The Ironing Board

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A red warning today. 

From the moment she’d asked him if he fancied coming back to hers to the moment she closed her front door they’d been giggling like teenagers. Laughing at anything and everything, the combination of just the right amount of wine and the knowledge that they were going to explore each other’s bodies gave them a childish spring in their step and a giggle in their hearts. The night passed them by as they walked home; the shouts of the drunks and the wails of the sirens serenaded them, while the streetlights’ orange hue romantically illuminated their shared bag of chips. They were love’s young dream; not bad for a couple of 40 somethings.

They weren’t giggling anymore, as soon as she shut the front door their faces were locked together in a passionate if somewhat drunken embrace; tongues sloppily exploring mouths, hands clumsily exploring bodies. Each would claim later that it was the other who made the first lunge but in fact it had been a mutual engagement; a dead heat, no false starts.  They moved through the house connected together, a dance of passion, steps never before rehearsed or performed but pitch perfect. By the time they reached the bedroom, they were naked and ready. He broke off the kiss and looked around taking in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the bed, it was tiny, not much wider than an ironing board, how on earth could anyone sleep in that? More to the point how on earth could anyone have sex in it? They were 40 something not 20 something and had middle age spread to show for it.

‘That’s a bit small isn’t it?’ he said.

‘I was just thinking how big it was,’ she said pulling him towards her and down on to the narrow bed. They kissed for a moment then he shifted position and found himself on the floor. She giggled, and he clambered back on to the bed smiling. They kissed again, her soft hands felt good on his warm body, he could see her smile in her crow’s feet. He moved down her body and found himself on the floor again.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said with a smile.

‘Me?’ he protested. ‘What’s wrong with this bed?’

They tried again, but again as soon as they changed position he ended up on the floor and she laughed.  But he wasn’t laughing, the latest fall had jarred his back. He lay next to the ironing board unable to move.

‘I can’t move,’ he croaked.

‘Stop messing about,’ she said hitting him with a pillow. He tried to dodge it but let out a blood-curdling scream as the movement sent pain shooting around his body.

20 minutes later two paramedics came bundling in, they looked around the room taking in their surroundings.

‘Bloody hell, that’s a bit small,’ one of them said. The patient hoped he was talking about the bed and not anything else.