Past Mortem

by Ben Elton

  Their trousers were round their knees now and as they kissed they tossed each other off in the kind of awkward, rough-and-ready manner that is all that such a position will allow. In fact it was Helen who was masturbating them both, for there could be no doubt who was driving the ship. She held Newson’s hand firmly in her groin while with her other she pulled at his straining dick, stretching the skin back unforgivingly with each aggressive stroke. Newson was happy to be led. He did not suffer from macho pride, and did not mind at all as Helen ground his trapped hand against the ever-loosening lips of her vagina, working her groin over his fingers.

  Just as Newson began to fear that things for him were about to reach a climax, Helen let go of his penis and removed her mouth from his. Continuing to keep his hand clamped between her thighs she pushed him down to his knees with her free hand and then on to his backside so that he was sitting on the kitchen floor before her. He presumed that this was his cue to perform oral sex and leant forward, but Helen pushed his head back, knocking it against the kitchen unit, and continued to hold his hand to her groin, clasping it now with both of her hands and thrusting it hard against herself.

  Newson felt her fingers closing over his. He realized that she was making his hand into a fist and was pushing it harder and harder against herself.

  ‘Aha,’ she said. ‘This should move things along a bit.’ Helen reached over Newson’s head and picked up a bottle of olive oil with which Newson had earlier been preparing a salad dressing.

  ‘Extra virgin. How ironic,’ she said, upturning the bottle and splashing oil liberally at her groin and over Newson’s clenched hand. ‘Yummy.’

  Being rather a tidy person. Newson might have objected to the fact that somebody had emptied half a litre of olive oil down the sleeve of his best shirt and over his kitchen floor, but he was drunk and in the grip of passionate arousal, and thought it confusingly erotic.

  ‘Now push,’ said Helen.

  Newson had never fisted a girl before, but clearly this was what Helen required of him as she kicked violently at her trousers, which were now around her ankles, trying to spread her legs far enough apart to allow him in. Her thick shoes made it impossible for her to free herself completely from the trousers, but she was -able to turn one leg of the garment inside out to make sufficient space between her thighs for her to work Newson’s fist slowly but surely into her vagina. It was fortunate that Helen was in control, because this was new territory for Newson, but he was an easygoing sort of fellow and as he sat with his bare buttocks on the kitchen floor, his back against the pan cupboard door, his legs stretched out between Helen’s feet, his trousers and pants round his ankles, his cock stiff as a broom handle and his right hand buried up to the wrist in the hot, wet, hairy vagina that hovered a few inches from his face, he reflected that there were worse things that he could be doing on a Friday evening.

  ‘Punch me,’ said Helen through gritted teeth.

  Newson presumed that she was referring to the fist on which she was grinding herself and that she wanted him to thrust it in her harder. He decided not to do so and kept his arm still. Olive oil or no, he was already surprised at her body’s capacity to accommodate him and did not want to push his luck. If Helen wanted to be damaged internally she could find someone else’s hand to sit on.

  Seemingly indifferent to his lack of ready cooperation, Helen continued with both hands to hold Newson inside her, grinding down on him until his wristwatch had half-disappeared within her. Then suddenly she gave a guttural scream and leant forward over him, grabbing at the bench with both her hands to support herself.

  Looking up at the agonized expression on her face and with her almost primeval shriek ringing in his ears, Newson feared for a moment that Helen had indeed injured herself, but then the grimace turned to a smile and, looking down at him, she blew a kiss. ‘Mmm, lovely,’ she said. ‘Very nice.’

  She stood up, slid herself from Newson’s gleaming, oily hand and shuffled backwards with both feet still caught up in the legs of her sodden trousers. She was still wearing her T-shirt, but now she pulled it up over her head to reveal once more those fascinating breasts, which were really nothing much more than big fat nipples. Newson wanted to put them in his mouth and tried to struggle to his feet in order to do so. Unfortunately his trousers were also round his legs and his leather-soled shoes skidded in the oil on the floor. He hit the ground hard but could not help laughing, and Helen laughed too as she sat down in front of him, sliding her bottom about in the oil, naked except for the crumpled trousers and her body jewellery. She seemed utterly unembarrassed to sit like that, naked, cross-legged in front of him, tugging at her trousers and shoes, which were now hopelessly stuck around her feet, proudly displaying the three metal rings that surrounded her clitoris.

  ‘Fuck it,’ she said, unable to remove her feet from the trousers. She grabbed the knife that lay on the floor beside them and stabbed it violently into the crutch of the oil-stained combat pants, hacking them into halves along the seam. ‘I shouldn’t wear such big shoes.’ Finally freed, she stood up with half a pair of trousers attached to each ankle and pulled Newson to his feet.

  ‘What now?’ he said. Things were going so well with Helen in charge, he felt perfectly comfortable taking his orders from her.

  ‘I need a pee.’

  ‘It’s upstairs.’

  Newson was learning fast about Helen, and he wasn’t surprised when she grabbed his hand and took him with her. He kicked off his shoes as he went and with a bit of hopping about got his trousers off as they climbed the stairs, arriving at the top naked apart from his shirt and socks.

  ‘I want to piss on you,’ she said.

  ‘Um…oh…OK, then.’

  ‘Can I do it on your bed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right.’ She took him into the bathroom and pushed him-down into the bath. Once more he found her standing over him.

  ‘That shirt needs a wash anyway,’ she said as she let loose, squirting pee at his chest and then his face. This was another first for Newson. He was surprised at how hot it was and at how excited he felt. He’d never seen a girl pee close up, in fact he couldn’t remember seeing a girl pee at all.

  ‘Now me,’ Helen said, slipping down into the bath as Newson took off his sodden shirt.

  ‘Bit of a problem,’ Newson said, indicating his achingly erect penis.

  ‘I said piss on me! For Christ’s sake! So just do it, will you?’ Helen grabbed at the shaft of Newson’s dick and bent it down towards her face.

  Newson yelped in pain but none the less did his best to do as he was told, leaning forward, supporting himself with his hands against the wall. He slowly began to pee over Helen.

  ‘Harder,’ Helen spluttered.

  ‘I can’t do it any harder,’ he said. ‘I’m in bloody agony as it is.’

  ‘Good.’ She reached out and bent Newson’s erect penis further towards her.

  Newson watched as she played the hot stream over her face and mouth and into her spiky punky hair.

  When he’d finished Helen stood up and kissed him. This was not something that Newson wanted to happen. He was not and never had been interested in water sports. At a pinch, being very drunk, he might have been just about happy to taste a smidgeon of Helen’s urine, but his own was something in which he had no interest whatsoever, and Helen’s mouth was dripping with it. If she noticed his closed mouth as she worked her face against his she did not seem to mind.

  ‘OK. I’m ready again,’ she said.

  Newson wondered what would be required of him now, as once again she took his hand, this time leading him into the bedroom. He’d been rather hoping that a shower might be part of what she had in mind, but he was disappointed.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she said, falling on to the bed, her body and hair glistening wet, while Newson tried with all his might not to worry about the sheets.

  ‘Fuck me.’

  ‘Fine. All right. I can do that.’

  ‘An
d do it without a condom this time.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s just a rule I have.’

  Helen shrugged. ‘OK. I bought some with ribs on.’

  ‘Lovely.’

  Despite her own preferences, Helen had come prepared. Lying on her back on Newson’s bed, she raised one knee in order to bring half of her sodden trousers within reach. She probed in the pocket and produced a packet of three exotic-looking condoms and tossed them at Newson.

  For the briefest moment Newson found himself thinking of the exotic condoms that he and Natasha had discovered in Farrah Porter’s bedside cabinet. Then he thought of Natasha, and a dizzying wave of drunkenness swept over him.

  ‘Bag it up if you must,’ Helen snapped, ‘but I really think you’re a sissy.’

  Fumbling with the packet, Newson did as he was told and then fell upon his old schoolfriend, determined to put all squeamishness regarding the fact that they were both covered in piss and olive oil from his mind. His sexual preferences were pretty conventional and he had never before had what might be described as a truly dirty shag. He reckoned that he was having one now, though, and he decided that he owed it to himself to get over his reservations and quite literally go with the flow.

  Now, however, he encountered a problem. Perhaps due to her taste for fisting, Helen was very loose. She was also very oily and Newson simply could not gain enough purchase to maintain the required state of arousal. Even as he entered her he was horrified to feel the imminent -danger of everything collapsing beneath him. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been as solid as a rock moments before, running at fever pitch, desperate to ejaculate, and now this.

  Helen realized the situation at almost the same moment. Perhaps she was used to it. Anyway, she had a solution. ‘Stick it in my arse,’ she said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You heard what I said. Stick it in my arse. It’s tighter and I like it either way.’ She rolled over on to her knees and, dropping her chin to the sheets, arched her back, offering her prone backside to him, cheeks spread wide.

  Newson hesitated and Helen looked back at him over her shoulder. ‘Come on!’ she snapped, ‘stick it in.’

  She reached back, grabbing at him, and Newson allowed himself to be guided. He pushed for a moment as her muscle resisted and then, all of a sudden, he popped through and in so doing chalked up yet another sexual first. Anal sex was something else that until now Newson had managed to get through life without. In the space of one crazy half-hour debauch Helen Smart had increased his sexual experience more than he had been able to do himself in the entire twenty-two years that had passed since his puberty.

  ‘Go easy,’ she said. ‘It’s been a while, it hurts.’

  ‘I’ll stop, shall I? Should I stop?’ said Newson, ever the gentleman.

  ‘Don’t be so fucking stupid. Just let me loosen up for a second, then go hard.’

  Once more Newson did as he was told, and shortly thereafter, with a head spinning out of control on beer, vodka and confusingly hardcore sex, he finally climaxed, collapsing forward on to Helen’s back.

  ‘You finished?’ Helen asked, somewhat tetchily.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Suck the cum out of my arse and then kiss me with it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Just do what I say.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do it!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Helen, but I said no.’

  ‘It’s called felching.’

  ‘I don’t care what it’s called. I’m not doing it. As it happens, I couldn’t anyway, not that I would, but I couldn’t because I’m wearing a condom.’

  ‘No, you’re not. I took it off when I was guiding you into my arse.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I told you, I don’t like them. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly clean.’

  It took a moment or two for this to sink in. What Helen had done was so wrong on so many levels that Newson hardly knew where to start.

  ‘Perfectly clean!’ he spluttered. ‘You’ve just had me fist you, piss in your mouth and bugger you without a condom. How can you say you’re perfectly clean?’

  ‘I mean I’m clean physically, healthwise.’

  ‘You can’t possibly know that for sure — ’

  ‘I don’t do this with just anybody, you know.’

  ‘What? Deliberately put them at risk of contracting STDs?’

  ‘All the things we did. I’m usually celibate.’

  ‘Usually? You can’t be usually celibate…You either are celibate or you’re not! Anyway, it’s completely irrelevant. You’ve…you’ve…Fucking hell, Helen!’

  Suddenly Newson felt completely sober and desperately stupid. What had he done? It was horrible, disgusting. There was piss and semen all over his sheets. He stank, she stank. The spuds would be boiled to a pulp. He felt like he was going to be sick. ‘That was an incredibly stupid and irresponsible thing to do. You can’t just secretly remove a person’s condom!’

  Helen began to cry. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to feel closer to you.’

  ‘But Helen, you’re a grown-up woman. You’ve got a kid, you know the rules. You just can’t go around doing that sort of thing. You’ve abused me. Betrayed a trust.’

  Helen drew the sheet up to her chin. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ she said, before adding in a small, quiet voice, ‘But then you’d know all about abuse and betrayal of trust, wouldn’t you, Edward?’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You dumped me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, please!’

  ‘You made me look like a complete arse in front of the whole school.’

  ‘Helen. That’s just insane! We were two fourteen-year-olds who’d had one snog and fumble. And also could I remind you that it was twenty years ago?’

  ‘You never tried to find me, did you? When I didn’t come back after New Year.’

  ‘I phoned you. You told me your parents were moving.’

  ‘They weren’t. I went into hospital.’

  ‘Because I’d got off with Christine Copperfield?’

  ‘Because that was when I first started to hurt myself.’

  ‘Which is not my fault.’

  ‘I felt worthless.’

  ‘Which again is not my fault.’

  ‘It all started around about then.’

  ‘Surely you’re not suggesting, Helen, that because I left you standing by the fruit punch while I went and danced with Christine I’m responsible for what appears to have been a lifelong instability? We were just schoolmates, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘I thought you loved me. I thought it was us against the world.’

  ‘And you’re saying that until the night of the Christmas disco you’d been completely fine, a well-adjusted girl?’

  ‘No, I’d always hated myself.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Which is why when I thought you liked me I felt happy, and when I found out you didn’t it was ten times worse.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Helen. This isn’t fair. I never gave you any reason to think we were together.’

  ‘You said you loved me when you held me that night. You said mine were the nicest tits you’d ever seen.’

  ‘They were just about the only tits I’d ever seen.’

  ‘I hated them! The other girls called me Jelly Tots. Christine fucking Copperfield came up with that, Edward. Your girlfriend! But you said you liked them!’

  ‘And I did! I do! They’re very nice. But Helen, we were fourteen. We were in the same year at school. We were friends, that was all.’

  ‘You never called me once after school broke up.’

  ‘It was Christmas. Who calls their mates in the Christmas holidays? I called you when you didn’t show up at school in the New Year.’

  ‘After a week.’

  ‘Look, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I think we need to clean ourselves up, have a shower and then maybe we
can sit down and talk properly.’

  ‘I like feeling dirty.’

  ‘Well, I don’t and you’re in my bed.’

  ‘And you were in my arse!’

  ‘What the fuck has that got to do with anything!’

  ‘You’ve had what you wanted, Edward, and you can’t just give me orders now that you’ve finished.’

  Newson decided he’d better stop talking for a moment. He knew that he was in dangerous waters. He and this woman from his past had just done things that could not be ignored and yet clearly she had come to him with a very specific agenda.

  Had he been stalked?

  ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ he said.

  The bath was still puddled with urine, and Newson felt dizzy with self-loathing, hating himself for what he’d done with this strange woman. And she was a strange woman. He now recognized that he hadn’t known Helen Smart the first time around. And now, unbeknownst to him, she had fixated on him as the solution to her secret pain and self-doubt. He got into the shower cubicle and was finally and copiously sick. He washed himself with pointless vigour, paying particular attention to his penis, which he soaped and rinsed six or seven times. If Helen Smart was in the habit of having unprotected anal sex, then there was every chance that she was not as clean as she thought she was. He studied his dick. He reflected that he had not been inside Helen for long, and of course the risk was far greater for her in that position than for him. Nonetheless Newson knew that he would see his doctor in the morning and once again in three months, and only when that was clear would he entirely relax.

  When he could wash himself no longer, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stood for a moment, gathering his thoughts in preparation for facing Helen once more and negotiating her out of his house and out of his life.

  It was then that the bells and sirens started to ring. For a moment in his semi-drunken, traumatized state Newson imagined that this was one more element in Helen’s perverse sexual repertoire. Perhaps she liked to end a sticky conquest with an ear-splitting cacophony of noise. Then he smelt burning and remembered the potatoes. He rushed downstairs. The kitchen was filling with smoke, which, of course, had set off his smoke alarms. Naked and advancing across the kitchen to turn off the gas, Newson skidded on the puddle of olive oil. Arms flailing, his legs disappeared from under him and he hit the kitchen floor with a thud. His head and lower back took most of the impact and on later reflection he realized that he must have blacked out momentarily. Certainly when the telephone began to ring he had trouble distinguishing it from the agonizing noise of the smoke and fire alarms.