"I think George is waking up."

Meaningful and wheedley smile.

"I think George wants to come out and play."

Wheedley eye contact and hopeful expression.

"George want to play hide-and-seek."

Glazed and sickly grin.

Ugh!

Well, George can just go right off and find someone else to play with.

That kind of carrying on is enough to make me want to embrace celibacy.

Well, in the absence of a moniker that I like I'm going to resort to the language of romance novels and call it his Throbbing Manhood. Adam, thankfully, hadn't introduced me to his Throbbing Manhood by name, and I didn't know if I was ready to make friends with his Throbbing Manhood just yet.

I'd kind of gotten used to James's Throbbing Manhood. Not that it was an especially hard act (if you'll pardon the pun) to follow, but it suited me.

I had nothing against against Adam's Throbbing Manhood (apart from my thigh, of course), but I felt nervous about becoming acquainted with it. Adam's Throbbing Manhood (apart from my thigh, of course), but I felt nervous about becoming acquainted with it.246.

As if he sensed this, Adam caught me by the arm (no, Adam, not my arm arm, for God's sake; it hasn't got an erogenous atom in it) and said urgently, "We don't have to do anything, Claire. We can just lie here if you want to."

Now, if I'd had a penny for every time I've been promised a "just lying there" scenario by a man, I'd be a very rich woman indeed. I couldn't count the number of times that I'd been promised this when I've had to spend the night with a man because I'd missed the last bus and didn't have money for a taxi.

"You can stay in my place. It's only around the corner," he'd say.

"I'll sleep on the couch," I'd say quickly.

"Well, you might as well stay in the bed with me. It's much more comfortable."

"Ah no, the couch is fine."

"Look, I'm not going to touch you. Is that what's worrying you?"

"Well, er, yes."

"No need to worry. I won't lay a finger on you."

And then those fateful words. "We can just lie there."

And of course not getting a wink of sleep because I had to spend the night doing some all-star wrestling with the man.

Or squashed with my face right up into the wall in a vain attempt to get away from the man, finding it damn near impossible to breathe because of the erect penis pressed into my back.

Being afraid that if I breathed out and thereby moved my lower spine-entirely involuntarily, mind you-even a tenth of a millimeter onto his hot member, this would be taken as a sign of encouragement and acqui-escence.

And then, of course, if I didn't deliver the goods, as it were, there was the highly probable chance that the gentleman in question would bad-mouth me the length and breadth of Ireland, calling me a prick tease and a frigid lesbian and all manner of other terrible and totally undeserved names. Saying things like, "Oh, she was coming on to me all night. She was fooling no one with that line about not having money for a taxi."

To this very day I think I still have a faint, penis-shaped indentation on my back.247.

But I believed Adam.

I knew that he meant it.

I trusted him.

I knew that if he said we could just lie there, that he meant it.

But was that what I wanted?

Quite frankly, no.

Yes, I was nervous.

But, dammit, I wanted to have sex with him.

If he went all respectful on me, I'd scream.

"I don't want to stop," I whispered to him.

I suppose there was no need for me to whisper.

I didn't want to overdo the nervous little-girl act.

All right, then, time to be proactive.

"Em," I said embarrassedly, "I left my bag downstairs."

"What do you need your bag for? Your makeup is perfect." He smiled at me.

"Not for my makeup, silly."

"What for then?"

But he was teasing.

"Claire, would you relax?" he said in exasperation, rolling me over onto my back. "I presume you're referring to condoms?"

"Er, yes," I said, feeling a bit mortified.

"Well, no need to worry, I've some here."

"Oh."

I wasn't sure what else I could say.

His openness had taken the wind out of my sails nicely. He was quite right, of course. What was there to be embarrassed about? All I had to worry about now was whether I'd be any good.

He kissed me again.

And things became a lot more serious.

That kiss certainly put a stop to any lighthearted banter. I looked at him and his eyes were really dark, almost black, with desire.

"Claire," he whispered (now he's he's at it), "I haven't, you know, been with someone in a long time." at it), "I haven't, you know, been with someone in a long time."

Haven't you? I thought in surprise.

I would have thought that for someone as charming and 248 handsome as Adam every day of his life would be a sexfest. But, then again, he did seem to be very choosy. More than once I'd witnessed him fighting off gorgeous women. And he's chosen me, I thought, my heart melting.

He could have just about anyone and he's chosen me. There had to be a catch.

Any minute now, he'd offer to show me his knife collection or whip out a chainsaw and hack me to ribbons.

"It's okay," I whispered back to him. "It's ages since I've had sex either."

"Oh," he said.

Then he said in a louder voice, "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know." I giggled.

There then followed the condom ritual. You know, rustling around in a drawer for it, the crinkling of the wrapping being undone, saying, "Is that the right way? Or does it go the other way?" Finally success in getting it on only to witness the erection disappear.

Except Adam's didn't.

Disappear, that is.

Thank God.

Now at this point I'm afraid that I'm going to have to become a little bit vague. I'm sorry to disappoint you but I won't be giving you any detailed technical descriptions of my sexual encounters with Adam. (Yes, I hope you noted the plural "encounters".) Of course, I could could give you a description that would read more like a textbook belonging to a first-year anatomy student. And I give you a description that would read more like a textbook belonging to a first-year anatomy student. And I could could make the whole thing sound like a letter to the letters page in a pornographic magazine, all gasps and arching backs and outlandish gymnastics. But that really wouldn't convey how lovely the whole thing was (well, the whole three things, actually) and how make the whole thing sound like a letter to the letters page in a pornographic magazine, all gasps and arching backs and outlandish gymnastics. But that really wouldn't convey how lovely the whole thing was (well, the whole three things, actually) and how happy happy I felt. I felt.

Could we just say that a good time was had by all?

I would be just too embarrassed to tell you that he kissed me everywhere, and I mean everywhere everywhere. And that when he wasn't doing that he was covering me with delicious, shivery tiny little bites.

And there's no way that I can bring myself to tell you about the moment when he was eventually inside me. And how I was so afraid that it might hurt and how gentle he was with me. It didn't hurt and it was beautiful.249.

And if you think I'm going to relate how he frantically whispered things to me while he was on top of me, gorgeous things like how beautiful I was and how delicious my skin tasted and how turned on he was, then you've got another think coming.

You'll just have to use your own imagination to figure out that I wrapped my legs around his back to pull him deeper inside me and I thought I would die if he stopped and would die if he didn't.

And you really don't need me to tell you that when he, er...when it was finished, we were both panting and gasping and slippery with sweat and that he looked down at me and grinned and gave a little laugh and said admiringly, "Jesus, you're some woman."

I'll have to resort to using a euphemism to describe the scenario.

How about, "One day my prince will come."

Well, I'm happy to report that he already had.

And, so, for the record, had I.

And there's just one other thing.

Before I had Kate I had heard rumors, nothing more than vague unsub-stantiated reports, that after having a child sex is usually, well, a lot better.

Because of the various commotions, upheavals and traumas in one's, um, birth canal, including the dreaded stitches, certain changes have come about. These changes resulting in, um, greater sensitivity and a greater awareness of one's erogenous zones, if you see what I mean.

And generally, all around, more exciting an enjoyable sex.

And I'm happy to be able to report that it was actually true. Sex with Adam was different, very different from the way I remembered it with James. Once I got over the initial uncomfortable feeling, it was really wonderful-actually better-than I remembered it being with James. So this is one side effect of giving birth that doesn't get the good press that it deserves.

Although of course, there's a good chance that I'm talking a load of nonsense.

And that the alleged better sex had nothing to do with anything other than the fact that Adam had a larger TM than James. (I never bought into that "size isn't everything" crap.)250.

Later, when it was all over, over for the third time, that is, we just lay in bed chatting and laughing.

"D'you remember the day in the gym?" asked Adam.

"Mmmmmmm," I said, barely able to speak, I was so relaxed and contented.

"That was awful," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I liked you so much."

"Really?" I asked, surprised and delighted.

"Yes, really."

"No, did you really really?" I asked, like a true neurotic.

"Yes!" he insisted. "I couldn't even look at you in case I jumped you."

"But you were all serious and grim and just doing your weights," I reminded him. "You completely ignored me."

"Yes," he said dryly, "and I nearly pulled every muscle in my body. I couldn't concentrate on anything except you. You looked so cute in your gym clothes."

"Oh," I said, thrilled, snuggling up closer to him.

At about half past one I said, "I'd better go home."

"Oh no," he said, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around me. "I won't let you. I'm going to keep you chained in here. You're going to be my sex slave."