Butterfly of Venus

by Susan F. MacKay

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, concerned.

  “What difference would it have made?” she replied. She was no longer a virgin. As she left the apartment and walked along Spadina Avenue to the subway, she felt free. She’d taken this important life decision into her own hands. No one could take it back from her. She didn’t feel bad. She felt empowered. That was twenty-four years ago. And, here she was, a forty-year-old lying naked on the bed of a young man, feeling sexier than she ever had in her life.

  Elizabeth could feel Declan’s erection pressing against her thigh.

  “Are you going to fuck me, Declan?”

  “Not until you tell me what you were thinking about.”

  “What? When?”

  “When you were touching yourself. I told you to think dirty thoughts. What were you thinking? Go on, tell me. I want to know.”

  This was hugely embarrassing. “Er, nothing really.”

  “Unacceptable.” Declan began rubbing himself. “The best sex takes place between the ears. I need to know what was going on in that head of yours or . . .” He leaned over and gently bit each of her nipples.

  “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll go unfucked, and that would be a terrible shame.”

  The best sex takes place between the ears? That was true, thought Elizabeth, but how could she reveal her secret thoughts? The fantasy was hers and hers alone.

  “I was thinking about you.”

  “You know I don’t like being lied to.”

  Declan rubbed himself faster. She desperately wanted him inside her, to see the look on his face at the pleasure he found in her body.

  “Tell me what you thought about,” he growled in a commanding voice. “Go on. How will you know something works for you if you don’t give it a chance?”

  He was echoing her own words from the time when she had convinced him to try oysters.

  She felt as if she was about to leap off a sexual cliff. She was going to reveal her private thoughts. “A stranger,” she blurted out.

  Declan stopped rubbing himself. With one hand, he held both her hands above her head. “What about this stranger? Where does he come from?”

  “A bar. I don’t know him. We go out to a back alley and . . .”

  “You go into a bar and let a man you’ve never met before fuck you? Is that right?”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed red. “Yes.”

  “In that case, I think you deserve to be fucked now, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth whispered.

  “But you’re going to have to ask nicely. With your tongue.”

  Declan lay back and pushed Elizabeth’s head down to his erection. She took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue slowly around the tip. He was extremely aroused.

  “Now say ‘Please.’”

  “Please fuck me, Declan. Please.”

  “Turn over. On your knees.”

  Elizabeth did as he said and waited. She felt a stinging slap across her buttocks.

  “That’s for being a bad girl who fucks a stranger outside a bar. You are a bad girl, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll let anybody fuck you, won’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Elizabeth felt Declan’s fingers holding firmly onto her hips as he plunged inside her.

  “Now it’s my turn.”

  “Yes.”

  A huge rhythmic wave picked Elizabeth up. It hurtled her forward, faster and faster, then cascaded into a trillion tiny droplets of pleasure. Finally—finally!—for the first time in her life, she climaxed with a partner. It took only a few seconds for Declan to come. As his erection subsided, he pulled her onto her side and curled up behind her. He kissed the nape of her neck and cupped his hands over her breasts.

  “Dear sweet Elizabeth. Dear sweet dirty lovely Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth sighed and snuggled against him. She couldn’t recall having felt this relaxed before. Not only had she had an orgasm of seismic proportions (a first for her with any lover) with Declan Thomas, but she’d also released a secret part of herself into his care. It was more exciting than she’d ever imagined. He’d surprised her once again. What else was he capable of? Could she surprise him in return?

  Chapter Eight

  It was a rarity for Declan to be free on a Saturday night, so Elizabeth was pleased when he was able to go to the party at Effie’s penthouse. Elizabeth wondered what Effie’s new lover would be like. Effie’s taste and style ran to the expensive, so a lawyer was perfect for her.

  Only two months had passed since that electric meeting with Declan on Elizabeth’s birthday, but to Elizabeth, it seemed like forever. In that time she had transformed from a tense, sexually suppressed woman into a lusty lover who shared a dark fantasy. Elizabeth fairly glowed with pleasure at the thought of being with Declan again. As she slipped on silk panties and bra, she imagined Declan slipping them off. As she wriggled into a form-fitting emerald cocktail dress, she imagined Declan’s fingers unzipping her. As she wound her hair in a thick chignon at the nape of her neck, she imagined Declan’s perfect mouth caressing her, his fingers undoing her hair so it tumbled down her back. She felt as if her whole body was on fire. She examined her lip and forehead for signs of perspiration, but her face remained dry. Her capillaries were merely reacting to the memory of sharing her fantasy with Declan, and how much it had turned her on. Under Declan’s instruction, being bad had turned out to feel awfully good.

  Elizabeth dabbed Cartier’s Pasha on her cleavage and wrists as a finishing touch and checked her watch. She’d arranged for Declan to meet at her house. Her driver would drop them at Effie’s for cocktails at six p.m.

  The doorbell rang. Declan stood in her doorway, looking as attractive as she’d ever seen. He radiated magnetism in a François Renard slim-fitting grey suit that accentuated the width of his broad shoulders. His hair flopped forward, grazing his charcoal brows, asking to be caressed. His eyes seemed bluer than ever, the dark ring around each iris adding a hidden depth and mystery to his gaze. Then there was that slightly lopsided, cocky grin that transformed his face from stern to playful.

  She gave him a quick kiss. “Come in, Declan.”

  “You look ravishing tonight.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” said Elizabeth flirtatiously.

  “But I want to be bad, and so do you.”

  A rush of excitement flooded Elizabeth’s body. His words and voice had the power to inflame her. Declan slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to his body, laying a series of small kisses along her shoulder. He was hard for her. For a moment she doubted they would leave, but then she saw Eddie’s car slide into the driveway.

  “C’mon, Declan. We leave now or never.”

  Declan let his dark gaze linger over her body. “Never works for me.”

  “Effie would be mad as hell. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  “Sweeties. Come in. Come in,” Effie greeted them as her personal elevator slid open. She was sporting a cigarette holder and a 1920s floor-length black velvet embroidered evening coat. “Welcome to the PH, darlings. Mi casa es su casa.”

  Effie handed each of them a champagne glass and told them to help themselves from bottles of Veuve placed strategically around the penthouse in ice buckets.

  “Something’s agreeing with you,” whispered Effie to Elizabeth while Declan poured champagne. “You look positively divine.”

  “Why, thank you, Effie. You too.”

  “There’s nothing quite like love.”

  Elizabeth doubted she was in love, although she’d certainly admit to being in lust. “Where’s the mysterious Stevie?”

  “Now that you’re here, I’m going to make an announcement.” Effie tapped her glass several times with a spoon, commanding attention.

 
Elizabeth noticed Effie’s wheelchair-bound friend Daisy and slipped in beside her. She’d known Daisy for years and got a kick out of the outspoken old girl. Daisy, thirty years older than Effie, had been like a real mother to her. Elizabeth gently squeezed Daisy’s bony shoulder in a greeting as Effie spoke.

  “My friends. Thank you all for coming tonight. I told you it was a dinner party, but it’s a little more than that. You are actually at an engagement party.”

  Gasps and murmurs of surprise were followed by applause.

  Effie signalled for silence. “I know. I know. You never thought you’d see the day when Effie La Chance would settle down.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Daisy loudly, to general laughter.

  “But the day has come. I would like you all to meet the love of my life, and my future life partner, Miss Stevie Wizniewski.”

  Elizabeth was as shocked as anyone in the room. Effie was marrying a woman? A tall, thin blonde in her thirties, wearing a beautiful silk suit, joined Effie and kissed her round cheek. Effie beamed.

  “We met at the Y, which, as you know, is where most homosexual relationships begin.” Effie paused so the crowd could laugh. “I was new to the weight room and had no idea of what went where. Stevie helped me out. She knew exactly what went where. Everything has worked like magic ever since.”

  Effie’s friends laughed, clapped and hooted as Effie and Stevie kissed. Then it was Stevie’s turn to address the group.

  “I’m delighted to meet you all, but not as delighted as I was when Effie agreed to marry me. The wedding is taking place this summer. Invitations will be forthcoming.”

  Effie chimed in, “In the meantime, let’s get drunk.”

  Amid cheers and clapping, the couple drifted apart to talk with various guests.

  Elizabeth squeezed Daisy’s shoulder. “Did you know about this, Daisy? Did you know Effie was marrying a woman?”

  “Nothing Effie does surprises me, dear.”

  “I thought Effie was beyond surprising me as well, but apparently not. A woman!”

  “If someone loves you, who gives a shit what side of the coin they’re on?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Too right, Daisy.”

  Declan arrived, carrying a bottle of Veuve. “Refills, ladies?”

  Daisy handed him her glass. “Fill ’er up.”

  As Declan poured, Daisy was transfixed by Declan’s good looks. “He yours?” she asked Elizabeth.

  Caught off guard, Elizabeth stammered, “Well . . .” She didn’t know what to say.

  The old woman’s papery hand seized Elizabeth’s. “Grab it while you can. He’s a doll face. If I was twenty years younger, he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Declan smiled disarmingly at Daisy. With a courtly bow he kissed her hand. “And if I was twenty years older, neither would you.”

  The old lady giggled and winked at him. The effect Declan had on women of all ages was remarkable.

  Effie interrupted the flirtation to see how Daisy was doing. “All right, Daisy?”

  “Having a blast, dear.”

  Elizabeth pulled Effie to one side. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What? And spoil the surprise? I wanted to see the look on everyone’s face.”

  “So when did you . . . ?”

  “Switch teams? I dabbled in college, as one does. But it never occurred to me as a serious alternative until I met Stevie. God knows, the men weren’t lining up to take me out, so I thought, Why not? Best thing I ever did.”

  Elizabeth gave Effie a hug. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  “Me neither. Hey, do you think Declan might give us a little tune before dinner?”

  “Don’t see why not. Ask him.”

  Declan was still chatting away, like the oldest of friends, with Daisy. Effie whispered in his ear. Declan nodded. He removed his jacket and took a seat at the white baby grand in Effie’s spacious living room. After a few chords, conversation stopped. All eyes turned towards Declan. He took easy command of the small group.

  “In a world that can be lonely and confusing, Stevie and Effie have found each other.”

  Effie beamed as Stevie took her hand.

  Declan continued, “I’d like to play a song for them. It’s called ‘I’m in Love.’”

  Declan’s long fingers caressed the ivory keys. He leaned back slightly, tilted his head to one side and closed his eyes. The song was so hauntingly beautiful that tears sprang to Elizabeth’s eyes.

  When we met I was in trouble,

  Trying to make ends meet.

  Then those three little words

  They crept right up on me:

  I’m in love.

  Love is the sweetest thing.

  I’m in love.

  Hear how the choirs sing.

  Guests clapped furiously when the last notes of the song died away. Effie, dabbing her eyes, gave Declan a hug. He sat modestly at the piano, hands dangling between his knees. He looked almost shy as people crowded around, asking questions. The beauty of his youth was breathtaking. Elizabeth would love nothing more than to take him in her arms.

  She heard Declan’s phone signal an incoming text. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read it. From the look that crossed his face, Elizabeth could tell something was horribly wrong. She rushed to his side.

  “What is it, Declan?” She was alarmed to see tears filling his blue eyes.

  His voice was thick with sorrow. “I just got a text from my mother. My father had a massive stroke. He’s not expected to make it.”

  * * *

  Charles Thomas’s funeral took place four days later at Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Its tidy little chapel, on a hill overlooking the city, was packed with mourners. Elizabeth squeezed into a pew in the back row. She could just make out the top of Declan’s head beside a large black hat, which she presumed belonged to his mother.

  After a mercifully brief reading from the minister, Declan spoke for five minutes about his father and what a kind, accomplished man he’d been. Declan talked about how much his father loved diplomacy and travelling the world in service to his country. Then, unaccompanied, in a strong, clear voice that echoed through the church, Declan sang the 23rd Psalm. Elizabeth could hear rustling around her as people located tissues in their purses or pockets. She had hers at the ready, clutched into a ball in her hand. As the final moving note of the psalm echoed away, there was much clearing of throats and blowing of noses. Elizabeth dried her tears.

  Declan announced that he and his mother would go to the gravesite alone to see his father’s coffin lowered. They welcomed anyone who wanted to stay for coffee in the downstairs hall afterwards.

  Declan, his mother on his arm, led the exit from the church. Declan’s mother was a tall, regal woman in her forties with a thick head of blondish silver hair that she wore in a long bob. She wasn’t wearing a hat. The black hat belonged to Natasha. Natasha, weeping copiously, filed out behind Declan. Seeing thick black streaks running down Natasha’s cheeks, Elizabeth wondered if she’d ever heard of waterproof mascara. Then she admonished herself for being petty. Even if Natasha was dressed from head to toe in black, like death’s widow, as Declan’s friend she had every right to be here.

  As the procession passed, Declan’s eyes found Elizabeth’s and flickered gratefully. He said quietly, “See you downstairs?” Elizabeth nodded. Declan’s mother immediately looked at her in an appraising way. Elizabeth found herself staring into clear blue eyes that mirrored Declan’s own before the moment passed.

  Along with most of the mourners, Elizabeth made her way downstairs. She stood alone in the noisy din of the chapel’s basement, sipping coffee and feeling out of place. Everyone else chatted noisily away. They all seemed to know one another, whereas she knew no one except Natasha, if you could call that knowing someone.

  Elizabeth wa
s about to fill her cup for the second time when she felt a touch on her elbow. Elizabeth turned to see Declan and his mother. With perfect manners, Declan made introductions. Elizabeth was roughly the same age as the mother of her lover. How awkward and embarrassing. She forced a smile.

  “Mother, this is Elizabeth Harding. Elizabeth, this is my mother, Joan Thomas.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Thomas.”

  “Call me Joan.”

  Elizabeth shook hands, surprised by the warmth and strength of Joan’s grip. Elizabeth returned the handshake with a firm grip of her own. She hated a weak, limpid handshake. It indicated a weakness of character and a lack of conviction. Perhaps Joan felt the same, because she smiled at Elizabeth, a gesture that illuminated her attractive face.

  “Declan has told me about you,” Joan said.

  “Nothing bad, I hope.”

  “I’m sure there’s nothing bad to tell.”

  Declan asked his mother if she would like coffee.

  “Yes, please, sweetheart. Black.”

  As Declan went to get coffee, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice the strong resemblance between mother and son. They both had the same strong jaw and sculpted cheekbones, although their noses were quite different. Joan’s nose was smaller and more rounded. Elizabeth supposed that Declan’s straight Roman nose came from his father’s side.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Joan.”

  “A blessing, really. He would have hated what happened to his mind.”

  A loud sobbing interrupted their conversation. Natasha, arriving from nowhere, seemed to be completely undone. She stood beside them, bawling loudly into a handkerchief. “It’s t-t-terrible,” she cried. “I’m so s-s-sorry.”