Acquired Tastes

by Simone Mondesir

  'You can let go now,' she giggled. Vijay's arms were still tightly around her.

  Vijay reluctantly let go. Alicia’s body had felt so soft and yet so firm - like a perfectly ripe mango with the promise of the sweetest and most fragrant of juices.

  'You promised you would come alone,' he hissed. 'I only agreed to do this for you, not for him,' he jerked his head at the window.

  'I do believe you're jealous,' teased Alicia.

  Vijay flushed.

  Alicia brushed some dirt off his shoulder and straightened his bandana. 'We'll talk about you and me when this is all over, I promise.'

  Vijay's eyes lit up.

  'But for now I want you to be nice to Jeremy, just for me,' Alicia smiled flirtatiously up at him.

  Vijay shrugged. 'If you insist.'

  'Alicia?' It was Jeremy's voice from the alleyway. 'What's going on up there?'

  Alicia placed her forefinger on Vijay's lips. 'I do,' she said and then looked out of the window at Jeremy. 'Aren't you going to join us?'

  'I think someone ought to stay here and act as lookout,' he stalled.

  'Coward,' teased Alicia.

  Jeremy almost knocked the bin over in his haste to climb up. He put his arms through the window and waited for Vijay and Alicia to help him, but they had already set off up the stairs. Cursing under his breath, Jeremy hauled himself through the window and hurried after them.

  Vijay led them through a maze of dark passages. Alicia had thought to bring a torch, but it gave no more than a pencil-thin shaft of light. Jeremy stumbled and cursed behind her until she finally turned on him, shining the torch up into his face.

  'For heaven's sake, Jeremy, shut up! You're making enough noise to wake the dead.'

  He gave her a pained look and then continued in a sulky silence.

  After another ten minutes, Alicia began to get the feeling that they were going round in circles, but Vijay's hunched shoulders did not invite questions. Finally, he signalled to them to stop.

  'The studio is through there,' he whispered pointing at some large double doors, 'and down there are the galleries where the director and producer sit during the recording and where the lighting and sound are controlled, but we're heading for the Video Transfer room, where everything is recorded on tape.'

  He led them down yet another set of stairs praying that he had got it right this time. He heaved a huge sigh of relief as he saw a sign saying VT, and pushed open the door.

  VT was a cavernous room with small glass partitioned cubicles housing banks of monitors and large control panels along one side. Dark, brooding machinery covered with switches and dials took up the central floor space, while at the back of the room were shelves stacked high with tapes.

  Alicia was overawed with the technology, and even Jeremy could not stop himself looking impressed.

  'How on earth do you know what to do?' asked Alicia.

  Vijay looked self-important. 'Oh, it's easy,' he said airily, leading them into one of the cubicles. 'Forbidden Fruit will be recorded tomorrow morning in the main studio, which is controlled from here. You can watch what is going on in the studio on the monitors up there.' He pointed to a bank of television screens. 'Vanessa and Fergus are planning to record their own private version of the programme starring themselves, tonight. But what Vanessa doesn't realise is that we can watch what they're doing in the studio from down here without them knowing, and we can record a second tape.'

  Alicia gave Vijay a delighted kiss on the cheek. 'You're so clever, Vijay. Isn't he Jeremy?'

  Jeremy did not look as though he thought so.

  Vijay shrugged nonchalantly and sat down in front of the control panel. He did not feel as confident as he sounded. He had plied a VT engineer with drink in order to get the information he needed but he had also drank rather a lot himself, and some of the later details were a little hazy. He glanced up at the clock on the wall.

  'I think we'd better make ourselves scarce. Vanessa will be arriving soon.'

  Vijay shepherded them to the back of the main room, where they crouched in the darkness behind a shelf stacked with tapes.

  Although Vijay had said Vanessa was arriving soon, it seemed like hours to Alicia, and as the minutes ticked by, she began to feel her determination ebbing away. What on earth were they doing? Supposing they were caught? If she was arrested and charged, it could mean the end of her academic career. Was Vanessa worth the risk?

  A shaft of light suddenly illuminated the gloom as the door was pushed open. Alicia crouched down almost to the floor, her heart thumping as though it would burst. She could feel, rather than see, Jeremy and Vijay tensing on either side of her. Then she heard a familiar curt voice.

  'Wait outside.'

  There was the click of a light being switched on. Ignoring Jeremy's restraining grip, Alicia cautiously lifted her head and peered through a gap in the shelves. She held her breath. A figure was bent over the control desk in the cubicle where they had been in earlier. Alicia heard an exclamation of satisfaction and then the figure straightened up. For one brief moment, she saw Vanessa's smiling face. It was enough.

  As the room was plunged back into darkness and the door closed behind Vanessa, Alicia was filled by a cold sense of purpose. She pulled Vijay and Jeremy to their feet.

  'Right,' she ordered. 'Let's get this show on the road.'

  Twenty-Eight

  'You promise there'll be no damage?' the security guard asked, as Vanessa came out of VT. 'It'd be more than my life's worth. The guv'nor would have my balls for breakfast.' He followed Vanessa down the corridor.

  'I've already told you, there'll be no problems. Dr Archibald just needs some extra rehearsal time,' Vanessa snapped impatiently over her shoulder. 'Now isn't it about time you got back to the front desk?'

  She stopped outside the dressing room where she had left Fergus. The guard hovered.

  'We'll be about an hour. Just make sure no one, and I do mean no one, comes near the studio, or I'll be the one to have your balls, got it?' Vanessa held up a ten pound note.

  The guard hesitated. His tongue flickered nervously over his lips as he balanced the possibility of discovery and dismissal against the certainty of the ten pound note. He reached for the money.

  Vanessa waited for him to pocket it, and then watched until he disappeared from sight at the end of the corridor. She had no idea what awaited her inside the dressing-room, but her instincts told her it would not be for the eyes of a security guard.

  She had seen very little of Fergus since his return to London. She had decided that she wanted her life back to normal, so she had booked him into a hotel and charged it to Right Pryce Productions. Philip had objected to the extra expense, but she avoided awkward questions by saying that the friend Fergus had been staying with had gone to Peru on a research trip.

  Somewhat to her chagrin, Fergus had agreed to the arrangement without an argument and had been quite content to sit in his hotel room drinking whisky and watching blue movies on cable television. The bill for the movies was mounting up, but as she pointed out to an increasingly irate Philip, this was one occasion when dirty movies could legitimately be put down on expenses as research.

  She had delegated Rosie, the production assistant, to look after Fergus, and much to Vanessa's surprise, they were getting on rather well. Rosie clucked around him like a mother hen, declaring that all Fergus needed was a bit of what she insisted on calling 'TLC'. Fergus had meekly agreed to go with Rose to a hairdresser - even for wardrobe fittings - although not with Damien.

  When Fergus had turned up at the studios earlier, he looked almost presentable. His hair and beard were cropped short, and he was wearing a tan sports jacket and smart brown corduroy trousers which actually fastened up somewhere approximating his waist.

  He had also been carrying a large hold-all, which contained what he mysteriously described as his props for the evening. When they arrived at the studios, he insisted on going to a dressing room to get ready, and Vanessa decided
to humour him.

  Vanessa had been anticipating the evening more than she would admit. Since Fergus's departure, almost two weeks ago, she had not had much sex. A good looking cameraman had provided a momentary diversion while out on a shoot for the show, but while he had been willing, it had proved as predictable as it had been unsatisfying. If nothing else, Fergus could always be guaranteed to deliver satisfaction.

  She knocked on the door and without waiting for an answer, went in.

  Fergus was standing in front of a full-length mirror admiring himself. He was dressed in a scarlet corset, trimmed with black lace, black stockings and red, patent leather, stiletto shoes.

  He twirled round. 'Well, what do you think?' he asked.

  Vanessa wanted to laugh, but she couldn't. Most men would have looked ridiculous, but not Fergus. He looked brutish. The tightly-laced corset emphasised the massiveness of his chest and shoulders, the shiny red satin contrasting with the thick matted hair that covered his body. Even the high heels served to stress the sinewy strength of his legs.

  'How… how did you find anything to fit you?' she asked faintly.

  Fergus snapped one of his suspenders. 'There's a whole industry out there catering for transsexuals, transvestites and just plain little old cross-dressers. Look behind the lace curtains of one in three suburban semis and you will find a man itching to get into his wife's underwear - but not while she's wearing it. Marks & Spencer could make a killing selling men's lingerie instead of Y-fronts. Just think what a difference it would make at Christmas - no more socks.' Fergus grinned, but Vanessa didn't respond. He fluffed up the lace across his chest. 'It's rather fetching, don't you think? The only problem is the choice of colours, it's either basic black or red. I was looking for something a little more in the way of an autumnal shade.'

  Vanessa managed a weak smile and sank down on to the narrow bed which was the only other furniture in the room other than a dressing table and stool.

  'You're not a …?' she asked uncertainly.

  'Vanessa, Vanessa,' Fergus shook his head with mock sorrow. 'You're just like all the rest, trapped in the narrow Victorian confines of what passes for sexuality in the late twentieth century. Look at nature. The male of the species is always the flamboyant sensualist, and in the past, fashion reflected this. Cod pieces, tights, wigs, face powder, lace, high heels, corsets, they were all part of a man's wardrobe, but now women see this as their sacred territory and feel threatened by men who want to explore the female side of their sexuality. It has always been thus. Do you know the story of Teiresias?'

  Vanessa shook her head.

  'Ah, the shortcomings of the modern education system. We may have computers, but the ancient Greeks had wisdom. Teiresias was a prophet who, when out walking, struck two serpents in the act of copulation with his stick, killing the female. As punishment, the gods transformed him into a woman. He remained a woman for seven years until once again he came upon two copulating snakes. This time he hit neither and as a reward, became a man again. One day he was called upon by the mighty god Zeus to settle an argument with his wife, the goddess Hera, no doubt caused by yet another lecherous adventure on the part of Zeus, who just couldn’t keep his prick to himself. Teiresias was asked whether men or women got greater pleasure from sex. He replied that from his unique experience as both a man and a woman, women got far greater pleasure from sex than men. Zeus seized on this to justify his philandering, claiming that as he got less pleasure, he ought to get more sex. As you can imagine his lady wife Hera was not amused and instantly struck Teiresias blind.'

  Vanessa shrugged. 'I thought we were just going to have a bit of sex.'

  Fergus snorted. 'And that about says it all. No, my dear Vanessa, we are not going to just have a bit of sex. We are each going to explore new sexual territories. I have already chosen mine, and I have taken the liberty of choosing one for you.'

  He picked up his hold-all. Something inside clinked ominously. 'Lead the way, dear lady. I'm ready for action.'

  Vanessa recovered herself. 'You're not walking round dressed like that. We might bump into a security guard. Cover yourself up,' she ordered, holding out a thin cotton robe that had been hanging behind the door.

  Fergus shrugged and slipped it on. It didn't meet around his front and barely came to his knees. If anything, it made him look worse.

  Vanessa looked around for something else but there was nothing. The room was bare. She would just have to pray that the security guard remained at his desk. She opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. It was empty. She tried to hurry Fergus through the building but his high heeled shoes made haste impossible. She heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the comparative safety of the studio.

  'Wait here and don't move until I turn the lights on,' she ordered, leaving Fergus standing in the gloom.

  Fergus blinked as light flooded the studio, and then began to roar with laughter.

  The Forbidden Fruit set looked like a 1930s Hollywood version of heaven. Swathes of soft pink gauze were draped from ceiling to floor and rosy-cheeked cherubs cavorted among pink fluffy clouds, their chubby limbs entwined in what, on closer examination, proved to be less than cherubic positions. On one side of the set a mock marble staircase curved upwards to nowhere and on the other stood a huge phallus-like tree, around which was entwined a green serpent, a shiny red apple in its jaws.

  In the middle of the set was a low couch, whose upholstered pink cushions were in the unmistakable shape of female genitalia.

  'That's meant to be your consulting couch,' Vanessa called from the back of the studio, as she walked down between the rows of chairs.

  'Freud couldn't have done it better,' he guffawed.

  Vanessa waved her hand at the set. 'Hugo claims it's a post-modernist, faux-naif interpretation of sex, whatever that is.'

  'It says a lot about the British psyche. It's sex dressed up and disinfected so that it doesn't look like sex,' snorted Fergus. 'The visual equivalent of a vaginal deodorant.'

  He sat down on the couch and stroked the labia shaped cushions. 'But this sums up the cosy television chat show exactly. It's just perfect for a spot of mutual masturbation, don't you think?'

  Vanessa began unbuttoning her blouse. 'Let's get on with it, shall we,' she said, briskly, stepping out of her skirt. 'Where do you want me, on the couch?' She stood naked in front of Fergus, her hands on her hips.

  'My dear girl, haven't you been listening to me? Sex is not just some minor bodily function you can satisfy with a quick scratch. Nor is there just one simple physical route to satisfaction, or haven't you been reading the letters that have been coming in, either?'

  Vanessa crossed her arms. 'Okay, if that's the way you want me to play it. What do you want me to do - dress up as a French maid?'

  'Tsk tsk,' Fergus wagged his finger. 'Oh ye of little imagination. Fetch me my bag.'

  Vanessa tossed her head impatiently and walked over to where Fergus had left his hold-all. She started to open it.

  'Bring it here.' Fergus barked the command so sharply, Vanessa obeyed automatically.

  'Good,' Fergus said approvingly, 'that was your first lesson. Tonight you must do anything and everything I tell you without question or you will be punished.'

  He dug around in his hold-all and produced a leather mask and a large, metal-studded dog collar with a lead attached to it. 'Put these on,' he commanded.

  Vanessa swallowed hard. The mask looked like something from a medieval torture chamber. It had no hole for the eyes and a metal bit across the mouth.

  'Look Fergus, we agreed to have a little fun, maybe a few games but there's no way I'm going to …'

  'Scared?' Fergus challenged her, holding her gaze in his.

  Vanessa looked away. 'No, of course not, don't be ridiculous. I just don't think we have time for a Halloween party, that's all.'

  Before Vanessa could protest, Fergus fastened the collar around her neck. He gave the lead a sharp tug. 'This time I won't punish you
for disobeying me, but next time …' He pulled a cane out of the bag and swished it through the air.

  Vanessa's eyes widened. 'You wouldn't dare!'

  'The question, my dear Vanessa is, would you? I fear you have a jaded palate from too much tasteless, fast food sex, so I thought I might spice things up a little bit. Haven't you ever thought about inflicting pain on someone?'

  Vanessa's eyelashes flickered.

  'And what did that thought engender in you?' Fergus pulled the lead so that Vanessa was forced to look into his eyes. He smiled. 'Ah, just as I thought, pleasure. But the most exquisite pleasure comes after denial, so your second lesson is going to be submission. It will be a new experience for you, as will humiliation. You see, my dear Vanessa, you have nothing I desire, but I have the means to your pleasure here in my hand,' he swished the cane again, 'and here,' he indicated his crotch, 'and you are going to have to beg for them.'

  He pointed at the floor. 'Get down on your hands and knees.'

  Vanessa looked down. The floor hadn't yet been cleaned and painted for the recording and was thick with dust.

  'But it's …'

  'Down!' The cane whistled through the air.

  Vanessa sank to her hands and knees.

  Fergus held out the mask. Vanessa pulled it on and then tried to speak. Fergus bent down and pushed the bit between her teeth, silencing her. With a satisfied grin, he teetered off across the studio, tugging Vanessa along on all fours behind him.

  Twenty-Nine

  Alicia sipped her mug of tea as she gazed thoughtfully out of the window. Although it was not even six-thirty in the morning, she was already dressed. The garden below Zelda's flat was largely occupied by a huge oak tree, and what little of the rest of the garden Alicia could see, looked very overgrown. But she didn't suppose anybody in a building divided into flats like this would care about gardens. She wondered how her little garden back in Heartlands was looking. The roses were at their glorious best at this time of the year. There had been no rain for weeks, and she really should have been there to water them.