Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

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Her cheek peeled reluctantly from the pillow. A union forged by drink and drool; the latter, an unglamorous snail-trail from the left corner of her mouth. Eyes wide open. What’s the time? Jen turned her body gingerly onto her side. Her phone read 05:00 am. The party was over! Crap! I’m in the dog box, that’s for sure. Only after she’d made the enormous effort to move her face back onto the pillow’s clammy wet spot to check whether her husband was asleep, did she remember she had locked him out of their bedroom. Double bloody crap!

Needing to pee, she sat up and waited for her head to catch up with her body before placing her feet on the floor. Using the bedside table to ease herself off the bed, she staggered stilettoed in the dark to the bathroom.

“Shit!” she cursed, butt sliding into the wet toilet bowl. She clutched the sides to avoid slipping any further. John always leaves the effing seat up! She flushed, then stumbled to the basin to splash water over her face.

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