The Difference Between Nothing

**Author's Note:*

Amanda's forty-seven, married eighteen years, and essentially invisible to her husband. At a fancy dress party, she wears a WPC costume - one of those cheeky retro policewoman outfits, the kind sold alongside naughty schoolgirl and stewardess uniforms, complete with handcuffs. Her neighbour's twenty-two-year-old son notices.

What follows is a series of increasingly reckless decisions involving his uncle's flat, cinema toilets, and those handcuffs - upgraded from plastic to metal.

Contains: infidelity, age gap (both adults), restraints, semi-public sex, and no redemption arc. Just messy humans being messy.

***

I'd been standing in front of the mirror for twenty minutes trying to decide if I looked ridiculous. The WPC costume had seemed amusing in the shop - a bit cheeky, a bit retro. Now, at forty-seven, wearing a too-short skirt and stockings with seams up the back, I looked like someone desperately pretending she wasn't invisible.

Simon glanced up from his phone, barely looked at me before going back to scrolling. "You're not actually wearing that."

"It's fancy dress, Simon. That's rather the point."

He waved his hand at me. Like I was a problem he couldn't be bothered to articulate. "Yes, but..."

"But what?"

Already back on his phone. "Nothing. You look fine."

Fine. Eighteen years of marriage in one word.

I almost changed. Almost put on something safer. But then I thought about another evening of standing in Margaret's kitchen making small talk while Simon droned on about college politics to anyone who'd listen. Fuck that. I kept the costume on.

---

Margaret and David's house was identical to ours, just reversed. Same Victorian terrace, same sash windows, same damp patch in the back bedroom. We'd moved in twelve years ago when Simon got his fellowship at Trinity. Back when Cambridge had felt like an adventure instead of a beautiful prison.

Margaret appeared in the doorway wearing a flapper dress that would have looked better on someone two stone lighter. "Amanda! Darling! You look fabulous!"

The house smelled of perfume and wine and something that had probably burned slightly. I followed Margaret through to the kitchen, where Claire was already three glasses deep and telling someone about her divorce with the aggressive cheerfulness of the recently liberated.

The party was the usual. Too many people, cheap wine, Margaret's dip that no one was eating. I ended up by the French doors watching people in the garden. My shoes were killing me. The left one had been rubbing a blister for the past hour.

That's when I saw him.

Tom. Margaret's son. Back from university. I'd watched him grow up through our respective back gardens. Twenty-two now and annoyingly good-looking in that way posh boys from Cambridge are.

He'd come as a burglar. Striped shirt, domino mask, carrying a prop swag bag. It was absurd.

The words came out before I'd decided to speak. "Reckon I should arrest you?"

He moved closer. I could smell his aftershave - something trying too hard, probably bought at Boots. "Reckon you could try."

"I've got handcuffs."

His eyes dropped to my belt. Then back to my face. "Do you now."

Not a question.

Someone bumped into me from behind - completely pissed, didn't even apologise. I stumbled forward. Tom's hand came up to steady me, fingers on my bare arm. Warm. He didn't move his hand.

Claire was calling from across the room. "Amanda! Come here, you have to meet Richard's new girlfriend!"

Richard had a new girlfriend approximately every six months. This one was probably twenty-three and worked in marketing.

I turned to Tom. "Save me. Please."

"Where do you want to hide?"

"Anywhere that's not here."

I was already walking towards the stairs. Didn't check if he was following. Could feel him behind me.

The first floor was quieter. I tried the bathroom. Occupied. Then Margaret's sewing room, which was packed full or rubbish. The third door opened onto a spare bedroom. Barely furnished. Just a bed with a cheap duvet and curtains that didn't quite close.

I went in. Tom followed. Shut the door.

We stood there. The party downstairs was playing "Dancing Queen" and someone was singing along badly.

"So."

"So."

Tom moved closer. "You wanted to hide."

"I did."

"This is insane."

"Probably."

"Your mother is downstairs."

"I know."

"My husband is downstairs."

"I know that too."

I pulled back. "Wait. The door. Anyone could come up."

He grabbed a chair from the corner, wedged it under the door handle. It wouldn't hold if someone really tried, but it was something.

"We should stop."

"Do you want to stop?"

I thought about going back downstairs and spending another hour slowly dying inside. Thought about going home and lying in bed next to Simon, not touching, just two bodies taking up space. Thought about nothing ever changing until I was dead.

"No. I don't want to stop."

He reached for the handcuffs. Unclipped them from my belt. "May I?"

I held out my wrists.

The plastic clicked shut. Both wrists. Not tight but there. Bound.

His voice had gone lower. "There. You're under arrest."

"What are you going to do with me?"

His hand came up. Touched my face. I kissed him. Or he kissed me. Couldn't tell who moved first. But suddenly his mouth was on mine and his hands were in my hair and I was pressing against him like I was drowning.

His tongue pushed into my mouth. Too eager, like boys that age do when they've learned everything from porn. But I didn't care. It felt good to be kissed. To be wanted.

Tom's hands were on my waist now, pulling me closer. I could feel him hard against me. When had Simon last got hard just from kissing me?

We stumbled backward towards the bed. I sat on the edge and he stood in front of me, breathing hard. His mask had come askew. I reached up with my cuffed hands and pulled it off.

God, he was beautiful. That awful beauty young people have before life fucks them up.

His hands went to my shirt, started undoing buttons.

"I've thought about this. About you. For ages."

"Don't be absurd."

"I'm serious. Since I came back at Christmas. Saw you in your garden."

I pulled him down towards me with my cuffed hands, kissed him to shut him up.

His weight pressed me back onto the bed. His hips between my legs. Even through our clothes I could feel him, hard and insistent.

His mouth moved to my neck. Biting. Too hard. I'd have marks later. I grabbed his hair with my bound hands. Pulled. He made this noise. Like a whimper. Like I'd hurt him. But he pushed harder against me.

"Fuck. Sorry. Too much?"

"Don't stop."

My legs wrapped around him. Pulled him closer. Could feel how hard he was through his jeans. Could feel myself getting wetter. Soaking through my knickers. Christ.

A car pulled in outside. Someone arriving late. Doors slamming. Laughter. We both froze. Listened. Footsteps on gravel. Front door opening. Then nothing.

"We should.."

"No."

Tom's hand slid up my thigh. Over the stocking. Found bare skin. His fingers shook. Actually shook.

"You're nervous."

"Bit."

"Don't be."

"It's just. You're. I mean.."

"Touch me. Please."

He pushed the fabric aside. Touched me. His whole body went still.

"Jesus Christ, Amanda."

"What?"

"You're so. Fuck. You're soaked."

"Your fault."

His fingers found my clit. Started circling. Too fast. Too direct. Like he'd learned from porn.

I shifted my hips. Guided him with my bound hands. "Slower. Lighter. Like this."

He adjusted. Better. Learning fast.

"Inside. Put your fingers inside."

Two fingers. Pushed in. The stretch made me gasp. He froze.

"Did I..."

"Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

He didn't. Started moving them. In and out. Still working my clit with his thumb. The angle wasn't quite right but it didn't matter. Someone was touching me. Actually touching me. Making me feel something.

I could feel it building. That slow heat. My hips started moving on their own. Fucking his hand. The handcuffs rattled. My wrists burned where the plastic dug in.

"You're so tight. Can feel you squeezing my fingers."

"Faster."

He moved faster. I bit down on his shoulder. Could taste his shirt. Could smell his deodorant and sweat underneath.

The party downstairs was getting louder. Someone had turned the music up. "Dancing Queen" gave way to something else. I didn't care. Didn't care about anything except his fingers inside me and the pressure building.

"I'm going to. Tom. I'm!"

"Do it. Please. Want to feel it."

I came. Bit down hard on his shoulder to keep from screaming. My whole body went rigid. Pulled against the cuffs. Could feel myself clenching around his fingers. Pulsing. Wet running down onto his hand.

When I could think again he was staring at me. His hand still between my legs. Fingers still inside me. Wet to his knuckles.

He reached for my wrists. Unclipped the handcuffs. The plastic had left red marks.

We stayed like that for a moment. His fingers still inside me. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs.

Tom pulled back. We both froze. The footsteps went past, into the bathroom. The door closed.

"We should go back down."

He gestured at himself. The obvious bulge in his trousers. "I want to..."

"Not here. Not now."

He looked disappointed but nodded. Started straightening his clothes.

I stood up, tried to button my shirt with shaking fingers. Caught sight of myself in the mirror. Face flushed. Lips swollen. I looked exactly like what I was.

In the mirror, I saw him watching me.

"Can I see you again?"

I should say no.

"Where?"

"My mum's old flat. In town. My parents... well, technically it's my uncle's now. He's working in Dubai. I've got the keys."

"When?"

"Tomorrow? I'll text you."

"You don't have my number."

He pulled out his phone. Opened WhatsApp. I scanned his QR code.

"Delete the chat after. Always."

"I know how to be discreet."

The toilet flushed. Bathroom door opening.

"You go first. I'll wait five minutes."

He kissed me once more, quick and hard. "Tomorrow."

Then he was gone.

I stood there thinking about what I'd just done. But I was smiling. Actually smiling. Like I had a secret. Like I mattered.

I fixed my shirt, my hair. Then went downstairs.

Simon was in David's study, exactly where I'd expected. "Where've you been?"

"Around. Needed some air."

He nodded. Didn't notice anything.

Through the doorway I could see Tom in the kitchen. Our eyes met briefly. He touched his phone in his pocket.

Tomorrow.

---

The following Saturday afternoon. I told Simon I was meeting Claire for coffee in town. He barely looked up.

The address Tom had sent was near Parker's Piece. A Georgian townhouse. Three stories. His uncle must do very well in Dubai.

I stood outside for five minutes before pressing the buzzer.

"Come up. Third floor."

The lift smelled of new carpet. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked nervous. Was I nervous? When had I last been nervous about anything?

Tom opened the door before I could knock. Jeans and a t-shirt. His hair still wet from the shower.

"You came."

"Obviously."

The flat was nicer than I'd expected. Open plan. Big windows. Minimalist furniture. The kind of place people in magazines lived in.

"Drink?"

"No. I can't stay long."

He moved closer. "How long?"

"Hour. Maybe two. I said coffee with Claire."

His hand came up to my face. "Two hours."

"Maybe."

He kissed me. Different from the party. Slower. Like we had time. Like this was something.

I pulled back. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Make it into something."

"What is it then?"

"It's Saturday afternoon. That's all."

But I let him kiss me again. Let him lead me to the bedroom.

The room was dark. Curtains already closed. The bed was bigger than mine at home. King size probably. His uncle's bed. I tried not to think about that.

Tom pulled my shirt off. Then my skirt. Stood back and looked at me.

"What?"

"Just looking."

"You've seen it all now."

"I know. Still can't believe.."

"That you're shagging the neighbour?"

"Yeah."

I buttoned my shirt. "Should I dress up next time? Like the party. Stewardess maybe. Is that what you want?"

He went quiet.

"What?"

"Are you taking the piss?"

"Bit."

"Don't. Makes it sound like. I don't know. Like you're performing or something."

"Aren't I?"

"No. I want you. Just you."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I just finished getting dressed.

He moved to the bedside table. Opened the drawer. Pulled something out.

Metal handcuffs. Real ones. Not plastic party shop ones.

"Where did you get those?"

"Amazon. Next day delivery."

Of course. Prime Student. "You bought handcuffs."

"Yeah."

"For me."

"For us."

I should probably be concerned. Should ask questions. Should think about what it meant that he'd ordered these. Planned this.

Instead I just held out my wrists.

He cuffed them. The metal was cold. Heavy. Proper locks. Not the quick-release type.

"Where's the key?"

He showed me. Put it on the bedside table. "Right there. I'm not a psychopath."

"Debatable."

He pushed me back onto the bed. My hands above my head. Then he pulled something else from the drawer.

A tie. Silk. Probably expensive. Probably his uncle's.

"What's that for?"

"Can I?"

"A blindfold?"

"Yeah."

I should say no. Should keep some control. But I was already nodding.

He tied it around my eyes. Properly dark. Couldn't see anything.

Just the sound of him moving. The bed shifting. His weight settling next to me.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

His hand traced down my arm. Slowly. I could feel every nerve. Couldn't see him. Couldn't anticipate anything.

His mouth on my collarbone. Moving down. Over the lace of my bra. I felt him undo the clasp. Pull it away.

His mouth on my nipple. Teeth grazing. My hands jerked against the cuffs. The metal dug into my wrists.

"Careful."

"Am I hurting you?"

"A bit. Don't care."

His hand moved down. Over my stomach. Tracing the edge of my knickers. Not touching where I wanted. Just tracing.

"Tom..."

"What?"

"You know what."

"Tell me anyway."

I'd never done this with Simon. He'd die before talking during sex. But here, blindfolded, cuffed - easier somehow.

"Touch me. Between my legs."

"Where between your legs?"

"You're being a prat."

He laughed. His fingers pushed my knickers aside. "Here?"

"Yes. There."

Started circling. Slow.

"God, you're soaking."

"Your fault."

"Good."

"Inside."

Two fingers pushed in. My hips lifted. The cuffs rattled against the headboard.

His fingers moved. Not quite right. "Higher. And slower."

Better.

"Does Simon do this for you?"

"We're not talking about Simon."

"That's a no then."

"Shut up and concentrate."

He laughed again. Found the right spot. Right pressure.

"There. Don't change anything."

"Bossy."

"You started this."

His fingers worked me. I pulled against the cuffs.

"I'm close."

His fingers slowed. Stopped. Stayed inside me.

"What are you doing?"

"Want to see you beg for it."

"Bollocks to that."

"Then I'll just wait here."

Silence. His fingers motionless inside me. I could feel myself clenching around them.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Please make me come, you little shit."

"Better."

His fingers moved. Fast now. Hard. His mouth back on my nipple.

"Say it properly."

"What?"

"Tell me what I'm doing to you."

I'd never done this. Never said these things out loud.

"Your fingers. In my pussy."

"And?"

"And I'm going to come all over them."

"Do it then."

I came. Pulled hard against the cuffs. Made noise I couldn't control.

When I could breathe again he undid the blindfold. Light too bright. I blinked.

He was watching me. Staring really.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just. You're.."

"Undo the cuffs."

"Can I ask you something first?"

"What?"

"The glasses. Your reading glasses. Do you have them?"

I stared at him. "What?"

"In your bag. Do you have them with you?"

"Why?"

"Just. Please."

This was ridiculous. But I nodded toward my bag on the chair. He got up. Rummaged through it. Found them. Tortoiseshell frames. Came back to the bed.

"Put them on."

"You're joking."

"Please."

I put them on. Felt stupid. Lying there in my knickers with handcuffs and reading glasses like some weird librarian fantasy.

But the way he looked at me. Like I'd just shown him something precious.

"Fuck. That's. You're perfect."

"I look ridiculous."

"You don't. You look. Christ, Amanda. That's exactly how I imagine you. When I think about you."

"When you wank, you mean."

He went red. "Yeah. When I. That."

I shouldn't find that hot. But I did.

"Undo the cuffs."

He reached for the key. Unlocked them. My wrists had red marks. Proper ones. Would last hours. Maybe days. Would have to wear long sleeves tomorrow. Another thing to hide.

But I kept the glasses on.

I sat up. Pushed him back. Jeans. Needed them off. Now.

"Wait--"

"No."

Fumbled with the button. Stupid fucking button. Finally got it. Zip. Dragged them down. He lifted his hips. Boxers caught. Had to yank them.

He was hard. Properly hard. Leaking already.

"Christ. Look at you."

He went red. "Don't."

"Proper stiffy."

"Amanda!"

"Embarrassed?"

"Bit."

"You weren't embarrassed when you were making me beg."

Wrapped my hand around him. Hot. Sticky at the tip. He made this noise. Strangled.

"Fuck. Amanda. If you. I'm already.."

"Condoms. Now."

Drawer. He was fumbling. Knocked something over. "Yeah. Here. Sorry."

Took the packet. Hands shaking. Ripped it wrong. Had to use my teeth. Finally got it. Rolled it on him. He was so hard it was difficult. Kept slipping.

"Sorry. I'm. Christ!"

"Shut up."

Climbed on top. Positioned myself. Started to sink down. Too fast. Gasped.

"You okay?"

"Just. Been a while. Need to--"

Went slower. Inch by inch. So full. Too full. Then all the way. Sitting on him. Both breathing hard.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Amanda. You're so. I can feel. Everything. You're so..."

"Don't talk. Just. Let me."

Started moving. Slow. Had to adjust. Angle wasn't right. Shifted forward. Better. Started again.

His hands gripped my hips. Hard enough to bruise. Good.

"You've thought about this."

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Every night. Every fucking night. Thought about you riding me. Your tits."

"Thought about being balls deep in your neighbour?"

He groaned. Actually groaned. "Don't say that."

"Why not? That's what you wanted."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Thought about your pussy. About how tight you'd be."

Faster now. Could feel sweat starting. Between my breasts. My back. His hands were slipping on my hips.

"Look at me."

His eyes met mine. Pupils blown. Mouth open.

"Keep looking."

"Can't. Too much. You're too.."

"Look at me."

He did. I could see everything. Want. Disbelief. Like he couldn't believe this was real.

"Tell me what you see."

"You. Just you. So fucking beautiful. Your tits bouncing. Your face. The way you're taking my cock. God, Amanda..."

"I'm forty-seven."

"Don't care. You're perfect. Your pussy's perfect. Tightest thing I've ever. Can feel you squeezing me. Every time you move I can.."

"What?"

"Feel everything. So wet. So tight. Can't believe I'm inside you. Wish I could. Without the condom. Feel you properly."

Margaret would have an absolute stroke if she walked in right now. Her precious son. The neighbour's wife riding him in his uncle's expensive bed. My arse bouncing on his thighs. The wet sounds we were making. The scandal would be nuclear.