Authors: T A Williams
‘Luca, what do you mean, going away for the weekend?’ Tiffany couldn’t believe her ears.
‘What I said. My mum and dad will look after the kids. I’m taking you away to the country for a little break.’ He reached out and pulled her close. ‘I think we need a little bit of us time.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Besides, you still haven’t decided when and where for your thousand words.’
‘And we’re leaving this morning?’ She looked at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock. The kids would need to be scrubbed spotless and changed into fresh clothes if they were to go to her Italian mother-in-law’s. Ben, the seven-year-old, hadn’t even had breakfast. He and the other two were in front of the TV in the lounge.
‘Any time today. Now, don’t panic. It won’t take long to get them ready for inspection. I’ll start with Milly. Why don’t you try to get some cereal into Ben?’
In the end it was almost lunchtime before they set off. The kids were delighted to spend some time with their grandparents, knowing full well they would be spoilt rotten.
It was mid afternoon by the time they got there, after stopping for soup and a sandwich en route. The hotel he had chosen was near Woodstock, just to the north of Oxford. It was a charming country house set in its own parkland. They were shown to a large, high-ceilinged room, overlooking the gardens. There was an enormous bed and a marble-clad bathroom. Outside, the temperature was already approaching zero. Inside it was as warm as toast. She stood at the window, staring out into the grounds. A pair of squirrels chased each other up a huge oak tree. Otherwise there was no sign of life anywhere.
Luca came up behind her and kissed her neck. She leant back against him.
‘You know, darling, this was a really, really good idea. It is so good to have a change of scene.’ As she spoke, she let her hands run round behind her back. She felt for him. She was not surprised to feel his erection.
‘Well, well, well, I didn’t see you pack that.’
‘I’m glad we weren’t flying anywhere. The way I feel this weekend, I’d have to pay excess baggage on it.’ His hands reached up from her waist, under her jumper to her breasts. ‘I wonder how many other couples are as lucky as us. It’s been almost ten years, you know.’
‘I love you to pieces, Luca Rossi.’ She turned her head to kiss him.
With gentle pressure on her shoulders, he kept her facing out of the window, as he stripped her naked. At first, she cast anxious glances out through the glass, afraid of being observed. Then, as his hands began their magic, she let her eyes close and went with the flow.
It was seven o’clock, and pitch black outside, before they surfaced. She couldn’t remember a time, even in their early days together, when they had made love for three, or was it four, hours without a break. She moved tentatively, seriously wondering if she would be able to walk again.
‘Are you awake darling?’
He grunted and shifted in the bed beside her. ‘I wasn’t, but I am now. Ouch. My arm has gone to sleep. You must have been lying on it.’
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I believe you will have to carry me down to dinner.’
Pulling herself onto her elbow, she reached out and scrabbled about until she found a light switch. They both blinked as it came on. She looked down at him fondly.
‘Well, if the next ten are as good as the last ten, we can’t complain.’
He kissed the side of her breast. ‘Like I said about a million years ago, we’re lucky people. Mind you,’ he massaged his arm back to life, ‘I think we have your future co-writer to thank for this upturn in our marital relations.’ A tone of awe entered his voice. ‘We’ve never been quite as–’ he searched for the word.
‘Rampant.’ She finished the sentence for him. ‘I know what you mean. These last few days have been amazing.’ She lowered her head to kiss his cheek. ‘I love you, darling, I always have and I always will, but wow!’
‘The power of the written word. And you haven’t even started writing yet!’
He dragged himself into a sitting position and looked at his watch. ‘Seven thirty. I suppose we had better start thinking about dinner.’
‘A bath first, I think. That’s if I can stand.’
‘You go first. I’ll phone and see how the kids are doing.’
It was half past eight by the time they got down to the restaurant. Their table was in a corner, their only other companions a group of four, seated at a table on the far side of the room.
‘Is it something we said?’ She eyed the empty tables.
‘I suppose it is February, after all. Mind you, at least we can talk freely.’
‘And we both know what we’ve got to talk about.’
‘What, when and where.’
She nodded. ‘Precisely. But first we’d better order.’
The menu was vast and impressive. He decided on a steak, while she chose salmon. For starters they shared a plateau of mixed antipasti. Although his parents were Italian, Luca was a London boy through and through. But he did like returning to his ethnic roots from time to time. And, as far as food was concerned, Italian beat London hands down.
He was onto his second glass of Barbera, and well into the Parma ham, when he returned to the subject of her writing. ‘So any thoughts about place and time?’
She laid down her fork and let him finish what was left. She looked around the room. It was very ornate, with intricate filigree cornices. The ceiling rose was a work of art, as was the chandelier suspended beneath it. The fireplace was monumental, hewn out of pink marble. The intricate parquet floor and high skirting boards bore testimony to the work of skilled craftsmen.
‘How old is this place?’
‘I would say, roughly, about 1810.’ He sounded a bit smug. She saw right through him.
‘You read the brochure, right?’
‘Pretty much. I read the historical stuff on their website before I booked. It used to belong to some marquis or lord or somebody.’
‘Excellent, let’s set my thousand words here in 1810. Now, what was going on in the world back then?’
He had finished the ham, the melon and the salami. He was just spearing the last of the olives. ‘The 1812 overture is about Napoleonic times, some battle or other. I don’t think it was Waterloo. So that was all going on then. Here, it would have been before Queen Victoria. Does that make it Georgian? When was the loony king around, or the Prince Regent? Maybe it’s Regency style.’ He was a chemist, so history wasn’t his forte. ‘Anyway, that’s easy. A quick check on the computer and that’ll sort that out.’
She nodded, satisfied with her choice. She watched him wipe the olive oil off the plate with his bread. ‘You seem to have built up an appetite.’ She smiled across the table at him.
‘Darling girl, if I don’t eat lots, I am likely to waste away and die under the pressure of your physical demands upon me.’
‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is it? You are just a poor victim, eh?’
‘I can see the headlines now, MAN FOUND DEAD OF EXHAUSTION. WIFE CHARGED WITH WILFUL MANSLAUGHTER. POLICE SPOKESMAN BLAMES HER UNBRIDLED SEXUAL APPETITE.’
‘The only unbridled appetite round here is yours for food. Let’s see how much energy you’ve got left after your steak.’ She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘And, as for the what? What do you think? This afternoon or the other night?’
She had to relinquish his hand almost immediately. The waiter materialised to remove their plates. This gave him time to reflect.
‘You’re the one doing the writing. It’s your call. But, if we are talking about the other night, does that mean you might stick in a bit of hanky-spanky?’
‘I suppose I’ve got to. I didn’t really enjoy having my bottom spanked. It hurt like blazes. Whether that pain intensified the pleasure that followed, I can’t judge.’ She caught his eye. ‘Whatever the reason, I was certainly up for it, and I’m not complaining. More than the spanking, though, I think it was the naughty thrill of doing something kinky.’
She had to wait while the waiter brought their main course. The plates were piled high.
‘If you manage to eat all that red meat, I’d better look out. The headlines might read of a wife slain by her lustful husband.’
‘So, are you going to stick in a bit of corporal punishment or not? Sorry about the pun.’ His voice was muffled by a huge mouthful of steak.
She surveyed her salmon. There was no way she was going to be able to get through it. She took a tentative bite. It was excellent, but a huge portion.
‘I think he’s expecting me to put in something a bit saucy, so why not? At least I know what it feels like now.’
‘So who is the man and who’s the girl?’ He drained his glass. The waiter was at his elbow like a flash, topping them both up. He waited until he had retired before continuing. ‘Is he doing the spanking or is she?’
‘He is.’ She answered without hesitation.
‘Right. So, is she a willing participant, or is he thrusting himself upon her?’
She swallowed, wiped her mouth with the starched napkin and shook her head. ‘I don’t want anything non-consensual. That’s way out of my comfort zone.’
‘So she’s got to want it?’
‘I suppose so.’ He could hear that she wasn’t convinced.
‘Could it be for a bet, maybe?’ He returned to his steak.
She shook her head.
‘For money? Could she be a hooker, a courtesan?’
‘No, too easy.’
‘Or some kind of rite of initiation, like for a secret society?’
She turned the idea over in her head. ‘Do women have secret societies? And, if they did, would a man be doing the induction?’
‘All right, how about this? She submits to Lord Spankworthy’s evil desires so as to save her husband; protect the man she loves. Maybe a gambling debt? Or he was caught poaching?’
She took a sip of wine. ‘It’s no good. I really don’t want to write about some poor girl being beaten, unless she’s kinky enough to enjoy it.’
‘They do exist, or so I am told. For every sadist, there’s a masochist.’
She put down her glass firmly. ‘No, it just isn’t me. I don’t think I want to write about spanking after all.’
‘So where’s the kink, then?’
She frowned, deep in thought. It was several mouthfuls of salmon later before she replied. ‘What about the other way round?’
‘You mean Lord Spankworthy gets his comeuppance? That’s an idea. Mind you, there’s still the element of non-consensual sex, isn’t there? Sure you are comfortable with that?’
‘Oh, God. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not kinky enough. Should I just forget the whole thing?’ She took a swallow of wine. It went down the wrong way and she coughed and spluttered for several minutes.
‘Feeling better now?’ She noticed that his concern for her hadn’t stopped him eating. She pushed her own plate away.
‘That’s an omen. No spanking. It spoils the digestion.’
‘I still think you should send him your thousand words. You love writing and it could be a lot of fun. Let’s face it, it’s been a lot of fun so far.’ He took a last mouthful of steak and sat back. ‘
Basta, basta
.’
‘You sound just like your father. You’re right, I will send in my thousand words. But it’ll be normal sex, not kinky: one man and one woman. And if he wants it kinkier, that’s his hard luck.’
He somehow managed to find space for dessert. Predictably, he chose tiramisu. Equally predictably, it wasn’t as good as his mother’s. Finally, he led her back to the room. Although they were only on the first floor, her legs felt like lead. When they reached the room, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Then she stepped back.
‘And now, Luca darling, I’m afraid I really have to get some sleep. I feel exhausted. I can’t think why.’
He gave her a broad smile. ‘Thank the lord for that. It’ll be a while before the steak kicks in.’
The white envelope was lying on the doorstep. It was addressed to Mrs Maggie Perkins. Leaning on the walking stick, she made her way over to it. She was still finding it very difficult to bend down so she used the pick-up reacher to lift the envelope off the floor. After replacing the pick-up stick, she hobbled through to the kitchen.
She filled the kettle and put a slice of bread in the toaster. By the time she had retrieved the butter and the jam from the fridge, the kettle was boiling. She made the tea, collected her toast and settled down in her chair at the table. It had good strong arms, making getting in and out of it relatively easy.
She read the letter with interest. Thomas Marshall sounded very organised, for a man. The accompanying sheet of information made sense. All she had to do now was to decide upon what, where and when.
For the first time since the accident, she began to feel that same old feeling. A smile of anticipation spread across her face. She took a mouthful of tea and let it dribble down her throat slowly. She needed inspiration and she knew just who could provide that for her. She reached for her phone. Scrolling down through her address book, she came to the name: Suzy.
Janet got up late. She chastised herself for drinking too much wine the night before. But, she reflected, it had been a fun evening. After standing under the shower, she began to feel more human. By the time she got down to the kitchen she was back to normal. It was good to be in jeans and a sweater instead of a business suit and heels. She sat down to a mug of tea accompanied by a slice of toast and honey. The laptop was at the end of the table, daring her to pick it up and get started.
She reviewed the decision she had made the previous evening: a four-in-a-bed romp in wartime London. That still sounded reasonable in the cold light of day. She knew she would have to do some research into wartime rations, clothes, in particular underwear, and accommodation. It would have to take place somewhere discreet. They could hardly start bonking away in an air raid shelter. Or could they?
She spent an enjoyable, and instructive, morning on the internet. In the course of her investigations she decided upon a hotel as the most logical place for the tryst. As she was only writing a thousand words, she did not bother to work out the logistics of why the three girls and one man all decided to meet up. She decided to start the piece as the bedroom door closed behind the last to arrive.
‘So it’s straight into the nitty-gritty.’ She clicked on
New Document
. The blank page stared back at her. The stand off lasted for a while. The fact was, she had never even read a piece about group sex, let alone participated in it. This was making the task of writing about it far from easy. She decided she needed more tea.
She had just poured the water onto her green tea when the phone rang.
‘Hi Jan, how’s the head this morning?’ It was Melissa. She didn’t sound her usual chirpy self.
‘Fine, now. It was a fun evening. Thanks for having me round.’
‘You are very welcome, which is more than some other people are.’
‘That sounds a bit grim. What’s the problem, Mel?’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘It’s Graham. Look, can you spare me a shoulder to cry on?’
‘Come right round. You can help me write my thousand words while you’re here.’
‘Thanks, Jan. You’re a sweetie. I’ll be there in half an hour.’
Janet put the phone down slowly, worried at her friend’s tone. She tugged the teabag out of the mug and took her drink back to the computer. The blank screen continued to mock her. She decided to see what she could find on the internet. After a few moment’s thought, she typed in ‘Sex stories’. To her astonishment, she got 656 million results in 0.2 seconds. The competition was fiercer than she had anticipated. It soon became evident that there were numerous sites offering stories, hundreds and hundreds of them. There were so many, in fact, that the stories were often subdivided into categories. Scrolling down to ‘Group Sex’ on one site, she found no fewer than fifteen thousand stories, just on that one subject.
She was deeply engrossed in reading stories of gang bangs, dinner parties that got out of hand and holidays with a difference when the doorbell rang. She looked up in surprise. The half hour had passed in a flash. She made for the door.
‘Hi, Jan.’ Melissa looked terrible. Her face was puffy; her eyes red.
‘Melissa, what is it? Here, come in. Give me the umbrella.’
She led her into the kitchen, sat her down, and put the kettle on.
‘What on earth is the matter?’ She perched on the edge of the table beside her.
‘It’s Graham.’
Janet was not surprised. ‘What’s he done this time?’
‘He’s left me for another woman.’
‘Left you?’ Janet was aghast. She had always thought that work, drink and football were his passions. But another woman! Unsure what to say, she went over to the kettle and busied herself making the tea. She threw away her untouched cold green tea and made two cups of strong builders’ tea.
‘Here, Mel. It’s hot, so be careful.’ She pressed the mug into her friend’s hand and sat down again.
‘He came home very late last night; long after you’d left. He reeked of drink and he started pawing me. I’d probably had too much to drink, so I had a go at him. He just turned round and walked out. I haven’t seen him since.’ She sniffled into her mug.
‘He just walked out? Without saying anything?’
‘Well, not quite.’ Melissa was crying now. ‘He said I didn’t love him. He said I didn’t care about him, I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore. So he needed another woman.’ She wiped her eyes with her hands. Janet pushed the kitchen roll across the table to her. ‘Then he just left.’
‘That’s what he said?’
Melissa nodded.
‘He said he needed another woman?’
Another nod.
‘He definitely said he needed a woman? He didn’t say he’d got another woman? Are you sure that’s what he said?’
Melissa looked up, comprehension dawning.
‘Mel, there’s a big difference between leaving because he wants another woman, and leaving because he’s got another woman. Surely you can see that?’
Melissa tore off some sheets of paper from the roll. She wiped her eyes and cheeks, restoring some semblance of normality to her appearance. Janet gently nudged the mug of tea in her direction. She picked it up and drank a mouthful.
‘He still left.’ Her voice was hoarse.
‘I don’t think it’s as bad as it seems to you. He came home pretty drunk. He found you pretty drunk and, between you, you managed to have a major bust up. But it’s not terminal. He’s probably lying on a park bench somewhere at this moment, full of remorse.’
The rain was still coming down hard outside. The park bench was probably an exaggeration.
‘These things happen to couples. Give him a ring, tell him to come home. You’ll sort it out.’ She drank some of her own tea and did her best to lighten the conversation. ‘Listen to me, will you? Giving marital advice to couples when I haven’t had a relationship for years.’
Melissa drank some more tea and pulled herself together.
‘Do you think I’ve got it wrong, then? Isn’t there another woman?’
‘Doesn’t sound like it to me. I think you are both guilty of a bit of overreaction. Now, if you don’t want to call him, at least send him a text.’
She was gratified to see Melissa reach for her phone.
‘What do I say?’
‘For God’s sake, Mel, it’s your life. He’s your husband. What do you want to say?’ Her friend sat staring at the screen, unable to make up her mind. It reminded Janet of her own writer’s block, so she relented. ‘Why not say something like, “I’m sorry we had a fight. Please come home, so we can work things out”? That is, if you want him back. You do, don’t you?’
Melissa looked up, her eyes bloodshot but focused again. ‘Jan, that’s the real problem. I’ve been asking myself the same thing all morning. I really don’t know if I do.’
‘For crying out loud, if you don’t want him back, then why the hell are you here, crying your eyes out?’ Janet’s exasperation was evident.
‘If you want me to go–’ Melissa made a half-hearted attempt to get up. Janet pushed her back down again.
‘Don’t be so silly, Mel, I’m just trying to help. And I don’t want you to go. You can stay here as long as you like. You know that. Don’t start in on me, please.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Melissa sounded as if she meant it. ‘I’m really sorry. I know you are my very best friend. You don’t deserve to get involved with my troubles.’
‘Melissa, that’s what friends are for. I want to help. I’m just trying to get you to work things out in your head. If you want him back, contact him. If you don’t, then rejoice. He’s made the decision for you. Maybe he was right. You don’t love him. You don’t want to have sex with him.’ She lowered her head towards her friend. ‘Was he right?’
‘Oh God, I don’t know.’
Janet had had enough of this. She collected the mugs and put them on the worktop by the sink. She opened the freezer and dug around among the packets, emerging with two individual portions of cottage pie.
‘Things will look better once you’ve had something to eat.’ She turned on the oven. Melissa was eyeing the pies on the table. Janet fired off a further salvo. ‘Take a look. That’s what you’ve got to look forward to if you dump him: ready meals for one. It’s not a bundle of laughs, you know, being on your own.’
‘You seem to do all right.’ At least Melissa was beginning to participate in the conversation again. ‘You’ve been on your own for years, and you’re happy enough.’
‘Only because I’ve got the business to occupy me. That, and my writing. Which reminds me, now that you’re here, you can help me with group sex.’ She tore open the two packets and placed the plastic containers on a baking tray. She slid it into the oven and checked her watch. ‘It’s 12.45 now. These will be ready at a quarter past one. That gives us half an hour of group sex.’
‘I hope this room isn’t bugged.’
She was relieved to hear Melissa beginning to sound more normal again. She sat down by the computer.
‘Right, first question: maybe I’m being naïve, but if three girls are in bed with one man, is it inevitable that there is going to be some lesbian jiggery-pokery? Or can three girls devote themselves to one man in a purely heterosexual way?’
‘What do you think?’ Melissa’s tone made clear her thoughts on the issue. ‘Unless they are going to form an orderly queue and hope that he has been doped up with something powerful to keep him going, I would think the answer is pretty obvious: it’s jiggery-pokery all the way.’
‘I rather thought that might be the answer.’ She hesitated before continuing. ‘So, continuing on that subject, just what precise form might this jiggery-pokery take?’
‘This is where my expertise comes in?’ Melissa gave her a lukewarm smile.
‘Well, it’s got to be better than mine.’
‘As I confessed to you last night, there was that one occasion, back in my carefree student days. The problem, from your point of view, is that I have little or no recall of the events. Conversely, from my point of view, I am quite happy to let it lie undisturbed in my subconscious.’
‘So you don’t remember anything?’ This was really frustrating. ‘Nothing at all?’
‘Just the aftermath, I’m afraid. And that was just a thumping headache and a dense cloud of shame. I’m sorry, Jan, no great knowledge of the lesbian modus operandi here. But,’ she brightened up, ‘your computer will be able to solve that conundrum easily.’
Janet set about preparing the table, while Mel slipped upstairs to the bathroom. When she returned, she looked much more like the Melissa of old. The hot food further bolstered her self-esteem. By the time she was relaxing with a cup of coffee, she was much cheerier.
‘I’m going to send him a text now. How about this? “Is this really what we want? I’ll be home tonight if you want to talk things over.” That’s offering an olive branch, but without sounding needy.’ She looked hopefully at her friend.
‘Sounds good to me. Does this mean you have decided to hang onto him after all?’
‘Let’s see what he says tonight. This is, if he comes home tonight.’
‘Well, if he doesn’t, he’s answered your question for you. Right?’
‘I suppose that’s quite true. We’ll see.’
Janet waited until the text had been sent. ‘Right, now that’s been dealt with, can we please concentrate on my problem?’
‘Fine. Give me the laptop. OK, we’ll search for “lesbian”. Good God, there are 527 million results. We’d better be more specific. How about “lesbian sex acts”? Cripes, 4,430,000 results. Ah, here we are, let’s start with this entry.’
They settled down to read a detailed article entitled ‘Acts of Physical Intimacy Between Lesbians’.This was helpfully accompanied by quaint drawings of sexual positions. Every now and then, one or the other would notice something of interest.
‘Tribadism? That’s a new one on me. Ah, I see, there’s drawing of it: “Tribadism in the missionary position”. I see what they’re trying to do but I’m still not sure I understand the mechanics of it.’ Janet was puzzled. So was Melissa.
‘I suppose it all depends how you are built. I can see that it would take a lot of good will on both sides.’
‘I suppose one has to assume that the good will is there. Ah, statistics, that’s what we want.’ Janet was fascinated. ‘It says here that 78 percent of women in encounters with other women achieve orgasm, compared to 55 percent for heterosexual sex.’
‘And you can halve that percentage, as far as Graham and I are concerned.’
As if by magic, her phone beeped to indicate the arrival of a text message. She picked it up. She studied it for a moment before reading the message out: ‘“Will be there at eight. Love, Gra.” That’s all’
‘That sounds pretty good.’ Janet studied her friend’s face. ‘Yes?’
‘I suppose so.’ She obviously still wasn’t sure.
‘What did you expect, Mel? “I apologise unreservedly. Come and rescue me from this park bench”?’
Melissa nodded as she stowed the phone in her bag. She checked her watch. It was mid afternoon. ‘So how do I play it?’
‘Well, you could rent a football video and lay on a few cans of beer.’ Janet did her best to keep it light. ‘Or you could rent a naughty video and slip on a pair of stockings.’
‘You’re not helping, you know.’
‘You’re the one who has to do the deciding. If you want him back, it’s worth making an effort. I bet he will.’
‘I could cook him a roast. He loves home cooking. But what if he’s just coming round to discuss solicitors and settlements?’
‘Then he wouldn’t have used the word “love”. Even I know that.’
‘I suppose so.’ She stood up. ‘Jan, you’ve been a terrific help. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I think I’d better go. A visit to the butcher, and maybe I’ll give the place a spring clean.’ She hugged Janet warmly. ‘Sorry about the lesbian thing. I haven’t really been a lot of help, have it?’
‘Yes you have.’ She glanced at the laptop. ‘I can get all the inspiration I need to write a thousand words here on the internet. If I get the job, then I may need extra help. I’ll worry about that if it happens.’
‘It’ll come back to you. Think back to your time with Stephen. I know it’s way back in the Dark Ages, but you are still young enough to remember some stuff. Or what about that tall boy at uni? You know, the rugby player. He had a lovely body.’