“Isn’t it? I swear. It would be like...these weird chaste kisses, pressing his lips to mine, no tongue. Touching me weirdly, awkwardly, like he was scared of my skin. Then, BAM, he’d just switch and suddenly he’d be like a fucking...teenager from The Inbetweeners or something. Basically wanking into me, calling me a whore. Never touching me. He gave me whiplash once. Whiplash. Total switch. Mr. Darcy into Hugh Hefner. No!” She pointed her finger to the air. “Not Mr. Darcy. Too hot. Mr. Collins!”

I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine a world in which Jessica ever had bad sex. “You mean, you married someone you’ve just compared to Mr. Collins?”

“I know, I know. But come on. All men are crap in bed, if we really admit it to ourselves.”

I shook my head again, feeling my brain swill from side to side. “I am in total shock right now. I can’t speak.”

“Why are you in shock?”

I gestured toward her. “It’s you. Jessica. Sexual Goddess. You don’t have bad sex!”

“Fucking hell, Fern, I’ve only ever had bad sex.” She tried to drink from her empty glass, complained, then refilled it. “Even with good sex I wasn’t getting off... Like, it was good because there was such insane chemistry with a guy, not because my body actually felt good.”

“Wait wait wait wait wait.” My speech slurred. I too, reached for the wine. I couldn’t believe I was going to be this drunk during an epiphany. I held up my heavy arm. “You’re saying you don’t...come?”

“Basically never.”

“What?!”

“I know.”

“But...”

“I mean, do you...?”

“Well...not often.”

“See!”

“But you...”

“What?”

“You...you...” Oh God, how did I phrase this? “You...always seemed to really like having sex.”