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Home Delivery

© Catesby

It was late at night. Our teenage sons were both out at some nightclub. My wife, Sophie, and I were sat on the sofa watching the television. I flicked through the channels on the remote control until I came to a scene with a man's buttocks thrusting forward as he lay on top of a naked woman. Sophie raised her eyebrows at me and I grinned.

"You want to watch this?" she asked.

"I don't mind," I said, shrugging. "What is it? A film?"

"I guess so. Looks kind of old. Look at the decorations in the bedroom."

"Uh, I'm kind of focussing on something else actually."

Sophie laughed but cut off abruptly when the scene ended and the man got up from the bed and put his clothes back on. It was a uniform. A milkman's uniform, in fact. Sophie looked at me intently, trying to gauge my reaction. I ignored her and continued watching the film. It was a dated sex comedy about a milkman delivering more than just dairy products to a series of horny housewives. The humour was puerile, the ...

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