Wild Horses

by Dominique Defforest

  5

  “Hey you're back again,” she said, her voice coming to me through headphones this time (since Paula was asleep down the corridor, in our bed. This was already risky).

  “Can't keep away from you,” I wrote.

  “You’re too nice.” That melodious, girlish voice, with the clipped accent. What was it? Hungarian? Russian? I resolved to ask her. She could only tell me to get lost!

  “Where are you from?”

  “Can you guess?’

  She was laughing. Not maliciously, playfully. I smiled.

  “Russia?”

  “No way.”

  “Ukraine?”

  “You must come further west,” she said.

  “Hungary?” I tried.

  “Very close. Almost.”

  “Romania.”

  “No You must go up now. How do you say? North.”

  “Checkoslovakia.” I spelled it wrongly. I knew I did, but I was not European!

  “Yes,” she cried. “Sort of.”

  She was laughing now. It was an engaging laugh. She was enjoying herself. She was so beautiful! She was driving me crazy!

  “What do u mean sort of?” I wrote.

  “Can you put on your cam and talk to me?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Ohhh” she purred, frowning, still playful. “Okay, there is no country Czechoslovakia now. There is Slovakia and there is the Czech Republic.”

  “Which r u?”

  “I have to have some secrets. Let's say I’m both. Part Czech. Part Slovak.”

  “You speak great English.”

  “Thank You baby.”

  She fell silent, and I just stared into the screen, admiring her.

  “So, what do you want to do with me tonight?” she enquired. She lifted her top off. “You want to see my body. In private?”

  “Always,” I wrote. The moment I had typed it in, I clicked on the button for private. When she appeared on the screen, she was smiling broadly, and giggling. I suspected that she knew she had me. Maybe she was thinking I was a potential goldmine, I mused. Maybe she thought (wrongly) I was rich. Cashed up!

  “You want me naked?” she asked.

  “Hell yes.”

  This got a brief laugh. The panties came off, and she adjusted her posture on the bed, and the cam, so I could see her entire body. The flesh was a milky white, and just as tantalizing, as I recalled it. I watched her play with herself for a few moments, feeling myself hardening instantly.

  “You like?”

  Of course I do, I thought. You’re stunning, you're a knock out. I'd do anything to on that bed next you right now. A thought occurred to me suddenly.

  “Can u turn over,” I wrote. “I want to see you from behind.”

  She did, immediately, in one fluid movement. She was beautifully curved. If her skin wasn’t perfect, her figure was, especially from this angle. There didn't appear to be a ripple of excess flesh on her tightly drawn ass cheeks. She glanced up at me, through the cam, her head turning, so she could see.

  “You want me to use my sex toy?” she asked.

  The thought that occurred to me, instantaneously, surprised me. You came to this site to see exactly this. To type in commands, and to ask the girls to do what you wanted. You came to beat off and to cum, and then log out, hopefully as quickly as you could. You came for quick gratification, and immediate satisfaction.

  “No,” I wrote. “Turn over. I will just admire you for a little while, before I go.”

  “Oh, you are so sweet,” she purred.

  I didn't jerk off that time. I had intended to. But I didn't. I closed the laptop and rose from my desk chair. Outside it was dark and cold. I wondered what it was like in the Czech Republic, or Slovakia, or wherever she was. It occurred to me that she might be anywhere in Eastern Europe. She didn't have to give me, or anyone else, an authentic location, any more than she needed to provide a real name. And “sweetgirl34” was certainly not her real name! I walked to the fridge and opened a beer. She was still on my mind as I drank it. This was irrational now! I went into the lounge room end collapsed onto the leather sofa, reaching for the television remote as I did so. Maybe the Friday night football game will take my mind off her, I reasoned with myself. It didn’t. I fell asleep, with a vision of her naked, on her bed, fixed in my mind’s eye.

  6

  It was the next time I saw her, online of course, that I realized this was becoming something quite different to that which it had been, at the start, at least for me.

  “Hi again,” she called, as we entered private chat. It was the now familiar greeting, with the now longed for smile, and the brief little laugh that normally followed it.

  “Hi,” I wrote.

  “You can talk now, on your cam?” she asked.

  “Not tonight,” I wrote. “Next time.”

  “Okay.”

  It was the familiar reason – Paula was somewhere nearby, not asleep. I think reading in the lounge room, and she could walk into the study at any moment. She rarely did, for we rarely spoke, unless we really had to. Nonetheless, it was a possibility.

  “So. You want me to get naked now?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Of course!

  She did.

  “Where are you from?” she asked suddenly. She was lying on the pink sheets, on top of her bed, somewhere in Eastern Europe, and, quite suddenly, she wanted to know where I was from. It was a stalling tactic, I decided. I was paying by the minute. It probably was her stalling, to run the clock down, as they would say at a football game. But I didn't care!

  “I’m in Australia.”

  “Really. I thought you were English maybe,” she answered.

  “I’m Australian English,” I wrote.

  She laughed.

  “We're all six foot tall and bronzed and athletic,” I wrote, smiling as I wrote it.

  This got a burst of laughter.

  “Except me,” I added.

  More laughter.

  “Well I don't know what six foot tall is,” she said, “we have meters.”

  “We too,” I typed. “It's 1.8 meters.”

  “Oh. I’m 1.7. So we are nearly the same tall.”

  I smiled at the grammar.

  “How old are you?” she enquired.

  “40.” It was a lie. I was 46. But what were six years between online friends?

  “You are so nice,” she was saying, dreamily. I guess it beat the hell out of what she was really paid to do, I thought, just sitting there on the bed, yes naked, but not actually doing anything. And certainly not anything nasty. Nothing kinky. Nothing painful. My toes curled at the thought of some of the things girls on this site offered to do for their clients.

  “I will come online tomorrow maybe and we can talk more,” I wrote.

  “Sure. Thank you. Thank you, baby, so much.”

  She blew me a kiss, smiling into a camera. I logged off, and reclined in the chair, to think. I often did it. That was probably $20 I told myself. To chat to a girl whose name I didn't know, on the other side of the word. A naked girl! A girl willing, even offering, to do things I would not dream of asking Paula to do, not now – chiefly because I knew she would tell me to “fuck off”! A wry grin appeared on my face. I could see it, in my reflection, in the blank computer screen. An idea was forming in my mind. It was lunacy of course. But even as I told myself it was “nuts”, I knew I was going to do it. I reached for the iTunes icon and clicked on it. When the program launched, I selected the Rolling Stones playlist and clicked on “Wild Horses.” I turned it up, loud.

  “I’m trying to read,” Paula’s strained voice, crisp with anger, objected, from somewhere inside the house.

  I turned it up further.

  “For fuck sake,” she cried.

  I leaned back, further, in the chair, to let the words wash over me. She appeared in my vision, - sweetgirl34. Smiling, laughing, her brown hair falling down in front of her. Her brown eyes looking up at me. Her lithe body, and white
flesh. Mick was singing:

  “I know I've dreamed you a sin and a lie,

  I have my freedom, but I don't have much time,

  faith has been broken, tears must be cried,

  let's do some living after we die.”

  Keith joined him for the chorus.

  “Wild horses, couldn't drag me away.

  Wild wild horses, we'll ride them someday.

  Wild horses, couldn't drag me away.

  Wild wild horses, we'll ride them someday.”

  I knew I was going to do it!

  7

  I raised the subject, tentatively, in a nonchalant voice, as though I didn't really give a toss at all. Paula was sitting at the breakfast table, flicking through the Saturday morning newspaper. Her hair, a very deep black, was tied up into a rather severe looking bun, but she appeared calm enough.

  “I was thinking I might go somewhere, on my leave,” I announced, slipping onto a chair opposite her. I stirred my coffee, waiting for a reaction. There was none. I had almost eight weeks owing, and the company were writing to me monthly now, asking when I would be taking some of it, they didn't like it accruing. And there was a handsome payout that would come with it, thanks to a clause I had negotiated into my package some years back. I had argued for it so that we could holiday together, but we never did. I would be using it for myself this time. I wasn't sure what Paula would say, and I had even less an idea about what I was going to do if she hit the roof, if she shouted it down, or argued vigorously against it.

  “I thought I would go overseas for a while, maybe two weeks, maybe three. I don't want to waste my leave, and I get that payout. I don't want to sit around the house wishing I was doing something.”

  This time she glanced up at me, across the table. Her reading glasses were on. It always made her look a bit older.

  “Sure Ryan,” she said crisply. “You should. You work hard. Go for four weeks if you like.”

  The thought that leapt into my mind immediately was – she’s having an affair, she wants me gone. I studied her carefully. Her expression was like granite.

  “You don’t mind?” I asked eventually, probing, waiting for the reaction.

  “No honey,” she said cheerfully. “Mandy and I can look after ourselves. Go. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Thanks darling. I really appreciate it, you letting me go on my own.”

  “We were only there, in Paris, last year,” she reminded me. “I don't think I could do that again this year. I love Paris. But I loathe the travel. Twenty-four hours on a plane, it makes me shudder.”

  Her voice quivered as she said it.

  “I’ll get online and see what I can book,” I said brightly, trying to keep the rising excitement out of my voice.

  “Where will you go?” Paula asked. Her voice was dispassionate.

  “London of course.”

  “Of course.”

  She knew how much I loved London.

  “And I thought I would go to Eastern Europe this time. Prague maybe. Budapest.”

  She nodded, and returned to her newspaper. I went for the laptop, and navigated to the Qantas site.

  8

  The last time I saw her online was a Tuesday evening. I replayed that moment, in my mind, as I reclined in the dimmed fuselage, charging through the night at 30,000 feet, bound for London. I had started my leave period. I had six weeks. And several thousand dollars in my account. Barely two days had passed, in the past few weeks, when I had not at least greeted her online. One of the private chats had cost me just short of $100. I considered it money very well spent. Some of the sessions included sex – well, masturbation. I had needs, and it was hard to resist a very attractive brunette, lying naked on the top of her bed, even if she was thousands of miles away, and visible, and audible, only via the internet and the laptop computer that was now folded shut on the meals tray in front of me. We were in private. I had the headphones on, and I was speaking very softly. It was late, near 1am. A day before I was due to fly out. We’d been talking for over twenty minutes.

  “I’m keeping you from your other clients,” I said, when I glanced down at the clock. I was thinking of my long suffering credit card balance as well.

  “It’s okay.”

  I knew she had other clients. Of course she did. I had spent the whole of a single day sulking, body shaking, carrying on like a schoolboy denied a treat, because she had been “unavailable” every time I had tried to log on to her page – “this model is currently performing live” the message read. For someone else! I realized.

  “Well. This will be last time for a while Svetla,” I announced, my voice pensive. Svetla was what I called her now. I had told her, some weeks ago, that I needed a name. “No names,” she had said, finger waving in front of her lips. But I hastened to add, “not your real name, just a name, I can't keep calling you sweetgirl 34.” She had considered it, and then said, “okay, you can call me Svetla, that is a nice name.”

  “You’re leaving me?” she cried, when she had heard me saying it would be the last time online for a while. “I will be so sad.”

  “Not leaving you baby. Couldn't leave you, baby. I’ve got to go on a long trip, overseas.”

  “Well, they will still have internet. Unless you are in somewhere wild,” she protested.

  “I’m going to be in Europe.”

  “I’m in Europe,” she said needlessly. “Is it for business or pleasure, your trip?”

  “Pleasure. I’m on leave.”

  “Good for you Ryan.” (I'd told her my name. I had been pretty hammered that night. But once she had given me a name, she of course wanted one for me. And I had, stupidly I guess, given her my real name).

  “Well. I will be going soon,” I said softly, my voice hushed. Partly because I was in the marital home, even though the study door was shut tightly, and partly because I knew what I was going to say next was high risk. It was unwise. It was completely bonkers. “I’m going to be in Prague.”

  “It's a beautiful city,” she assured me.

  “Maybe you can show me around?’

  “No, no, no,” she said briskly. “We can never even talk about it. You know that. No names. No meetings. If you ask to meet me, I have to block you, that is the rules. Not for me only, but for everyone here.”

  I knew it. I'd scrolled through them, wondering if I could be barred from the entire site. Banned. For trying to meet one of the models. For even the hint of harassment, of stalking. I had guessed the answer would be “absolutely, yes” and I was right. “Any model who feels intimated, pressured, or receives unreasonable requests, including requests for real names, identities, phone numbers, to meet in person, or any other personal details, will report that client to the administrator. Clients behaving in such a manner will be banned permanently from the site.”

  “Oh well,” I said with resignation. “Just dreaming I suppose. You're just so amazing.”

  I leaned toward the camera, and planted kiss on it. On her.

  “Thank you Ryan. You can see me online, any time.”

  It wasn’t enough.

  “Just one meeting, no pressure, no…”

  That was as far as I got. A message flashed up on the screen – “this model has blocked you.”

  That was how the last conversation had ended. I preferred to remember the one before that. Maybe it was two before that. It had filled me with real hope, and I had even started to dare, and to wonder, and to think it may be possible.

  “What are you thinking?” she had asked, seeing that I was reclining in my chair, arms behind my head.

  “Just admiring you.”

  “You are so nice. You want me naked now?”

  “No?” I'd said flippantly.

  “You don't want to see me naked?”

  “Of course I do baby. You are amazing with no clothes on, you drive me crazy with no clothes on. Your body is awesome.” I was speaking passionately, looking down the camera with purpose. It was something I had thought about saying,
for weeks. Now I was saying it. “But you are amazing with clothes on as well.”

  Her face filled the screen. I could really see the flaws in her skin now, as her lips loomed large in my vision and she kissed her camera. When she reappeared in the screen, she looked as though she were about to cry.

  “You are too nice. I really like to talk with you, because you are not like the other men here.”

  “Svetla,” I had said plainly. “It's because I’m in love with you.”

  She had kissed the camera again after this. She said nothing in response. And I changed the subject. I remembered that exchange, because it was then that I had resolved that I needed to at least float the idea, and canvas the possibility. Even so, I had known all along that it was crazy, going to Prague, and that final session, when she blocked me (as she should have, I had told myself, on reflection) had confirmed it. What was I expecting to happen now? That I would bump into her on the subway? It was bonkers. But I was still going anyway.

  9

  I knew “Svetla” was here somewhere. That's why I had come here, to Prague. That's why I had acted out this insanely stupid plan, to fly around the world, at considerable expense, starting in London, and then travelling by train, through Brussels (a place I loved anyway!), on to Frankfurt, Munich, then Vienna (another of my favorite cities!), and then, finally, to the domed, art deco interior of Praha Hlvani Nadrazi – the main railway station in Prague. The first, brisk walk, out of the hotel, once I had alighted from the taxi, checked in, and arranged my luggage, through the cobblestoned courtyard that dominated Kampa Island, surrounded on each side by restaurants, by hotels (including mine), and dotted with stalls selling gifts, local produce, and wine, and by sausages turning on barbecues, and by women wearing white aprons, pouring lager from wooden kegs - the moment I saw it, and felt the vibrancy, and took in the centuries old buildings, I knew I loved Prague – desperately. The ascent, up a stone staircase, that took me onto the Charles Bridge, only confirmed it. The statues I passed, every few feet, were like an honor guard, watching silently as they had done down through the centuries, over those who passed this way. And many did! The bridge thronged with human traffic, all jostling for room at the stone railings, for a photo of the river flowing meekly beneath, and of the Medieval gates at either end. The flow of people across the bridge was in the direction of a narrow street that opened out into the most wonderfully ornate town square I had ever seen. I found a place at an outdoor restaurant, facing the Jan Hus monument, and admired the centuries old buildings that closed in the cobblestones on each side. This place was like a fairytale kingdom I thought – it was like stepping back in time. Svetla or not, it was more than worth the time, and the expense, and the trouble, it had taken to get here. A waiter appeared, with the plate of local sausages I had ordered - bratwurst it looked like, topped with onion and chili – and the Czech beer that would accompany it. I thanked him, and as I did, my spirits soared. I knew what I was going to do now!