101 Erotic Nights: The Sheherazade Diaries. The Diarists Secret
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after five years, maybe it’s just the way things go.”
“But why should it be? On our last anniversary we made love like newlyweds. We said we always would. Remember? That night in the hotel, with the mirror?”
Miles couldn’t help but grin. Yes, he remembered.
“You always made me feel that way, Miles. Always. Until the last few weeks, that is.”
Finally he shut the lid of his laptop and looked at me properly, “I’m just a bit tired maybe, and stressed … I’m just not as energetic I guess. Don’t worry, darling. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.” He took my hand and guided it down between his legs. The mighty man, once so enthusiastic and inexhaustible, remained stubbornly inert. He sighed and went back to his computer.
If the excitement and spontaneity had gone out of our marriage, it was as much my responsibility as his and I was determined to find a way to restore it. I already had one broken marriage behind me and couldn’t watch things disintegrate again. It was heart-breaking. I loved Miles so much and at thirty one, I was also getting broody. There was no way a baby could be a part of our life just now. So, a few days later when Miles was away on a golfing weekend, I went to see my friend Imogen. If anyone could help it would be her.
I’ve known her for years, since we met on a creative writing course over ten years ago when I was just finishing Uni. We struck up an unlikely friendship; there’s twenty years difference in age between us and she was part of my previous life before I met Miles, when I was with Laurent and hung around in quite bohemian circles. So we go back a long way and she has shared many of my ups and downs over the years. I think it’s because of this that Miles is not very fond of her.
Imo is quite eccentric, with flamboyant clothes and ever-changing, colourful hair and used to be a theatrical costumier, running her business from a converted granary. Over time, it seemed that her outfits and props were being hired for more than just stage and screen. Sexual role-play became a big thing and customers started asking for somewhere private and discreet to indulge their fantasies. Spotting a gap in the market, Imogen extended and refurbished her premises, providing rooms as well as costumes and toys to suit all tastes and requirements. She also offered personal tuition in the privacy of her ‘Playbarn’. Business was booming.
“You need to whet his appetite, Beth. Have you tried dressing up?” she asked me over coffee and cakes, in the comfort of her sitting room.
“Oh yes, Imo. Doctor and nurse, obviously, although Miles found that a bit too close to home once he became a GP! Maid and master … we’ve done most things in most places over the years. I don’t think we’ve lacked in imagination, it’s more as if we’ve lost that magical, intimate connection we used to have. If Miles isn’t working on his computer, he’s on the phone or staring at the television. We don’t talk properly anymore.”
“Well, it’s all about communication, isn’t it? Have you thought of reading to him in bed?”
“I want to turn him on, not send him to sleep!”
“It all depends on what you read, Beth! You need sexy stuff. Stories, poetry, use the written word to arouse him. What could be more intimate and personal than Miles listening to your voice saying things you know he’d like to hear? I’ve got a whole library you could borrow!”
“Mmm… sounds interesting.”
“That’s what Cameron and I used to do. Worked wonders for Anthony and Cleopatra!” Imo wiggled her eyebrows. I smiled at my friend. I had always loved her frankness and sense of humour.
“Listen, here’s one of my favourites.” She took down an old, tattered book from the shelf and started to read. I was a sucker for old books and still had two first editions that Laurent had given me for my twenty-first.
The story was called Ghassan and her warm voice drifted into the air and seeped into my brain.
“That is perfect, Imo.”
“Yes, isn’t it? And there’re lots more besides. You could read him a story every night. See where it takes you.”
“Like A Thousand and One Tales!”
“Well not quite, that would be pushing things too far! But look, today’s the 22nd of September, why not give it a try until New Year?” Imo counted the days on the calendar. “That’s 101 days exactly! Now if that’s not an omen, I don’t know what is!”
“Imo, that’s brilliant! I’m so excited!”
“You should come to the ‘Playbarn’ and go through all the stuff I’ve got there, books, magazines and other bits and pieces. There’s even a Visitor’s Book that makes a pretty good read! See what takes your fancy. I could even ask the folk in my on-line writer’s club to come up with something. You’re creative Beth, use your skills, change the names, write something yourself. Even Miles might be tempted to put pen to paper. Who knows what you’ll come up with?”
I smiled at the thought; why not? I could imagine both of us enjoying it and it would be fun finding things to read to him. If I couldn’t compete with a computer then perhaps I didn’t deserve to get my husband back. I would keep a daily journal and fill it with stories.
“Okay, that’s what I’m going to do, Imo. You can lend me things to start me off and the rest I’ll find in the library or on the internet. You won’t mention my name to your club will you?”
“It’s all anonymous, Beth. They don’t even know who I am!”
The thought took hold and that’s how my diary began. Like Sheherazade, I was fighting to change what struck me as a very bleak future and what follows is the uncensored and unabridged account of how I met that challenge. Was I successful? Well, you’ll just have to read on to find out.
Day One – Monday 23rd September.
4.12 pm
Big breath as I start this diary. Putting pen to the pristine pages. Here goes.
Dear Diary,
Isn’t that the way to start off? Haven’t kept one since I was a kid. I went into Paperchase at lunchtime and got this lovely loose-leaf book with natural paper and ribbon fastening. Must use my best handwriting, so I got a really nice pen with butterflies on it. I know, I have tons of pens in the cupboard but I wanted something new and special.
The first story will be easy. It’s the one Imo gave me. It’s going to get much more challenging as the nights go on but fingers crossed that I can keep going.
What’s the plan? I’m already a day late in starting; last night was a washout. Miles came home from the golf about midnight, pretty drunk and was asleep before I could even say ‘how was your weekend?’
I’m sending him a text asking to meet me at Costa after work. I need somewhere neutral to get his attention and tell him about my idea.
He replied right away.
>>>Sorry love, got to work late home @ 8 xxxxx
Got to work late…
I decided to go to Costa on my own. I needed a coffee. Two lattes. One after the other. Caffeine rush to the head. Sat at the window and watched people go by and wondered where it was all going. Maybe it’s me. When I got home I took off all my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. How many women do this I wonder? The summer tan is still there, a bit. Boobs are lively! They haven’t sunk to my navel yet. Miles likes the brownness of my nipples. And my belly’s not too round. If I hold myself in it looks quite flat! Legs are still strong, cycling to work helps. No unsightly hair, everything nice and groomed, courtesy of Gina’s. Toenails, red. Yet, despite