by Kate Davies
Sam had been particularly wonderful to me since I’d agreed to go to Lyon; she’d held me closer and kissed me more deeply and told me again and again how much she loved me. But now we were on the train and I felt anxious again. It was almost comforting, like having an old friend with me for the ride. I took a deep breath in and out. Sam looked over at me and smiled.
‘We’ll just chill out tonight. Go out for dinner. Save our energy for the party tomorrow.’
‘OK.’
‘It’s going to be OK, babes,’ she said.
‘I know,’ I said quickly. She didn’t need to patronize me.
Virginie and Charlotte were waiting for us at Arrivals. I had wondered whether Virginie would be less beautiful than I remembered – wrinklier or a bit powdery close up, maybe – but she wasn’t; I actually had to stop myself asking her which moisturizer she used. She was wearing a musky, old-fashioned perfume that made me think of sex. Charlotte was much less intimidating – about my height, with lots of piercings and low-slung jeans. She was quite attractive too, though. She looked like she might push you up against the wall and give you a good seeing to. Not that I was in the market for that sort of thing.
‘My darlings!’ cried Virginie, hugging both Sam and me at once – an equal opportunities hug, wedging our heads against her bosom. She was the sort of woman that had a bosom. She released us, gave Sam a quick kiss on the lips, so quick that it took me a while to register it. Then she turned to me. ‘You ran away so quickly last time I met you! I am so glad we will have the opportunity to get to know each other properly!’
‘Me too!’ I said, in my cheeriest, most carefree voice.
I felt Sam’s eyes on me, but I wasn’t ready to look at her just yet.
‘Welcome to Lyon!’ Virginie said. ‘Our flat isn’t far – we’ll walk. OK?’ She walked away across the station concourse.
Sam touched my shoulder so that I had to look at her, and mouthed, ‘You OK?’
I mouthed back, ‘Totally fine!’
Sam smiled and kissed me on the cheek. Then she ran to catch up with Virginie. They linked arms and began talking quickly, catching up on news. Like old friends, I told myself. Just like me and Alice. With a tiny bit of fisting thrown in.
‘Please, let me take your bag?’ Charlotte asked.
‘No, thanks,’ I said.
‘I insist,’ she said, reaching down to take it. ‘Let me.’
‘I can do it,’ I said, pulling the bag towards me.
‘As you wish,’ she said, shrugging, and we walked on in silence down the long, wide streets of Lyon.
We crossed a river to a pale, picturesque part of the town. ‘We are very lucky with our apartment,’ Charlotte told me. ‘Lyon is so cheap compared to Paris …’
‘You used to live there?’
She nodded. ‘But life in Lyon is much easier. I work in music, but I can afford a flat like this?’ She did a flicky thing with her hand, which I think meant she had a good deal.
‘What does Virginie do?’ I asked.
‘She’s a therapist.’
‘Of course she is,’ I said.
‘Sorry?’ asked Virginie, hearing her name.
‘Nothing!’ called Charlotte, and Virginie turned back around. ‘She works a lot with lesbians and gay men. France is still very homophobic.’
‘Do you two get hassled?’ I asked.
‘Sometimes, when we hold hands. But we go to a lot of gay places. And also, people often mistake me for Virginie’s son!’
I laughed along, but then, ahead of me, Virginie put her head on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam brushed her hand over Virginie’s bum. Just for a second, but I saw it. I stopped laughing and I felt my face growing hot. But Charlotte didn’t seem bothered at all, so I told myself I shouldn’t be either.
Virginie and Charlotte’s apartment was off a street known for its gay bars. We walked up a slippery stone staircase to get to it, and Virginie walked ahead of me, hips swaying as she put one foot in front of the other. I watched the others watching her, too.
The apartment was cool and bohemian, with comfortable-looking fabric sofas and an open-plan kitchen. There were three bedrooms off the living area. Virginie pointed to the one in the middle. ‘That’s Charlotte’s room,’ she said. ‘The one on the right is mine. And you and Sam will be sleeping in the guest room tonight. OK?’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Virginie bowed. ‘You are welcome. I have a little gift for you later, OK? To welcome you to our way of life. Something that really helped me when I was young, like you.’ She said ‘young’ to rhyme with ‘wrong’.
‘How are you feeling, babes?’ asked Sam, as we unpacked our things.
‘Fine,’ I said – and I did feel fine, sort of. ‘Charlotte’s nice.’
‘Yeah, she’s cool,’ Sam said. ‘I think she likes you, by the way. I can tell.’
‘That’s good. I’m still not going to have sex with her.’
The guest room was pretty innocent-looking – floral bedspreads, a Matisse print, a bowl of potpourri, even. Until you looked at the bookshelf, which was full of SM erotica, or opened the bedside cupboard, which was full of dildos and harnesses.
There were condoms on the pillows.
‘But we don’t have penises,’ I said, picking one up.
‘You should always use condoms with a dildo if you’re using it with more than one sexual partner,’ said Sam, and I felt a bit silly.
‘They’re ribbed,’ I said.
‘Virginie really cares about her guests’ pleasure,’ Sam said.
I walked over to the bookshelf and picked up a book called Gimme Hot Butch Pain.
Sam came up behind me and kissed my neck. ‘I’m glad we’re sharing a room tonight.’
‘Me too,’ I said, putting the book down and grasping her arms as they wrapped around my waist, holding them around me, tight, fierce.
‘Going to strap one of those dildos on when we get back here.’
‘As long as they’ve been sterilized.’
‘Of course they have,’ Sam said, in an offended sort of voice, pulling her arms away from me. ‘You didn’t have to come, you know. It was nice of Virginie and Charlotte to invite you. You shouldn’t laugh at them.’
I didn’t want to annoy her. There was a hot French woman two doors away, literally waiting to fuck her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not laughing at them. This is just a bit weird for me.’
‘I know,’ she said, giving me a sympathetic little smile. She sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her. ‘You do know Virginie will probably want me to stay with her one night before we leave, don’t you? It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. But tonight I’m all yours.’
‘Lucky me!’ I said, in my too-cheerful voice. It would be fine. I hadn’t seen any of the Godfather films or read any Anthony Trollope, or researched the history of Lyon. I had lots of job interview prep to do, too. Lots to keep me occupied. Lots and lots. I’d be totally fine. Totally.
31. MÉNAGE À TROIS
That first night, Virginie and Charlotte took us out to a lesbian bar. We sat at a tiny table and ate piles of bread, cheese and cornichons. Virginie and Charlotte were both heavy drinkers, which made everything a lot easier. They ordered a bottle of delicious red wine, and then another, and after the first glass I felt warm, relaxed and impulsive. It was as though the four of us were embarking on a strange adventure together.
‘The most wonderful thing about being with Virginie is that I never have to compromise,’ Charlotte shouted to me over a RuPaul track. I nodded, but I was a bit distracted by Virginie and Sam, who were whispering into each other’s ears on the other side of the table. ‘It’s like being single but better, you know?’ she said, shrugging Frenchly. ‘If I see another lady I like, I take her home, and Virginie is fine with it. Can you imagine?’
I could not. ‘I’m not sure I would find many women who would want to go home with me,’ I told her.
Sam was tucking a s
trand of hair behind Virginie’s ear.
‘You?’ said Charlotte. ‘You could get all of the ladies here if you wanted them.’
‘Oh stop,’ I said.
Virginie put a hand on Sam’s thigh.
‘I am serious!’ Charlotte said. ‘You are feminine, but you have an edge. You would appeal to the butches and some of the femmes as well, I think.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Who would you go for here?’
I looked around. There was a woman at the bar in a black leather dress with hair that was so blond it was almost white; there was something exciting about her – a dangerous energy. I nodded in her direction. ‘She’s not my normal type,’ I said, proud that I’d made it sound like I was a seasoned fancier of women with an established type to go against.
Charlotte laughed. ‘You are joking.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Why?’
Charlotte laughed harder.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Yeah, what?’ Sam asked.
‘Out of all the women in this bar, she is Julia’s favourite,’ said Charlotte, pointing towards the tall blonde woman.
Sam looked over. The woman was downing a shot with the barman. ‘Is she—’ she started.
Charlotte nodded, unable to breathe by this point, practically.
Sam and Virginie started laughing, too.
‘Literally, what’s so funny?’ I said, but they were laughing too hard to answer.
‘She is a celebrity in Lyon,’ explained Virginie. ‘She’s a famous drag queen.’
Ah. Aaaaaaah. I looked at the woman again. She had an Adam’s apple.
‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I still fancy her. I’ve enjoyed penises in the past. Sporadically.’
Virginie smiled. ‘Sporadically?’
‘She means penises don’t do as much for her as my fingers do,’ said Sam.
‘Maybe I just haven’t found the right penis yet,’ I said.
Charlotte leaned across the table to give me a high five.
‘That’s right, darling,’ Virginie said to me, approvingly. ‘Keep this one on her toes. OK?’
As soon as we got back to our room, I pushed Sam onto the bed and pulled off her T-shirt. It caught on her ears, which probably hurt, but that was sort of the point.
She tried to kiss my neck, but I told her not to touch me, and to shut up. I actually sounded quite assertive. This is what it felt like to be on top, then.
I opened the bedside cupboard and chose a harness and the biggest dildo I could find.
Sam seemed a little out of her comfort zone. She tried to roll me onto my back but I pushed her hands down. She tried again, really tried, but she couldn’t overpower me, the angle she was at, and I held her arms down to the bed until she stopped struggling. I didn’t kiss her – I didn’t really feel like it. I just fucked her as hard as I could, holding onto the bed frame to force myself deeper into her as she cried out. This was what she must feel like when she was fucking me – powerful. A little bit vindictive. Which worried me. I was fucking her this hard because I was angry. What was driving her when she fucked me?
She came pretty quickly, which was satisfying. I pulled myself out of her and lay on my back, breathing hard, making a mental note to go running more often.
Before I’d caught my breath, Sam pulled off the harness and straddled me. She didn’t bother putting a glove on – she just squirted on some lube, slid her hand inside me and began to fist me. I felt like she was trying to correct the balance of things. I closed my eyes, determined not to look at her. I thought about anyone but her – the fit drag queen. Jane. Charlotte, even. Every celebrity I’d ever fantasized about. But then, unbidden, I saw Sam with her hand on Virginie’s bum. I thought about Sam fucking Virginie, and Virginie fucking Sam, and I hated it, but it turned me on, and I felt my anger turn to jealousy. I opened my eyes. Sam was sweating and her eyes were focused on me and I came, and the instant I did I started crying and I couldn’t stop.
Sam stopped moving inside me, but I had closed up around her wrist. ‘Relax, babes,’ she said, stroking my clit until she could slide her hand out. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Everything’s OK. I’m here.’
Virginie and Charlotte took us to lunch the next day at a dark, cave-like bouchon, which suited me, because it was hard for everyone else to read my facial expressions and easy for me to refill my glass without drawing attention to myself. Part of me was looking forward to the party; it was being held in a French chateau. I had been assured there would be free champagne. This wasn’t the sort of opportunity that presented itself to civil servants very often, certainly not these days – who knows went on in the Eighties? But the rest of me was apprehensive. I didn’t want to watch Virginie and Charlotte having sex, or let them watch me have sex. I wanted to pretend that we were a group of platonic friends, like WI committee members, maybe, or Anglican priests.
As our main courses were being cleared away, conversation turned to the party. ‘Some people will be doing scenes tonight,’ Virginie said.
‘SM scenes?’ I asked.
Virginie nodded, smiling. ‘They might pretend to be kidnappers, or dogs, maybe, or even housewives!’
‘Something for everyone!’ I said, in my cheerful Anglican priest voice.
‘Exactly!’ said Virginie. ‘There’s gender play—’
‘And age play,’ said Sam.
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘At ballet school, I always used to be cast as the old woman, so I’ll be good at that.’ I refilled my wine glass.
‘I pretend sometimes that I am Charlotte’s aunt,’ said Virginie.
‘What’s that,’ I asked, ‘incest play?’
‘Some people call it family play,’ Sam said. ‘But yes.’ She smiled at me. I was catching on quickly.
‘And there’s animal play, which can be—’ Virginie searched for the word in English. ‘—embarrassing.’
Charlotte nodded. ‘When I was first out, I had a mistress who wanted me to be her puppy all the time, even in public.’
‘Even when you were going to the post office?’ I asked her.
Charlotte nodded again. ‘But I cheated when she wasn’t there.’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘She would make me do tricks and reward me with food.’
‘Did you have a name?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Sam, ‘what was your name?’
‘Bisou,’ Charlotte muttered.
Virginie laughed and clapped her hands. ‘That means kiss,’ she said to me. ‘Such a silly, girly name!’
Charlotte crossed her arms and spread her legs, as if to counteract the girliness.
I was actually beginning to enjoy myself. We were laughing and joking about sex, and teasing each other, and the world hadn’t ended. I looked across at Virginie, who was talking about custom leather whips with the same enthusiasm that my dad talks about obscure passages from William Blake poems. She wasn’t the least bit jealous of Sam or suspicious of me, even though she had a right to be – she’d been with Sam longer than I had, after all, and I was the one threatening to make her choose between us. But I’m an only child, and I’ve never been good at sharing. I used to get into trouble for eating more than my fair share of Smarties at nursery, and whenever I go out to dinner and someone says, ‘Shall we just get loads of mains and have a bit of everything?’ I feel like I’m going to break out in hives. Virginie was a better person than me, is what I’m saying. Less selfish, more evolved.
Because I wanted to be OK with all of this. I wanted to be able to approach drag queens in bars and persuade them to come home and fuck me, if they happened to be that way inclined. I wanted to be OK with who Sam was. Because now that I’d met Virginie, I felt arrogant for ever believing that Sam might choose me over her. And ending it with Sam didn’t feel like an option.
We ate so much that by the time we left, my stomach was bubbling and prickling with indigestion, though that might have been anxiety, too. Sam put her arm around me as we walked back to the flat, and
I leaned into her. She was smoking now, a long, elegant cigarette of Virginie’s that looked out of place in her hand.
‘You’re cool with coming to the party, right?’ she said, flicking the ash.
‘Yes,’ I said. The wine was turning the anxiety into adrenaline and I felt brave and reckless, as I so often did when I was with Sam. I crossed my arms tight across my chest. I could feel my heart beating. With excitement and anticipation, I told myself.
We caught a cab to the chateau, which was only about twenty minutes outside Lyon. Sam held my hand the whole way, massaging my palm with her thumb. I was finding it challenging to breathe in my tight black dress; I was perched on the edge of the back seat, back straight, the seams of the dress creaking every time my ribs moved. ‘You will not have to wear it for long!’ Virginie had told me. ‘The guests strip off to their lingerie early in the evening!’
The car smelled of dogs and old fags, which made me feel a bit sick, and I felt sicker still – an excited sort of sick – as we turned into the long driveway towards the chateau. It was all turrets and shutters and narrow windows, like something out of a fairy tale – a Brothers Grimm one, probably. Everything looked grey and ghostly in the moonlight, but I could see lights on in the room downstairs, and silhouettes of people drinking and talking. The cab slowed down on the gravel with a satisfying crackle and we got out and stood on the huge stone doorstep. Sam pulled the old-fashioned doorbell – a rope which rang a bell somewhere deep inside the house. A woman in a red satin dress opened the door. She said something in French, which I assume meant, ‘Come in!’
We walked through into the vast, cold living room. Everyone was crowded around a fire at one end of the room, sipping champagne, talking and flirting. A couple were kissing on the sofa. I noticed a woman with a dog collar around her neck, and another woman holding the lead that was attached to it.