I dropped the clothes in front of our washing machine, and then crouched down to sort through them. Too often, important pieces of paper or even money had gone through the machine, hidden in Dan's pockets, and been ruined.

They were Dan's favourite jeans, tatty, old and faded. He would preen when he wore them because of the flattering way they hugged his groin and buttocks. They were filthy, as if he'd been rolling around the garden. In the front pocket I found a neatly folded piece of paper. Against my better judgement, I quickly unfolded it and read the handwritten, sprawling words.

"Dan,

I can't wait until next Tuesday. Last night was fucking amazing, my arse is still on fire from the banging you gave me. I'll come around to your place at half-six, next Tuesday. We can't meet at my place because my flatmate's being an arsehole again.

I can't wait.

Kris."

Tuesday nights I always worked late, running my Men's Health Clinic. I don't get home until late, often so late that Dan has already gone to bed and fallen asleep.

Kris was the thin, very blonde party boy in Dan's office. He seemed permanently hung-over or spaced-out, as if always coming down from the previous night's clubbing and partying. He certainly didn't like me; the few times I had met him he'd snarled distaste towards me and oozed indifference towards Dan.

I held the note, crouched there on our kitchen floor, and just stared at it. I had no desire to destroy it, only to hold it and look at it. It meant only one thing. After all the tears, arguments, emotional fallout and promises, Dan was back to screwing around. Each time, he promised me it would be the last, and his most recent promise had seemed to be his final one. It was nearly a year since he had been unfaithful, a fling at a work conference that carried on after he returned home. Since then he had seemed to keep his promise.

I didn't feel anger or hurt, just a creeping curiosity. Kris, nearly twenty years my junior, could barely string two sentences together, so what was the attraction? Was it only sex? Was there more?

I brought the note up to my face and smelt the paper. There was the smell of Dan's crotch, that distinct and sharp odour, mixed in with the vague odour of stale ink and dull paper. No smell of sex or aftershave.

Tuesday was only two days away; could I get someone to cover my clinic, slip home unnoticed and spy on Dan and Kris? What would I see? Could I do it? Could I...?

Again I brought the note up to my face and inhaled deeply. I felt a warm, erotic thrill creeping over me, certainly not what I would have thought my reaction would be.

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