He comes home to your tastefully furnished apartment (filled with books and art), with a bunch of flowers, and spends a few minutes telling you about his day and politely enquiring about yours.
You’d play a game of Scrabble, he’d finish the Sudoku you struggled with earlier. You’d share a bottle of wine. After dinner he’d wash up.
Then you’d both read; you’d pick up “A Suitable Boy” and linger especially on the political bits, whilst he reads “A Brief History of Time” (original unabridged version, borrowed from Stuart MacGill).
You’d listen to music. You’d put on Hayden string quartets, he’d remove the cd and put in Arensky piano trios.
In preparation, you’ve put on his favourite outfit: a pencil skirt, white shirt, pearls, little cardigan, high heels, hair piled up on your head, glasses even though you don’t need them.
Then, he’d perform a Haka in front of you. You’d say for the millionth time “Daniel, for the love of God, can’t we just have sex already” and he’d say “yes, but why the hell should rugby get all the NZ sporting glory?”.
When he’d finished the Haka, he’d take off your hairclip with one hand and your glasses with another, allowing your hair to cascade down over your shoulders, and would say “Why, I never realised you were so beautiful!”. You’d then say your line “And I never knew you were so …. manly”.
Finally, you get down to it.
He has a habit of sticking out his tongue, but in a cute way, not in a horrid way like that Aussie spinner you once encountered. He mixes delicacy and strength, and is particularly skilled with his fingers, but he’s really good with the wood too. Genuine all-round ability. He’d tell you that he loves how you love him for his mind, whilst you gaze at his body.
However, there is trouble in paradise.
For a quickie, he’s fine. In fact, he’s one of the best. But for a satisfyingly drawn-out session, with plenty of time spent at the crease, you can forget it, because he’s only able to manage it once. He’s only EVER able to manage it once.
You’d have one really exciting go with him, it would look like you were on the way to a second, but any attempt at prolonging the action so as to get a result would cause a hopelessly limp collapse.
To get you through the night, you dream about the day that he swore repeatedly in public, and make a note to press the blue “keep” button on your Skyplus for the highlights of the 4th ODI. That gets him worked up like nothing else, even better than the specialist stuff you downloaded from the internet.
The next Friday night, the girls come over for Chardonnay, romcoms, chocolate and facepacks, and you get talking about your men. They all say how much they envy you, how your husband is the hottest, how they love the geek chic, how he’s so CUTE and CLEVER and FUNNY and SENSITIVE.
You laugh and smile, and raise your glass with them. After they’ve gone, though, you listen to “I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me”, unlock your secret bedside table drawer and think of Shane Bond.
