THREE
‘David must be rough,’ said Sally.
‘Huh?’
The women were sunbathing on the balcony on Sunday afternoon. Emma was putting on sun cream and had lowered her bikini top slightly.
‘I didn’t notice yesterday, but you’ve got battle scars, honey!’ Sally said, pointing at a faded bite mark on her friend’s breast. Emma had completely forgotten about the marks. She was momentarily embarrassed, but quickly covered her tracks.
‘Well, he’s a big man, with a big man’s strength and appetite.’
‘Yes?’ Sally prompted, hoping for more information.
‘He can be a little rough.’
‘Truly? I can only imagine.’
Emma smiled and let it drop.
But Sally wanted more. ‘Do you two get into that … stuff?’
‘What stuff?’ asked Emma, looking up at her friend while she slathered suncream over her legs, examining the bruises as she did so. There weren’t that many, she thought to herself. Besides, with her pale skin bruises looked worse than they were.
‘I don’t know … the rough stuff,’ persisted Sally.
‘Do David and I get dressed up in leather and whip and beat each other for kicks?’ asked Emma, smiling.
‘Yeah.’
‘I thought only librarians and accountants got into that.’
‘Then those marks are David just being David?’
‘Yes,’ said Emma, remembering how Jason had knocked her down onto her knees, gripping her tightly by the neck, completely overpowering her, as he’d taken her from behind.
‘I always wondered about that. He is so big.’
‘If you’d like I could let you take him for a test drive.’
‘Emma! That’s not what I meant. I’m afraid of big men.’
‘Liar.’
‘It’s true,’ said Sally, reddening. She had often fantasised about having David’s bulk on her. But such fantasies were allowable, she had reasoned, because acting on them was impossible.
‘Have you forgotten Simon Crowe? He was huge.’
‘He was different.’
‘How so?’
‘He was a sweetie.’
‘And David is …?’
‘Scary,’ said Sally and laughed.
Emma smiled. She knew what her friend meant, but also knew that behind the forbidding facade was a man capable of great tenderness.
Sally was in a talkative mood.
‘I remember the first time I saw him naked.’
‘Who?’
‘Simon. I remember we were just going to go skinny-dipping in my parents’ pool. He stepped out of his jeans and pulled down his boxers and I froze. I hadn’t seen anything like it. I still haven’t. Have you?’
Emma shook her head.
‘I hadn’t even decided whether I liked him or not. I hadn’t even taken all of my clothes off and had no idea he was married. I walked towards him to take a closer look. I was shameless. He stood there while I reached out my hand to touch it. It was the craziest thing. He was such a big man, tall and broad and I felt so small beside him. Then the thing started to grow in my hand. It was enormous.’
‘I remember,’ said Emma.
‘I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want him to fuck me with it. I liked holding it though. Is that what David is like?’
‘What? No! Ha! I have never seen another cock like Simon’s. I wouldn’t want to.’
‘I grew to love it. I’ve never told you before, but I went back to him a few times later, as well, after everything had happened. The sex wasn’t that good but …’
‘What?’
‘I just loved that thing!’ Sally said, and let out a screeching laugh. She brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them and hid her face in her lap, rocking backwards and forwards. Emma laughed with her.
‘I want a big man again, Emma. A big, big man!’
‘Darling, you can borrow mine. Seriously!’
‘Stop saying that!’ Sally covered her ears.
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Who wouldn’t want to fuck you? You’re sublime. I’d fuck you again, given the chance.’
Sally raised her head.
‘We can’t do things like that any more, Em. Besides, he’s your husband.’
‘Come on, you’d share your husband with me.’
‘No I wouldn’t. Not a chance. When they have you they’re never quite the same.’
‘Do I ruin them?’
‘For others.’
‘Well, that doesn’t stop you from fucking David.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Sally and David sitting in a tree – f – u – c – k – i – n – geeee.’
‘Stop it!’
‘He’s good.’
‘Stop it, Em.’
‘He could do us both.’
‘I’m not listening.’
‘I think you are. I could call him. Come up and fuck Sally while I watch.’
‘La la la la la.’
‘Maybe we could tie you up and make you watch us.’
‘Emma! My god! You are the devil!’
‘You know you want to. Admit it.’
‘I don’t want to fuck David.’
‘Sorry, all I heard was “I want to fuck David.”’
‘Please.’
Emma stood up. She thought the moment called for champagne.
‘OK. You don’t want to fuck David. You’ve convinced me. Let’s never speak of it again.’
‘Thank you.’
Emma stepped inside the house, knowing Sally was watching her. She turned back suddenly and said, ‘But I bet you do!’
Sally started laughing.
Moments later Emma returned with two glasses and a bottle of champagne.
‘You’d never cheat on Mark, would you?’ asked Emma, unwrapping the bottle.
‘No. Never.’
‘Never ever?’
‘Never. I couldn’t do it. I love Mark too much.’
‘What about with a girl?’
‘You?’ asked Sally, picking up a glass.
‘Me.’
‘You don’t count, do you?’
Emma popped the cork and Sally held out her glass. Emma filled both glasses.
‘Cheers to me not counting.’
‘Cheers.’
‘You won’t cheat but you want a big man?’
‘Yes, but that is different. I want one. I want lots of things I can’t have. It doesn’t mean I will take one. Sometimes at the gym when I’m working out I’ll notice someone noticing me. If he’s hot it sends a shiver down my body. I always think of you in those moments. I say to myself, Emma would. Sometimes I flirt. Sometimes I let them help me work a machine, to adjust a seat for me, to set the weight. It would be so easy to take it the next step. But then I think of Mark. I think of you. I think of how hard it can be to break off these flings. It all seems too difficult.’
‘But you like the attention?’
‘I love the attention. Sometimes it’s the most exciting thing that happens to me in a month.’
‘Poor Sally!’
‘Don’t poor Sally me! When I think of the things we’ve done together, of the men we’ve had, the nights we’ve shared. I sometimes can’t believe it was me. It seems like something I watched or read. Mark has no idea what his wife is capable of. And now it’s in the past. It belongs to another life. Married life must be different. And that difference isn’t bad. Married life is wonderful.’
‘But if you could step outside of marriage without consequences for half a day …?’
‘Don’t!’
‘What would you do?’
‘Emma, you make it so hard to be good!’
‘What would you do?’
‘Do you still have Simon Crowe’s number?’
They laughed.
‘Let’s not talk about men. We have none to hand. I can’t get all worked up,’ said Sally.
‘Agreed. Let’s not talk about men,’ said
Emma, refilling their glasses. ‘Cheers to women!’
Sally clinked her glass against Emma’s. ‘To women!’
Within moments Sally returned to the subject of men.
She reminisced about certain men they had shared, going into detail, driven on by that unsatisfiable impulse to talk of sex even when she had no chance of enjoying it. She went on and on, driving herself and Emma mad.
While Sally dreamed of unattainable men, Emma’s lust found a much nearer focus. Sally’s body. Her skin especially. She had kept the glow of youth. How many wondrous potions had been rubbed into that much pampered flesh? Her tanned legs, long and slender, were now stretched out before her. Emma could imagine them being wrapped around David. Or herself. The tanned skin against her translucent white. And her feet. Such childlike, innocent feet. Her hands were beautiful, too. Light hands, slim hands, intelligent hands. She couldn’t help but picture those hands gripping Simon Crowe. It was too indecent for words.
The first bottle was drunk and Sally went for the second. The day was ending. Emma could not get comfortable. She kept shifting her position. Pop! The champagne spilled over as Emma rushed forward with her glass. Her desire for Sally came and went, only to return. So many men were discussed. So much sex.
But really Sally wanted to discuss David, openly, honestly, with her friend. She wanted to praise the attributes Emma must already have praised. She wanted to hear what he was like as a lover, using the words they found came so easily when discussing other men. This afternoon he had become stuck in her head and would not be dislodged by talking about all the lovers they had had and shared. She had heard Emma talk of him in the past but something had changed now. The evidence of his brutality on Emma’s skin was a far greater turn-on for Sally than anything else they said and did that afternoon. And then there was Emma’s confession that she was dissatisfied with her lot. She didn’t deserve him. She tried to distract herself. She was the good friend, of sorts.
The afternoon had dwindled away while these two lust-ridden women smouldered, giving off more heat than light. Emma’s thoughts had returned to Jason, the true cause of her bruises. Eventually Sally excused herself, saying she wanted to take a shower before preparing their dinner.
Emma sat for a time listening to the surf till her skin began to chill. The cooling air affected her all the more because, now that Sally had stopped talking, and her near-naked loveliness was gone, Emma’s desire died, and the heat ran out of her body as with a corpse. She picked up the empty glasses and bottles and went inside. She rang David.
FOUR
This simple and solitary life suited them. The wisteria in the front of the house, on the street, was blossoming and when the wind changed, salty ocean air was exchanged for the sweet fragrance of the flowers. Sally had arranged bowls full of them, which she then scattered around the house.
Over the last few days Sally and Emma had taken walks together in the fading light of late afternoon before the temperature fell at sunset. In their bikinis and wrapped in sarongs they gingerly crossed the low spinifex-covered dune before skipping on to the beach. The golden rays of the sun coloured their backs and set Sally’s hair alight. The soft dry sand underfoot felt so clean. Hand in hand they walked northwards towards the deserted end of the long stretch of beach that eventually became part of the National Park. Down at the water’s edge their feet sank in the cold wet sand, slowing their pace. But then, they were not heading anywhere. They played at the edge of the water.
The longer their stay, the less either had to say. They woke in the same bed, preferring to sleep together than alone, and then sat together all day speaking with smiles and touches. Their bodies found an ease of expression that comfortable silence will often encourage. Hands met and clasped without comment or ceremony and parted without regret; when walking or dashing from waves, shoulders would bump gently; laughter fell lightly from smiling lips; arms found their way around waists; and kisses of hands and cheeks came naturally and meant only as much as they expressed. Delight. A spell had been cast over them. The holiday spirit was paramount. Small pleasures were the order of the day. And these accumulated.
On Thursday afternoon the tide was out and the sand beneath the water had turned the shallows to gold. Emma evaded the spirited wavelets, which seemed determined to convince her she was mistaken about their temperature. The ocean air was invigorating. Emma would have loved to exhaust herself by swimming with strong strokes out through the breakers. Doing very little left her with a great deal of excess energy. All day she’d read with a tapping foot. She had more energy than she knew what to do with.
She started to jog. Sally obviously felt the same and kept pace. They ran in silence for a bit till Emma dodged a clever little wavelet that Sally failed to see. Running right through it, Sally was surprised to find the water not as cold as she’d presumed it to be. But she didn’t share her discovery. She ran back up the beach and threw off her sarong and stood smiling at Emma for a second. Emma knew what was coming next.
‘It’s freezing, Sally!’
But there was no stopping her. Sally dashed past her and bounded through the shallows, squealing like a five-year-old. Then she paused, hopped around in circles, her hands clasped under her chin, forearms pressing her breasts.
‘It’s not so bad when you’re in,’ Sally shouted to Emma over the sound of the waves. She was smiling broadly. ‘Really, it’s quite warm!’
Emma laughed, more at Sally’s facial expression than the obvious lies she was spouting.
‘Come on out, Sally!’ Emma shouted back. ‘I won’t tell anyone. It’s too cold.’
‘But it’s lovely, come on in, Emma!’
‘Not a chance.’
Sally was walking backwards, her eyes tightly shut now, arms still pressed to her breast, her deeply tanned body set against the white foaming waves rolling in behind her. The setting sun lit her up. The further back she went the larger the waves. They crashed round her calves, then thighs and then higher. She squealed and bounced up and down. Having had enough cold water torture, she turned her back on Emma and faced the ocean again. Emma watched with some admiration as she dived into the next wave. Sally swam under the water quite a way then surfaced only to dive under again as another wave rolled in. The two dives had loosened her bikini. When she stood up the top was around her waist.
‘Strapless. Well, at least it looks good,’ Sally shouted, swinging the bikini top around so she could unhook it easily. She strode out through the shallows towards Emma. ‘It cost a fortune too!’ She rolled it into a ball and threw it to her. Then, after a hasty scan of the beach, stepped out of her bottoms and threw those to her friend as well.
‘You have the look of a naughty schoolgirl,’ said Emma.
‘You know that look well,’ answered the nudist. Sally struck a pose, a Marilyn Monroe special, knees together slightly bent, and her arms above her head.
Emma grinned.
‘Come on, Emma, take off your clothes,’ she said.
Emma shook her head.
The cooling breeze on Sally’s wet skin gave her goosebumps from head to toe. She turned cartwheels in the shallows to celebrate. Being naked was a buzz. The cool air rushing over her whole body, but more specifically over that one place rarely exposed to the outside world. For her, public nudity was a sexual act. A potent one. Had a man appeared, any man, she’d have been his, there, on the beach, in front of Emma. But only if he had intuited her willingness fully. She knew what she wanted. It would have to happen exactly as she pictured it, or not at all. These thoughts only turned her on more.
‘Seriously, Em, it’s lovely. Truly,’ she said, stepping back and laying down in the shallows. The sun was sitting just above the hills to the west. The air was cooling. The water felt warmer to Sally than the air. She was tempted to go back out and catch more waves now that she was naked. But there was that look in Emma’s eyes again. A prompting look, a daring look, a look that encouraged very bad behaviour.
‘Come on,
baby,’ she cooed. ‘It’s so liberating. You’ve got to try it.’
Sally knew Emma had done as much and worse many times before. They had both swum nude with friends just off Balmoral when they were younger. In fact, she remembered swimming nude with Emma on this very beach five or six years before.
‘I won’t be seduced. Sirens can’t be trusted!’ shouted Emma.
‘I’m a mermaid,’ replied Sally, lying flat on her stomach and pressing her legs and feet together and slapping the water with her fishtail. She teased Emma because she knew her appetite. She knew how Emma wanted her. She could feel it. It was lovely to be an object of lust. She was highly aroused by the circumstances. She wanted to be a bad girl.
‘I WANT A MAN!’ she screamed at the top of voice, unleashing the beast even though she knew her words might hurt her friend.
Emma could only laugh. ‘They didn’t hear you, sweetie.’ And she sat with a bump on the sand.
‘I WANT A MAN!’ Sally shouted again.
‘You do have a husband, baby. Shall I go call him?’
‘I know. I know.’ Sally flopped onto her stomach in the shallow water. Then started to crawl towards Emma. ‘I love him. I do. But … I want someone else. I want someone new.’ She collapsed on the wet sand and raised herself on her elbows, resting her chin in her hands. ‘Sometimes I just want more than I’m allowed to have. Like we used to, Emma. We always had more than our fair share.’
‘There’s no reason we can’t do it all again.’
‘There are a million reasons why we can’t.’
‘Are there?’ asked Emma. ‘Name one.’
Sally smiled. She felt like saying, because he’s your husband. But she didn’t.
‘You make being good so difficult, Em.’
Sally stood up and strode back into the deeper water and dived under wave after wave until she was out past the breakers.
When Sally finally emerged from the surf it was getting dark. Emma was frozen through. She had wandered down the beach to find the remnants of Sally’s clothes, and had wrapped Sally’s sarong around her shoulders. But the material was too flimsy to do more than lessen slightly the effect of the breeze.
The Secret Lives of Emma: Distractions Page 2