Confessions

by Amber Stephens

  ‘Take a couple of hours,’ Verity said as they filed out. ‘I have a meeting straight after lunch, so we’ll meet back here at 3.30pm sharp. I recommend you get down to the gym and burn off some tension. Remember what I said, “Don’t Sleep About, Sweat it Out.”’

  Shelley was desperate for the loo and nipped in while the others headed down to the dining room. Inside, she found Sandra inspecting her bruises in the mirror.

  ‘Hello, Sandra,’ she said politely.

  ‘I’m here tending to my injuries, just in case you thought I might be cruising for lesbian sex.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that,’ Shelley replied. She popped into a cubicle and relieved herself. Coming out, she saw Sandra was still there, dabbing foundation onto the marks.

  She washed her hands, the two women eyeing each other coldly. Shelley decided to just come out with it.

  ‘Sandra, did you search my bag?’

  The nurse glared back at her. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Security.’

  ‘Security?’

  ‘You can’t be too careful in this post-9/11 world.’

  ‘What, you were looking for a bomb? What sort of terrorist would bother trying to blow up a bunch of alcoholics and sex fiends? Surely Bin Laden has bigger fish to fry?’

  Sandra grunted.

  ‘Didn’t find anything though, did you?’ Shelley said, smiling sweetly.

  ‘I will, Little Miss Snooty,’ Sandra replied. ‘I will.’ And with that, she marched out.

  Shelley was quiet over lunch. She listened to the cheerful chattering of the others at the table, now a solid group, all sitting together, after Will’s wobble. She was still thinking about Cliff and Cheryl, and how complex a thing love could be. She tried to think of the most intense relationship she herself had had.

  ‘Who’s Tom?’ Rose said.

  ‘Hmm, what’s that?’ Shelley replied, startled.

  Rose peered at her, intrigued. ‘You just said “Tom” out loud in a sort of resigned voice.’

  ‘Did I?’ Shelley smiled. ‘Sorry, just remembering an old flame.’

  They sat on her parents’ suede sofa, some pop show playing on the TV. They had the place to themselves all morning because her parents had taken her sister to a mall out of town.

  They kissed softly. Tom was getting quite good at this, Shelley thought. Or maybe it was that she was getting used to the idea. Kissing had seemed silly at first. Why make such a fuss about a simple saliva transfer? But she was starting to get the idea. When she kissed Tom, it made her feel close to him. It almost made her feel like they were one person, just for a second or two, when the kiss got really good. Then she’d start worrying about whether she was doing it wrong and the feeling would go away.

  Today the kiss was especially good. Tom pulled back after a while and smiled at her; he looked like he was going to say something soppy and embarrassing.

  ‘Tom,’ Shelley said, saving him from himself.

  ‘Yes,’ he breathed.

  ‘You can put your hand on my breast if you like.’

  His face underwent a transformation. Before he’d been a love-sick puppy with a rubber bone in his mouth. Now, all of a sudden, he was a junk-yard dog with a raw steak. Shelley worried whether she’d made a mistake, but it was too late to back down now.

  Tom kissed her again and she felt a hand groping at her chest. It didn’t feel remotely sexual. She sighed, shrugged inwardly and took off her top. Tom’s jaw dropped and he began pawing feverishly again. Shelley began unbuttoning his shirt.

  She wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but a few minutes later Tom was naked and she was down to her bra and panties. Tom was working on the clasp, grunting and tutting. ‘Who designed this thing?’ he said, ‘Rubik?’

  ‘Here,’ she said, ‘let me do it.’ Though she was anything but sure that this was what she wanted, she unhooked it and whipped off the bra, then lay back, holding a hand across her firm breasts. Tom’s nostrils flared as he watched.

  He took her hand and gently pulled it aside. Shelley felt excited and scared. She’d never shown her body to a boy before. She was terrified he’d screw up his face in disgust, but equally worried he’d lose control and ravage her. She’d been trying not to look at his penis but, sensing movement, took a quick peek. It seemed enormous, and was getting bigger. He reached out a trembling hand and stroked her right breast. She knew he wanted her to touch his penis, he was almost jabbing it into her face. But she wasn’t quite ready for that. She just sat there, wondering whether she was supposed to be feeling quite this terrified. If there was a recipe book you could follow for this sort of thing she’d be okay. She’d just look at the next instructions, check the photo of what it was supposed to look like finished, then get cracking a few eggs, but she had only a vague idea what was supposed to happen next, and she was fairly sure Tom didn’t know much more.

  Cian’s honking laughter dragged Shelley’s thoughts back to the table. She looked up to see what was going on.

  ‘… so I pulled my trousers back on, took off the wig, and left through the window,’ Will said, ending some tale of nefarious adultery, no doubt. Cian, Cliff and Larry looked amused, Cheryl shocked and Abigail downright disgusted. It was good to see Will had found his place within the group, Shelley thought.

  After lunch Shelley made her excuses, saying she needed to stretch her legs and wandered towards the exit. Rose came running after her.

  ‘Do you want some company?’ Rose asked, smiling kindly.

  ‘Would you be offended if I said I wanted to be alone for a while?’ Shelley replied.

  ‘Not at all,’ Rose said. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m just nervous about telling my story on Friday. I’m not good at public speaking at the best of times. I had to make a two-minute speech at my cousin’s wedding, just to thank the caterers basically, and I burst into tears half-way through and hugged the head waiter.’

  Rose laughed. ‘I like you, Shelley,’ she said. ‘You’re sweet. I can see you’ve got hang-ups, but you’re honest about them. And you’re not one of those people who masks their feelings with humour.’

  ‘Only because I’m rubbish at telling jokes,’ Shelley said.

  ‘Anyway, like I said, I’m here to help you work through your story if you like, you can try it out on me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Shelley said. Wondering if that was really such a good idea. Two women alone in a room, so ripe they were almost starting to ferment, talking about sexual escapades.

  She headed off into the gardens. The feel of spring was in the air and the tulips were just starting to open their vulva-shaped heads. The lawn looked like it might need a cut soon.

  Shelley made for the pool house. There was a side door she could enter through before popping into her boiler room to write up the story she’d just heard. She settled down on the mats and fired up the BlackBerry. Before she started she collected her thoughts. She knew exactly how she was going to write this, finding it easier as she went along and starting to believe that she could keep up the column after she returned to London, even without the confessionals to prompt her. She was more comfortable with the language now. Cocks, pussies, balls, arseholes. They were just words. She could do words.

  It wasn’t just professionally she had loosened up. Maybe sex didn’t have to be the big deal she’d made it out to be.

  She e-mailed Briony.

  Hey Binns. How’s it going? If you see Aidan, can you prod him please and remind him he’s supposed to be sending me more details of my sexy background. If only I had half of your experiences, I’d be all right. Worried-face. Everything okay with you? Got any juicy stories you’re not using in your column I can pinch?

  Then she began typing Cliff and Cheryl’s story. A few minutes later she got a message back from her friend.

  Hi Sweetie, I’m all right, though it’s red wing day. Or red wing fortnight more like, I really don’t like this new coil. I’m planning to talk some po
or bloke into surfing the crimson tide later so I can write about it in my column. In the meantime I’m on my high-iron ‘rag’ diet – lunch was four bottles of Beamish and a bag of spinach. Don’t know what’s got into Aidan, but since he got back from his sales trip he won’t stop talking about you. Shelley this, Shelley that. Hmmm, interesting.

  Will certainly prod him, but I shouldn’t be too surprised if he prods you at some time in the not-too-distant future.

  Love Brie

  PS Did you know you actually wrote the words ‘worried-face’ rather than use an emoticon?

  Shelley knew Briony was just teasing her, and yet maybe there had been something in the way Aidan looked at her in the Mountain Room.

  Hey Brie,

  Aidan does NOT see me like that. He popped in here a couple of days ago to see how things were going, and it was all strictly professional. Yes I know I wrote ‘worried face’, I can’t figure out how to do emoticons on this stupid thing. Angry face.

  Sx

  She shook her head and got back to typing up the story. There was no point speculating about what Aidan may or may not feel. He was her boss and nothing more. She needeÏd to look elsewhere for romance. Maybe behind the bar at The Crown? Shelley resolved to pop in for a bottle of Pinot Grigio as soon as she got back. Maybe she’d work up the courage to ask for some cheese and onion crisps this time.

  After Shelley had finished typing, she closed her eyes for a moment. The boiler room was warm and felt safe, the dull throb of the filtration system soothed her as she lay back on the mats.

  Shelley and Tom were both naked. They knelt facing one another, each inspecting the other’s body. Shelley was surprised to find Tom, naked, was actually pretty good looking. He had a swimmer’s physique, toned and slim, with broad shoulders. She tried not to look at his stiff cock. It looked too big to fit anywhere inside her. Especially the bit where she knew he wanted to put it. But she supposed now was as good a time as any other. She had to lose the dreaded cherry sooner or later, and why not with Tom? He was nice and didn’t try to force things. A girl could do worse, she decided. This was it.

  So she lay back and took Tom’s hand, pulling him down on her. Then she remembered.

  ‘Do you have a condom?’

  He looked panicked for a second, before nodding. ‘Yes, where’s my wallet?’

  He got up and tiptoed across the room, as you do when you’re naked in someone else’s house, and dug into his jeans, slung across a chair. Shelley lay there, feeling self-conscious, as he came back, clutching the silver packet and beaming at her like a four year old who’d just found a toy in a cornflakes box.

  Tom sat down beside her, put one hand awkwardly on her left breast and kissed her. These were the bits she liked, she decided. Then he broke off and unwrapped the condom. Shelley watched nervously, sure he was going to screw up and puncture the damn thing.

  He took hold of his cock and popped the rolled-up condom on like a milk bottle top, then began rolling it down. Shelley had never seen it done on a real penis before, just on a banana in Sex Ed. Tom was thicker than a banana and slightly less bent. He got it on, nodded in satisfaction at his own handiwork, like her dad used to do when he managed to put up a shelf without hammering a nail through his thumb, and climbed back on top of Shelley.

  ‘Spread your legs a little,’ he whispered. She obliged, and he slid down between them, bringing the tip of his rubberised cock to her outer lips. It tickled and she felt a surge of fear.

  ‘This might hurt a bit,’ he said. She nodded, she knew. Then three things happened at once.

  The first thing was Tom shoving himself deep inside her, the second was her screaming with the pain of it, and the third was that the door was flung open and her little sister Madeleine walked in and asked her what she was doing with that boy.

  Tom rolled off in surprise and tumbled to the floor, his penis rapidly shrinking as Shelley’s parents followed Madeleine into the room and stood there, blinking in surprise at their daughter, legs splayed and naked on the sofa they hadn’t yet begun making the payments for.

  She hadn’t thought about that episode in years. Though sometimes, when she was with a man, the horrified faces of her parents, full of shame and disappointment, would fly unbidden to her mind’s eye.

  She decided she needed some fresh air and left the room, tucking her BlackBerry safely into her pocket before she did so. It was a bright day, with a nippy little wind and she breathed in the spring air.

  As she approached the drug rehab building, she saw Sandra backing out of a swing door, carrying a tray of medication. Shelley couldn’t face another verbal lashing, so ducked behind a bush until Sandra had passed. As she hid there, peering out from between the fronds, she heard a noise and turned around to see a small window high in the wall and mostly obscured by greenery. She could hear muffled voices coming from inside the room. Her journalist’s nose demanded she investigate. By standing on a twisted tree branch, she could gain just enough height to peer in through the dusty window. She almost fell off again.

  Through the window she could see Dr Galloway’s office, a desk, a chair, charts on the wall and an examination table. Perched on the edge of the table was the good doctor himself. On her knees in front of him, sideways-on to Shelley, was Verity Parrish, looking less mumsy than usual with her hair messed up and a good half-foot of Galloway’s cock in her mouth. As Shelley watched, Verity demonstrated that her experience of all matters sexual wasn’t just theoretical. Her wet lips slithered up and down Galloway’s pulsating member, the ridges glistening with her saliva as she pulled back, before plunging forward again.

  Celibate for three years, my foot!

  In a world where just about everyone seemed to be having sex except for her, she’d seen Verity as a kindred spirit.

  There was also something else though and it took Shelley a moment or two to identify the emotion. It was jealousy. She hadn’t had any real intention of pursuing a romantic attachment with Galloway, but she’d been enjoying characterising him as the romantic lead of the novel in her head. No one wants to see Mr Darcy getting noshed off by the governess.

  The doctor had his head back and his eyes closed. One of his hands rested gently on the back of Verity’s head as the counsellor gobbled him. Shelley watched in mounting amazement as Galloway began to tremble and with his hand guided Verity to move faster. Shortly he came, thrusting his hips forward and plunging his cock ever deeper into Verity’s accommodating throat. Verity took the come like a professional, swallowing as she sucked and never missing a beat. When Galloway opened his eyes and brought his head forward, Shelley decided it was time to beat a retreat.

  She dropped down to the ground and rushed off. The image still burned on the inside of her retinas: Verity’s red cheek bulging with Dr Galloway’s manhood. Shelley found a bench with a view of the pond and plonked herself down, heart thumping. A pair of swans barely rippled the water as they moved silently from left to right. The breeze whipped her hair as she thought about what she should do with the information. Briony’s voice popped into her head: Include it in the report. It’s a cover story. Think how pissed off Freya will be.

  On the other hand, Shelley’s sense of morality told her she should go and see Dr Jones and let her know exactly what her staff were up to. It was hardly appropriate for the two professionals in the sex addiction treatment team to be performing oral sex while they were supposed to be working.

  But then again, Shelley thought, what they got up to in private was their own business. If she hadn’t been sneaking around she would never have known.

  Eventually she decided she would go and see Dr Jones, despite feeling this was more the action of the old, prim Shelley rather than the new, thawed version she was beginning to like.

  She was angry though and began justifying her decision to herself as she entered the building and stumped up the stairs. Galloway was supposed to be available for them whenever they needed him; Verity should have been preparing for that afternoon
’s session, Larry’s confessional. Shelley didn’t want to splash this story and ruin their careers, but neither was she happy with them getting away with it. As it was she felt the course was badly run and over-priced. She felt a loyalty to her fellow group members and was determined to speak up for them.

  The door to Dr Jones’ office was ajar and when Shelley knocked it swung open. Shelley stepped inside and stopped, staring.

  Dr Jones sat slumped at her desk, head on the table, a half-empty bottle of cheap gin on the blotter before her. Her hand clutched an empty glass. Shelley stepped up to the desk and peered into the doctor’s face. It was puffy, and emanated a sharp smell of spirits.

  ‘Geez Louise,’ Shelley muttered to herself. ‘The staff are either at it like bunnies or sacked out under the table. Maybe I should go to the tabloids after all.’

  She shook her head and left.

  Thirty minutes later and they were re-assembled in the Mountain Room. Shelley inspected Verity. Her cheeks were a little flushed and the bun not as perfect as usual, but apart from that no one could ever have guessed that half an hour earlier she’d swallowed half a litre of Dr Galloway’s DNA.

  ‘Good afternoon everyone,’ Verity began. ‘We’re here this afternoon to listen to Larry tell us about how he came to be here. You know the drill by now. Be receptive and don’t interrupt. Larry, please begin when you’re ready.’

  They all turned to look at the him. Larry sat, legs crossed, looking very comfortable. He smiled and held his hand out, palms up, a gesture of surrender, and began speaking.