your Charlie?’ said Colin in surprise. ‘When did she shag him?’
‘She is here, you know!’ I said frostily. ‘Thank you, Hannah. I thought we’d agreed never to speak of the unfortunate fact that I’d shagged him, not once you two were an item. And it was years and years ago, Colin, before Simon, before any such thing as a hint of Hannah and him.’
Colin, who had obviously been hoping for something a little juicier, looked disappointed. ‘So if you’ve not been averse to a bit of the old casual sex in the past,’ he said, ‘why can’t you go back to your wicked and wanton ways?’
‘Because I can’t be naked!’ I burst out. ‘I cannot take my clothes off in front of a man! Not now!’
‘I know it’s daunting, babe,’ said Sam. ‘Men feel like that too, you know. The fear someone might laugh at the size of our dick (not that that has ever happened to me. I’ve never had any complaints in that department, thank you).’ Colin snorted. ‘Or they might think, I dunno, our balls are weird.’ Colin snorted again.
‘Would you please stop that, darling?’ said Sam. ‘You are the one not helping now. But you know what I mean, Ellen. It’s scary taking your clothes off in front of a new person. But just remember, they’ll probably be feeling exactly the same.’
‘NO!’ I shouted. ‘NO, THEY WON’T! Because it’s DIFFERENT for men!’
‘Of course it’s not,’ said Colin kindly. ‘We might be better at seeming OK about it, but really we do get nervous too.’
‘NO! Seriously, men can never understand what I’m talking about. Your bodies have not been ravaged by child bearing. My stomach looks like an uncooked focaccia –’
‘At least you manage to stay middle class with your metaphors,’ interrupted Colin approvingly.
‘Well, it DOES. All saggy and dimpled and with stretch marks all over it. It’s not a case of just going to the gym, either. No crunches in the world are going to sort the ravages of pregnancy. And my tits. My tits were once perky and firm, but not anymore. Now, I hardly dare take my bra off in winter, lest the floor is too cold, so far south are they migrating.’
‘But it can’t be that bad,’ said Sam. ‘You look all right with your clothes on.’
‘That is rather the whole point of why I can’t take them OFF,’ I shouted. ‘Just because I can cover the ravages in Zara’s finest doesn’t change the horror that lurks beneath.’
‘I’m sure you’re just being self-conscious,’ said Colin kindly. ‘It really can’t be that bad. You’re overthinking this.’
In answer, I pulled up my top and showed them my stretch-marked stomach. They recoiled, and then remembered themselves.
‘It’s fine, really,’ said Sam.
‘It does look a bit like an uncooked focaccia, doesn’t it?’ said Colin, with interest. ‘The stretch marks are like the little holes in the top of the focaccia. Maybe you should just put on some fake tan? After all, a nice baked loaf always looks more appealing than a lump of dough.’
‘COLIN!’ said Sam.
‘I’m trying to help,’ said Colin.
‘But I felt just the same with Charlie,’ said Hannah. ‘And it was fine.’
‘But you already knew Charlie. You’d known him for years. He wasn’t someone new.’
‘Yes, but he’d never seen me naked.’
‘No, but he was Charlie. Lovely, lovely Charlie. You knew he was wonderful and adored you and was a very good person. If I were to have sex again, it would be with a stranger. I mean, not an actual stranger, but in relative terms, when you’ve spent twenty-five years shagging the same person, really, anyone else counts as a stranger. What if I do sex wrong? What if it’s all different now and I didn’t get the memo? I can’t even remember what any other penises look like apart from Simon’s.’
‘Not even Charlie’s?’ said Hannah curiously.
‘Especially not Charlie’s. I have put that right out of my mind. I don’t want to think about what Charlie’s penis looks like.’
‘Why is Ellen thinking about my penis?’ enquired Charlie, coming back at exactly the wrong moment.
‘I’m not thinking about your penis!’ I insisted. ‘Or any penises. No penises. I mean, as far as I recall, I don’t remember being shocked or surprised by Simon’s, so I assume that most penises look like his, but even so, to look at someone else’s? To touch another man’s willy, let alone, well, you know! It would be too … strange. Too intimate. It would feel wrong.’
‘Or it might feel very right?’ suggested Colin. ‘You won’t know until you try.’
‘Anyway,’ I said darkly. ‘My stomach and my willy worries aren’t even the worst of it.’
‘Please don’t show us your tits,’ begged Colin.
‘I’m not going to show you my tits,’ I assured him. ‘The tits are not what I’m talking about anyway. The horror I’m referring to can never be seen by any man. Except perhaps a gynaecologist.’
Sam and Colin looked at me fearfully. Charlie retreated to the kitchen muttering something about heating up the naan bread.
I nodded. ‘Yep. I mean my fanny is the issue. Two human heads have squeezed through it. It has been sewn up twice. Basically, I’ve a fanny that looks like a patchwork quilt and I fear it’s not as … embracing … as it once was, so I can’t ever be naked or Do Sex with another man again. It was OK with Simon, he saw it all happening gradually, the stretch marks and the sagging, and even the baggy tapestry fanny didn’t all happen at once, and also it was mostly his fault. Have you noticed that he has quite a big head that he probably passed on to his children? So that was different. But I could no more inflict my Flaps of Doom on a new man than, well, than I could show them to you. It Just Is Not Going to Happen!’
‘Well, anyway, we’re not advocating you pick up randoms on Tinder and booty-call them,’ said Colin sternly. ‘If you meet someone that you find you connect with enough to want to go to bed with him, then he’ll probably be a nice enough person to not care that you have a few flaws and imperfections. He’ll probably be too busy worrying about his own imperfections anyway. But you can get to know someone first, and then think about bed. There’s no obligation to shag anyone you don’t want to.’
‘But what about dick pics?’ I whimpered.
‘Well, they’re quite useful. Look at it like this, if they send you a dick pic, you can instantly discount them, and not waste any more time on them. Unless, of course, you like what you see …’
‘OK, OK,’ I sighed. ‘I’ll think about it. I’m trying very hard to be a strong independent woman and not need a man, though, but it’s bloody lonely being a single mother and coping with everything on your own.’
‘You are a strong independent woman,’ said Hannah firmly. ‘You’ve always been a strong independent woman, and
