It was the morning after Cait’s thirty-seventh birthday. She’d had to make the birthday dinner reservations herself as she knew he’d have forgotten. He’d laughed when she told him and he just gave that same shrug he always did. And then he paid for it from the joint account too.

He drank the dregs of his cup of tea and placed it back on the worktop, even though the dishwasher was sitting open. He left it for her to tidy up like he always did. He pulled on his jacket, told her he’d see her later and grabbed his keys. Just as she heard the front door slam, his phone beeped to signal a text arriving. She picked it up, already heading for the door to tell him he’d forgotten his phone when she glanced at the message visible on the home screen.

Don’t forget the scan is at 3. 2nd floor, Holles Street

She heard the front door open and he reached for his phone.

“You forgot..” she started to say but he just grabbed it and turned and headed to his car.

She slumped against the wall as the realisation of what the text meant dawned on her. Holles Street was the National Maternity Hospital. The only scans being carried out there would be on pregnant women. She’d been in Holles Street before.

Her mind drifted back to when she was seventeen. How her drug addict boyfriend’s reaction to her getting pregnant was to get her drunk on gin then push her down the stairs in an attempt to cause a miscarriage. As she lay in a heap at the foot of the stairwell he’d delivered a couple of final kicks to her stomach. Once he’d headed back inside to shoot up, she’d crawled to a neighbour’s door to beg for help. She thought about reporting him to the police but by the time she got out of the hospital, he was dead from an overdose. It was no great loss but it was then that she swore she was going to lead a boring life from then on.

She’d chosen Kevin for his predictability. He was the opposite of every boy she’d ever been out with. He was dull and she felt safe with him. He’d been Head Boy at their secondary school and despite her being the wild child in their year, she found his boring predictability a refreshing change. It was only after they were married that she realised just how boring a predictably boring husband could be.

He had graduated as an accountant and was working his way through the ranks at his firm. Spontaneity was frowned upon. He liked his dinner at six and there were only two restaurants he would go to as he liked that their menus never changed. She thought having a baby would fulfil her and finally convinced him to ditch the condoms. But after eighteen months of trying, when she finally visited a doctor, she found out that the damage inflicted during the miscarriage had left her infertile. He said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t really want children and that they’d only get in the way. She’d loved him for that.

But over time, he’d started to notice her less and less, familiarity breeding contempt and all that. Golf club outings, work dinners, any excuse at all started to take up more and more of his free time. As long as his laundry was done and his dinner was on the table, he was happy. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked her how her day working as a special needs assistant in the local primary school had gone. He’d told her one time she looked to be putting on weight. She’d joined a running club but even after the pounds had fallen away, he still didn’t notice her. She was beginning to realise that her husband was a walking cliché.

She told the headmistress at the school that she had a doctor's appointment and had to finish work early. After swinging by the house to pick up an old fancy-dress blonde wig and sunglasses, she got the train into town and headed to the hospital. She sat tucked in a corner of the waiting room and waited, scrutinising every woman as they arrived. One younger woman was sitting alone. She looked vaguely familiar. She racked her brain trying to place her. It was just as Kevin arrived and went up to the woman that she recognised her as his secretary. How fucking predictable. Mr Cliché having his mid-life crisis by fucking his secretary. Despite the voices screaming in her head, she resisted the urge to jump up and attack them both in the waiting room. Instead, she sat and watched and seethed as they kissed and then sat there with him holding her hand. He never held her hand like that anymore.

She waited while they were in the scan room. She was flicking through an out-of-date magazine for the seventeenth time by the time they came out. The look of happiness on their faces as they looked at the scan the woman held in her hand made Cait’s barren womb churn. She waited for them to leave before slowly following them out. A taxi had pulled up at the entrance, depositing another expectant mother. She slipped into the back seat and closed her eyes and let the tears come as the taxi headed out into the Friday afternoon rush-hour traffic.

The taxi slowly made its way out of the town centre. She could have walked to the station and got the train home easily enough but she preferred the silence and solitude. She needed some alone time to think. She’d known deep down that this, or something similar was going to happen but she hadn’t dared face it. To speak about it would have somehow made it real.

“How can I go home and face him?” she thought. That look of pride on his face as he looked at the scan was sickening. There he was, Captain Fertile. He wasn’t shooting blanks. He was ‘All Man’. It was all her fault, as usual.

When the taxi stopped at one of the innumerable sets of traffic lights, she watched what looked like a hen party coming out of a hotel. They were a group of women ranging from teenagers to women in their late forties and she imagined the fun they were going to have.

Her phone pinged. She reached for it on autopilot.

Sorry darling. I got my dates mixed up. Damian’s stag do is this weekend. I’ll be back on Sunday. We can do something nice then. K x

The fucker, she thought. He’d be playing happy families-to-be with his knocked up slut of a secretary all weekend while she was left alone. Well, fuck him. Two can play at that game.

The taxi crawled through the traffic. She glanced at the window displays of the clothes shops with the mannequins in their cocktail dresses and with a sudden rush of blood to the head, told the taxi driver to pull over. She thrust twenty euros into his hand and without waiting for change, headed into the department store.

When she emerged sometime later, laden down with carrier bags, she walked with a newfound purpose into the hotel from which she saw the hen party emerge earlier and enquired if they had any rooms available.

Once inside her room, she stripped her dowdy clothes off, leaving the faded jeans and the baggy top in a heap on the floor. She stood naked under the shower, washing the stench of betrayal and the past twenty years from her skin.

She was still toned, thanks to a twice-weekly gym routine, her running and her yoga class. Her breasts were still firm and had been described as a perfect handful. She’d seen how her friend's boobs had headed south after pregnancy and breastfeeding and was thankful that her perky pink-tipped boobs could still turn heads.

She slid her hand down over her stomach and massaged the shower gel into her curls. Her fingers slipped between her legs, fingertips teasing her slit and stroking her folds as the water from the showerhead ran over her body.

She shoved her two fingers in hard and deep. The fleshy heel of her thumb ground against her clit. She placed her other hand on the tiled wall to hold herself up as she thrust harder and harder. The water splashed on her back. Her hair hung down over her face, rivulets of water flowed over her and dripped from her nose and chin.

She could feel herself squelch as she fingered. She tried to stop the images of her husband as they flashed into her head but it was no use. Every fantasy she had or movie scene she tried to remember morphed into Kevin and his secretary fucking. She saw them in his office with her on her knees in front of him or her draped over his desk with her skirt around her waist and her knickers around her ankles. She thought of the evenings he worked late and the nights he stayed out drinking after a game of golf. Was that really where he was? She felt the orgasm threaten as her mind raced. How long had they been fucking?

Her knees buckled as the orgasm consumed her. She collapsed to the floor, crying out as the tears came, mixing with the shower droplets rolling down her cheeks. She curled into a ball on the floor of the shower cubicle, hugging her knees as the sobs racked her body.

Finally, she pulled herself upright and turned off the tap. Once cocooned in the fluffy white dressing gown the hotel had provided, she made herself a cup of tea. Now the tears had dried up, she could admit to herself that there was nothing left. She’d refused to see the blindingly obvious for long enough. It was time to move on.

Using the hotel’s hairdryer, she styled her dark hair into a neat bob. She didn’t wear that much makeup normally but always had some in her bag and tonight was the time to wear it. The foundation, eyeliner and lipstick felt like war paint, a mask, with the real Cait hidden behind the red lips and smouldering dark eyes.

She let the dressing gown fall and pulled the purchases from the carrier bags. Once she had fastened it behind her back, she ran her fingers over the champagne coloured silk and black lace bra. She loved the feel of silk against her skin. It always felt so sensual. The matching French knickers flattered the curve of her ass and she couldn't resist one slow sensual stroke with her finger along the gusset.

Sitting on the bed, she carefully pulled the black nylon hold-up along her thigh. The elasticated lace top gripped her upper thigh, leaving a few inches of exposed pale flesh between stocking top and knickers.

The dress was not something she’d normally wear. She’d normally think it looked slutty if she saw someone else wearing it but at that moment in the shop, that was the dress she’d wanted. She pulled it over her head and tugged it down into place. The hem just about hid the stocking tops and the material hugged her hips and boobs. It wasn’t as revealing as some of the dresses she’d looked at. This one had sleeves at least and her tits weren’t falling out but was still cut low enough to showcase her cleavage. The shiny teal material was certainly not her usual colour. She was a little black dress girl and liked to hide in the shadows, but not tonight. Tonight, she was going to have fun.

She stepped into the heels and felt her whole posture change. She glanced in the mirror and saw how her ass stuck out. She couldn’t resist it. She’s seen the Instagram feeds full of girls in dresses like this posing for a picture before heading out. She put one hand on the wall for balance, then lifted her leg like a flamingo and snapped a picture with her phone.

Her thumb hovered over the Post button before deciding that posting it was probably a step too far… for now, anyway. With the keycard in her purse, she tottered her way to the lifts.

When the doors opened, there were already five girls in there. They welcomed her with cries of approval when they saw her. It was obvious they’d already been drinking in their room and by the time the lift reached the ground floor, she’d somehow become adopted by the group. It turned out they were a bunch of hens in town for the night. They were, as the chief bridesmaid Maeve put it, “intent on drinking and shagging”. Cait decided that was as good a plan as any and happily tagged along.

The day had become night whilst she’d been in her room and as they tottered down the steps from the hotel on to the street, she felt the drop in temperature and wished for a moment she was wearing her sensible coat but then she felt the blast of heat as they entered the club.

She’d seen the bouncers on the door and saw the nods of approval as they admired the length of everyone’s dress and the amount of flesh on display. Once inside, Maeve took charge, ordering a pitcher of a cocktail called Flat Frog. Cait began to have second thoughts when she saw the barman pour bottles of Smirnoff Ice, WKD blue and orange Bacardi Breezers into a jug full of ice. He lined up the six glasses and took the money while shaking his head at the other barman who laughed in sympathy. Cait watched in horror as the chemical toilet blue of the WKD mixed slowly with the pale orange mixture of the vodka and rum. The five girls raised their glasses in Cait’s direction and chanted her name until she picked up her glass and knocked the noxious flavoured drink back in one.

From then on, it was drinking and dancing. The refills appeared regularly. There were bottles of Lambrini pear cider, more jugs of Flat Frogs and several shots of tequila. In between drinks, the girls hunted in packs, heading to the dance floor or the toilets but always leaving someone to guard the bags and watch the drinks.

It was while she was on guard duty that she noticed him. He was standing, leaning against the end of the bar. He looked at her until he saw she had clocked him then moved his attention to Maeve and bride-to-be Gillian who were grinding up against a couple of guys on the dance floor.

Cait turned to follow his gaze and saw more of the girls surrounding the poor blokes. She looked back at him, grinned and shrugged as if to say, “what can you do?”

He walked over to her. He was good looking with dark hair cut short but with a boyish fringe. She could see he was wearing a tight grey tee-shirt and jeans along with his black sports jacket. He didn’t look like he belonged amongst the girls with their boobs falling out of their dresses and the blokes in their tracksuit bottoms and baggy tops.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” she asked him when he got within earshot.

He laughed, looked around and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” she confessed.

“I’m here with work. My boss.” He paused and indicated a balding man involved in tonsil tennis with a scantily clad woman on a couch in the corner. “He insisted we come out for a spot of team building. Though the only team member he seems interested in is the intern.”

Cait saw the sparkle in his eyes as he took another swig from his bottle of beer.

“So what’s your excuse?”

Cait ran her fingers through her hair as she decided how much, if anything, to tell him.

“I was looking for something different,” she finally conceded.

“Have you found it?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted with a shy grin.

“Good. I’m Joe, by the way.”

“I’m Cait, with a C.”

He grinned and took her hand. “Hello, Cait with a C. I’m Joe with a J.”

She blushed. “I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’ve always had a thing with people spelling my name K-A-T-E.”

“I like Cait. Like the bass player in The Pogues.”

“Do you know you get more and more likeable by the minute?”

As she flirted she realised she was actually a bit pissed. She’d lost count of the number of shots and cocktails she’d had. At that moment, Maeve and the rest of them turned up, questioning who Joe was and if there were any more like him. Joe held his hands up and slowly backed off, saying he was no match for six women but Maeve just laughed and pushed him back towards Cait and told him to get on with it.

“I really do need to apologise for my friends,” Cait giggled. “They mean well though.”

Joe looked around, then held her gaze.

“You know, I was thinking about heading outside and grabbing a breath of air. It’s a bit hot in here. Do you fancy a walk?”

Cait glanced at Maeve and the others, all watching, waiting, silently willing her to accept. She nodded.

“I’d love to,” and as she bent to pick up her handbag, she heard the cheers from her newfound friends. Maeve gave her a hug and told her to be careful.

“Yes, Mum,” Cait replied, laughing.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slip her hand into Joe’s as the doors of the club closed behind them and the noise dropped to conversation levels. Cait found it surprisingly sensual to just walk, hand in hand along the bank of the canal.

Joe seemed so easy to talk to. They liked the same movies, watched the same programmes on Netflix and had even read some of the same books. When they stopped outside her hotel, it only seemed polite to invite him inside. She gazed up into his eyes.

“Would you like to come up for a coffee? I think there are some sachets of instant coffee and even some UHT milk?”

He laughed and Cait smiled in relief.

“How could I possibly refuse an offer like that?”

In the lift up to her room, Cait felt the butterflies swirling in her stomach. Was she really going to go through with this? Joe was certainly attractive. Even in the fluorescent lighting of the stainless steel metal box, he looked hot. Muscled, toned, a hint of five o'clock stubble and dark brooding eyes. The scent of his aftershave wafted through the enclosed space.

When the lift pinged and the doors slid open, he stood back to let her exit first before following her down the carpeted hallway. She felt he was watching her hips sway and worried that she looked fat while she opened her bag to get the key card.

When the bedroom door closed, they fell on each other. Mouths pressed together as hands groped at clothing. His tongue was pushed into her mouth, swirling against hers, fighting for supremacy. She pushed the jacket off his shoulders as their mouths moved in unison. His hands dropped to let the jacket fall to the floor, then they were back on her waist and spine. One hand pressed on the small of her back, pressing her into him as the other slid up and down her back, searching for the zipper.

Once the zipper was lowered, she took a step back. Not breaking eye contact, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress crumple on the floor around her ankles. The look he gave her made her knickers damp. She could read the lust in his eyes. In two steps, he had her lifted and placed on the bed. His mouth was now on her neck, kissing and licking as his fingers traced the swell of her breast.

Her nipples were rock hard. She wanted him, wanted this so much. It had been so long since she’d seen a man look at her and desire her like this. She arched as his fingers reached behind her back. The bra flung away as his mouth clamped on her tit. He suckled the rigid pink nipple into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. The sensations forced a gasp from her mouth as she lay back and let him have her.

He was still fully dressed and here she was, writhing on the bed in just her knickers and hold-ups and then the knickers were gone too. His hands had gripped the waistband and tugged them over the curve of her hips. She lifted her ass and brought her legs together to help him slide them off, She knew she was soaked when she splayed her thighs open. She could feel the cool air hitting the slick sheen on her pussy lips.

His hands pressed on her knees, spreading her wider. He leant in close and when he blew on her clit, he was rewarded with another moan of appreciation. He lapped and slurped at her, long flat licks with his tongue interspersed with thrusts into her pussy with his tongue. She reached down, fingers scrabbling, trying to unfasten his belt.

“Fuck me,” she begged. “Please.”

He knelt up, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them and his boxer shorts down to his knees. He leant over her. his face inches from hers as she felt the tip of his cock brushing against her clit. His hips dipped and she felt him press into her.

He was big. He started slowly, letting her get accustomed to his girth. He stretched her wet velvet walls with every thrust inside her. She wrapped her ankles around his ass, urging him in deeper as she dug her heels into his buttocks. It felt amazing. She’d forgotten how wonderful good sex could be. The Saturday ‘Date Night’ sex seemed obligatory and a chore by comparison.

She moved her hips, trying to time her movements with his thrusts. This was greedy sex; raw, needy and primal. She watched his face, seeing his expression change, how it contorted as he tried to hold back. She squeezed her pelvic floor muscles, gripping and releasing his cock.

He came first. She heard him whimper moments before she felt the splashes of cum deep inside her. His orgasm set off her own in a rippling chain reaction. Finally, they slumped together on the bed.

“Fuck, I needed that,” she giggled.

She wasn’t sure what time they’d finally fallen asleep. She’d lost count of her orgasms as he took her in one position after another. They’d lain together, exhausted but finally satiated on the bed as the grey light of dawn crept in between the gap in the curtains.

She woke with a smile on her face as she opened her eyes. She rolled over.

The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets felt cold. She sat up. Had she dreamt it? But no, the tenderness between her legs was definitely real. So was the folded note sitting on the dressing table. She slipped naked out of bed to read it.

“Thanks for last night. I need to go to work. Didn’t want to wake you. Call me, Joe x”

She traced the mobile phone number written underneath with her finger as she bit her bottom lip. Making a decision, she crumpled the note and dropped it into the litter bin.

“Thanks, Joe,” she thought. “But I've got a lot more catching up to do.”