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usual way, I don’t expect I’ll be able to speak for the next couple of hours, it might not be a problem, since I guess I’m with Lisa, and she doesn’t seem like much of a talker.
    â€˜So what have you got in mind?’ Frank says, pretty sure of what they’ve got in mind.
    Am I ready for this? No. No way. Can I stop it? Can I go home now? Could I please meet someone nice, and have some say in what happens to me? My hand pokes around with the tongs, and shakes. I imagine Lisa without clothes, and me in the vicinity. The shake gets worse.
    â€˜Well, this is the interesting bit,’ the non-Lisa one says. ‘You know that totally bullshit guy fantasy? The one about getting to watch two lesbians?’
    And Frank says, ‘Yeah,’ just as I’m saying ‘What?’
    And she looks at me and says, ‘That fantasy. The one about watching two women doing it. Well, we just thought, we were feeling kind of sorry for you. And sometimes we quite like to be watched.’
    And she’s saying this right at me, so I have to say something back, but all I can say is, ‘God. Are you serious? Isn’t it kind of a private thing?’
    She gives a shrug. ‘All right. Just asking. Just thought it could be, you know, fun.’
    â€˜Um,’ Frank says, to stop them going, as he makes a big deal of turning a steak that doesn’t need it.
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜You’d be thinking, like, now? Inside somewhere?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    He turns the steak again, two or three times.
    â€˜Oh, I could be up for it,’ he says. ‘It’s getting hot out here. And I reckon we’ve fed everyone. Hey Phil?’
    And now I remember a few times when we’ve bought the mags. And how we often, well, usually, end up with one featuring an alleged lesbian scenario. And that whenever Frank’s made me chip in, the lesbian scenario always ends up in his half. There may be a pattern at work, and one not quite covered by Frank’s usual explanation of, ‘Hey Philby, twice the norks.’
    â€˜Um,’ he says, in a way that makes it clear there’s more to it than um. ‘Any chance of one of you, you know, giving me a bit of a working over?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Oh, you know, physically. Whatever. Nothing funny. Just, like, with something. Like a belt, or . . . ’
    â€˜Aw, yuk. What do you think this is?’
    â€˜Hey, just asking.’
    And Lisa says, quietly but firmly, ‘I think I could.’
    â€˜And could you, you know, talk and stuff?’
    â€˜Not much of a talker.’
    â€˜I’m not looking for anything fancy.’
    â€˜Maybe, then. But, you know, it’s not totally sexual. To be honest, you really shitted me off all last year at any of the faculty things we had. So, you know, I’m up for it.’
    â€˜Look, if we’re being honest, I don’t mind if you hate me,’ And he passes me his tongs and says, ‘You’ll be right?’ And I nod and he says, ‘Well. Girls. What are we waiting for?’
    He picks up his bottle of Creme de Menthe, and the three of them walk off into the crowd, like people on their way to a lecture, no hint of what they’re planning.
    And now that I think about it, all the leather and pain stuff tends to end up in Frank’s half of the mag as well. Actually, it’s possible that we’ve never bought a mag that hasn’t had at least one alleged lesbian scenario and something to do with riding crops, but the whole pain thing makes me very uneasy, so I’ve never complained when Frank guts the raunchy bits and I end up with only the articles. Which, come to think of it, always seems to be the way.
    And the third of the women, the one who went inside first, the one with the nose, is now out again with a jug of red wine, and she comes over to me.
    â€˜So they’ve gone, have they?’ she says.
    â€˜Yeah. Frank and your