Dirty Minds, page 6
‘Nice idea. Maybe not kinky enough.’
‘He didn’t actually say, make it kinky, you know. You saw the letter.’
‘Yes but with all that talk about Fifty Shades of Grey it’s pretty obvious he’s looking for something a bit out of the ordinary, a bit smutty. If not bondage and spanking, then maybe group sex would do it. Ever tried?’
Janet laughed. ‘No, never. Have you?’
‘I’m not really sure.’
‘What does that mean? Either you did or you didn’t.’
Melissa looked unusually embarrassed. ‘When I was at uni, I went to a party once and got terribly drunk.’ She glanced up. Janet saw that she was blushing. ‘I woke up in the middle of the night feeling ill. It took me a bit of time to register that I was in a bed with three other people.’
‘Three? You terrible girl. Have you any recollection of what did, or didn’t, happen?’
‘Well, sort of. I was stark naked and it took me five minutes to round up all my clothes. They were strewn all round the place: I found my bra down the back of an armchair in the lounge.’
Janet giggled. ‘Oh, Mel! And the men in bed with you, were they naked, too?’
Melissa nodded, then she took a big mouthful of wine. ‘Man.’ Seeing Janet’s raised eyebrows, she explained. ‘One man and two other girls.’
Janet’s eyes widened. ‘Two other girls? So did you and the girls … ?’
Melissa set her glass down and covered her face with her hands, chronically uncomfortable. ‘I really shouldn’t have started on this.’
There was no way Janet was letting her off the hook now. ‘Research. Mel, that’s what I need. Spill the beans.’ She sat back, enchanted by her friend’s discomfort.
‘I just don’t know, Jan. I suppose I might have done, must have done. I just don’t remember. And believe me, I have spent a lot of time trying.’
Janet stared at her in disbelief for a whole minute. Finally she spoke. ‘So, if you did, do you know which one it was?’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘Or might it have been both of them?’
Melissa drained her glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Well, you see, it’s not really that easy. I saw both girls around campus quite often from then on. But you can’t exactly walk up to someone and ask if you’ve had sex with them.’
‘But didn’t they say anything to you?’
‘Not a dickybird. Mind you, they were both drugged out of their heads most of the time.’
‘And the boy?’
‘Never saw him again. No idea who he was.’
‘But I bet he had a smile from ear to ear after that experience.’ She held out her glass for a refill but had to put it down hurriedly as she started to giggle uncontrollably. After a few seconds Melissa joined in. The two of them laughed until the tears were rolling down their faces.
‘Do you know, Melissa, I think that now we have the what, as well as the when and where.’ She wiped her cheeks and calmed herself with a sip of the Chablis. For her part, Melissa gradually recovered from the stress of her revelations. Then she put the cat among the pigeons again.
‘So if you are going to write about a hetero/lesbo four-in-a-bed romp, have you got the necessary skills and experience?’
This stopped Janet’s merriment dead.
Chapter Eleven
Penny had abandoned Émile Zola for the time being. She was sitting at the kitchen table doing her best to compose something suitably raunchy on the laptop. Scott was just finishing the crossword.
‘Scottie, what word should I use for vagina?’
‘What’s wrong with vagina?’
‘I just wonder if it isn’t naughty enough. Should I say … ?’ She paused, unsure how to continue. ‘Should I use a stronger word? Maybe the “c” word?’
‘Woah, there, Pen. This isn’t Lady Chatterley, you know.’
‘Well, to be quite honest, this erotic novel thing is supposed to be a whole lot sexier than Lawrence. We’re talking whips and canes and things.’
‘Yes, Pen, but that’s just kinky stuff. The icing on the cake, so to speak. You can’t use a word like that.’
‘Scottie, you’ve gone quite red. Have I crossed some kind of line here? Is that a taboo word?’
‘Well, how often do you use it? When’s the last time you said to yourself, “I really must scratch my you-know-what”?’
‘I suppose you’re right, not that I scratch my you-know-what half as often as you two boys fiddle with your bits.’
‘It’s complicated down there for us chaps. It all needs rearranging from time to time.’
‘Too much information, thanks, Scottie. But this is set in the 1800s. I can’t use a word like pussy. It’s too modern. Scott, you’ve gone red again.’
‘I’m sorry, Pen, it’s just that I’m not used to having this sort of conversation with you. With Jamie it’s all the time, but with a girl?’
‘So I’m still a girl, am I? I thought I was an old auntie.’
‘I never had an auntie who looked as good as you, Pen.’
‘That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Scott. Thank you. Now help me with my vagina.’
‘Oh lord. Well, your piece is set in the South of France, isn’t it? Isn’t there some French word you could use? You could say, he rammed his Aznavour up her Sarkozy, and nobody would be shocked and appalled.’
‘Now there’s a thought.’
‘So how do you say it in French?’
‘Say what, Scottie?’ She pretended innocence.
‘Sarkozy of course.’ He was fighting back.
‘Well, let me see. Do you know, I thought I spoke pretty good French, but I only know one or two very ordinary terms for that part of the body. More to the point, what word would they have used in the nineteenth century? I know. How about chatte? That’s a female cat, but it also works as you-know-what.’
‘Thank God you’ve sorted that out. So, what’s the plot, then? Do I get to read it?’
She had been thinking about that. ‘It’s probably best if you don’t, Scott. It’s bad enough knowing that this Marshall man is going to be reading it. The thought of somebody I know and like … Why, you might be so disgusted, you would never speak to me again.’
‘I won’t be disgusted. I promise. But it might be a good idea to let somebody else see it before you send it in. You know what they say. Two heads etc.’
‘All right then. I’ve just got to stick in a few chattes and I’m done. Upon your own head be it. Why don’t you make us a cup of tea while I’m finishing off?’
He did as bidden, while she inserted a few nineteenth-century French vaginas. As he appeared with the tea, she clicked Save.
‘Well, if you’re sure you want to read it, it’s done. Read it on the screen. That way if anything needs changing, I can do it, before printing it out.’ She passed him the computer and went upstairs.
When she came back down again, he was well into it. He looked up briefly as she came past him. She sat down on the sofa and raised an eyebrow.
‘Disgusted yet?’
‘It’s amazing, Pen. All this time, living alongside you, and I never realised you were such a–’
‘Pervert?’ Her tone was light, but she was worried.
‘No, no, not at all. I was going to say, such a good writer. Can I make a confession?’ He was red in the face. ‘I would never have thought that just reading the written word could give me a hard-on. But it has.’ This time she blushed redder than him.
‘Oh good lord above, your auntie has given you a hard-on?’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time, Pen. If only you knew’, he thought to himself, as he hastily returned his attention to the screen.
He read it through to the end. The last page was particularly striking. The story ended on a note of redemption.
The Marquise bent forward and cupped the girl’s pert little breasts in her hands. As she did so, the stable lad saw again the red stripes across the milky white of her ladyship’s buttocks. He remembered her cries for mercy as he brought the crop down on her naked flesh. It was clear that she had truly learned her lesson. Now, in place of the evil dominatrix, there was only this compliant, docile servant.
He ran a gentle hand across her battered flesh. She turned towards him, a smile upon her face.
‘‘Thank you, Master.’
Scott looked up. His cheeks were red and there were beads of sweat on his brow. She avoided looking at his crotch.
‘So, what do you think?’
‘Penny, have you ever done any of this stuff?’ He sounded hoarse.
‘Nope. Last time I touched a riding crop I was fourteen. And, before you say anything, it was a horse who received the odd whack.’
‘But you write about it so vividly.’ There was admiration in his voice. ‘How do you do that?’
‘Scottie, Émile Zola wrote about coal mining, child birth and prostitution. It’s a pretty safe bet he never tried any of them. It’s called imagination. Plus a fair bit of research in the nether regions of the internet.’
‘Well, you had me convinced. I have to admit, I could see you there.’
She was intrigued. ‘In which role? Hopefully not the stable boy. But did you see me as the maid, or as the Marquise?’ She waited for his answer with considerable interest. She was to be disappointed.
‘I couldn’t possibly say.’
‘You little tease, Scott. So, anyway, any comments, changes, suggestions?’
‘I thought it was very well written. Only one line struck me as a little bit corny. Right at the end, do you really have to describe her butt as milky white? It’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?’
‘You’re absolutely right. Thanks a lot. I’ll take milky out. I could use the word virginal, but there’s precious little that’s virginal about the Marquise.’
‘How about referring to the texture of the skin, say pure or flawless?’
‘Flawless, that’s perfect. Thanks Scottie. I’ll print it out. Just promise me one thing. Don’t tell Jamie you’ve read it. I couldn’t stand that.’
‘My lips are sealed. And that’s more than you can say about the Marquise.’
Just for a moment, Penny toyed with the idea of offering to help him with his state of arousal. Then she gave herself a good talking-to: He’s years younger than me. What am I? A cradle-snatcher?’
She stood up. ‘I’m calling it a day. Thanks, Scottie, for your help.’ As she stepped past him, she bent down and kissed him on the cheek.
Chapter Twelve
‘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?’
