I can’t stand another Dinner Party

Spoken word poem about what I reckon definitely happens

And you said this hummus is home made?’

Mark praised as he took another bite.

‘Oh yes’, enthused Caroline, smiling gamely,

‘I used a mix of Delia, Rhodes and Jamie.

I must tell you Petra, your dress is gorgeous,

I love the roses and the way it’s not too fussed.’

‘Oh stop it Caro!’ Petra guffawed, ‘this old thing

was made in 1934, it was my mothers,

given to her by her brothers uncle on her cousins side’.

‘Well it certainly makes you look divine.’

Graham quipped as he sipped on lemonade,

and the company laughed at such a cheeky display.

This was the third time this year the couples had met,

the 37th time over all, the format had been set;

These three pairs would gather to talk about the weather,

children’s achievements, sad parental bereavements and the prospect of golf together.

The couples were Mark and Mary,

Graham and Caro and Derek and Petra.

Old chums from university that had all got together

and been together for the past 30 years,

They’d been at each others weddings and at their children’s christenings,

and hoped to be at their grandchildren’s christenings and possibly weddings,

obviously all depending on whether the diets and yoga

the couples so frequently trialled were worth while

and took them into their nineties swinging.

If not all the church choral groups they were part of

at least meant they’d go into heaven singing.

This night had thus far been no different to any other,

the gang were all round at Grahams and Caroline’s place,

and topics covered so far were the food, the weather, and the state of the nation,

which, as Derek had pointed out was heading to devastation,

thanks to Cameron’s Britain and the youths and the laziness,

‘I worked as soon as I could, and I always did my best’

he boasted, wolfing down another toasted crostini or bilini

or whatever you call those tiny bread things with crab on,

anyway Derek was waxing on about how his children with Petra

were just doing better and better,

Hugo was a lawyer and Hebe had just opened a charity for red setters,

and if they could find work then why couldn’t all those chavs,

those kids, those youths on the street,

Derek never missed a beat, no he never missed a beat,

when he’d got his first job in the police.

And Mark and Graham spluttered their approval,

while the wives smiled and nodded,

and offered to help Caroline with plate removal.

‘I tell you what old man,’ Graham began

as he crammed a final spoonful of tzatziki

into his smug podgy beaky,

‘I think it’s all the people having children just to get benefits,

that’s the worst of it, all the sex without care,

the teenage pregnancies, the laissez faire attitude to it all’

‘Yes, terrible attitudes in general’, Mark sighed,

‘our children turned out well because sex was denied,

and we gave them the single sex education money could buy.

These children have no respect because their parents

just lie, sleep with each other, cheat on each other and smoke pot.

I mean, I smoked a little in uni, but these people smoke a lot.’

Caro returned triumphant with a mountain of summer pudding,

which let the conversation return briefly to musing over the food

and how delicious it was and what did she use

and you must give me the recipe because it was all just so ruddy tasty.

‘We were just talking about how young people keep having sex with one another’,

Derek laughed as he wolfed down sponge.

Caro nodded lightly and begun,

‘Yes, terrible business that.

I mean, sex isn’t that good is it?

Sometimes sex nowadays is like a conjugal visit.’

Graham, looking a little affronted,

tipsily confronted Caro by laughing,

‘I wish the visits were more often my darling.’

Derek, a small smile playing on his lips,

tapped his finger tips on the table

then rose.

‘I think we’d all like more of those.’

Petra, unamused, chose now to speak.

‘Derek darling, what on earth do you mean?’

Derek laughed a little,

then said with good cheer.

‘I just feel like things haven’t been exciting for years.’

Mary nodded sagely, and Mark toyed with his food.

Derek and Petra gazed at each other, Graham and Caroline too.

‘Well, maybe we could-‘

Mark began.

‘Maybe we could what old man?’

Graham still kept his gaze on Caroline,

but now his hand lay on her thigh.

‘Well, maybe we could all just fuck each other?’

Silence fell across the group.

The atmosphere was intense, electric and true.

All the couples knew what they wanted to do,

it had been years of middle class boredom

and now they wanted to push through,

to do something that made them feel alive.

‘Well’, Caroline ventured, ‘we could certainly give it a try.’

She began to clear away the pudding,

Graham took her hand.

‘No’, he whispered. ‘Leave the pudding.’

Then he kissed her passionately,

and they fell down onto creamy fruit dessert.

Mark grabbed Mary and Petra lifted her skirts,

within moments the dining room was filled with the noise of

passionate screams,

the moaning of pleasure and the squelching of whipped cream.

For the past 35 years, they’d been living in a dream.

Partner with partner,

wife on wife,

husband on husband,

then everything repeated twice.

The session was messy,

and colourful and new,

there was summer pudding everywhere,

and wine stains too.

After god knows how long the lovers were through.

They all lay, panting, smiling and nude.

‘Goodness’ muttered Mary, as Mark stroked her hair.

‘Goodness indeed’ Derek laughed as he looked down on the bare frame

of Petra who lay on his lap,

and he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Caroline, panting in Grahams arms,

reached up to stroke his face.

‘Well, my darling, that was certainly a change of pace!’

After a while, normal conversation resumed,

but there was a new, electric atmosphere in the room.

They decided now, if everyone was in the mood,

their monthly dinners would now happily include

a session such as that one, or maybe even two.

They’d still go on about children’s achievements,

and blame David Cameron for something.

But they’d also eat each others muffins

and complement each other on some very good stuffing.

There’s something truly very British

about a group of pensioners fucking.