Graham’s thoughts dissolved and his head felt light enough to float away somewhere above the clouds. His body tingled too, from his fingers down to his toes. Whatever magic she was doing was setting fire to his body.

  “Face your repression,” she shouted. “Face it head-on. Look it in the eye. Do not fear it. Do not shy away. Embrace it.”

  Her hands stiffened on his face. Her whole body, in fact, was angled and contorted. Her strain was impossible to ignore; neither was the extent of her worry.

  “Do it now!”

  And then, at the height of it all, it happened.

  “I have it,” shouted The Empath with sheer delight.

  Exhausted, she stumbled backward into a table full of incense, gemstones, and dream catchers; almost falling over completely.

  “I have it,” she said again, this time as if hadn’t expected she would.

  Graham lay there on the table, still thinking about his children, except this time they weren’t surrounded by an aura of danger and peril; they weren’t teetering on the brink of an uncertain future. Those thoughts had lifted; those thoughts were gone. Instead, he pictured them as they as always were – smiling.

  “How do you feel?” said The Empath. “Are you different?”

  “I am,” said Graham.

  “Are you Stronger?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you more defiant? Unstoppable?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”

  “Good,” she said. “You are free. And our work is done.”

  Graham left her room, and when he did, he did so as a changed man. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel like he could single-handedly stop a railroad heist or bring to justice, a masked comic book villain. All of a sudden, the world felt so capably small.

  “What did she tell you?” asked The Master.

  “Everything I needed to hear,” said Graham.

  Even the way he spoke had changed. His words, too, had grown. They were fuller and more pronounced. There was not a hint of indecision. If words were weapons then his were like two clenched fists – impenetrable and deadly.

  “You’re a warrior now,” said The Master. “One of us.”

  The two stood side by side staring at their reflections in the shop window. Both had their hands on their hips, and though their kimonos struggled to close over their voluptuous and well-fed stomachs, both men were, by all accounts, the definition of severity.

  “It’s easy to get carried away by that power. A true leader, one of honourable spirit, need not unsheathe his sword,” said The Master. “We live in a new world now, one where the warrior spirit has been allowed to willow. There are no more bears to catch, no more dragons to slay, and no more battles to be fought. We are in a time of peace. The once calloused and battle-hardened hearts of man are now soft and frail. Where once the warrior needed to be courageous in the face of his weaknesses; now, for the new warrior, weakness is courageous. Where once we discovered it, now he declares it. This is not a bad thing, my friend. The world is changing indeed, as are the people who inhabit it. Their language is changing; the words that tie them in knots, they too are changing. Their culture is changing. They are more considerate. They are more caring. And as such, we must be too. But they are also more sensitive. They haven’t had hardships like us. Their lives have been perilously easy and effortless. As a result, the soles of their feet are delicate so they cry a lot, about everything. A warrior – today’s warrior - does need to be cruel to be strong, just as, he does need to be weak to care.”

  “Thank you, Master,” said Graham.

  There was an awkward moment where they stood there looking at each other, unsure what was expected of either one of them. Finally, though, The Master broke that spell.

  “So what are you up to now?” he said.

  For the first time, he spoke without any mysticism whatsoever. His voice wasn’t sculpted from centuries-old wisdom, irrespective of his thick English brogue. He didn’t stand with his hands on his hips as if he himself had once been, or would someday be, carved from stone. He didn’t sound like a master at all. In fact, one would say, he was showing his jelly bean.

  “You wanna hang out?” he said.

  And there it was, his soft little jelly bean, all scared and vulnerable, dangling from the ends of his fears and self-doubt. Gone were his impenetrable walls. Gone too was his veil of necromancy. He was naked and exposed, perched on a rickety bridge that swayed back and forth over a lake of boiling magma, carrying in his hands a tiny jelly bean. Never before had he felt this scared.

  “Ahhhhh.”

  The letters spelled out Graham’s discomfort.

  “If you can’t…. I mean…”

  The two teetered on the edge of awkwardness.

  “Yeah, it’s just I have this thing so….”

  “Oh really?”

  “Family.”

  “Nah, that’s cool,” said The Master, quickly trying to cover up his jelly bean. “You know, yeah, me too. I have this thing too. Actually, I’m probably a bit late so…”

  “Oh definitely, You go. Next time, though.”

  “For sure,” said The Master, stupendously confident.

  The whole affair was horrible to witness.

  “I’ll get your phone number and then down the line we can…”

  “Yeah, down the line, definitely. So….”

  It was like this for another minute or so before both men just suddenly turned in opposite directions and moved hastily to their cars, almost welcoming the rain as a distraction. Then in their cars, they beeped their horns swiftly as if they were the best of friends and couldn’t wait to one day do this again.

  When he finally got home, the house was entirely lit up with candles. There were arrows drawn crudely on paper leading from the hallway to the kitchen. It was obvious the kids were not home.

  Graham followed the arrows to the fridge. The sign on the door said ‘Open Me’. Inside was a plastic bag; on it was a sign that read ‘Take Me’. Graham peered inside. There was a can of whipped cream, some golden handcuffs, half a dozen sex toys and an egg which may have been a sex toy too, or it could quite have easily been a Kinder Surprise – in this lighting, it was hard to tell.

  He took the bag and followed the arrows back out of the kitchen and up the stairs. There were tiny cup candles everywhere. The mix of romance and reckless endangerment was overpowering. Graham started to feel giddy and nervous. It’d been so long since they last had sex he was starting to feel like a virgin again.

  When he got in the room he stripped off his clothes and threw himself on the bed. Under the flicker of candlelight, only his best features came to the fore. He sat there with his mouth going dry and his throat aching in wanton anticipation. Finally, after ten or so minutes, he dared to call out.

  “Babe?” he said, trying to still sound sexy yet, at the same time, justifiably concerned.

  “In the bathroom,” shouted Mary. “Be there in a second.”

  She sounded distraught.

  “Everything ok?”

  In the back of his head, he hoped it was something else.

  “I’m fine,” said Mary.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s ok. I think it was the curry. I’ll be there in a second. Just pop on a porno movie. Don’t worry; the kids are at my mums. I downloaded a few films there; I didn’t know which ones you would like. There’s some lesbian ones, a gang bang, and there’s another one there too that I didn’t know. What’s water play?”

  Graham quietly flicked through the movies. All of them bar one were dubbed in Korean. He laid out the handcuffs, the whipped cream and the assortment of vibrators, beads, and plugs. He kind of had an idea what most of them were.

  “Did you get the bag,” shouted Mary.

  She didn’t have to shout. The bathroom was just across the hall. She did, though, and that’s what made it somewhat upsetting.

  “Can you test the anal beads?” she said.

  “What?”

  “The anal beads!”

  Her voice carried like thunder.

  “You want me to try them?”

  He sounded petrified but compliant.

  “No, silly. The beads all light up. It says on the box that each size is a different colour. Can you just test the lights to see if they work?”

  Graham looked at the packet. There were no instructions. Why did things like these come with no instructions? He fumbled around with the beads turning them this way and that; flipping them round and round again, trying to find a switch or a button.

  “I don’t think these ones have lights,” he said. “There’s nothing happening.”

  All that thinking had made him lose his erection.

  “Are you gonna be long?” he asked.

  There was a second’s silence; a moment of repose.

  “Could be a while,” she said, sounding defeated. “But you can start if you want.”

  Graham stared at his enormous belly and his flaccid penis. It all seemed like too much effort. “It’s fine,” he said, sounding as if he were politely turning down a coffee or a warmer blanket.

  “Is your bum hurting?” shouted Mary, loud enough for the whole street to hear.

  “A little, yeah.”

  It wasn’t really, but it felt like a good enough excuse.

  “I told you to book in with the proctologist.”

  “I know,” said Graham. “It’s just…”

  “It’s just nothing. I have to listen to you all day whining about your butt. You’re in pain; bloody well do something about it. What kind of example are you setting for the kids?”

  “I know.”

  “Do it this week.”

  “I will.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll book it for you.”

  Then the toilet flushed and Mary came in looking pale and exhausted, wearing nothing but a pair of octopus pasties on her nipples and some white crotchless panties that pulled so tight against her generous thighs that her legs turned a wonderful candescent red in the candlelight, looking as if she’d spent the day with only her bottom half in the sun. As she jumped into bed, the two pasties swirled in hypnotic fashion. Each of them had eight tentacles which each had small pompoms attached at the tip as if each octopus were cheering along its favourite team.

  “Wow,” said Graham, having never seen her dressed like this.

  Normally sex was a low key affair; hastily taking off whatever was the last thing they were wearing. This was different; it felt like dressing up for a funeral or wearing a swimming cap at the beach.

  If her thighs were generous, then Mary’s breasts were philanthropists. And free as they were, they jiggled about as she made herself comfortable on the bed, propping her pillow up against the wall. As she moved, so too did the two pasties with the little octopus tentacles spinning this way and that in dizzying circles.

  “Can’t get them off,” she said, a little frustrated.

  She tugged on the pasties but they wouldn’t budge.

  “What happened?” said Graham holding back his laughter.

  “I used the wrong glue.”

  She tugged again but it looked like she was pulling on a couple of appendages.

  “This was supposed to be special,” she said.

  She had already started to cry.

  “You look sexy,” said Graham.

  “My tits look like bloody mop heads,” said Mary laughing, but in a heartbroken way; fit for tragedy. “And the panties are about five sizes too small; might need you to cut me out of them. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I’m sorry I got home late.”

  “That’s fine. I’m sorry I thought I could pull off something like this. What was I thinking? Look at me? My tits are ruined,” she said, wiggling them about as if they were jelly that hadn’t set or a cake that wouldn’t rise. “I love the kids and I’m proud that I breastfed both of them for all those years but goddamnit, it took its toll. They ruined my body. They used to be firm. Do you remember?”

  “They still are,” said Graham.

  His consideration bordered on condescendence.

  “I love you, I do, but I know my own body. And it’s not even about being fat either. I’m ok with that. It’s that I used to be sexy.”

  “You are sexy.”

  “You’re not listening.”

  “I am. Or I’m trying to.”

  “What I’m saying is, I used to feel sexy. I used to know how to walk sexy, to talk sexy, and to act sexy. I used to know how to be sexy. After two kids, though, I have no bloody idea. Being sexy is not like riding a bike; and even that I’m not sure I could pull off. I thought putting on some sexy panties and some stickers on my boobs would do it. Now, look at me. I can’t get the bloody things off.”

  “Could be worse.”

  “Graham, I have octopuses on my tits and I have to take Nathan to the orthodontist first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “No shit, oh.”

  “I can do that,” said Graham.

  “It’s not even about that. You know, before the kids I knew exactly who I was. I was young, rebellious; I was gonna die young and leave a beautiful corpse. I was…..”

  “You changed. We changed. People change. It’s what happens.”

  “I wanna change back.”

  “You don’t want to be a mother?”

  “No, you doofus. But why can’t I be that girl when I want? Is that too much to ask?”

  “We just need to practice more.”

  “When? This was the first night off in how long? And if you’re not working, then you’re at your bloody karate classes. Then when we do get time alone, we’re either too tired or one of us has something wrong – you with your haemorrhoids or me with…my everything!”

  There was little else to be said really; both of them felt the exact same way. It was cold and silent except of course for the sound of the TV blaring. Finally, when the ad finished, their favourite home renovation show started again.

  “Oh, this is on?” said Mary, forgetting her burden and cozying up under the blanket.

  Suddenly, all of her doubts and self-loathing fizzed up and dissolved in the sea of her vivid imagination as she willed herself inside the television and imagined being whisked through construction stores and furniture stores, picking out the pieces of her dream life.

  “I’d love to get this place re-done one day,” she said. “Just tear down everything and start again.”

  Then she tapped Graham’s leg.

  “Hide all that stuff,” she said. “Wouldn’t want the kids finding it.”

  Hastily, Graham shoved the dildos under the bed. That was when he caught sight once more of his kimono bundled up on the floor.

  “Babe?”

  His heart was already beating loud enough for her to tell that something was going on. His hands started to sweat and feet got covered in pins and needles. His every instinct told him to get his fat arse off the bed and run – run for sweet, dear life.

  “What?”

  She was already halfway through a word sleuth. She wasn’t even looking; it had been so long that that was how they spoke.

  “Be vulnerable,” he thought.

  But he hadn’t been this way in so long, he wondered if he could even tear out a single brick, let alone bring down the entire wall. He didn’t just want to tell her something; he wanted to tell her something that actually mattered, something she didn’t already know – something she could never assume; something she would never expect.

  Panic swept over him. It punched its way through his chest and gripped his heart, squeezing every last drop of courage from it.

  “What is it?” she said, scratching her pen in dizzying circles.

  “I..uh…”

  The suspense, for him, was almost too much to bear.

  “Hey, what’s a six-letter word for an expression of fanfare?”

  Her face was shaped like a chewed-up pencil.

  Graham dug his fingers through the dank and malodorous soil where his jelly bean was buried; further than the root of any plant could travel. He struggled and fought just to hold onto it, let alone pull it loose. It weighed as much as a trillion stars and yet was barely the size of an atom – and the strain he felt was evident.

  “Never mind,” said Mary. “Hurrah.”

  It wasn’t so much a celebration as it was a six-letter word.

  “Sorry,” she said, finally putting down her pen and paper.

  The second she looked at him, he let go of his jelly bean. By the time he realised, it had already been swallowed beneath a mantle of regrets, mistakes and poor decisions; and he was left-leaning against his impenetrable wall once more, for it was the only thing that propped him up.

  “You were saying?”

  “Nothing,” said. Graham. “It’s nothing.”

  “Ok then,” said Mary. “Well can you pass me that whipped cream? No point in letting it go to waste.”

  Then, with the TV blaring, they both took turns filling their mouths with cream.

  “So,” said Mary, when the bottle came to an end. “How was your karate thing?”

  It was incredible. It was astounding. It was the most amazing experience he had ever had in his life, yet out of his kimono, it almost felt as if it had happened to somebody else.

  “It was fine,” he said.

  “Are you getting good?” asked Mary. “All that kicking and punching?”

  “I am,” said Graham. “Against the others, I’m still way behind, but to a normal person on the street or thief; I could kill em in a second. I’m pretty much a lethal weapon.”

  “That’s my strong man,” said Mary, tucking herself under the covers with Graham, wrapping her arms around his big belly.

  It was hard to tell if she was genuinely impressed or just making him feel special. Graham, though, accepted the former and he snuggled up with his wife watching their favourite show. Then when they turned off the lights and rolled to their sides of the mattress, he closed his eyes and like he did every night, he spent an hour or so, imagining himself confronting thieves and villains on buses and in supermarkets, just a common man, saving the lives of common people.