by Unknown
‘Get the beers in, Kip,’ I finally ordered, as his desire to be told what to do became palpable. He went towards the kitchen.
‘No, you tosser, from the off-licence.’
He nodded resignedly and I heard his old beloved Volkswagen Karmann Ghia rev up as I put the TV at the foot of the bed. The off-licence is two hundred yards away but Kip doesn’t believe in walking. His car, his Suzuki Bandit and his mountain bike are equal in his affection, so it’s not that he doesn’t like exercise. It’s just that he thinks that feet are for being whacked with a ruler from time to time rather than for motion.
‘You still screwing him, Bliss?’ asked Vicki, almost incredulously.
‘Only now and then,’ I answered. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s all right, I suppose, once you get past the trendy hair and clothes. He’d be better if he admitted to himself he’s gay.’
‘He’s not,’ I assured her. ‘He’s a masochist. Well, mainly. It’s not that he hasn’t been with men, it’s more that he doesn’t mind too much who’s doing the hurting.’
‘Oh, right. So why are your knickers on the floor?’
I winked at her. ‘He owed me one. Actually he still owes me several. Jealous?’
‘Don’t be daft. I’m not interested in straight women. It’s time you learned to take no for an answer.’
It amuses me to tease Vicki. I don’t really fancy her at all, but I think she quite likes me pestering her from time to time, especially lately when her confidence has been so knocked by Jo. To bolster it I told her about Kip’s idea of watching me and her together.
‘If he’s a masochist he wouldn’t enjoy it, would he? Most men are pathetically keen to know what lesbians get up to, and the thought of watching two women should be a treat.’
‘Yes, but then the scenario was that I send him home without any contact.’
She continued trying to work out whether that wouldn’t still be a treat for a masochist while I put my knickers back on, taking my time over it as though I was trying to get her going. Her cheeks were quite pink and I think she took it as the compliment it was intended to be. It has to be said that I do have nice long legs – my calves enhanced by the cheap black stilettos I bought to go with the posh skirt – and fairly muscular but shapely thighs, crowned by a nice blonde bush and lovely pink lips, plumped and moistened of course by Kip’s attentions. The knickers were pretty good too: a rather pricy cream satin thong, only mine thanks to Dad’s last cheque. As I pulled them up I turned round as though unconsciously to show her my back view, just so she could see what she was missing. Smoothing my skirt down for the second time I gave her a lecture about the material and the role of polymers in twenty-first-century fabric technology, inviting her to feel the texture of the skirt. She felt my arse, laughing, and I wondered if one day I might persuade her that the odd straight woman wouldn’t hurt, personally or politically.
Kip came back with a case of Beck’s and I made him confess the enormity of his crime in conspiring to put Rachel out of action. Of course as Vicki was having the flat it hadn’t occurred to me to ask her if she might take Rachel’s place. She’s only a social worker so I don’t suppose anyone would mind if she didn’t turn up for work for three months. In fact if I told you which borough she worked for, you’d probably bet they wouldn’t even notice. Anyway she looked almost offended at the idea that she could possibly give up her case-load for more than a long weekend, so that was that.
She left after just one beer, which is probably just as well when you know what a terrible driver she is, leaving me and Kip cracking open the second bottle and looking at each other challengingly. I was still slightly confused as to whether I should punish him, or whether not punishing him would be the greater punishment.
‘Phase two of compensation package,’ he offered. Having had a large vodka and a beer I was feeling mellow and tempted to agree and get him to give me a nice lazy screw but he was pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.
‘I have a friend –’ he announced, leaving the sentence hanging. As it was I was fairly impressed; I thought Rachel and I were the only ones he had.
‘I have a friend,’ he repeated, ‘in South America.’
‘What?’ Astonishment would be too mild a word for my reaction. ‘Why didn’t you say so before? Where is she?’
‘He,’ he corrected. ‘Charlie, or Carlos as he now calls himself, is at this very minute –’ looking at his watch he made mental calculations ‘– eating his lunch in a seafood restaurant in downtown Miraflores – and in case you don’t know, that’s in Lima.’
Stupefied, I looked at him vacantly. ‘Which Lima?’
‘How many Limas are there? Lima in Peru. The one you are flying to in a few days’ time. I managed to get in touch with him and he says –’ he scrutinised the piece of paper ‘– that he would love to meet any friend of mine and show her round the city.’
I snatched the paper out of his hand. ‘Oh yeah? Let me see.’
It was an e-mail from Lima, all right, or so it said. Carlos started off with ‘hey buddy long time no hear’ stuff and then went on to say he’d been in Peru for a couple of months as a representative of a development agency and, yes, he would be delighted to meet me. He’d be in the office all day apart from lunch at a seafood restaurant, etc.
‘If this is kosher, how come you didn’t tell me before? Even if Rachel had been coming, it would have been nice to know someone in Lima.’
Kip had the smug look of a magician who’d pulled off the perfect sleight of hand.
‘Because last time I heard from him he was in the States. However, he just happens to be originally from Peru, so when it turned out that Rachel was going to be in plaster for six weeks I phoned him at work to see if he had any old aunties or mates in South America and, amazingly, they told me he’d been working there himself for the last six months, moving around a bit, and was actually at this moment in time in Peru. They gave me the e-mail address and voilà, or hola, if that’s more appropriate.’
Studying the e-mail I tried in vain to think of the Spanish for ‘there you go’, but could only come up with ecco!, which is most definitely Italian. Half of me decided I should kick Kip out now that he’d atoned in some way, though not completely, for his part in Rachel’s downfall and get back to the language tapes but the other half was so pleased to have a contact in the one city I had been feeling slightly intimidated by that the least I could offer was a reciprocal wank.
‘That’s hello,’ I said absently. ‘It’s – ecco – bollocks, I keep thinking of that one – it’s voilà, no it’s . . . oh sod it. Where do you know him from? And what did you mean, Charlie who now calls himself Carlos? If he’s from Peru, how come he used to be a Charlie?’
‘Because he’s half English and half Peruvian, a bit of a donkey like you.’
‘Watch it. Now I’ve got his e-mail address you’ve got nothing to trade with. Insults are out, except in the me-to-you direction. And I presume you didn’t mean he’s hung like one.’
‘Sorry, just clarification. And I don’t know how he sizes up. Anyway, we met at university, same college, different class of degree. I did journalism after while he went to Harvard, then our paths crossed again briefly when I was on the Evening Standard and he was working for some high-flying management consultant in London. Then he got some job in Madrid and I went into mags. He moved to the States a couple of years ago. Don’t you remember I stayed with a friend in New York when I went over on assignment last year?’
‘Strangely enough I don’t remember every detail of your itineraries,’ I said drily.
‘I bet,’ said Kip complacently. ‘Anyway I’ve always thought of him as half Spanish but, believe it or not, Bliss, I have been agonising over the predicament I’ve put you in and it came to me that in fact his father was Peruvian. There was a bit of a left-wing coup before Charlie was born and the family left when he was a kid. I vaguely remember him talking about it; they were
quite well off but the government gave the land to the peasants and they were kicked off the estate, estancia or whatever they call it. Charlie spent the first ten years or so of life in Spain, then came here to school.’
‘So what’s he like, apart from the biographical details? Looks, personality?’
‘Quiet, reflective, strong, muscly; quite a bit like me, actually.’
Bless.
‘Sounds a great improvement on you,’ I observed archly, getting fonder of mouthy, dissolute Kip by the minute. ‘Don’t tell me he’s got the same predilections.’
I fixed his eyes and kneeled between his legs. My fingers pushed his shirt further apart and fastened gently round his nipples and then squeezed, just a little firmly, then harder. His breath quickened in anticipation.
‘So?’ I demanded, pinching meanly. I let go with my right hand and pushed it up to pull his head back hard. His angular face was pale under the raven black hair.
‘No, he hasn’t. I don’t know exactly, and that’s the truth. But a girl I know who went out with him said he was . . . he was weird.’
My breath was coming harder too. ‘How?’
He narrowed his eyes as I unzipped him and curled my hand round his hard-on. ‘He made her dress up, corsets and so on.’
‘I like doing that; it’s normal.’
‘And he had handcuffs but she wasn’t into it.’
My interest was definitely piqued now, and a pulse beat between my legs. Kip was big and solid and I swept my hands up and down him hard, the way he likes. ‘Did he make her do anything she didn’t want?’
‘Christ, no, this is a friend of mine; he obviously just likes a little rôle play. Don’t tell me you’re worried?’
‘Just excited. Get your kit off.’
He stood to take off his trousers, and as always he turned his back so that I could see the faint scars, white even against Kip’s luminously pale body, where he was whipped once, too hard, which made him realise that his pleasure in a little pain didn’t extend to real masochism. For my part I like to imagine being whipped while crying out for mercy, but if it came to it I’d wimp out. Still, looking at Kip’s scars and imagining myself in his place gives me a little thrill. Discarding my skirt and black top I stood tall in my high heels, still in my expensive cream satin bra and knickers, but in my mind I was wearing a black basque and suspenders for Carlos, alias Charlie.
‘What does he look like?’
‘Oh don’t mind me, the one who’s actually here. Dark, long hair, short body, muscular, nice face, big nose, like a Spaniard, you know? Can we fuck?’
‘Not yet.’ I kneeled on the floor and took his cock in my mouth and gave him plenty of spit and a mixture of little licks and big sucks. Then, when he started to get comfortable, I dug my nails into the cheeks of his arse, both sides, and rotated my hands while still gouging away. He made guttural noises in his throat but didn’t say a word as I ran my hands slowly down the back of his thighs, still digging in.
‘Vicki thinks you’re a repressed homosexual,’ I told him after I removed my mouth to make way for my hands. ‘But I told her you didn’t care who you fucked as long as they dug in their nails.’
‘There’s a guy at work,’ he gasped as I circled my left hand round the root of his prick and swept my right up and down the smooth, saliva-wet length of him. Compared to the paleness of his body his cock stood out pinkly from the smooth black pubic thatch. I wanted more about the guy at work and I wanted Kip to enjoy telling me, so I reached over to my desk and pulled out my little box of tricks. He sighed with satisfaction as he saw me fit the slim finger-sized attachment on to the vibrator and I gave his balls a nasty little squeeze as I told him to rubber up and get down on all fours like the dog he was, both of which intensified his excitement. Lubeing his arse and the vibrator, I pushed the vibrator slowly but firmly inside him and wriggled it around a bit until I was sure he was loving it even before I switched it on. Leaving it hanging out of him I took my knickers off, then got Kip’s arse buzzing as I lowered myself directly under him for face-to-face, cock-to-cunt contact. I wrapped my legs around his back and levered myself up so I could slide wetly over him. He was even bigger than he had been before and I pushed hard against him, my legs gripping and my hands moving back to the vibrator, which I started moving slowly in and out.
‘This guy?’ I queried.
His voice was coming in little jerks. ‘Photographer, called Stevenson. Long hair, tied back. Wears black, great body; he’s got presence, you know? Likes to talk sex, almost made me come in the bar just by talking.’
‘What? The man who likes hands-on viciousness nearly came without even a stroke?’
‘Yeah, once we established a sort of connection I told him what I liked and he said it reminded him of a story about a woman he knew who had two guys who both wanted her but before they could have her she made them submit to hurting each other while she watched. It wasn’t anything too weird at first: a little light whipping, pinching, gouging, that sort of thing, just enough so they’d scream a bit and beg her to let them stop, then she’d reward them with a shag. But things got harder and meaner and when she said they could stop they asked to carry on for longer before fucking her.’
‘Sounds like she might have got her come-uppance.’ Clamped hard around Kip’s cock I moved my legs so that I could dig my heels in his sides. His breath was fast and I guessed he was almost there.
‘Yeah, but then she thought she’d teach them a lesson and she made them fuck each other. At least, she thought she was making them, but maybe they wanted to. It progressed slowly at first, a finger or two then the slim end of the vibrator, but before too long they were just giving it to each other up the arse. She got off on watching them and then let them take it in turns to fuck her and finger her, but after a while they were so turned on they came with each other.’
‘So they did without her?’ My clit was connecting like an electric point with the plug of Kip’s bone and spreading a nice warm current through me but I needed more. Leaving the vibrator buzzing inside him I eased off my shoes without breaking rhythm. As Kip confirmed that the guys turned the tables and gave her a quick hand job after she’d watched them I stuck one stiletto in Kip’s mouth, to his joy, and used the toe of the other on my clit. He bowed his head in shame and excitement and came just a second after I did.
I detached myself from his cock and lay back on my elbows. With the shoe in his mouth, the johnny on his fast-shrivelling prick and the vibrator up his arse, he looked as ridiculous as even he could wish. I got him with the Polaroid; although he’d messed up my travelling plans, I was sated and felt generous enough to give him a special treat.
The going-away party was a blast, full of people who had absolutely nothing in common. Rachel’s leg arrived plastered and that’s how everyone left, apart from Kip’s object of desire, the man in black who was attractive but too self-contained. Kip was welcome to him. Daily phone calls had kept me aware of the progress of their relationship, which was tantalisingly slow. While pretending to do a line or two in a toilet – Stevenson was pretending, that is; Kip has never said no to an illegal substance in his life – the man gave Kip ‘the most amazing blow job I’ve ever had in my entire life’ (thanks a bunch, pal) except he didn’t let him come. Well, if he had a pain in his balls for the rest of the night, I guess that suited him just fine.
Mum came with Terry, her new guy who I’ve met once or twice and who gives me the creeps. While he’s never blatantly groped me, he uses any excuse to get his hands on my body and I can just see it reflected in his nasty little John Lennon glasses that he’s not going to let go of his sordid little mother and daughter fantasy. Dream on, sunshine.
The crowd from work was miffed to be out-hipped by Kip and Stevenson and made up for it by swanning around me as though I were their bestest friend. OK, I admit I did say I’d probably be back after my travels, but it’s like a sort of maternity leave in that there’s nothing to stop me telling them to shove it
, which is probably exactly what I’ll do. A few eyebrows were raised by the blow-up of the Kip Polaroid I’d put on the wall, but everyone else loved it. I wasn’t sure about exhibiting it in front of Mum, but at her age and vanity level she can’t see that well without the glasses she never wears, so I’m not sure she even knew what it was. Anyway, photography could be the next project for me so, despite my reflex antipathy to Stevenson, his approval of the picture led me to be nice to him in an abrasive way, which seemed to go down quite well.
The lesbian contingent, headed by Vicki and without Jo, had a great time and it was brilliant to see her relaxed and happy. It was even more brilliant to see the looks I was getting from her friend Sally, which improved as the evening wore on and more booze went down.
‘Your hair’s terrific; why didn’t you do it before?’ she said as she ran her hand over my newly cropped head. ‘Hey, have you seen the light? I mean, planning to go away with Rachel, cutting your hair; are you making some kind of statement here?’
‘What, an outing? No, but I’m very flexible,’ I told her, trapping her hand on the nape of my neck. ‘Are you?’
She laughed and raised her eyebrows. ‘What time are you expecting this to break up?’
‘I don’t know, but you look like you’ve got staying power.’ I fluttered my newly dyed eyelashes a couple of times and gave her the narrow-eyed, parted-lips look and hoped for the best, though if my new highlighted deep fringe and feathered nape didn’t do the trick I didn’t know what would. I’ve been thinking about short hair for a while but needed the impetus of the trip to get it organised. With my healthy-looking complexion and freckles it gave me a gamine look that seemed to be appealing, if only to lesbians and pain-hungry wannabe gay guys.
As it turned out Sally couldn’t stay the distance, as Mum and Terry seemed to have set in for the night and Rachel was rambling on about the trip of a lifetime she’d had to forgo while Unity and Franco, the two I do like from work, were engaged in landscaping her cast.