The Penance List

by S C Cunningham

  The girls dragged themselves into the flat, landing unceremoniously on a sofa each. Helen stared at Josie as she closed her eyes and got her breath back; she was looking at her in a new light; it all seemed so obvious, so right; did Josie see it?

  “I need a shower, can I borrow something to wear?” Josie jumped up, and went into bathroom; she stank of champagne and sex and felt trussed up in her stockings.

  Helen gave her a pair of pink pyjamas, and while she showered, prepared food and drink, she decided to stay on champagne, as they’d been on it all night… rude not to… she opened a chilled bottle and pulled smoked salmon out of the fridge.

  It was a lovely evening. Still wearing the mink coat she took a tray of food and drink onto the terrace, lay it on a coffee table between the two loungers, and lit a few candles. She threw pillows and blankets over sunbeds, making it cosy, wondering why she was going to all this trouble.

  She then jumped into the shower, scrubbed up, emerged ten minutes later in a baggy old nightshirt to find Josie lying on a lounger sipping champagne, staring up at the stars. A classical string quartet soothed from the music system.

  “Don’t larf, I fort we needed a bit of sophistication, babes,” Josie explained. “But, honestly ‘el, ave you got anything else besides classical stuff? I can’t pronounce half the names in your CD collection,” Helen shook her head. “But, no worries, it’s nice, I’ve put it on low, we don’t wanna wake the neighbours.”

  Helen giggled, her mum had got her into classical music, it had always soothed her. She jumped on the lounger beside Josie’s, snuggled up under the blanket and reached for the glass that had been poured for her. They lay in silence, looking up at the clear sky; they could just make out Venus as it twinkled beside a crescent moon. The light fairy notes of the solo violinist tripped along the terrace and floated up into the night sky. The girls lay quietly enjoying the magic.

  There had been a subtle gear change between them. They both sensed it, but neither wanted to broach the subject. They had had sex, great sex, loving, passionate; downright dirty sex that they’d thoroughly enjoyed. This was new territory, and felt very weird for two girls whose main topic of conversation had always been men, men, and more men.

  Champagne did its trick of loosening the tongue, eventually Helen broke the ice, too shy to look at her friend, she spoke up to the moon.

  “You were bloody fucking fantastic Josie; I loved every minute of it. What a great act, I couldn’t believe it was my mate doing all that sexy stuff; where did you learn it, whore school?”

  She wanted more of what, wanted to reach out and touch Josie, but didn’t know how. How the hell do you tell a woman you want her? … shit, this is weird. She’d never thought about touching a woman before. Maybe it was just a phase like all her other sexual exploits. Ironically, this was the sort of stuff she would normally discuss with Josie.

  “It’s just a job, a game you ’ave to act out, but thanks, I’ve ’ad a lot of practice. Jeff enjoyed it, he got much more than ’is money’s worf… he’s gonna want that treatment every time now, the poor wife won’t get a look in… unless he wants me to roger the wife, oh gawd!” Josie giggled into her champagne glass, emptying her second.

  “I’ll do it again!” Helen jumped in, a little too quickly. “Any time, I loved it,” she blushed.

  “’el, it won’t necessarily be like that every time, tonight was nice ’cause it was new to ya… and Jeff was not a fat, smelly, ugly jerk. If you ’ave to do it night after night to order, it loses its mystique, I can tell you… it’s whoring, a man is paying you to…”

  “Enjoy myself… what can be wrong with that? I had a great time,” enthused Helen.

  “Yeah, but it’s not always like that… we’re not doing it again, you asked me to let you in once, and I’ve done it, end of. It’s not a game; it can be violent, frightening, disgusting. Sometimes I get ’ome and am physically sick… it’s a one-off, ’el, leave it.”

  Helen feared rejection more than anything; the old feeling of worthlessness began to wash over her, tears welled, panic began to build. She couldn’t let this go, if it was a man, what would she do? But women weren’t like men. Surely a woman wouldn’t fall for the flirty stuff? If it were a man, she would let her body do the talking, play with him a little, expose some flesh, flatter his ego, sit on his lap. But a woman would laugh at behaviour that obvious, wouldn’t she?

  Stretching out on the bed, she decided to give the seduction routine a try.

  “Yeah, you’re right, guess I got overexcited,” Helen agreed, sounding almost bored.

  She kicked off her blanket as if too hot, exposing her bare legs to the night air. Yawning, she stretched out her body the length of the lounger, her shirt rose up around her hips, she wasn’t wearing underwear. She changed her tone back to chatty mates.

  “Anyway, Josie, when’s your next job; do you have one every day?” she asked, turning onto her side, her shirt fell open, exposing her right breast; her skin shimmered in the moonlight. Josie noticed.

  “Err… I’ve regulars yeah; I’ve one tomorrow afternoon and anuva tomorrow night. I check in with the agency each mornin’, I try to just go for the most lucrative jobs now, and work less. In the beginning I didn’t ’ave a choice, but now it’s a little easier, I pick and choose my clients.”

  Josie pulled the tray of smoked salmon towards her, and popped a piece in her mouth. She felt uncomfortable, wishing Helen would cover up. She had a flashback of the hotel room and remembered how soft Helen’s mouth was, how good she tasted. She should get out of there, this was weird.

  “Mmmmm… good salmon, ’el, thanks, didn’t realize ’ow ’ungry I was,” she fingered another sliver into her mouth. “Mmmmm, want some?”

  She leaned over the coffee table to pop a piece into Helen’s mouth, something that was natural for them to do as friends, they often fed each other. But Helen no longer wanted to be friends, she leaned forward, exposing more of her cleavage as she did so, she opened her mouth and let Josie feed her. Her warm lips lingered on Josie’s fingertips as she took the offering. Josie jumped, retreating her hand. Helen was obviously playing one of her games.

  “Was that the first time you’ve made love to a woman?” Josie’s question came out of the blue.

  “Err…yes, I suppose it wasn’t for you, you probably have to do it all the time,” Helen stammered, suddenly feeling naïve. “How did I rate… good, bad, average?” she asked angrily.

  “Don’t be silly, babes, it’s not a question of that,” soothed Josie.

  “That’s what we do with men, isn’t it? We discuss the size of their cock, how good they are on a score of ten, whether they’re a good kisser or not. Well, how’d I do? Out of ten, Josie, go on.”

  Helen was getting upset; the feeling of worthlessness building up again. Josie said nothing, trying to figure out why her friend was getting so aggressive.

  “Well, go on, not good enough to have another go, eh?” her voice getting louder. The orchestra in the background hit a crescendo, adding to the atmosphere between them.

  “Don’t shout, ‘el; this was your idea, not mine; remember, you should never mix business wiv pleasure and this is exactly why.”

  “What was I like, Josie, TELL ME!” shouted Helen, tears welling in her eyes. “TELL ME!” she shouted.

  “Ok, ok, you were great, it was great… you wouldn’t shout at me if I were a bloke, would you? You wouldn’t shout ‘HOW WAS I?’ at a guy after you had bonked the ass off ’im, would ya… why do it to me? This is bollocks, I’m off,” she jumped up.

  “If I was so great, why don’t you fancy me? Why don’t you want to do it again?” pushed Helen.

  “What are you talkin’ about, you and me on a job?”

  “No, you and me alone, lovers…”

  “What?”

  “You must have felt it Josie, we were great, we rocked, you came three times, no faking, I know it, you loved it… admit it.”

  “I loved it… yeah…
,” admitted Josie, she should never have let Helen get involved, it was a stupid mistake, she knew Helen was sexually unstable at the best of times, what possessed her to ever let her join in.

  “Look, you know it can’t go anywhere, it was a one-off, I don’t wanna lose our friendship, it’s too risky… this is stupid, the champagne talkin, I’m off before I make a fool of me’self, we’ll talk in the morning. Good night ’el.”

  She walked off the terrace, into the flat; a solo violin sang out from the speakers… so much for the calming influence. She grabbed a pair of jogging shoes abandoned by the front door, stuffed her clothes and bag in a ball under her arm, and ran out of the flat, slamming the door behind her… sod the neighbours.

  Helen’s trainers were two sizes too small making her waddle like a duck; no way could she run down the stairs, so she took the lift. Slamming the gate shut, pissed off at herself for allowing Helen to do the job, and pissed off with Seb for making Helen so bloody emotionally paranoid.

  As she stepped out onto the doorstep, the cool wind hitting her face, a voice screamed from the apartment block’s entry phone, she jumped with shock.

  “Josie, get back up here NOW!” it was Helen.

  “No, get stuffed,” she replied realising that she standing in a street wearing pink pyjamas, shoes that didn’t fit, shouting at a wall, for all and sundry to hear. Passers-by turned to stare at her; she looked like a bag lady, her clothes scrunched under her arm.

  “Get back up here now, or I will scream the house down.”

  “Go ahead, spoiled little rich girl, see if I care,” she stepped out onto the street, looking for an elusive taxi.

  “Come up here now, get into my bed, I want to fuck you… NOW,” echoed down the street.

  Josie was mortified; she rushed back to the doorway, covering the speaker box with her hand in an effort to quiet the sound.

  “Shhhhhh, bloody ’ell, ’el!”

  “I want to fuck you NOW,” repeated Helen, her voice getting louder.

  An old couple in evening dress had just returned from an evening at the opera. The gent in black tie was fumbling with his key to open the main door; his shocked wife held on tightly to his arm and her diamante evening bag. Being terribly British they tried to ignore the girls’ conversation.

  “Shhhhhh… people can ’ear ya,” Josie hissed into the box.

  “I don’t care. I want to fuck you now… NOW! I won’t shut up until you come back up… I want you, Josie, please… I love you, I wanna hold you, taste you… please come back.”

  Helen’s voiced purred out of the speaker box, making the old lady tut with disgust, urging her husband to hurry up with the damn key, he promptly dropped it to the ground in his panic to speed up.

  Josie felt a small twinge of joy as Helen’s words pulled at her, did she feel the same? … urrgh! She needed time to think about it, the champagne was clouding her judgment.

  “Me too… err… I think… but can we talk in the morning after some sleep, it’s all a bit crazy fast, ’el,” praying that Helen would stop… where the hell is a taxi when you bloody need one, her eyes scanned the street.

  “If you don’t get into my bed right now, I’ll come down naked and fuck you there on the doorstep. I am counting to five.”

  The old lady looked as though she would pass out; the gent finally got the key in the lock and opened up the door, helping her in. He turned back to Josie.

  “You know, my dear, it’s none of my business, but I would prefer it if you’d be kind enough to do as the young lady says, only I do want to get some sleep tonight. My dear wife hasn’t been exposed to any form of fornication since 1959. I am not sure what kind of fit she’ll have listening to two banshees at it on the doorstep, if you would be so kind.”

  “ONE…TWO…THREE…” Helen’s voice screeched through the entry phone.

  With a questioning, raised eyebrow, he held the door open for Josie to step inside. Sighing, she relented and forlornly waddled back to the lift, stocking tops trailing from her underarm bundle. The old boy shook his head, feeling sorry for the girl.

  “Poor dear, women can be so demanding,” he leaned in close to the speaker box. “She’s coming, dear,” he hollered, and trundled off to calm his mortified wife.

  Helen was waiting in the corridor. She jumped on Josie the minute the lift gate opened, not giving her a chance to speak.

  “I so fucking want you… let’s just give it a try,” she beseeched. “If it doesn’t work out, we are big enough to remain friends, please, I promise it won’t affect our friendship ever,” Josie stared at her, still unsure.

  “You know, there are some bonus points, I’ll always leave the loo seat down, share the TV remote, give you better head than any man ever could, and cook a mean spag bol… what more do you want?”

  “What the hell, if you put it like that… no being stingy on the bolognaise sauce though, I like loads of the stuff,” smiled Josie, kicking off the damn trainers.

  “Race ya to the bedroom,” they charged back into the flat, falling over each other with excitement and giggles.

  They had made an old gent on the ground floor very happy. His wife had only moaned about the ‘youth of today’ for twenty minutes before their night time single malt knocked her out.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Fifteen years earlier, Heddington Forest.

  David had waited for this day; the promise of it had kept him sane for years. Today was the Headmaster’s penance.

  After his mother had died and he left Heddington Hall, his father put him into a day school near their home to finish his exams. A nanny, Ms Philbeach, had been employed to run the home and look after the children. She moved into one of the spare rooms. David hated the fact that he was left in the charge of a nanny, the interfering woman spied on his every move, curtailing his freedom.

  His father had not coped well with his wife’s death. He threw himself into work to suppress the pain, he avoided his children, they reminded him of her, both had her striking good looks, particularly David. Not understanding their father’s behaviour, the children felt rejected.

  Ms Philbeach, a matronly, religious lady, cooked, cleaned, and kept house. For the most part it was just her and David, Helen had moved to London to start an exciting new job as a runner in an advertising agency, and Mr Howard spent more and more time at the office apartment, seldom returning, too many memories.

  Ms Philbeach felt David’s disdain for her and gladly stayed out of his way. Initially she’d tried to be understanding; his mother had just died and it must have been a terrible blow, but she soon learned that David was not a normal teenager; he was a rude, evil bully.

  She’d seen the ‘experiments’ in his room, if that’s what he called them; she would have called them ‘persecutions’, disgusting ungodly acts against God’s little creatures. She was considering calling in the RSPCA, but at her age it was difficult to find a job.

  David frightened her; she took to locking her room at night and staying out of his way in the day. This suited David; he preferred to be alone, he was busy with Devil’s work.

  He’d made a few trips back to the village of Heddington, where his old school was situated, and used the local phone box to make secret calls to the Head. He’d kept their sordid relationship alive with promises of new games to play.

  They’d finally planned to meet in the local forest later that day. David couldn’t wait. He knew his plans would be safe, the Head wouldn’t tell a soul where he was going; secrecy was part of the game. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year. It was to be a romantic reunion.

  David felt a tingle of excitement as he waited at their secluded meeting place, deep in the woods. His black holdall held his beloved camera, tools, and clean clothing. He was dressed in his old school uniform; it just about fitted, giving him instant ‘boy’ appeal. As he knotted his old stained school tie, excitement began to build.

  Through the trees, he could see the tweed-suited Head on his bike.
He spotted David and gave an excited little wave, causing the bike to wobble, until with two hands safely on the handlebars, he managed to get it back under control.

  David couldn’t believe that this pathetic old man had managed to torment him for so many years. Having been away for a year and now seeing him again with fresh eyes made him realize how insignificant the old boy really was. How could he have had so much power over David, not to mention the staff, who obviously knew what was happening; they never spoke out. Maybe they were all at it; all had their special little boys to play with.

  He wondered how many other ‘innocents’ this man had buggered in his lifetime, how many other little worlds he’d ruined with his sordid perversions. How had David let him rule for so long? Disgust retched bile to the back of his throat; he noisily snorted it to the front of his mouth and spat to the ground. The bullying days were over, the worm had turned.

  As the Head grew nearer, David could see he was smiling, how pathetic he looked. Did he really believe David still wanted to see him, still wanted to be abused by him? He’d sounded so excited on the phone, he’d even mentioned the word ‘love’.

  He’d taught David about ‘love’ all right, the power that came from abusing it. Love and vanity had got the better of the Head that day; they led him into a trap.

  A leather whip was tucked under the Head’s arm, making steering difficult. He’d come prepared. David guessed the lubricant and tissues were in the little wicker basket on the front of the bike. If only the parents of his pupils knew what he got up to behind closed doors with their beloved sons.

  The forest’s terrain proved too difficult for the bike; the Head eased off it and walked the final distance, pushing it with laboured breaths. David went into little boy lost mode, head bent, knees together, hands behind his back, waiting for his master’s instructions. The game had started. Head brought his bike to a standstill in front of David; panting, he let it fall against a tree.