Wedding Night

it?”
    “Now?”
    “Why not? Still twenty minutes till boarding.”
    “I … I don’t know.” I hesitate, feeling torn. It’s not exactly the way I pictured my honeymoon night—a quick encounter in a Heathrow loo. On the other hand, I didn’t realize I’d be so desperate. “What about our wedding night?” I can’t help clinging to my plan. “What about making it special and romantic?”
    “Still will be.” His fingers are gently playing with my earlobe, sending starbursts of sensation down my neck. “This isn’t the main event. This is the preview.” His fingers have found my bra strap. “And, quite frankly, if we don’t soon, I’ll burst.”
    “I’ll burst too.” I quell a gasp. “OK, you go first. Find us somewhere.”
    “I’ll text.”
    He gets up and walks swiftly toward the unisex washrooms. I lean back on my seat and try not to giggle. This place is so quiet and stuffy, I don’t know how we’ll pull it off.
    I get out my phone to wait for his text and, on impulse, pull up Fliss’s number. She and I have always joked about the Mile-High Club. I can’t resist telling her. I send a quick text:
    Have u ever wondered what it’s like doing it in an airport lounge loo? I’ll let you know.
    I’m not really expecting her to reply. It’s only a silly, jokey text. So I’m gobsmacked when a moment later my phone pings with a reply:
    Stop STOP!!!!!!!! Don’t! Stupid idea. Wait till hotel!!!!!!!!
    I peer at the phone, baffled. What is her problem? I fire off another text:
    Don’t worry, we’re married.
    I take a sip of water, then hear another ping. This time it’s a text from Ben.
    3rd cubicle on left. Knock twice.
    I feel a delicious shiver and text back:
    Coming.
    As I pick up my bag, I see that Fliss has texted again:
    Really, really think you should wait!!!! Save till hotel!!!!
    This is getting annoying. I only texted her for fun, not to get some stupid lecture. What’s she worried about, that we’ll get caught and somehow people will link her to me and her precious magazine will be brought into disrepute? I send a cross reply:
    None of your business.
    As I cross the lounge toward the washrooms, I’m actually trembling with anticipation. I knock twice on the thirdcubicle door, and as Ben sweeps me in, he’s already half undressed.
    “Oh God. Oh God …”
    His mouth is immediately on mine, his hand is in my hair, now he’s unhooking my bra and I’m wriggling out of my knickers. I’ve never moved so fast. I’ve never wanted it so fast. I’ve never needed it so badly in my life.
    “Shh!” we keep whispering to each other as we bump against the cubicle walls. Thank God they’re sturdy. We’re maneuvering into position as quickly as we can, Ben’s braced against the wall, we’re both breathing like steam engines, I can tell this is going to take about ten seconds.…
    “Condom?” I whisper.
    “No.” He meets my eye. “Right?”
    “Right.” I feel an extra spurt of excitement. We might make a baby!
    “Hey.” He suddenly pauses. “Have you got into any kinky stuff since we last did it? Anything I should know?”
    “A bit,” I say breathlessly, hoicking my skirt up farther. “Tell you later. Come
on
.”
    “OK! Give me a chance—”
    Rap-rap-rap-rap!
    The knocking at the cubicle door nearly gives me a heart attack, and I bash my knee on the cistern. What?
What?
    “Excuse me?” a female voice is calling from the other side of the door. “This is the lounge manager speaking. Is there someone in there?”
    Fuck
.
    I can’t answer. I can’t move. Ben and I eye each other in panic.
    “Could you please open the door?”
    My leg is still wrapped round Ben’s back. The other foot ison the loo seat. I have no idea where my underwear is. Worst of all, my entire body is still throbbing with need.
    Could we just ignore this lounge manager? Keep going? I mean, what can they do?
    “Carry on?” I mouth at Ben. “Really quietly?” I gesture to make myself clear, and the loo seat creaks. Shit.
    “If you don’t come out, I’m afraid I will have to use a passkey to gain access,” the voice is saying.
    They have a passkey to the loos? What is this, a fascist state?
    I’m still breathing as hard as ever. But now it’s with miserable frustration. I can’t do this. I can’t consummate my marriage with a lounge manager listening six inches away, the other side of the door, poised with a passkey.
    There’s more knocking at the door. In fact, it’s becoming