you want ‘extras’.’ She giggles at her use of this word. I
look at her as if she’s mad, though I’m wondering if it’s me that’s mad for
listening to her. She then goes on to describe the goings on at a well-known
health farm in Lincolnshire, where she had a full-body massage where the
muscular masseur took her to ‘you-know-where’ three times.
Where is ‘you-know-where’, I wonder? Skegness? Grimsby?
‘And this time it wasn’t just me and my imagination, if you
know what I mean. I can tell you the name of the masseur there, if you like.
For future reference. It might be something you’ll want to look into what with
Colin being so far from home all the time.’
For a second, I wonder who Colin is.
‘It’s Clive, not Colin.’
‘Oh well, whatever.’ She leans over and places a friendly
hand on my thigh. ‘I like you, Holly. And I can see you’re going to be just
like me in a few years. I suppose I think I can help. Point you in the right
direction with things.’
She wriggles down in her seat and sips at her herbal tea. I
can tell she’s going to get serious. This is like a nightmare. This place
should warn you about people like Rebecca on their website! Perhaps a little
gif of her in the corner with a big X across it.
‘There’s a certain sort of lifestyle that girls like us want
and there’s certain sort of man that can give it to us. I’m married to one of
them and you’re engaged to one, I can tell.’
I’m now hoping that some sort of catastrophe will suddenly
occur, like a passenger jet crashing onto the lawn or a plague of hornets
entering the spa area. I wouldn’t say no to all-out thermonuclear war at the
moment!
‘These are men who want a good-looking wife that they can
show off to their colleagues. Someone who’ll be there when they’re needed.
Someone who’ll give the impression of stability when it’s needed. Someone to
keep a nice home for them. But the downside, the price we pay is that those men
are not going to be around all the time. My hubby…’
Aaaarrrgghhh !!!
‘…travels all around the world, even though he’s based in
Saudi. He’s extremely important and his company value him very highly. He’s on
a fantastic salary and when he retires he’ll get a fantastic settlement.’
I’m wondering: ‘What sort of job is this? Are they looking
for new recruits? Me! Me!’
‘Now I’m sure, like my hubby, your Clive takes his pleasures
when he can find them. When you’re not there, of course. He has to. He’s a man
and that’s what men are like. It’s like trying to ask a dog to stop weeing on
lampposts. But, as long as we’re careful, we girls can do the same thing as
well.’
We girls can wee on lampposts? It’s a feminist’s dream come
true!
Joking aside, I’m starting to feel a little sick. I can’t
imagine why. Maybe it’s the old myrtle and hibiscus. Maybe, just maybe, it’s
from listening to Rebecca.
‘It’s not just masseurs, though. There are a lot of websites
for women like us. I belong to three of them and believe me, they’re the best
investment you could ever make. It’s early days yet for you, but it’s worth
keeping all of this in mind, don’t you think?’
She then goes on to describe a couple of her ‘encounters’
with men she’s met off these sites. ‘Absolutely no strings attached. You don’t
even have to use your real name. I never do. It’s fantastic. After a while, you
can build up a network, a ‘little black book’, if you like, of discreet
contacts, so whenever you want some romantic attention, you can pick the
gentleman who’ll suit your mood. Many of these men are married themselves, so
it can never get complicated. It’s alright for hubby. He can meet women as part
of his work, but it’s more difficult for us girls, stuck at home all the time.’
Or stuck in an expensive health farm in Surrey.
I smile at her as if I know all about this and just take it
as a fact of life. She leans over and puts
look at her as if she’s mad, though I’m wondering if it’s me that’s mad for
listening to her. She then goes on to describe the goings on at a well-known
health farm in Lincolnshire, where she had a full-body massage where the
muscular masseur took her to ‘you-know-where’ three times.
Where is ‘you-know-where’, I wonder? Skegness? Grimsby?
‘And this time it wasn’t just me and my imagination, if you
know what I mean. I can tell you the name of the masseur there, if you like.
For future reference. It might be something you’ll want to look into what with
Colin being so far from home all the time.’
For a second, I wonder who Colin is.
‘It’s Clive, not Colin.’
‘Oh well, whatever.’ She leans over and places a friendly
hand on my thigh. ‘I like you, Holly. And I can see you’re going to be just
like me in a few years. I suppose I think I can help. Point you in the right
direction with things.’
She wriggles down in her seat and sips at her herbal tea. I
can tell she’s going to get serious. This is like a nightmare. This place
should warn you about people like Rebecca on their website! Perhaps a little
gif of her in the corner with a big X across it.
‘There’s a certain sort of lifestyle that girls like us want
and there’s certain sort of man that can give it to us. I’m married to one of
them and you’re engaged to one, I can tell.’
I’m now hoping that some sort of catastrophe will suddenly
occur, like a passenger jet crashing onto the lawn or a plague of hornets
entering the spa area. I wouldn’t say no to all-out thermonuclear war at the
moment!
‘These are men who want a good-looking wife that they can
show off to their colleagues. Someone who’ll be there when they’re needed.
Someone who’ll give the impression of stability when it’s needed. Someone to
keep a nice home for them. But the downside, the price we pay is that those men
are not going to be around all the time. My hubby…’
Aaaarrrgghhh !!!
‘…travels all around the world, even though he’s based in
Saudi. He’s extremely important and his company value him very highly. He’s on
a fantastic salary and when he retires he’ll get a fantastic settlement.’
I’m wondering: ‘What sort of job is this? Are they looking
for new recruits? Me! Me!’
‘Now I’m sure, like my hubby, your Clive takes his pleasures
when he can find them. When you’re not there, of course. He has to. He’s a man
and that’s what men are like. It’s like trying to ask a dog to stop weeing on
lampposts. But, as long as we’re careful, we girls can do the same thing as
well.’
We girls can wee on lampposts? It’s a feminist’s dream come
true!
Joking aside, I’m starting to feel a little sick. I can’t
imagine why. Maybe it’s the old myrtle and hibiscus. Maybe, just maybe, it’s
from listening to Rebecca.
‘It’s not just masseurs, though. There are a lot of websites
for women like us. I belong to three of them and believe me, they’re the best
investment you could ever make. It’s early days yet for you, but it’s worth
keeping all of this in mind, don’t you think?’
She then goes on to describe a couple of her ‘encounters’
with men she’s met off these sites. ‘Absolutely no strings attached. You don’t
even have to use your real name. I never do. It’s fantastic. After a while, you
can build up a network, a ‘little black book’, if you like, of discreet
contacts, so whenever you want some romantic attention, you can pick the
gentleman who’ll suit your mood. Many of these men are married themselves, so
it can never get complicated. It’s alright for hubby. He can meet women as part
of his work, but it’s more difficult for us girls, stuck at home all the time.’
Or stuck in an expensive health farm in Surrey.
I smile at her as if I know all about this and just take it
as a fact of life. She leans over and puts
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