by Vivi King
“What about?” I pressed her.
“It’s complicated,” came the predictable, inadequate reply.
“I can’t really help you if you don’t tell me what happened, Izzy,” I said a little patronisingly.
“What makes you think I need help?” she asked, her chin stuck out in childish pique.
“Because you’re here,” I smiled. “You wouldn’t have come home if you didn’t want help.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
“I meant, the fact that you came all this way tells me you’re unhappy. I want you to feel better by the time you go back on Saturday.”
“If I go back on Saturday,” she grumbled.
I was taken aback.
“Why wouldn’t you go back? I thought you loved it there.”
“I did love it there,” she protested. “I just don’t think I can face it. Face him”
“Face Steve?” I was aghast. She nodded.
“Izzy! What on earth happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Has he hurt you?” She shook her head. “Have you had a row?”
“You have to talk to someone to have a row,” she grunted.
“You’re not even speaking?” I asked. She shook her head again.
“Oh my God, Izzy. What happened? Has he slept with someone else? I asked, horrified at the prospect of my little girl being hurt.
Izzy couldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she looked at the floor and her shoulders sank.
“No Mum,” she mumbled. “He didn't. I did!”
My mouth literally fell open in astonishment.
“Izzy!”
My daughter burst into floods of tears.
“I knew you’d be angry!” she wailed, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
I followed, arriving just in time to see her bedroom door slam shut but I wasn’t going to be closed out now; I simply opened it and walked straight in. Our lovely, pretty daughter was lying face down on the bed, her body rocking slowly as she sobbed. I perched next to her, stroking her long black hair and made ‘there there’ noises as I let her emotions subside.
Eventually, the crying slowed and she rolled onto her side. I stroked her pink, tear-stained cheek.
“If you want to tell me, I have as long as you need,” I said softly. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. I can’t have you feeling as bad as this.”
“It does matter Mum,” she sobbed. “I’ve ruined everything! Everything!”
“Wait a minute,” I said quietly, standing up and slipping out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a box of tissues, a wet bath flannel and two very large glasses of white wine.
I’m not sure which of these worked best but after all three remedies had been applied, some form of calm had been restored and, once three-quarters of both wine glasses had been emptied, the story started to emerge.
And it was the old, old story.
Izzy and Steve had planned to go to the Students’ Union Ball together the previous weekend but had had a lover’s tiff during the afternoon. The cause of the fall-out had been trivial as usual – something
to do with Steve paying one of her flatmates too much attention - but it had turned the atmosphere sour and resulted in Steve stomping off, saying she could go to the ball on her own if she wanted but he was going to the pub with his rugby club friends.
Angry and resentful, Izzy had decided to show him who was the boss and had given Steve’s ticket to her friend Lauren. The two of them had gone to the Ball together; their dresses had been short, their legs bare despite it being February and their alcohol consumption heavy.
Still angry with Steve, Izzy had drunk too much and when Lauren’s boyfriend had arrived with a couple of his friends, the two of them had joined the group on the dance floor.
An hour’s dancing and several vodka shots later Izzy had found herself being edged out of the group by one of the boys, a good-looking, well-built hockey player called Simon. He said he was from North London and was visiting a friend from home for the weekend. The Ball had been an unexpected bonus.
He had paid Izzy a lot of attention, flattering her and basically chatting her up.
The two of them had danced for another half hour before he took her to the bar for a cold drink and a cool-down. In the relative quiet they had talked animatedly for a long time, having yet more drinks before Izzy realised that her friend Lauren was nowhere to be seen. Simon told her Lauren had gone back to her boyfriend’s flat which was where he was staying too. Why didn’t he walk her round to make sure she was safe?
Of course, the walk which began innocently soon moved to holding hands, then to walking arm in arm, then to a pause in the darkness between streetlights for a long, lingering kiss.
Reading between the lines, it seems that things began to get out of hand from there on. From the few details she did provide, I gathered that Simon had given her a comprehensive fondling and fingering in the street, arousing her to such an extent that when they eventually did reach the flat, they had fallen into Lauren’s boyfriend’s bedroom and had fucked each other wildly all the rest of the night.
And she didn’t even know his surname.
Of course, it couldn’t have been a worse choice of location; everyone in the flat knew both her and Steve and could hear with their own ears what was going on behind the closed door.
“They all heard us, Mum. They heard me! Everyone in the flat heard me.”
“Oh sweetheart,” I said, putting my arm around her and hugging her.
“When I woke up in the morning I was still in Lauren’s boyfriend’s room. Simon was still there too and we were both naked. It was awful. Everyone in the flat knew I was supposed to be Steve’s girlfriend and they all knew I had cheated on him all night. I just cried and cried.”
“What did Simon say?”
“He was horrified. He said he didn’t know I was already in a relationship or he wouldn’t have tried to get with me.”
“Is that true?”
“Lauren says it is. She says he’s a really nice guy too. But it gets worse.”
“Tell me,” I said, hugging her closer.
“I wanted to go home straight away. It took ages to find all my clothes and my phone and when I did find it there was a text message from Steve calling me a filthy cheating slut and dumping me on the spot.”
“That’s terrible!”
“One of the boys in the flat must have told him I was there,” she hissed angrily.
I didn’t say anything; in my opinion, it was far more likely that a girl had told Steve; a girl who wanted to move in on my daughter’s now-ex boyfriend.
“I haven’t heard a word from him since. But that’s not the worst thing.”
It sounded pretty bad to me.
“Mum, they’ve been calling me names all week. Not to my face but I’ve heard them talking.”
I must have looked puzzled.
“What names?” She looked down at her feet.
“Izzy-Oh-God!”
“What?”
“It’s what I kept shouting when... when we were doing it. Lauren says I kept wailing Oh God! Oh God! She heard it all; I’m so ashamed.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
I was indeed sorry and could empathise with her. I had acquired a nickname at school for similar though not identical reasons. The name had stuck throughout my life too. Clearly being noisy during sex was something that ran in the family.
“Steve found out straight away. He hasn’t answered his phone and every time I went round to his flat they just kept saying he isn’t in.”
“Have you heard from Simon?” I asked.
She started to cry again.
“No, nothing. Lauren says he went back to London. She says he liked me a lot but when he found out I already had a boyfriend he thought he’d better leave me alone. Oh, Mum! He thinks I’m a slut too! What else can he think?”
“Izzy, please...” I began.
“Perhaps they’re right, Mum. Perhaps I am a slut. How can I go back to Uni now?”
There was a long pause while I tried to gather my thoughts.
“Did you use protection?” I asked, being sensible and adult with my daughter in a way I had not been when my own seduction had taken place.
She shook her head. “I didn’t even think about it.”
“Are you still on the pill?”
She nodded.
“Then for safety’s sake, we’d better get you tested in case you’ve picked up something nasty.”
She began to object.
“Sweetheart it’s only common sense, and you can do it anonymously.” I named a clinic I knew through work. It was in a different town so no-one would recognise either of us. “We could go on Saturday morning before you catch the train.”
Izzy nodded her acquiescence.
My God! Life was getting complicated!
***
Unsurprisingly there was a strained atmosphere over dinner; Izzy had pleaded for me not to tell her father so I gave Pete a very expurgated version when we were talking in bed later that evening. I told him that she and Steve had broken up and that there wasn’t much chance of them getting back together.
Pete didn’t need to know that neither his wife nor his daughter could be trusted to keep their knickers on.
***
The next day was very busy at work. Being Thursday it would have been the day of my next Official Date with Tony but Izzy’s continued presence and her distress made this impossible. This was a disappointment to both Tony and me. Perversely, it also seemed to be a disappointment for my husband too; Pete was distinctly restive during the evening.
When I got home from work, Izzy was in a slightly better frame of mind having unloaded some of her troubles onto me the night before. She had spent the day on her assignments and had gone for a run but when I asked if she had heard from anyone at Uni, she shook her head and frowned.
Dinner was a little more light-hearted. Pete did his best to reassure her that there were plenty more fish in the sea (though thank God he didn’t use that phrase) but of course, knowing the real reason for their break-up, this was of little help.
Friday was equally busy at work but this time when I came home I was greeted by a much brighter, more enthusiastic daughter than the one I had left in her pyjamas that morning.
“Come on then,” I teased her as I filled the kettle in the kitchen. “What’s happened?”
“He called! He called me this afternoon!”
Izzy was positively bounding around the room. After her previous demeanour, it was a delight for a mother to see.
“He’s forgiven you? You’re getting back with Steve? I’m so pleased.”
“No Mum; not Steve! I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” She looked genuinely upset about this but there was still something making her happier. “Besides, Steve’s already slept with Lauren, can you believe that? The sneaky, underhand cow!”
I congratulated myself on my perception; it must have been Izzy’s so-called friend Lauren who had told Steve about her one-night-stand so she could move in on him herself. So much for girls not being predictable!
But Izzy was bubbling with excitement.
“No, Steve didn’t call, Simon did! He messaged me after lunch and then called. We talked for more than an hour. He says he got my number from Lauren but didn’t want to call straight away in case I was trying to get back with Steve. When he heard about Steve and Lauren, he knew it was definitely all over so he called me straight away.”
This did indeed sound like good news.
“He wants to see me again, Mum! He says we have more in common than any girl he’s ever met and please can we get together again. He wants to come and visit on Sunday! I’ve got to get back to Uni tomorrow.”
“But he lives in London,” I protested.
“I know! But he’s prepared to come all that way just to see me again. And stay overnight.”
I was amazed just how quickly my daughter had reassessed and re-calibrated her life. If Simon wanted to see her again, knowing she had just cheated on her last boyfriend, then she must have made quite an impression on him.
Some things never changed, I reflected. Even in my day the one thing that could lose a girl her
reputation as a slut was the acquisition of a steady boyfriend. And the more good-looking, the better. In Izzy’s case, the boy concerned was the one she had cheated with which made things even more fortunate. Steve’s sleeping with Lauren in revenge merely put the icing on the cake; the story could be told in a way that suggested our daughter wasn’t a slut, she had simply moved on from her old boyfriend. They both had.
Only a handful of people would know the truth. At least, I thought wryly, they already knew that the sex was good – and what she was likely to shout in bed!
***
It wasn’t possible for Pete to understand the reason why his daughter was so much happier without letting him know the full story so we agreed to tell him that Izzy had been asked out by another boy she had recently met.
This seemed to satisfy his curiosity; as long as his sweet, innocent daughter was happy, he was happy and Friday night’s dinner was bright and cheerful.
Izzy was still full of energy when she woke early on Saturday morning and packed for the journey back to University. We still went to the clinic; you can’t; be too careful but given the good news about Simon, it seemed unlikely there would be a problem – and so it eventually proved to our joint relief.
Pete had to go to work so at ten-thirty I dropped Izzy off at the railway station, hugging and kissing her as if she was leaving forever. I had dressed in my gym kit of black Capri tights, a pink vest top, white socks and trainers with a tracksuit top to keep me warm.
I genuinely had every intention of going straight to the gym for an hour’s intensive workout – maybe even take in a class - but fate decided otherwise.
“I can’t tell you how much you helped, Mum,” she said, her voice trembling as we hugged alongside the car.
“Just be careful,” I told her, trying not to sound too scolding. “You’ve had a lucky escape.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I’m still shocked at myself. I expect they’ll get bored of that silly name quickly.”
I didn’t disabuse her of that belief but in my case, the nickname was still in use decades later.
“Are you still upset about Steve?” I asked.
“A bit, and I’m still ashamed of what I did but sleeping with Lauren so soon afterwards changes things.”
I was amazed at how easily my daughter could brush off the fact that it was she who had cheated so publically on her long term boyfriend. Whatever Steve had done afterwards had been the result of severe provocation. Or had the whole thing been planned by Lauren all along?
The thought reminded me of my own situation in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. By arranging secret assignations with Tony I was lying to my husband, but was I cheating on him too? Surely not; he already knew Tony and I were fucking so where was the harm?
Whatever the answer, it wasn’t enough to make me want to change the plans we had in place. Tony and I would still have our overnight Valentine’s Day fuck-fest.
I felt strangely empty a few minutes later as Izzy waved and walked into the station, her bag slung over her shoulder. She really was a remarkably pretty girl, I thought. I wasn’t at all surprised so many boys wanted to bed her.
The thought of bed made me think of Tony. What was it with the women in our family? Could none of us be satisfied by a single lover? And were we all that easy to get into bed? My daughter seemed to have put up no more resistance than I had but at least she had the excuse of being drunk.
I wondered what Simon looked like; what the pair of them would have looked like as they fucked, Izzy’s skinny legs parted wide with a young male bottom rising and falling in between. I wondered what her voice had sounded like, wailing loud enough to give her a nickname as wel
l as a reputation. I wondered what Tony and I looked like in comparison, my fifty-year-old legs spread equally wide to receive his short, thick cock in my over-sized vagina.
Stop it, Penny! Don’t go down that road.
But it was impossible; the mere memory of my original seduction had already started the process of arousal in my body. My nipples were hardening and I could feel the warm glow in my vulva – my hairless pussy that announced the production of those oh-so-necessary juices.
Suddenly I knew what I wanted. My qualms about Pete evaporated in a surge of lust. All I knew was that I had to have Tony’s thick, stumpy cock in my well-used cunt again, stretching my inner lips as tightly as they had ever been stretched before filling my married body with thick, sticky semen.
Suddenly nothing else mattered. Almost without conscious thought, I pulled my secret phone out of my sports bag and dialled the only number in its memory.
“Hello Mrs. Sexy Barker,” Tony’s voice was low and made me shiver.
“Hello,” I replied. “Are you busy?”
“I’m out but I could be anywhere you wanted me to be.”
“I’m free for the next hour or so,” I said meaningfully. “Are you?”
“For you, anything. But I thought Izzy...”
“I’ve just put her on the train,” I interrupted. “I was on my way to the gym but I thought a different kind of exercise might be nice. Your name sprang to mind.”
“What about Pete?”
“He’s at work. What he doesn’t know...”
“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
I drove slowly but directly to Tony’s apartment, parking my car around the corner to make it less obvious I was there. His car arrived a few minutes later; I gave him five minutes to get upstairs and be ready for me before pressing the bell at the main door.
Seconds later a buzzing sound told me it was unlocked; I pushed it open and slowly climbed the stairs.
Minutes later Tony was fucking me unceremoniously, doggy-style on the lounge carpet with the Saturday sports preview playing on the TV throughout the whole messy session. My thighs were sore; it had taken a lot more force to rid me of my close-fitting gym tights than it had been to remove my knickers and my sports bra was still resolutely in place on my tiny boobs, preventing them swinging as Tony thrust himself forcefully into me from behind.