Lady Chatterley's Lover

man into the WC. So why should we want to follow a man into bed with a woman?’
    ‘To have a look,’ said Constance.
    ‘No, no, no,’ said Hammond angrily, it was way past his Horlicks’ time.
    ‘But’, said May, who was a Catholic, wore his underpants back to front to avoid temptation, ‘supposing another man started to make love to your wife, what would you do?’
    ‘I should get between them,’ said Hammond. ‘I would tell the bounder to leave and give him a biff.’
    ‘Wait a minute,’ said Charles May. They all waited a minute, nothing much happened so he continued. ‘Why shouldn’t we be free to make love to any woman who inclines us that way?’
    ‘Oh, be as promiscuous as rabbits,’ said Hammond from the I-am-shocked position.
    ‘Why not?’ said May. ‘What’s wrong with rabbits?’
    ‘Mixamatosis,’ said Hammond, pursing his lips like a chicken’s bum.
    ‘But we’re not rabbits,’ intervened Clifford.
    ‘I know that,’ said May. ‘Anyone can see we’re not rabbits.’ He had never seen a rabbit in a wheelchair, May reflected. ‘If you want to go on you can say we’re also not elephants,’ said May.
    Constance was standing with her back to the fire, warming it. ‘Life is a juxtaposition of appetites, nutritional and sexual,’ she said.
    ‘Not it!’ shouted May. ‘I don’t over-eat myself and I don’t over-fuck myself.’
    How, thought Constance, does he fuck himself, he must be an acrobat?
    ‘Ah, Charles,’ said Dukes, ‘Sex is just another form of talk. We exchange emotions with women as we do ideas about the weather.’
    ‘Are you suggesting’, said May, ‘that while we’re fucking a woman we give her the weather report?’
    ‘I think’, said Dukes, ‘if you have emotion or sympathy with a woman you should sleep with her.’
    May laughed loud jettisoning little spit balls into the air and down to the carpet. Everybody watched as they floated down. The dirty bugger, thought Constance.
    ‘Sleep with a woman,’ repeated May. ‘You must be mad, you don’t get any sleep in bed with a woman, you’re at it all the time.’
    ‘I still say’, said Dukes, ‘the only decent thing is to go to bed with her.’
    ‘It’s not only bed,’ said May, ‘some persons go to the cupboard, some do it in the bath, some do it against brick walls and some do it in doorways.’
    How wonderful thought Constance.
    ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong in Charles running after women,’ said Dukes.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ said Clifford. ‘Why does he only chase women who are running? There are plenty of them standing still.’
    ‘Without women life would be like being chained in a kennel like a monk,’ said May.
    ‘Monk in a kennel?’ said Clifford. ‘Surely you mean dog.’
    May laughed loud; more spit flew out. ‘What I meant to say was life would be like a dog chained in a monastery.’
    ‘That’s enough from May,’ said Dukes. ‘What about Hammond, you’ll see he’ll be a man of letters.’
    Dukes was right, Hammond never stopped writing them.
    ‘Then there’s me,’ said Dukes. ‘I’m nothing. Just a squib.’
    ‘I thought you were a brigadier,’ said Hammond, the man of letters. ‘How do I address you?’
    ‘It’s Brigadier T. Dukes, HQ Waterloo Barracks Aider-shot Hampshire,’ said Dukes. Turning to Clifford he said, ‘Well, Clifford, what do you think of this sex thing?’ Clifford and his wheelchair blushed. Embarrassed he picked up the telephone. ‘Hello, who’s that?’ he said.
    ‘Darling,’ said Constance. ‘It hasn’t rung.’
    ‘I know,’ said embarrassed Clifford. ‘I didn’t want to wait until the last moment.’ Then, regarding sex, he said, ‘Myself I am hors de combat . 14 You see mine was shot off on the Somme, I got the DSO.’
    ‘DSO?’ queried Dukes.
    ‘Yes,’ said Clifford. ‘Dick Shot Off.’
    Clifford, in high emotion, spun his wheelchair around and fell out. Using block and tackle they restored him to his wheelchair. He spoke, ‘Love between man and woman is a great thing.’
    Constance’s heart beat as she recalled Paddy’s great thing. Silence fell. Fortunately it landed outside. The men smoked while Constance steamed. She had been at so many of these evenings, the men talk, talk, but they didn’t seem to get anywhere, not even Lewisham. None of them spoke well of her Paddy. They called him by terrible names! Mongrel arriviste ! Uneducated bounder! Charlton Athletic! 22 Gabriel Street! The