The Exchange (Mischief Books)

by Williams, Carrie

  Feeling me start to buck, the dark-haired guy lost control and came with a yell, almost driving me into the wall behind me. Then we fell away from each other, and I was invaded by a sense of Zen contentment unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

  It wasn’t to last long. I dozed for a while, and then I woke up and looked at the naked bodies scattered around me and I had a sudden revelation of a decidedly unZen kind.

  I had a problem, I realised. I was addicted to the wrong kind of the sex, to showing myself off, to being looked at. I didn’t exist unless I was being watched, unless I was doing something wild and controversial. I was getting my kicks from anonymous sex. That was OK once in a while, but since I was in London it was all I’d really done.

  And all that might be OK when you’re eighteen, but I wasn’t a teenager any more and I had to accept that if I carried on on this course, I was going to go off the rails. Not only that but I’d end up both a laughing stock and an alcoholic or maybe even a junkie. I’d remain with the unhealthy circles of people who can’t accept that at some point you have to grow up – that partying your life away is ultimately very sad.

  I got dressed in the light of the candles, now burned down to nubs. I blew a kiss at my unnamed lovers – it had been fun, while it lasted, but most of all it had brought me to this point of self-knowledge.

  I walked out into the London streets, awash with excitement of an entirely new kind, stronger than any alcohol or drug. I’d known there was a reason I was in London, and now I knew what that reason was.

  Chapter 17: Rachel

  Waking up the next morning, I felt clarity. Much as I liked Kir, and much as I'd enjoyed the things in which he and the others had initiated me, I definitely didn’t want our future relationship to go beyond the professional. I didn’t expect him to have a problem with that, but if he did, I was willing to forsake the introductions he had promised to make for me. My new-found confidence sexually also translated itself into the feeling that I would make it alone in my career. It may take longer than if Kir intervened, but I would get there in the end. For the first time I believed in my own star.

  This new feeling gave me the guts to call Konrad and to ask him if any of his model entourage might be willing to pose for me. I’d done with the girls at the club, and though I had a lot of work to do on editing and selecting the photos in conjunction with Camille, I was yearning to find a new project that would get me out there and shooting. Though normally I did avoid posed shots, I had a notion that in using fashion models and in building up their trust in a studio context, I might ultimately be able to work with them in other ways that might allow us both to bring out some truths about the fashion industry, both glamorous and less palatable.

  Konrad sounded genuinely pleased to hear from me and asked me to meet him in a nearby café to talk it over. I felt a bit of trepidation; I’d changed dramatically as a person since I’d last seen him, and I wondered if it would show in some way. Not that it was of interest to him who I was or wasn’t, but I felt self-conscious seeing people from ‘before’ now I had this new persona. I felt like all the sex and debauchery was written all over my face, inscribed in my body and all its movements, and I was afraid that Konrad and other people too would be able to pick up on it and judge me.

  I showered and headed for the café regardless. Konrad was already there, and when I joined him at the table it was immediately apparent that I wasn’t the only one who had changed. Where previously Konrad had been ebullient, loud, full of childish enthusiasm, news and stories, today he was quiet and even a little evasive.

  When I asked him what he’d been up to, he shrugged and looked past me and out of the window into the dwindling evening light for a while, then cleared his throat.

  ‘To be honest,’ he said, still avoiding my gaze, ‘I’ve been a bit out of the circuit. I don’t know – I just woke up one morning and it all seemed so futile. I wondered what the hell I was doing with my life.’

  I reached out and gently touched his forearm – something I’d never have dared do before.

  ‘Perhaps you’re missing Rochelle,’ I suggested.

  He shook his head vehemently. ‘That’s part of the problem,’ he replied. ‘I’m not missing her at all.’

  ‘Oh.’ I looked down at my drink, unsure what to say.

  ‘There’s something missing there too,’ he said. ‘Rochelle – I shouldn’t really be telling you this. I hardly know you.’

  ‘I’m very discreet,’ I promised him, desperate to hear the rest.

  ‘Well, it’s very personal and I’ve never told anyone before, but I never seem to have been able to make her come. And I feel so useless.’

  ‘Did you try talking to her about it?’

  ‘I can’t. Our relationship really is so superficial, I don’t think I can talk to her about anything serious.’

  ‘You think she needs to see someone?’

  He shook his head. ‘Oh, she can come all right. She brings herself off when I’m in the bathroom. She thinks I don’t know, but I hear her – or I look through the crack in the door. It makes me feel like hell. And I’m pretty damn sure she’s come with people in the past, men and women. For some reason, it just doesn’t seem to gel for us.’

  ‘So you’re relieved to be freed of that pressure?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Are you going to break up with her?’

  ‘I guess so. I’m pretty sure she’s getting fucked senseless over in London anyway. We’ve never promised each other anything in that respect.’

  ‘And what about you?’ As soon as I’d said it I wished I hadn’t. I’d crossed a bridge I shouldn’t have. But there was no going back.

  He smiled ruefully. ‘To be honest, I’ve rarely strayed. The trouble is that when – well, when you look like me, you have people throwing themselves at you all the time. And it starts to suck after a while. At first it’s flattering and then it’s demeaning, that people just want you for your face and body.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I said, but he looked at me a bit sternly.

  ‘You have no idea,’ he said.

  I wondered if I should feel insulted at the inference that I was too ugly to understand the problems he had, but I knew he hadn’t meant it that way so I let it go.

  ‘About this project,’ I said. ‘Think any of your crowd will be up for it?’

  ‘Well, like I said I’ve been keeping my head down. I got a bit fed up with it all so I’ve been mooching around at home, reading some self-help books and catching up on movies and just generally trying to work out what I’m going to do with my life now the modelling and the partying have fallen by the wayside. But I can call a few people.’

  ‘That would be great. But can you tell them that they’re not to be straight modelling shots? It’s not about fashion or adopting a persona. It’s about getting beyond that, capturing something of their essence – the real them, if you like.’

  At this, Konrad leaned forward in his seat. ‘Would you be able to do this for me?’ he said. His voice was suddenly strangely childlike.

  I hesitated. This wasn’t what I had in mind – not given the effect he had on me in the past. A vision came into my head of him dancing for me in the room in the Hôtel Amour, and I remembered how he’d made me feel. I’d had a massive crush on him and I didn’t want to start up on that all over again. For once I felt strong; I didn’t welcome reverting to that old sense of hopelessness and of not being in control of my feelings.

  ‘Why not?’

  He sounded almost hurt. How could I get out of this without explaining that I’d worked hard to get him out of my mind and couldn’t face falling for him all over again? I was in a bind.

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  ‘When?’

  He sounded incredibly keen, and I thought that maybe my project was a way for him to fill the new void in his life created by his decision to stop partying. It was still modelling, in a way, but I sensed that my aim of getting deeper th
an skin had appeal to him. Konrad, I realised, was also looking for the real him.

  We arranged to meet the next day, at Rochelle’s. The setting seemed inappropriate, disrespectful to Rochelle, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else. So we agreed on a time and discussed a few of the details, and then we went our separate ways. Konrad, I sensed, was as thoughtful as I was.

  ***

  In clothes, he looked almost demure. It was his boyish face, unlined, seemingly open and frank, of a beauty so pure it took your breath away. He was looking towards me, or rather towards my lens, and I felt lucky to have such a prize specimen posing for me. Having long preferred to take edgy shots – pictures of outsiders, the unconventional or even the scarred – I’d dismissed beauty as boring. Not any more.

  He held the camera’s gaze, and not for the first time I felt forgotten, superfluous. Professionals such as him often seem to forget the presence of the photographer. It’s as if they’re making love to the camera itself, the way some of them come on to it. As if they want to fuck it. Not for nothing, I sometimes think, are big long lenses described as phallic.

  I didn’t know what to make of it all. Demureness meets wantonness in one package. It was disorienting. I felt as if the ground was falling away from under my feet. I felt as if I wasn’t in control, and a photographer needs to be in control, or the whole thing falls apart. I wasn’t the kind to leave things to chance and serendipity, although I’d eased up a little of late.

  He wasn’t dressed in designer clothes. This wasn’t that kind of shoot. Today he wasn’t a fashion model but just a regular guy in jeans and a striped granddad shirt, a regular guy who just happened to be drop-dead gorgeous. Beneath his arms I could even see traces of sweat, blooming like flowers on the fabric. There was something about that – slight grubbiness teamed with physical perfection – that drove me mad. Teamed with a hint of stubble, it left me dry-mouthed.

  I swallowed almost painfully. ‘If you could just …’ I managed. ‘Just, er, turn so you’re positioned a bit more side-on to me. That’s right, yes. And then … I don’t know, maybe if you could undo the top button of your shirt you’d look a bit more relaxed, more natural. That’s right. Great. Hold it right there.’

  I looked back through the lens, watched as he undid a second button on his own initiative, sending me a questioning look. I nodded, held one thumb up.

  ‘That’s great,’ I said.

  ‘I brought a different shirt,’ he said, ‘if this one’s not right.’

  I shook my head. I really couldn’t care less about your clothes, I thought. I want to see you naked. And then I thought: Oh no, here we go again.

  As if he was reading my mind, he lifted his shirt up and over his head. He grinned at me and my pussy throbbed so hard I felt like I was going to explode.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said, stepping towards me. ‘Put the camera down.’

  I looked at him almost combatively. It was me who was supposed to be calling the shots.

  ‘But –’ I began, but at that he grabbed the camera from my hand and placed it on the bed, then put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back onto the bed as well.

  A delicious shudder went through me. Part of it was the thrill of transgression – we were making out on his girlfriend’s bed, a bed she’d been kind enough to lend me, even if it was as part of a swap. But most of it was Konrad himself. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t high, and yet he wanted me.

  For the longest time we snogged, mouths wide open, tongues entwining, probing each other, our juices flowing. Then Konrad pushed up my vest top and released my breasts from my bra and began caressing them with long, languorous, careful strokes. After a while he brought his mouth to one nipple, causing a spasm of delight to rip through my whole body.

  For a while, I allowed myself to go with it and enjoy it, but then doubts started running through my mind. Why was he doing this? He could have his pick of some of the world’s most beautiful women – and men – and yet he was acting as if I was the most gorgeous woman alive. I couldn’t help but be mistrustful and afraid. Was this to be a one-off, a spur-of-the-moment thing that he would soon realise had been a mistake?

  As if sensing my panic withdrawal, Konrad brought his face to mine. He was lying on top of me, his bare chest pressing down reassuringly on my own naked breasts.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said softly, brushing my hair back from my face. ‘I’m not a player and I never have been. I’ve already decided I’m breaking up with Rochelle and I promise you I’ll tell her later today. I won’t mention you. I think she knows it’s coming anyway. And I think she’ll be relieved, in a way.’

  ‘What are you saying then?’ I asked tremulously.

  ‘I’m saying I love you. From that moment I danced for you in the Hôtel Amour – well, that was when I realised. I saw how you were looking at me and I wanted you like crazy. But I was too afraid to tell you. You thought I was some kind of jerk, a party animal. And I was, on the outside. But on the inside all I’ve ever really wanted is to fall for someone the way I’ve fallen for you.’

  I was too overcome with emotion to speak, and lying back on the bed and closing my eyes in a swoon, I felt him undo my trousers and slide them off, then pull down my knickers and start lapping at my clit with his tongue. Nothing prepared me for the orgasm that quickly ensued – compared to all previous climaxes, it was like the breaching of a dam. I screamed out, clinging to him as to a shipwreck, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

  My climax went on and on, rising and falling like a tide, ebbing away and then returning with renewed force as he kept thrusting, breathing in my ear, ‘Oh god, oh god, I’ve never felt anything like this.’

  When it finally subsided, I lay limp for a moment, gazing into Konrad’s eyes. What I saw was pure and true. He loved me. I reached down and, unbuckling his jeans, thrust my hand into his boxers and gripped his cock, lovingly but firmly. He was hard for me. For a second I thought of going down on him, but I was too impatient to wait. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him to come inside me and when he did I would tell him I loved him too.

  Pulling down his jeans and boxers at once, I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, drizzling my sweet nectar on his faintly furred lower belly as I slid my cunt down to meet his questing cock. We met and there was a few seconds’ hesitation as we stared into each other’s eyes, then I reached down and pulled him to my lips and then inside me.

  He came almost immediately, and I came shortly afterwards. For a few seconds he just held me, and I noticed that there were tears in his eyes, but I pretended not to see them. I didn’t want to embarrass him. When finally he spoke, it was to apologise for coming so soon.

  ‘I just couldn’t help myself,’ he said. ‘I wanted you so much.’

  I kissed the end of his nose. ‘There’ll be other times,’ I said, and he smiled and said, ‘There certainly will.’

  And half an hour later we were fucking again, and we kept dozing and then fucking and then dozing and fucking all night, wrapped in each other, both of us intent that we would never let each other go.

  ***

  Waking in Rochelle’s bed in her boyfriend’s arms took some of the euphoria out of finding out that Konrad was in love with me. But as soon as he’d got up and made me some fresh orange in the juicer, he dressed and said he was going home to Skype her and tell her it was over.

  ‘I was supposed to be going over to London at the end of the week,’ he said. ‘She called me up and said she was confused and that she wanted to see me. Part of me was thinking that she was going to break up with me, and that it would save me the trouble. But another part of me wondered why she’d drag me all that way to dump me. Surely it’s kinder to do it remotely? A face-to-face thing can be so painful and drawn out, not least when you’ve paid for the privilege of going over there to find out that someone doesn’t want you any more.’

  We kissed goodbye and I wished him luck. I didn’t know Rochelle, and I didn’t know whether she was expectin
g this or even wanted it, but I felt sorry for her anyway. Breaking up was never nice to do.

  ***

  Konrad called me later that day and asked me to meet him in Montmartre, which segues into Pigalle. I asked him how it had gone with Rochelle, and his voice became less lively. She’d taken it badly, he said. She’d been really psyched up for his visit, she’d told him, but she had also confessed to feeling lonely and at sea. She’d confessed that she’d reached some kind of crisis point and needed to see him. I asked if he’d mentioned me but he promised he’d kept me out of the conversation. We agreed that he would tell her before too long but would make out that we’d only started seeing each other after their split.

  When we met on Place des Abbesses, Konrad led me into the Square Jehan Rictus and showed me a hidden corner of Paris I’d never known about, called the Mur des Je t’aime, a wall inscribed by an artist with tiles bearing the phrase ‘I love you’ in more than 300 languages. There was no one else around, and he pulled me close to him so that I could feel the thick coil of his hardening dick against my belly. Thinking of our lovemaking of the previous day, I instantly grew wet. I wanted to fuck him there and then, up against the I Love You Wall, and I didn’t care who saw.

  Sensing my need, he looked around him, a little panicked. But then, caught up by my urgency, he pushed my skirt up around my hips, pulled my knickers to one side of my crotch and plunged two fingers into my moist pussy, while with his thumb he gently strummed my clit. I started to gasp and writhe, feeling my orgasm approach already. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement at one side of the little park, and I turned my head. Konrad turned his too. Two young women were standing there, staring at us. Konrad grinned at them but didn’t stop what he was doing. The women, charmed no doubt by his looks, smiled back, nudging each other. I lifted one leg into the air to give him greater access but also to allow them a better view. I looked at my lover but I also kept glancing at the women, to check they were still there and watching. They were transfixed. The idea that they were getting off on me and Konrad fucking nearly tipped me over.