7 Years Bad Sex (20 page)

Together, they raced down the dark and narrow stairs. They kept in step as they loped along Notting Hill Gate, and they didn’t stop until they reached their favourite coffee shop. They ordered drinks and bagged a table in the corner.

‘You wanted to beat your brother because he broke your police car?’ Casey gasped.

‘
You
hate the smell of the condoms we’re not using?’ Alex hiccupped.

‘And
you
snogged Maisie in the bike shed? I’m so disappointed in you!’

They collapsed in an embrace of giggles. Relationship counselling was clearly not the answer, but at least it had brought them closer. Alex hadn’t hugged Casey like this for weeks.

‘If she’d asked us one more time, “and how did you feel about that”, I swear I’d have lost my mind,’ Casey wheezed eventually.

‘And what happened next?’ Alex intoned in an ululating trill.

‘Poor woman. As you said, she’s only doing her job,’ Casey mused, calmer now.

‘Whatever is wrong with us, Bethany won’t fix it.’

‘No,’ Casey agreed again. ‘But you know what? She did make us laugh, and I do feel better than I have done for a while. What say we go to the cinema and maybe have a spot of dinner in the pub?’

Alex stared at her in astonishment. He could feel his mouth hanging open. ‘What, now?’

‘Why not? We’ve nothing else to do, and I don’t want to go home yet. How about a new direction? How about we go for a spot of squeezing the moment?’ Casey grinned. ‘Well, at least the good ones, when they happen.’

‘Shouldn’t that be “seizing”?’

Casey frowned. ‘So it should, I guess. But you know what? I actually like “squeeze” better. It’s more us. Let’s not just seize the moment, let’s
squeeze
it for all it’s worth.’

‘I get it.’ Alex nodded slowly. ‘We’ve been too worried. We’ve stopped enjoying life. I think you’re right. Let’s get squeezing.’

Chapter Twelve:

 

A Therapeutic Visit

 

~Casey~

 

‘Well, well, well! If it isn’t little Miss Horny Breadstick!’ The voice rang out loud and clear over the din of animated conversation in the White Lion pub, where Casey and Alex had settled for dinner.

Casey ducked. Alex gave her a quizzical look, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything by way of response because the voice shouted out again.

‘Rodge! Look who’s here! Look, Rodge!’

The owner of the voice was approaching their table, and Casey sank even lower in her chair. Too late. James and Rodge were upon them.

‘Casey, you gorgeous thing! How lovely to see you!’ Rodge bent down and air-kissed her like they were long lost friends.

‘I’m having a really strong déjà vu,’ James exclaimed cheerfully. ‘Fancy meeting you here! Mind if we join you?’

Casey grinned at his exuberance. ‘What, even though I’ve no suggestive food items in front of me?’

She caught Alex frowning and grasped his hand reassuringly. Before she could explain herself, Rodge and James had pulled up chairs, and Rodge got saucy with her food.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, delicately manipulating one of her sausages with the help of her knife and fork. ‘There’s a lot to be said for a traditional meat-and-two-veg arrangement. Don’t you think?’

At the sight of his artistic display, Casey snorted a mouthful of beer over the table.

‘See?’ Rodge nudged James excitedly. ‘A golden… deluge! She’s getting into the zone again.’

Casey dissolved in a fit of giggles while Alex looked on confused.

‘Would someone care to explain to me what you’re going on about?’ he demanded.

‘Peter’s Place,’ Casey hiccupped. ‘Remember I told you about the restaurant in Brighton?’

‘Yes. And? What’s that got to do with—upstanding sausages?’

‘Everything,’ James deadpanned. ‘You’ll simply have to go sometime.’

‘Alex,’ Casey finally managed. ‘This is James and Rodge. Remember I told you about the two very nice gentlemen who saved me from myself?’

Alex’s brow cleared. ‘Oh, indeed. Yes, I remember.’ He smiled. ‘Nice to meet you both.’

‘Oh, darling, nice to meet you, too!’ James poked Alex gently on the arm. ‘What brings you to our local watering hole? And how are you both?’

Casey coughed. Of course he would cut right to the chase.

‘This is our local too. And we’re fine,’ Alex said innocently. ‘Thank you.’

‘Really?’ James shot them both a probing look. His eyes had that penetrating quality, and Casey could feel herself blushing.

‘Same as before,’ she qualified. ‘And you never told me that you were based in Notting Hill!’

‘Dear girl, you never asked,’ Rudge chuckled.

‘Oh dear lord,’ James said at the same time, looking horrified and ignoring the geographic part of the discussion. ‘We’ve got to fix that, and pronto. You know I said I could help you.’

Alex looked confused again.

‘Err—you know how I said one of the sweet blokes was a sex therapist?’ Casey stage-whispered. ‘Meet James. James is convinced he can help us.’

Alex shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, mate. Sorry. No offence.’

James narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Casey jumped in again. ‘You see, we’ve actually, this very afternoon, been to see a relationship counsellor, and it was a bit of a disaster.’

‘A relationship counsellor?’ James managed to make it sound like a dirty word. ‘What an utter waste of your time and energy.’

‘She did manage to unite us, though, in a manner of speaking,’ Casey offered, before relating the gist of their therapy session. ‘We legged it out of there laughing like naughty teenagers. Which was what brought us here.’

‘Good! That’s good,’ James pronounced. ‘There’s insight in there. You haven’t lost your spark, I can see that. Oh guys, I really wish you’d let me work with you.’

Alex shook his head again. ‘It’s not my cup of tea. Sorry. Really.’

Rodge spoke up. He dropped all his affectations and used a calm, low, very reasonable voice. One that, Casey could see, struck a note with Alex.

‘It really isn’t what you think,’ Rodge explained. ‘It’s not dodgy. You won’t be watching porn together. Well, not unless you want to.’

‘Been there, done that, didn’t work,’ Alex interrupted testily.

Rodge inclined his head. ‘Fascinating. Why don’t you go and see James properly to tell him in more detail everything you tried? You might find he has some other suggestions, things you two may decide to try on your own, at your own pace, if and when—and only if and when—you fancy. The whole point of therapy is to liberate you from the perception that sex is a duty to be performed.’

‘But I don’t think of it that way,’ Alex protested. Casey could see the tendons in his neck standing out, and she knew Alex was getting tenser by the second.

‘Maybe you didn’t used to, but I think you’ve very much got to that place now,’ James observed gently. ‘It’s written all over your face.’

‘It is?’ Alex was aghast. ‘You can see my attitude to—to sex
on my face?
’

‘And in your body language, the way you’ve crossed your legs and your arms. You’re defending yourself.’

‘I
hate
being analysed,’ Alex spat, and Casey shivered. He did indeed hate being analysed, and James had committed a big mistake. Or had he?

‘It’s an occupational hazard,’ James apologised quickly. ‘I can’t turn it off. But I wouldn’t want to analyse you formally, not unless you both consent. That would be unethical. As a friend, I’d like to think about whether I can offer more suggestions. That’s all. No analysis. No funny talk. Only ideas.’

Casey held her breath. Alex frowned and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out. Casey thought she would burst with nerves, but suddenly, Alex’s face cleared.

‘Just ideas?’ he repeated.

‘Just ideas,’ James confirmed. ‘Nothing more, nothing less, unless
you
say so.’

Alex nodded slowly. ‘Okay. We could do with some ideas, because we’re all out of ideas of our own. But
only
ideas.’

‘Only ideas,’ James repeated once more. Casey admired his saintly patience. Maybe that was an occupational hazard too.

‘All right. When?’ Now that he had made the decision, Alex was all business. Casey started breathing again, hardly able to believe that they were going to take this step.

‘Next week? Thursday afternoon, perhaps? You can come to my practice on Harley Street, or we can meet here. Or at your house. Wherever you’re comfortable.’

‘Here,’ Casey cut in before Alex could reply. She instinctively knew that the formal surroundings of a ‘therapy place’ would put Alex off again, and he certainly wouldn’t want to do it at home.

‘Here’s fine,’ James agreed amiably. ‘Whatever makes you happy. Shall we say three o’clock, between the lunchtime and evening crowds?’

‘That’d be fine,’ Alex agreed. Casey took his hand under the table and held it tight.

‘Thanks,’ she said simply. ‘We’re getting in the spirit of squeezing the moment.’

‘
Seiz
ing,’ Rodge suggested mildly.

‘Well, yes. Seizing,’ Alex replied. ‘But we like squeezing better.’

James beamed. ’Me too. Let’s squeeze our moment for what it’s worth next week. But for now, how about some more food? And I hear the karaoke is starting up later—how about it? Are you game?’

‘I can’t sing,’ Casey lied. She loathed being caught out at karaoke. People always thought she was a show-off.

‘That’s true,’ Alex confirmed blithely. ‘She can’t hold a tune to save her life.’

‘Even better.’ Rodge rubbed his hands in glee. ‘A karaoke virgin. We’ll get rid of your inhibitions.’

Casey and Alex exchanged a glance. Casey nodded slightly as if to say, ‘go on, why not.’

‘Sure. Why not,’ Alex agreed on her behalf. ‘But I guarantee you won’t know what hit you.’

 

~Alex~

 

‘We can still rearrange this and go to the White Lion.’ Casey’s voice broke into his thoughts as they stood outside the imposing building that housed James’s Harley Street practice. James’s shingle—if you could call a highly-polished and engraved brass plaque a ‘shingle’—simply stated his name: James Eckroyd.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Alex croaked, although he was, in fact, having second thoughts. At the end of their rather spectacular karaoke evening with James and Rodge, he had changed his mind about where he wanted to meet with James for their
non
-consultation. The pub had no longer seemed appropriate. After all, you never knew who was listening in to your conversation. So he had suggested that they visit James’s practice instead.

Now that the moment of truth was upon him, he was having doubts.
Would there be bondage toys lying about in the waiting room? Would there be soft porn playing on the TV? Or would there be large potted plants for couples to hide behind?
He cringed.
Would it be really sleazy?

Casey seemed to sense his hesitation. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she offered. ‘Come on, let’s not keep James waiting.’

She took his hand and led him inside. The reversal of roles compared to last week wasn’t lost on Alex. How was it possible that his wife had been so reluctant to see a harmless counsellor but was apparently so unfazed about seeing a—Alex gulped—sex therapist?

And all right, it had helped that he had already bonded with James on a personal level in the pub.

Bonded
, indeed.
Ha!
Alex grinned to himself. Language got in the way if you had sex on the brain all of the time. But yes, they had bonded, in a manner of speaking. James might be gay, but he certainly had his head screwed on the right way—
screwed!—
and the fact that he already knew the broad strokes—
ack!
—of their story would eliminate the need to recount it all again. Or so Alex hoped.

Nonetheless, this was a big step for him. He got that odd out-of-body feeling again that he had experienced in Brighton right after he had promised Casey that they would seek help. And this was it—this was seriously the point of no return. He swallowed and braced himself.

Casey pressed the buzzer and announced their presence through the intercom. James’s voice greeted them immediately, and the door lock was released.
Time to go in.

James’s practice was entirely different to what Alex had expected, and it was worlds apart from Bethany’s place. In fact, it was so unlike a doctor’s office that Alex instantly relaxed—which, he guessed, was probably the point.

They didn’t enter into a waiting area with a reception desk as he had expected. Instead, James greeted them by the door and ushered them into a very large and airy room that resembled a warehouse conversion: all polished floorboards, white walls with large framed art prints, and a wall entirely comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows. One side of the room housed a kitchen area where a shiny Gaggia was producing the most enticing scent of freshly perked coffee. Rock music was playing on the sound system—not too loud, but not subtly either. And even though it was only September, a small fire was going in the log burner on the far side of the room.

‘Wow, James!’ Casey burst out next to him. ‘I thought this was your practice. Do you live here?’