the second time I had sex

I guess that fucking you for the first time was like my first oyster or my first glass of red wine, rather than say my first Smiths record or my first read of Jane Eyre: I didn't like it much but I knew it would lead me somewhere good. 

I remember literally nothing positive about that first encounter. It was cold and I was still wearing my top. It was awkward and you couldn't see very well without your glasses so it was all a bit... muddled. I definitely didn't come. When it was all done you were a wreck and rightly so, it was illegal and adulterous after all and neither of us seemed to believe that either The Pill or the condom would have worked so we assumed that I was also pregnant to boot. For something that was meant to be good, to feel nice and be some kind of solidification of our love, or at the very least a fun recreation, it all felt rather bleak. I put my tights on and kissed you goodbye, just a peck on the mouth and a tight “speak later”.

But then the first glass of red wine made me sick and the first oyster only tasted of sea water and now I pay real money for both, so what do you know. Things change.

The second time was quite a different thing. For a start you had cottoned on that things might go better if you kept your glasses on, at least for a while, so that you could identify what was my arm and what was say, my face, Also I did actually get to the- how would they write this in a Mills and Boon?- peak of the act, so to speak, so it didn’t just feel like a kind of sweaty wrestle with someone I didn’t know very well. There were endorphins. They made me love you. Also, you seemed to have gotten over the fact that this was both illegal in a court of law and in a church- you had laid your guilt to rest. It took you three days, like Jesus. From then on we fucked every time your wife was out and when she wasn’t we did it anywhere that was vaguely dark