La morte douce


posted by sooyup on ,

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In my diary (see yesterday’s post) I had promised myself I would expand on the brief description of our first love-making. In the event, it was the best part of a decade before I got round to it. At Emma’s suggestion, I wrote an account of our relationship from our first meeting to the day we married, as part of a creative-writing module at university. I gave it the (stolen) title Chronicle of Wasted Time, remembering one of my friend’s in the sixth-form telling me I was wasting my time trying to get into Emma’s knickers (not to mention risking a court appearance). It was easy to fill in the details, because the event was etched indelibly into both our memories. Reading my diary entry for the first time, and my comparison of her orgasm with my uncle’s epileptic fit - the apparent loss of consciousness, the flickering eyes, the chattering teeth - Emma told me that, until she was seven years old, she had suffered from epilepsy. Looking back, it would have been a convenient and convincing explanation if we had been discovered in flagrente delicto!

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