Foreign Affairs

by Jacqueline George

  “What did you do to her?” demanded Kerima. She lifted the duvet to see whether, in some unfelt way, he had passed the forbidden threshold.

  “It was nice,” said Tulin dreamily. “It was very good.”

  “What did he do?” Kerima was worried.

  “Nothing. He just pushed against me, and I stopped. It was very good. You try.”

  Kerima was still suspicious and ran her hand down between them. Mark moved to let her in, and her hand rubbed against him. “Ah, I understand. That is very bad. Only married people do this.” Her hand remained where it was.

  “Married people and lovers do a lot more than that,” Mark reassured her. “We didn't even take our clothes off.”

  Tulin started to push him off. “Kerima will try it now.”

  Mark did not feel like cooperating. Kerima was a pleasant enough girl, but he had begun to resent her interference. It seemed that every caress he dedicated to Tulin—his special friend—must be passed on to her chaperone. Instead of allowing himself to be pushed between another pair of legs, he rolled onto his back between them and put an arm around Tulin.

  Kerima would not be denied. If he would not lie on top, then she would, and she wriggled on top of him. He felt himself pressed against another soft haven. Watched by her friend, she grasped his face and glued her mouth to his. Instinctively, her hips started to move as she sought excitement from his hardness. Kerima was slower to react than Tulin, and she had more time to enjoy the unfamiliar sensations that were building up inside her.

  “Is it good?” asked Tulin.

  “Yes, it is very good. It is coming....” Kerima panted as her rubbing grew more and more insistent. In a very short time, her short jabbing dance had accelerated to a frenzy, and she boiled over.

  “Was it good?” asked Tulin as Kerima lay draped over him, chest heaving from excitement.

  “It was good. I exploded. It was very good. Is that how it is for married women?”

  Mark laughed. “You've only just started. When you've learned how to do it properly and you stop being a virgin, it's ten times, no, a hundred times better.”

  “A hundred times? That must be very good. Was it good for you also? I want to see.” Kerima lifted the duvet, and they all looked down over his chest and stomach at his sex straining to escape. Tulin cautiously lifted the elastic of his underpants and looked into the hairy shadow beyond. Nothing showed in the darkness, so she continued to pull the waistband away from him. In a rush, he broke free and his sex lay on his stomach, rapidly puffing itself up to full size. Both girls reached for him.

  Tulin made no objection to his hand searching for a way into her tights, and neither did Kerima. Mark lay with the two girls half on him, feeling like a Sultan. Kerima was moving her hips, opening the way and urging him on. Tulin lay still as Mark's fingers slid downwards and discovered only a small patch of trimmed hair. His stomach leaped as he realised what she had done. She chuckled at his surprise and started to move against his fingers.

  It was a scene that they repeated frequently as the weeks passed. The three of them cuddled together in bed, playing and chattering, sometimes dozing. Tulin had become part of his life now. Days without a telephone call seemed empty. It seemed strange that sexual intimacies could only be enjoyed with a third person, and that they could only be alone together when separated by kilometres of telephone cable. Mark was discontented that he could never be completely alone with Tulin, never wake up with her head on his pillow. She felt the same and would sometimes whisper, “One day, Mark, one day.” In the meantime, the girls questioned him and learned as their games continued and their skills grew.

  Kerima surprised Mark with the enthusiasm she brought to bed with her. Tulin's feelings for him he could understand and return, but he gave Kerima no encouragement at all. She seemed to realise that she was only there for the ride, but it did not stop her from having all the fun she could.

  The threat of exposure hung over them like a great shadow. The danger of being discovered and of the dreadful retribution that would follow. One day someone might see the girls entering the apartment, or some inquisitive friend would ask too many questions and the truth would come out. Pleasure would be purchased with pain.

  Their liking for each other blossomed into love, but a love that was overshadowed by the ending of the academic year with its examination period. It would be Tulin's finals. After this, she would leave the University, presumably to become a teacher herself. For Mark, his flow of job applications had brought a junior university lectureship in Nairobi. Well paid, professionally recognised, and it had to be a better place to live than Diyarbakir. Except that the separation would be painful. Very painful.

  Spring brought changes to their games. As the strengthening sun brought green to the countryside, the girls abandoned their thick winter tights. They now jumped happily into bed wearing no more than panties. Mark was less happy. To play together separated by only a thin film of wet fabric was to court disaster, and he took a flight to Ankara to buy perfume for the girls and condoms for himself. The girls approved of both and shed their last piece of clothing so that they could rub themselves against him without the risk of a baby.

  Of course, they risked losing their virginity. An unprincipled move at the wrong moment and Mark could be buried inside them before they realised what had happened. To prevent such thoughtlessness, the girls protected each other. One would grip him tight so only the head of his sex protruded from her fist. She could then rub the purple stub against her friend's most sensitive places until Mark was given permission to come or to change horses.

  How many times he whispered in Tulin's ear only to hear that Kerima would allow no more progress, but Tulin had her way in the end.

  It happened on a day when Kerima had decided to mount herself on all fours over Mark and let him rub against her button. Tulin, her head on Mark's shoulder, bridled his cock and restricted him to short rapid movements. They had been working like this for some time, and Kerima's head had begun to nod, and her eyes were half-closed and distant. Judging her friend to be at the point of losing control, Tulin took her hand away. Mark stopped in surprise. His tip stood poised at Kerima's entrance.

  Kerima's eyes flew open. Slowly, thoughtfully, she pushed herself up from his chest. She knelt there for a moment, clutching her small breasts, Mark's cock held vertically up between her widely spread thighs, its head held against her entrance. Her friends watched her intently, willing her to accept it. Her face was expressionless, she was lost in some inner world. Deliberately, she started to sit down on him. She winced for a moment, and then the faraway look returned to her eyes as she sat down harder and impaled herself on him

  “Ahh!” she murmured, pulling herself back up. “Ahh!” and she sat down again with a rush. “Ahh!” It took only two more movements before she was trembling. Again she dropped down on to his cock and collapsed forward, quaking in ecstasy.

  For a long time nothing was said. They stroked her back and kissed her ears, waiting to hear her feelings. Mark felt Tulin's hand slide over her friend's bottom and investigate the place where he was planted in her. “Did it hurt?” asked Tulin

  “No. Only a small bit.”

  “Was it good?”

  “It was too good. Fantastic. I think I will now start to be a woman.”

  “I want it, too,” said Tulin. She bundled her friend to one side and pulled Mark onto her. She guided him to her entrance and lay waiting for the pain. When it came, it was nothing. The excitement of the day and the weeks of caresses had prepared her well. Mark slid in without a check and started moving backwards and forwards. It was a moment they had sought for many months, this coming together in which all lovers delight. Recklessly, they spent the golden minute and tears rose in the corners of Tulin's eyes. Mark kissed them away. “I feel so happy at last,” was all she would say.

  Final examinations rushed up and swept by in a whirl. The inevitable breaking of student friendships, all the more painful for young pe
ople, coloured the anticlimactic time. Both girls did well, helped by the extra English conversation they had studied, and they prepared to leave Diyabakir. Mark did not go to the airport. They ordered him to keep away as none of them could trust themselves not to break down. Instead, he went for a walk on the old town walls, deep in remorse and hatred of life. He returned early in the evening and sat drinking alone.

  The telephone rang. It was Tulin, crying. Their conversation was painful, and when she asked him to come to Izmir for a visit before he left Turkey, he leapt at the chance to stave off the unlucky day for a week or two. After he had put down the telephone, he set about packing with a light heart.

  Collecting his final salary check was easier than he had anticipated, probably because he told the Principal that he would withhold the exam results until his check was made out. His hard-nosed attitude won him grudging respect, but his feelings had already disengaged from that unlovable place now that its only delight had gone. His day of departure drew nearer with mounting excitement and nightly phone calls.

  It is a long distance from Diyarbakir to Izmir in both space and time, and as he arrived at the modern airport, Mark felt a difference of about half a century. Tulin was waiting at the gate, wearing tee-shirt and jeans and waving frantically. Her father stood beside her, a short, stubby man with large hands. He shook the father's hand and was drawn into his embrace. Tulin gave him no more than a cautious handshake. The kiss had to wait until father had gone for the car.

  “You must be very, very careful and not to touch me. Not ever. My parents are very angry.” They gathered his bags and were walking out of the building when she dropped her bombshell. “I have told my mother what we did together.”

  “You did what?” Mark could not believe what she had said. If her mother knew, the situation was already disastrous. He would be entering a dragon's den and offering himself as lunch.

  “She is my mother,” Tulin said defensively, “And she understands me. I told her about you and me. She is very sad. It was her sister that had the problem with the doctor, and she thought maybe the same thing will happen again. She will not tell my father. I think he would kill us both! Anyway, I told her you are a good man, and she let me invite you.”

  He stood looking at her as pictures of the past and future rioted through his head. Pictures of Tulin naked, with her hair flowing over the pillow; pictures of her bending over him to explore his body, the feelings of despair at being left alone in Diyarbakir. She was not only beautiful and intelligent, she had just shown she could be devious in getting what she wanted.

  Mother could not now offer her in marriage to a Turk. The discovery of her secret would bring shame on the whole family, and if she loved her daughter, she would not want to bring her father's wrath down on her. Tulin was now a fallen woman, unsuitable for marriage, but her father must never suspect it. Mother could only support her quest to secure Mark as a husband. Even marrying a foreign Christian would be preferable to letting the town know what had happened to her daughter.

  Mark was now being taken into the family and he dreaded to think what might happen to him if he refused Tulin. Mother would be watching him very closely.

  Mark could see clearly how this slim beauty held him in her cupped hands, and he enjoyed it. “I think,” he said, “that you must come to Nairobi with me. I am going to ask your father for you.”

  * * * *

  Mary was at her side again, chocolate ice cream in hand. “Isn't it terrible how they treat their women in those Muslim countries, Miss Priscilla? I'm glad I don't live there.”

  “Hi, Mary. How's your boyfriend?”

  She giggled. “He says he'll be glad when this is over because I'm wearing him out. He says I ought to be cool and collected like you, but I tell him it's all show, and you're as bad as me really. We've been doing it so much this last week that I tingle when I walk.”

  “Really, Mary!” Priscilla had to laugh with her. “Don't let Mr. Trehearne hear you or he'll think he's won already.”

  “I do like Mr. Trehearne. He's so debonair. I'd ask for his autograph but I'm a bit, you know, frightened. Not everyone's like you, you know.”

  “You? Frightened? I don't believe it. Here, come with me and I'll get you one.”

  Priscilla led her across the stage to where Trehearne waited in his chair. He stood up, and Priscilla thought she detected a moment of uncertainty in his high-gloss composure. “Trehearne, this young lady wants your autograph. I can't think why. She hasn't asked for mine. Her name is Mary.”

  “Oh, Miss Priscilla! Of course I want yours, too,” cooed Mary.

  Trehearne looked around for something to sign. “What shall we give her, Priscilla? I don't have anything but a business card.”

  “Don't you have a copy of the book? OK, she can have mine. I don't suppose I'll be needing it after today.” She pulled her work-stained copy from the briefcase by her table. “Here, sign this. To Mary and—what's your boyfriend's name? John. Another John. And I suppose you want me to sign the book, too? I must be crazy, but so's everyone else today.”

  She bent to sign the book and was conscious of his fresh male scent as he stood beside her. Together they watched Mary's retreating form. “Poor girl!” said Priscilla. “She says she's going to lose weight so her boyfriend can take her to Greece and they can swim in the nude.”

  “Good luck to her. I hope she doesn't worry so much about looking nice that she forgets what looking nice is for.”

  “No danger of that. She says that listening to your book has made her make love so much that she tingles when she walks.”

  He burst into laughter. “She told you that? I am surprised. I thought she'd be petrified of you.”

  “Of me? She was scared of you.” She dropped her voice. “Why didn't you tell me that you were giving all the money from the book to charity?”

  “Didn't you know? Never mind. It would only have made your job harder. It shouldn't make any difference, you know. It's still a dirty book, if that's how you want to describe it.”

  “You're right, and I still hope to be buying dinner tonight. They're coming back. Good luck.”

  “You too, Priscilla,” she heard him say as she walked back to her desk.

  Valerie started them off again. “Priscilla, try and make your discussion short, and we can get on to the last story before lunch.”

  “Thank you, Chairperson. Members of the Board, Trehearne has skipped cultures again. Now we are in a backward Islamic society and he is posing as the white knight who rescues the beautiful virgin. Rescues her and introduces her to what? His own depraved ideas, of course. He gives her no more than the opportunity to lose her virginity.”

  “You should try it, love,” shouted a heckler. “It's fun!”

  Laughter and catcalls drowned Priscilla's words. The Board tried not to laugh, and when Priscilla glanced over at Trehearne, the twinkle in his eye made her crack as well. She looked down at the table to hide her smile, but the audience caught her. They cheered and clapped until she was laughing outright. Eventually she held up a hand to quieten them.

  “Chairperson, Trehearne is playing with the bodies and emotions of young girls so that he can sell dirty books. That he could have done what he did is bad enough. That people might read about and approve of what he has done is inexcusable.”

  Trehearne stood up and sighed dramatically. “Now I know that the Investigator is not romantic at heart. How can she resist the thought of Tulin and Mark falling in love and getting married?”

  “It's not that. But why do they have to have sex all the time in your book? That should be private!”

  “Miss Investigator, the lovemaking is explicit because this is an erotic book. I would like to think of men and women reading my book together and feeling pleasantly erotic afterwards. And don't forget, a book has no influence at all if it stays on the bookshelf. It's only useful when someone buys it and reads it. I believe people will want to buy it. They will be very much against the Investigator
or the Authority behaving like the Vatican and deciding what they may or may not read.

  “May I suggest that the Investigator is running out of new arguments? The book's main offence is that it doesn't please her particular inclinations, and no amount of argument will change her mind. May I propose that we move on to the last story that rounds off the book?”

  Sundowner

  Pat and Sonya were replete. Lying on the veranda late on Sunday afternoon, the traditional end of the Aussie weekend. There had been a barbie for lunch, lots of good food, cold wine, iced beer and the noise and laughter of old friends. The men standing over there discussing cricket, and the women sitting in a group chattering. Then, as the heat and the alcohol started to take its toll, the crowd dwindled until there were just the three of them left. As soon as the last guests had been waved off, they made for the pool. Throwing their clothes into a promiscuous heap, they settled thankfully into the cool water.

  Cuddled on their favourite seat, they soaked in coolness while their minds relaxed and turned on the heat. Before long they left the water and pulled out the double futon. There in the open air they put the seal on a day of lazy comfort by loving each other to a standstill.

  John had withdrawn first in exhaustion, and after watching the girls for a while had fallen asleep face-down beside them. Soon afterwards, they too had run out of steam. The sun fell towards the horizon, and its pale golden light shone into the veranda. Pat lay stretched out on her side, half supported by cushions, and Sonya was using her as a pillow. The hard and heavy weight of her head nestled between the top of Pat's thigh and her mound. Pat liked to support her friend and enjoyed the silky touch of her hair. They were awake, not talking, thinking of nothing, just enjoying the feeling of having been well loved.

  It was some time now since Pat had first been made welcome here. She had been new to the mining camp then, and John no more than a colleague. Sonya had drawn her in with a very Latin spontaneity and made her a part of the family. In a very short time she had gone from being an outsider to taking an active part in their love life.