Hello

Shopping Adventures of Vivienne and Preggo May

"Oh Vivienne, darling, you must join me in the garden for afternoon tea. The flowers at this time of year are simply divine!" I faked a posh English accent as I let myself slide down into the cane lounge chair in the sunroom. Vivienne walked in slowly, completely exhausted from night shift, and slumped herself down beside me.

"Mother of god, Viv. Go get in my bed and get some sleep. You look like shit." I commented, back in my normal slightly-Scottish voice.

"And sleep in the Taylor sex dungeon? No way." She laughed, unbuttoning the collar of her uniform. The sun reflected the sweat on her neck and the redness of her cheeks.

"Roger isn't here, Viv. If you're hot then undo your top a bit further. God, we've seen each other naked too many times. I really couldn't care less. You just look so hot!" I reeled, looking into the garden. Outside, the frost was slowly melting away from the grass, the trees swaying to life in the strong wind.

"If I had it my way I'd be lying on that frozen yard in my underwear." She whispered, taking my glass of orange juice from the table and drinking some.

"No chance of me joining you there, love. Hardly any of my underwear fits me anymore and lord knows I'd stretch the ass out of Roger's if I wore his instead." I sighed. It was true. I was overflowing in the bra department and I was starting to get red lines on my butt from my underwear. Isn't pregnancy just the worst?

After a good ten minutes of coaxing and a sneaky pinch of Roger's ass to get his wallet, I found myself in the passenger's seat of Vivienne's 1976 British Leyland Mini 1000, commonly known as the car Mr Bean drove, but without the padlock. In my horrible grey track pants, blue rubber thongs (flip-flops, whatever you call them in your country) and a Hulk Hogan shirt, the seatbelt struggled to stretch over my ballooning body. Vivienne pulled up in the parking lot and pulled me through the door, straight into the sexy underwear section of the local British Home Stores. I wanted to laugh, watching her pick out which designs she thought Roger would find me "ravishing and ready to bone" in. While she continued flicking through lace g-strings, I walked over to the normal underwear, grabbing the softest and most elastic pairs I could find.

"Ah yes, I'm looking for something that screams sophistication but also ready to get nasty. No, for that pregnant lady over there in the Hulk Hogan shirt." I faintly heard Vivienne chatting from the other side of the department. She looked disappointed when I told her I was ready to go a few minutes later, my 10 pairs of plain black Bonds underwear, 2 white maternity bras and a packet of singlets in my arms.

"Oh my god, Lucy. I'm refusing to drive you home with just that. What is Roger going to think?"

"That I'll finally be comfortable. He's too busy with the solo albums and tours for the next few months anyway. He leaves in a week so I should probably shag the shit out of him until he goes, shouldn't I?" I hadn't thought about it. Roger gone for two months? Please no!

That's the worst thing about having a super hot musician boyfriend. Just when I'm disease-free and in the mood for attention and constant physical contact, he gets in a jet and pisses off for 2 months. But, then again, the welcome home ritual made up for time lost. That I could look forward to.

"Well, if that's the case, Miss Lucy, do I have a shop for you!"

Before that day, I had never been in an adult shop, nor had I ever planned to. Honestly, I didn't even know what a blow job is until I walked in there, clinging to the the back belt loop of Vivienne's jeans for dear life. We walked out, my hands in the same position, with Vivienne swinging around a large brown paper bag full of everything I didn't need. I refuse to go into detail about what was in there but trust me, there was what you expected and then some more.