two of us. How bad can it be?

  Inside Matt's steamy bedroom I find out what he wants me to wear. It's a toga. Like something straight out of a Roman epic, it's small, made of white, diaphanous material, and will barely cover my modesty. No wonder Matt turned the heating up.

  I hold the toga up and a smile creases my lips.

  This actually isn't that bad.

  I wouldn't pop into John Lewis to pick up a new wok wearing it, but for some bedroom fun it certainly fits the bill.

  I'm a girl who's used to wearing jeans and a t-shirt whenever I can get away with it, so I'm not used to having soft, floating material against my body. It's quite the experience, let me tell you. It shifts and moves over your skin in an extremely pleasant manner.

  Matt, perhaps predicting that I'd like the outfit, has propped a full length mirror against one of his bedroom walls, which I now take full advantage of. I have to say I like what I see. Well, more or less anyway. I still think my thighs are a bit too large, I'd like to be a cup size larger, and my arms look a tiny bit flabby, but on the whole, I think I wear the toga rather well.

  I spend a good five minutes admiring myself, before Matt knocks politely on the door. This is as good an indication of the kind of guy he is as you're likely to get. He knocks on his own bedroom door instead of just coming straight in. 'How are you doing?' I hear his muffled voice say.

  'I'm wearing it!'

  'Do you like it?'

  'Actually Matt, I do. It's a lot better than what I was expecting!'

  'Good.' There's a brief pause. 'Can I take it that you're standing by the mirror then?'

  I blush. Preening in front of a full length mirror is okay when nobody else knows you're doing it, but the idea that somebody else knows you're a colossal narcissist is rather troubling. 'I was just having a little look, yes,' I reply quickly.

  'Thought so! Can you go and lie on the bed please?'

  'Do we have to conduct this conversation through the door? Why don't you just come in?'

  'I don't want to ruin the surprise! Just go and lie down.'

  I do as Matt asks and stretch myself out. 'Right, I'm here.'

  'Great. Under the pillow on the left side is a red silk blindfold. Can you put it on?'

  I feel around, and sure enough, there is a soft, long blindfold underneath the pillow. 'I'm not sure about this,' I tell him. 'Are you going to wave a portly beagle in my face when I take it off?'

  'Very funny. Just go along with it please?'

  Smiling despite myself, I tie the blindfold around my head and my world goes black. 'I'm ready.'

  'You can't see anything?'

  'Nope. Completely in the dark.'

  'Cool. I'm coming in then.'

  The door opens and I hear Matt walk into the room. I say walk, I mean clank. There's definitely some kind of armour involved in whatever outfit he's chosen to wear for my amusement. While I can't see him, the room is small enough for me to sense that he passes by me on the bed and goes to stand at the end of it.

  'Okay, you can take the blindfold off now,' Matt says, his voice a little squeaky.

  With a swift movement I pull the silky material from my eyes and behold what Bunion has wrought.

  Oh lord...

  Oh good lord above...

  Matt is naked, save a red cloak, a red pleather codpiece, a pointy helmet with a faceplate, and high Grecian style sandals. He is also carrying a spear and shield, both of which are quite clearly plastic. In other words, he's come dressed as Gerard Butler from 300 - the fancy dress shop equivalent anyway. All that's missing is the beard.

  ...and possibly the washboard stomach.

  ...and the huge arm muscles.

  ...and the glistening thighs.

  Apart from all that though, I have my own King Leonidas to play with this evening.

  Matt clears his throat. 'This is Sparta?' he says in a strangled voice, and waves his spear about a bit. He then coughs. 'Let me try that again... THIS IS SPARTA!' he roars as loudly as his larynx will allow, and holds both shield and spear aloft.

  My hands fly to my mouth, partly in shock, and partly to prevent a loud bray of laughter erupting from between my lips.

  'What do you think?' he asks, in the most uncertain voice I've ever heard.

  'Oh Matt... oh, oh Matt.' I'm struggling to get the words out. I'm so close to losing it that if I try to speak, I'm likely to cackle with laughter at the top of my lungs.

  His shoulders slump. 'You think
it's stupid, don't you?'

  Get it together girl. He's gone to a lot of effort here for you.

  I swallow down the traitorous bubble of hilarity, and rise to my knees, scuttling across the bed towards Matt with my arms wide. 'No. I don't think it's stupid. I think you're a lovely man,' I say and put my arms around him.

  He hangs his head. 'It's just that you said how much you loved Gerard Butler in 300, so I thought I'd... I'd...'

  'Recreate it with you as the King and me as his Queen?' I finish for him.

  Matt nods. 'Yeah, that was the idea.'

  'And it's a great idea,' I reassure him and run one hand down the front of my outfit seductively. 'This toga is making me feel very sexy.' I place my other hand on his red pleather codpiece. 'Now, why don't we lie down and you can see how long it takes you to get it off me?' I pause to look up at Matt's Spartan paraphernalia. 'But take the helmet off and leave the weaponry on the floor, eh?'

  The helmet flies off and clonks Howard The Duck on the head, while the shield and spear drop to the floor with a clatter. 'And the cloak,' I add. 'It makes you look a bit like Superman.' The red cloak is untied as well, before Matt grabs me around the waist and pulls me down onto the bed. Now he's divested himself of the sillier aspects of his costume, I can certainly appreciate the rest of it. While Matt is not built like Mr Butler, he is tall, with a decent set of shoulders, and a physique that you could easily describe as fit, if a little skinny. He could do with two weeks in the sun and a few more in the gym, but overall he's more than enough to get this girl's engine revving.

  I straddle Matt's waist and start to kiss him passionately. The red codpiece is thin enough for me to instantly tell that he's very happy about this.

  'I know I'm not quite like the guy in the movie,' he says between kisses.

  'You're fine!' I reply and kiss him again.

  Matt holds me by the shoulders and pulls me away. 'I know, but I also know how much you like the men in that movie.'

  'Don't worry about it! You're more than sexy enough for me in this outfit, Matt!' I try to kiss him again, but he holds me back.