‘Why not?!’ my clitoris urged. ‘Live dangerously!’

‘I live dangerously,’ I countered. ‘Just last week, I let a parking meter run over by five minutes!’

‘Live large!’ urged my clit. ‘Sure, there are worse things than celibacy – like leprosy, and death.’

Emerald, who was obviously in cahoots with my clitoris, pressed some condoms into my palm. ‘Now, go kick him to the kerb, sis.’

The disco floor was kaleidoscopic, with dancers weaving, coagulating, dispersing and swirling all around me. As I took Wayve in my arms, Emerald called out after me –

‘Coo-coo-ca-choo, Mrs Robinson!’ My big sister winked at me lopsidedly before starting a conga line and dancing back to the bar.

‘Ding-dong! Time for him to ring your devil’s doorbell,’ urged my clit. ‘Hello, I’m coming!’

A muscly-thighed Chris Hemsworth impersonator with the IQ of a houseplant was tempting me to break my most sacred marriage vow – and I was discussing the pros and cons with my clitoris.

Clit: ‘I’m so happy I could jump for joy.’

Me: ‘Yeah . . . right off the nearest cliff.’

11

No, I am not going to sleep with him, I told myself as he pushed me up against the wall of the elevator and kissed me ravenously. The man was a force of nature – a lightning bolt.

No, no, I am not going to sleep with him, I told myself as I grabbed the fragrant, muscly-thighed one and drew him closer.

‘You’re so hard,’ I murmured into his ear. But making conversation was also hard. When the lift door opened and other couples poured in, we drew apart and made another attempt at dialogue. It’s safe to say that Wayve was not about to make Cicero quake in his oratorical boots. He talked in brief spurts, every comment directed several inches below my head, directly at my cantilevered breasts. Each utterance drove home what a mistake this was, when in quick succession Wayve said, ‘What happens to the ice sculpture, after it melts?’ – ‘Is Mystery Island completely surrounded by water?’ – ‘Are there any undiscovered caves there? I bloody love caving.’ – And ‘Have you seen the flamingo dancers in the ship show? That’s some awesome shit, right there.’

‘Flamingo dancers, eh?’ I looked at him quizzically, trying to picture the dance troupe standing about on one leg. But when we were out of the lift and alone in the corridor, Wayve said things like ‘I can’t wait to lick your pussy,’ ‘I’m going to spread your legs and fuck you,’ and other sexy sentiments whispered hotly in my ear all the way to my cabin. Okay, it wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, but it was certainly hitting the spot.

All I could think of were things not to say, like ‘Do you still choose your cereal for the toy?’, ‘Does your Mum know you’re here?’ and ‘I’m old enough to be your mother.’