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Oddly enough, defrocking a priest never really appealed to me. I always imagined them as anally retentive, grey old men, terrified of the opposite sex, so hiding behind celibacy. Or gay and hiding behind celibacy. Or just hiding behind celibacy because they hadn’t had any decent offers. Not even Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds tempted me. Scrub that. Especially not Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds tempted me. I must admit to quite liking the younger Gene Hackman as the tortured ex-priest in The Poseidon Adventure. Now me, him, upside down in a ship, with only a tub of Muller Fruit Corner to keep us occupied I could imagine.

Anyway, I digress. Not too much as it turns out. It all began with Ben. Gorgeous, virile, can go at it all night, Ben Brannigan. Or rather he would go at it all night when we finally got the chance. His family were religious, you see, and he believed in saving himself for marriage. Trouble is, he somehow got the impression that I was too. No, I didn’t lie. Not really. I just mumbled something when he asked if I was still a virgin and he took it for demure embarrassment.

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It’s so hot this morning. So unusually hot. Global warming, I’m sure. It’s almost like being in a foreign country. I’ve already started sweating and I haven’t even stepped outdoors yet. Outside, the birds are singing, plants and flowers are in profusion, the sky is azure blue, broken up with snow-white clouds, and that construction team is working away there, just across our garden fence, making a lot of noise. It’s cooler in here, but still too hot for comfort. I’m feeling clammy, sweaty and horny, drugged by heat, adrift with my thoughts. I feel a little unreal.

I can see him out there, working. In his T-shirt and tight jeans, laying bricks, one on top of the other, on the wall of that new house being built right next to ours. His hair is flopping over his forehead. His short-sleeved T-shirt is as tight as his blue jeans, emphasizing the rippling of his muscles every time he moves. So graceful, yet so masculine; occasionally looking in this direction, expecting to see me looking out, as I’m doing right now. I’m shameless, I suppose, though also absolutely helpless. Having visions of him finally getting the message and coming over here to open the back door, slip inside, and then…

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