Foreign Affairs

by Jacqueline George

  Still it was not enough. Her hips were resting on the jeep bonnet and she could not lower her sex to him. The old man pulled her towards him by the hips and she moved back over the bonnet until her breasts fell free and only her arms were resting on it. The old man grunted approval and, patting the inside of Pat's thighs, ordered her to spread herself further. John caught a glimpse of her ripe sex swallowing his intruding prong, and they were joined.

  Surprisingly, even though he was there without her consent and she did not even know what he looked like, Pat felt her sense of fear ebbing. The old man was gentle. He set up a slow rhythm, moving the whole length of him out almost to her lips and then sliding back in as far as he could reach. His skin felt warm and dry against her cheeks and the backs of her thighs. His rough hands held her confidently in place. She felt secure for the moment. She buried her face in her arms and let him get on with it.

  It seemed to John that Pat's assailant knew very well what he was doing, and that he could feel Pat's attention was not with him. His slow movements continued but, perhaps trying to wake her up, he began to caress her. He started to run his hands down her flanks and pat her like a favourite pig, kneading her cheeks and probing the slot between them.

  She felt the callused hands wander over her back, thumbs running firmly up her backbone, fingers reaching round her shoulders and into her armpits. His delicacy surprised her and when he brushed the hair away from her face, she closed her eyes and relaxed completely. He felt beneath her, ignoring her breasts and instead concentrating on circling and kneading her stomach.

  His shaft was sliding more rapidly inside her now, and his circling hands were making little excursions down into her hair to gently pinch and pull at her lips. Unrequested, tension built up inside her, and she rocked her hips backwards and upwards to invite his thrusts. She arched her head back and groaned as an orgasm came from nowhere and shook through her frame.

  Grandfather gave John a wolfish grin over his shoulder, and chuckled. Gripping her hips as John had been doing moments before, he started to ride for himself. The leaves covering his backside swung backwards and forwards as his hips butted against her. He did not ride far before he stiffened, pulled himself far into her and, muscles tense and knotted, pulsed his force away.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “Yes. I think so. He made me come.” The thought seemed to upset her.

  “It doesn't matter. I don't think they want to hurt you.”

  The son was ready. He brushed his father aside and plunged into her. He was a man in a hurry. Ignoring everything but the succulent hole he had commandeered, he immediately set up a punishing race. The pounding blows of his stomach shook Pat's frame and made the little jeep rock on its springs. John watched her suspended breasts swinging wildly in the storm, and was taken by surprise when the man shouted and rapidly ran his rhythm down.

  As he stepped back, his father set on him. From word and gesture, it was clear the old man was furious. His son picked up his bow and sullenly moved a little way off, followed by a continuing stream of imprecations.

  “What's wrong? What's happening?”

  “I don't know. The old man's really pissed off at him. It looks like he thinks his son was too quick for you.”

  “Tell him his son wasn't so good.”

  “I'm not telling him anything. The bastards have still got me covered.”

  Grandfather had turned his attention to the boy and was starting to expound on his duty. They squatted together behind Pat like farmers examining a cow. The old man was explaining something to his grandson and, carefully leafing open the folds of her sex with stubby fingers, he laid out her geography for him to study. John could see that she was loose and juicy, and her hair was matted.

  With a few more words of encouragement and a derogatory glance over his shoulder at his disgraced son, the old man gestured the boy up to his place. His sex was slim and brown, and slid easily into her. Pat sighed and buried her face again.

  Perhaps awed by his audience and by his grandfather's instructions, the boy worked slowly, quite properly. Giving pleasure was more important than taking it and he wanted to make sure that Pat enjoyed herself. But in spite of the old man's approving noises, something was missing. Pat's outraged body refused to co-operate.

  Suddenly, she looked down as Grandfather's hand appeared beneath her hanging breasts. Resting the small pointed bud on the flat of his hand, he gently rolled it round and round until the nipple grew hard and puckered. He moved to the other nipple and did the same. Then his hard brown hand gripped the whole breast, fingers digging into her softness. Pat gave a low whimper and then more as she was expertly milked, first one side and then the other. She began to surrender again.

  The pulling and squeezing sent reluctant ripples through her and down to the pit of her stomach. Her sex re-awoke with a glutton's sleepy appetite for more. Without wishing it, she moaned and started pushing back against the young cock that served her. She was coming again.

  The boy needed no more to set him on fire. His animal instincts took over, and he pushed madly into her until her climatic cries unbalanced him entirely and he fell pulsing onto her back.

  The old man laughed with delight and clapped his hands. Then like a jockey making much of a tired horse, he patted her rounded bottom and set her free. A little unsteady and disoriented, she stood up and flung her shirt around her shoulders. She pushed her dishevelled hair from her eyes and looked around her. On wobbly knees, she came to John and sought his arm around her shoulders.

  The two sides looked at each other for a moment, then Granddad picked up his club from the bonnet of the jeep. In passing, he picked up her pretty panties from the wing mirror and tucked them into his belt. Safely covered by the two bows, he crouched before them and lifted Pat's shirt tail aside. She made no move to resist his staring at her pussy. For the first time, he spoke in Pidgin.

  “Aiyeee! Mi like missie too much. Sweet more!” Then turning to leave, he gave the universal greeting, “Apinoon!”

  “Apinoon!” echoed the others, “Apinoon true!” Smiling, they waved goodbye and stepped into the blackness of the jungle. In seconds they had disappeared.

  John and Pat stood alone, dumbfounded and shaking. Pat was falling onto him, so John slipped off his shirt and used it to sit on. Then the tears came and she sobbed quietly into his shoulder. “I was so scared!”

  “The bastards!” muttered John. “I couldn't do anything.”

  She comforted him. “Don't worry. At least they didn't hurt us.”

  “Are you all right? I mean—did it.... Are you OK?”

  “Of course I'm not OK. I'm bloody furious. If I could get my hands on one of them, I'd tear his balls off.”

  He cradled her silently while she examined her feelings. Contrary to everything she might have expected, she did not feel sullied. Perhaps it was because of the old man's thoughtfulness. Whatever the reason, she did not feel she had been used for anything disgusting. But she did feel she had been used, and that infuriated her. No one should be able to get into her without her invitation. No one! Anger and frustration boiled up inside her until the ridiculousness of her situation intruded. Fancy bending over a car and displaying her naked bottom to the world, or at least to three hungry cannibals. In her heart, she could not really damn them for their reactions. The sight must have been miraculous for them. She chuckled. “I've been graped.”

  “Graped?”

  “Yes—there was a bunch of them,” and she chuckled again.

  Christ, he thought, she's a tough one. Joking so soon.

  “Well, why aren't you laughing? They didn't touch you.”

  “I can't. I felt so useless.”

  “You were useless! Men are meant to rescue women in situations like that. I'd feel a lot happier if they'd raped you too.” She looked up at his miserable face and wriggled out of his embrace. “I could see you, you know. I could see from under my arm. Your thing was starting to stand u
p and wave around while it was happening. If they'd let you have a go, you would have stood in line to take your turn, wouldn't you? Admit it, you animal! Look—it's still hard now!”

  It was true. Once he had understood that no hurt was intended, his wayward friend had shown no sign of a conscience. Even now the sight and feel of a half-naked woman could make him raise his head. Pat's anger surfaced again and she thirsted for revenge. Shrugging her shirt off, she pushed him roughly back into the grass and knelt astride him.

  “You are as bad as the rest of them, but there's only one of you. I'm going to make you feel what it's like!”

  None too gently, she grabbed for him and steered his extending member into her. She was loose and flowing from the attention she had received and, even in his half soft state, she had no difficulty swallowing him to the roots. She could feel him rapidly hardening inside her. She dug her elbows into his chest while she kicked his knees apart and settled between them. “Now, you dirty little pervert, I'm going to rape you. I'll teach you to point that thing at me while I'm in trouble.”

  She started to grind her hair into him, bone against bone, feeling him expand to fill her. Then she took her pleasure of him, quickly, brutally trying to thrust her way into him and put him in his place. He could only acquiesce and hold on while she hammered him into the ground. His arms were around her, and he raised his knees high to her waist to hold her and allow her the freedom to take him as she wanted. Enjoying his helplessness and relishing the grunts she drew from him, she rode without mercy. Her fury could not last long and soon she pulled her head back in ecstasy, stretching every muscle as a final sharp orgasm burst out of her.

  Afterwards, she collapsed on top of him and, feeling him gently stroke the fury out of her, she laughed again. “There! If they were carrying anything nasty... you've got it, too.”

  * * * *

  As the recording finished, the audience forced Valerie into granting a recess by making for the toilets. The ice-cream sellers came out again. This time the chubby girl made a special effort with Priscilla. “Go on, Miss Priscilla. It'll do you good. Here, have one of the nice chocolate ones—they're my favourite. That's right. Good, you see if you don't like it.

  “I do think you're doing well. You and Mr. Trehearne, you're so glamorous, just like on television. Well, you are on television really, but I mean, like on those American stories. Did you see they've made a tee-shirt for you? I bought one with pictures of both of you on it, here and here. It's really nice. It's really nice, and my mother says I should keep it because it might be valuable one day. Oh, look—they're starting again —I'll have to run.”

  Priscilla hurried to finish her ice-cream. The Board did not have the same problem. They could surreptitiously nibble their ice-creams while she was talking.

  “Chairperson, I'm glad we finished that story while there is still a little time for discussion. It is one of the most serious stories in the book. Members of the Board, we have heard over the last two days many instances of female distress portrayed in a so-called erotic light. There is no doubt that Trehearne likes to use that distress to titillate, no more than that. The Authority does not approve of dirty stories, but our main task here is to root out statements that are demeaning and dangerous for women.

  “Trehearne has endeavoured to wriggle out of the net in which he has been caught. His weasel words have even convinced some people that he is not, at heart, an exploiter of women. However, this last story gives the lie to all he would have us believe. It is a story of a woman who is raped, not once but three times, by primitive savages while her friend stands and watches. Watches in a state of excitement, if you can believe anything so vile.

  “The reading public is asked to study and appreciate this. It is a clear situation of a man enjoying the physical abuse of a woman. That in itself is sufficient to destroy the book, and I ask the Board to so decide.”

  Before Valerie could say anything, Trehearne rose to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Investigator. This story is, at first sight, quite simple. A beautiful woman caught and abused. But look at it again, and the ideas and philosophies it illuminates are much more complex.

  “Miss Investigator, I do feel that you're looking at the story through a filter of fixed prejudices. May I ask you to look at the situation just a little more closely? We see in Pat a beautiful and competent woman carrying out her profession in a remote and difficult area. How many of us would put up with such tough conditions just to earn our daily bread? She is living for a short time in close proximity to strong, physical men who have not had the chance to make love to a woman for some time. Isn't it true?”

  Pat was outraged. “And so? Was she meant to offer herself around as a convenience?”

  “I believe in our society she could do whatever she chose to do, as long as she was polite about it, don't you? Let's look at what actually happened. She is beautiful and highly desirable, especially to men in a state of drought, but she is treated exactly like any other worker on the location. She is there to do a job and she does it. To get the full sexual release she wants from John, she has to go out into the bush where she can be private.

  “Her difficulty came when she crossed over the line from her culture into that of the local inhabitants. She was caught in the act of making love over the bonnet of her jeep, and raped by three tribesmen. Their only excuse, if there is one, is that they come from what we call a primitive society.”

  Priscilla exploded. “That's no excuse at all! They raped her and that is wrong, whoever you are!”

  “I agree. It was wrong. But how wrong? Let me try an analogy. You visit London Zoo and put your hand into the lion's cage. Is the lion wrong to bite it off? What a stupid question! There's no point in arguing about it. Such behaviour is in the nature of the beast. It is part of his ‘culture’ if you like.”

  “So men should be free to indulge their beastly natures whenever they like, I suppose?”

  “Of course not. What we are talking about will resolve into a question of culture and a question of degree. If you left this cinema, Miss Investigator, and in the street outside a man were to attack and rape you (God forbid it ever happens), he would always be completely wrong. But now suppose you were to go out into the street and bend over a car bonnet with your skirts thrown up over your back. Suppose the first sight he had of you was your naked bottom sticking up into the air....”

  Valerie was hammering furiously with her gavel. “Trehearne!” she shouted, “What are you talking about? I forbid you to think of Priscilla in that way.”

  “I'm sorry, Madam Chairperson. I'm just trying to show that even in a civilised society, certain actions on a lady's part might encourage undesirable acts, and by encouraging them, you change the degree of the wrongness committed. How well this is illustrated by Pat's contact with a less developed society! The sight of Pat, displayed as she was, must have driven the three tribesmen wild.”

  Priscilla answered slowly and emphatically. “I don't care what you say, Trehearne, there is nothing in this world that can justify rape.”

  “I agree with you. Nothing at all.”

  “Then why did you write about it?”

  “Don't you find the cross-cultural contact instructive?”

  “There is nothing at all instructive about rape! Come on, Trehearne, you've imagined something vicious and sexually degrading to titillate your readers. I can't believe what must be in your mind to allow you to invent such a thing.”

  “Who says I invented it?”

  “Are you saying it actually happened?”

  “Certainly not. I'm not saying anything of the sort. It is my duty to those of my subjects who are real to keep their secrets. What difference would it make if it had actually happened?”

  “Trehearne!” called out Valerie, “I demand that you tell us if this story was true or not.”

  “I'm sorry, Madam Chairperson. I can't. But I don't see what difference it would make.”

  “It makes a great deal of difference i
f it came out of your twisted mind or not.”

  “Madam Chairperson, we are losing sight of sex as the main issue here. Pat accidentally displayed herself to three cannibal tribesmen and they raped her. I could have written that they knocked her on the head and had her for dinner. Would that have made the Investigator feel better?”

  “Enough! You're confusing the issues again. It's getting late and we should not be discussing these issues at this time. I'm going to postpone further discussion until after the weekend. The hearing is adjourned until Monday morning at ten o'clock.”

  Priscilla was relaxing in front of the television that evening when she got two telephone calls. The first was from Tatty.

  “Hello, Priscilla love. Can't speak too long because there are other people around. Did you know Susan Chippings had a private meeting with Trehearne this evening?”

  “What?”

  “Yes. That's right. Just after you'd gone, she managed to get him into one of the dressing rooms for a chat. I don't know what they were talking about, but they were there for maybe twenty minutes. The cinema was shutting up its doors as they left.”

  “Tatty, who exactly are you?”

  “Come on, love. You know you're not meant to ask that. Speak to you later. Byee!”

  The telephone had only been down for moments when Trehearne called her.

  “But why are you calling me?” she asked as soon as he introduced himself.

  “There's a couple of things we ought to discuss, if you have time. You know, we can't talk to each other on stage. I'll come round, OK?”

  “But people might see.”

  “No one's watching your flat, are they? Don't worry, I'll be careful.”

  Priscilla was frantic. The flat looked a mess. She often let it get like that by Fridays, because she had the whole weekend in front of her and could straighten it out. And she was still in her dressing gown. She raced to the bedroom to grab a blouse and jeans, then set to tidying up. She had just about got the dishes into the washer when the doorbell rang.