I typed ‘having sex in open spaces with people watching’ into Google to see if other people enjoyed it too, and quickly discovered it’s called ‘dogging’. There are multiple websites listing locations for this activity, talking about it like it’s a meeting spot for dog walkers to meet for a cup of tea. The language is so casual. Stuff like, ‘Many doggers like to remain in their cars, others enjoy having sex on the bonnets or against a nearby tree.’

People all over the country are doing this in their lunch hours. Apparently, for married people who like to watch strangers have sex, it’s the best time to get away with it as it doesn’t eat into family time. Wow.

The ‘doggers’ drive to a known location and have sex in (or on) cars. Some just watch, others participate. Of course, I’ve heard of dogging, but it always sounded so much more sinister than what I experienced. Other than the act of having sex in an open public place, it didn’t feel sinister. It felt exciting. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way the man looked at me, the way she didn’t want him to stop. They knew I was there. That was the whole point. Apparently by doing it in the open air like that they were potentially inviting others to join in. I can’t stop wondering what it may have been like if I had.

‘Beth, did you finalise the foyer arrangements?’

I’m looking at a website for a woman who says she travels the country dogging and likes sex with as many strangers as possible. Once she even got tied to a tree and was left there, so whoever was passing could give her a quick bang. There is no mention of how she got down.

That feels extreme.

‘Beth, earth to Beth, the foyer arrangements. Did you finalise the flowers?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The flowers, for the foyer?’ Risky says, a little impatiently.

‘Oh, no. Can you please?’

She gets up from behind her desk and walks over to mine. She’s wearing another crop top. I have half a mind to ask her to stop dressing so seductively at work. I realise that would not be OK.

I slam my computer shut.

‘Beth, are you OK?’ she asks, concerned.

‘Yup, absolutely fine. Why?’

‘You just seem a little distracted.’

‘Me? No. Just busy. Busy busy busy.’ I make a buzzing sound, like a bee. Risky’s sympathetic look gets even more sympathetic, as if I am losing my mind.

‘You know, I can totally hold the fort here if you need a day off. Go home, get some sleep, spend some time with Tommy and Michael.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s a lot. Having a baby, working full time, breast feeding and pumping all day. You’re exhausted and unfocused. When my sister had a baby she didn’t realise she had a problem for months.’