By the third week of night school, the words flow so fast from Karen’s fingers that her mind wanders to Joe as she works. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog, she types, and for a moment he is the fox – it fits: his hair is fiery red – and she the dog. It is like that in the mornings, when has to be up at six, and more often than not chooses her over the snooze button, her limbs still half-asleep as his hot cock presses against her thigh and he kisses the sleepy dust from her eyes. On one occasion he woke her by imitating the noises of the actual foxes that had kept them up half the night, but she soon put a stop to that – she was afraid the neighbours might think he’d completely lost it, and although he makes her laugh, even she has her limits before coffee.

Other times, she is the fox – the one who could gladly stay up all night while he is already dozing in front of the television. If foxes had opposable thumbs and could gently lift the fast-cooling mug of tea from his grasp, place it safely on the sideboard, then remove their knickers and straddle him, kissing him until he is back in the world of the living and his cock is thickening and pulsing under her steady grinding, then yeah, she can be the fox, too.

These thoughts make her restless. She shifts uncomfortably in the too-small wooden chair, and loses her place in the exercise.

She’s lucky, and she knows it – the women around her see typing skills as their route to emancipation – a job, a salary, a life of their own – and she has all those things without the keyboard skills. These classes are purely for her. She wants to write a book, and Joe is right behind her. That’s why he bought her the typewriter. That’s why he stays home with the kids while she goes to these classes. But it’s more than that. By letting her write, he’s telling her that her words matter. And it’s just not like that for so many of her friends.

So yeah, she’s lucky. She’s lucky, and she’s wet, and even though, when she crawls into bed beside him he’s already fast asleep, she can’t help herself. She rolls on her side, her hands under the duvet, reaches for his cock, and lets her fingers return to home.