Easy

by Donna Alam

  ‘I’d planned on using these earlier,’ I tell her, tapping the silver lid. ‘But the best laid plans—’

  ‘Sometimes get fucked?’

  ‘Exactly.’ I laugh again. Things could’ve gone such a different way. ‘Last night, you brought me juggling balls because I like games. These,’ I say, tapping the lid again, ‘are ball games of a very different nature.’ I curl her fingers around the gleaming case, grazing her cheek with my lips. ‘And I can’t wait to play.’

  Chapter Ten

  LOUISE

  I’d heard from Dan only once since the weekend; same afternoon to be precise. Shortly after he’d kicked his wife, ex-wife, out the door, I’d returned home and was asleep on the couch when I’d missed his call. Something told me I shouldn’t return it. Probably the bizarre events of my visit, despite how much lighter I’d left feeling after we’d talked.

  Waking to his message from my much-needed nap, I’d decided I should take a few days to let it all sink in. To make sure I hadn’t bitten off more than I could comfortably chew. It’s one thing to admit to my stirring sexuality but quite another to find myself irresistibly drawn to him. One was a fantasy, the other a reality. A reality with experiences I can only imagine. No longer a nameless fuck, Dan was all sorts of things. A father, for one. He’d been a husband. Was he also a dominant? Not that I know much about those sorts of things.

  Yes, no longer nameless, but he was still a stranger. And out from under his dark and compelling gaze, I begin to wonder of the sanity in continuing to see him. The man had more baggage than the Louis Vuitton store on New Bond Street. My mind slips back to my waking to his ex’s seduction attempt. She’s the kind of crazy I like to steer clear of. Not to mention he had a kid. Cute, but still, that’s a lot of baggage to content with.

  I huff a little, and the woman on the other side of the counter frowns, pulling gently on my hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmur, forcing it to relax again

  The manicurist shrugs as she examines the smudge my huff caused. ‘It’s fine, all fixed.’ Satisfied, she raises her eyes to meet mine. ‘Got any plans for the weekend?’ she asks amiably.

  I find myself for once on the opposite end of my usual reticence—words falling from my mouth in a rush. ‘I’m supposed to be going out for dinner.’ I may be a little over excited.

  ‘With the girls or a bloke?’ she asks, bent over my hand, painting my nail in a precise pink stroke.

  ‘A date. It’s date night.’ I smile widely. Like an idiot.

  ‘Supposed? You sound like you haven’t decided.’

  ‘I missed his call, and he hasn’t called back.’

  I’m not concerned, not really. I should’ve been the one to call him. Should have. But didn’t. And not for the first time. It wasn’t right to keep him guessing. Fuck it, a little voice in my head said. It wouldn’t do any harm to keep him on his toes. After all, he was the one with all the plans.

  ‘Men, eh?’ the manicurist mutters in a disparaging tone as she gestures that I should slot my hand under the lamp. ‘Probably playing some kind of mind game.’

  This time, I can’t help but laugh. ‘It sounds like you’ve met him.’

  ‘Babe, I’ve met them all.’

  Something tells me that she’s never met a man like Dan.

  ~*~

  I spend the rest of the morning shopping and return home spent, figuratively and literally, having spent a ridiculous amount of cash and energy in the search for something to wear tonight. I’d hesitated at the window of an underwear boutique I’d never entered before, its windows an appealing mixture of kitsch and kink. Polka-dot panties looked cute on the mannequin, but it was the blond ponytail protruding from its plastic butt that had intrigued me the most. I hadn’t been so taken by the mannequin wearing the leather horse mask. But still, I’d gone inside.

  It was like wandering into a kinky rabbit hole. Silk and leather, paddles and whips. Clothing for all shapes and sizes. Toys for all orifices.

  I came out with bulging bags and a dirty high.

  Back at the flat, I run a bath, fill a glass, and spend the afternoon in careful preparation. My phone buzzes once, but I ignore it, balanced precariously on the edge of the tub with a razor in my hand. Once wrapped in a fluffy towel, I read,

  Seven tonight. I pull the towel tighter as I read the second text. Wear a skirt or a dress.

  A thrill courses through my body, my fingertips aching to reach for my throbbing clit. Wear a skirt. The images flashing through my mind are vivid. Sordid. A recent fantasy. I’m lost to the imagery of being touched and fucked while others watch on. As my phone rings, I curse.

  ‘Louise, honey. I was beginning to think you were screening your calls,’ my mother titters a little nervously, and my stomach twists with guilt. ‘It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mom. Great.’ I inhale deeply, covering the pregnant pause audible on both ends of the line as I wonder how Xanax is treating her today. ‘And you—how are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just fine. Busy. You know. Same old, same old.’

  I know, all right. No time to be anything but busy. My father is a fire and brimstone pastor—one of God’s soldiers—who runs his household with military precision. My mother is no more than one of his grunts. Idle hands do the devil’s work. I smile as I think about Dan; it seems busy hands still find time to dabble in the dark arts, too.

  ‘And . . . Dad?’ Please don’t let him be there.

  ‘Daddy’s fine. He’s here. I’m going to put him on next.’ Hell. ‘How’s work?’ she adds quickly. ‘Is my baby girl running London town yet?’

  ‘Work’s fine, Mom, and London is . . . interesting.’ In a lot of senses. On the surface, it’s cold and wet pavements and crowded buildings, but around every corner is a piece of history, a slice of elegance, and greenery.

  ‘Well.’ She pauses, and in the silence, I hear her emotion, tight like a violin string. ‘We miss you. I miss you, but I’m so pleased you’re having fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ My father’s bass tones take over the call, no doubt from a line in his home office. ‘Hang up, Marion. I’d like to talk to my daughter, now.’

  Possession is everything, and power is love in his eyes. Between a hurried, ‘I love you’, and a whispered, ‘Call soon’, my mother does as she is told.

  ‘It was my understanding you were there for a promotion, Louise.’

  I close my eyes and inhale over a count of three. Holding the breath there, I release it over the same count. Coping mechanisms. Don’t internalize. I open my eyes ready to deal with him. Remembering I no longer have to be frightened of him.

  ‘Your understanding isn’t wrong, but everyone has to live a little, Daddy.’

  Daddy. As long as I live and have sex, I’ll never understand those who like daddy games.

  ‘Keep your eye on the prize, Louise,’ he commands gruffly. ‘You get nothing for second place. Did your mother tell you that Trent has been offered a partnership?’ Trent. My brother. The man with whom I’d competed in all things. Grades. Sporting achievements. Possessions. And most of all, our father’s approval. For years, he’s sat between us, feeding the rivalry.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I missed that bit. You were listening in; you tell me.’ I almost want to bite off my tongue in regret.

  ‘Your insolence is so generalised; I try not to take offence.’

  My throat thickens at the reprimand, the fingernails of my free hand digging into my palm.

  ‘I apologise. I spoke out of turn.’ It’s ridiculous that I can’t seem to suppress the urge to bite. Or apologise.

  ‘Trey and Stacey are doing well?’ Trey married last year and had a baby on the way. I don’t know if that makes him the winner in my father’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. There’s no way I’m ever competing on that score.

  Having zoned out, I become aware of my father’s voice once again.

  ‘ . . . you’ll be home in six months, anyway.’

&nb
sp; ‘I have eight months left.’ At least. ‘Speaking of which, Mom caught me at a bad time. I’m in the middle of preparing for a meeting.’

  ‘Yes, I should let you go,’ he replies with a gruff sort of pride; early Saturday evening and his baby girl was still hard at work. Well, I have high hopes of being hard at something in a few hours, that much is true. ‘Keep in touch, and I expect to see you at Thanksgiving.’ Not an invitation but rather an order.

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Speak soon.’

  I hang up following a terse goodbye, releasing my fingers to view a palm full of bright red and stinging half-moons.

  ~*~

  ‘You’re out again tonight?’

  Balanced on her forearms, Flo appears to be doing something that looks suspiciously like yoga as I enter the living room. A New Age chakra-fixing chant plays in the background, and the room smells like incense with the underlying hint of weed.

  ‘Yeah, dinner.’ I lift my head as I answer, simultaneously fastening my shoe to my foot.

  ‘From the club? The same man?’ Not wanting a discussion, I give a noncommittal shrug. Not that it matters; Flo doesn’t see it as she has her head on the floor and her butt in the air. I’m sure she’d said before this position was called the downward dog. To me, it looks like it should’ve been called come hump my ass.

  ‘You’re like a foster fail.’

  ‘I’m a what?’ I ask, not really caring as I concentrate on my tiny shoe strap.

  ‘It’s like this,’ she says, now sitting cross-legged. ‘When people take care of abandoned kittens and end up keeping them. That’s called a foster fail.’

  ‘Who do you know that fosters kittens? I’m sure you know girls who’d skin them and wear their fur,’ I tease. I couldn’t swear to it, but I’ve met some of her set. The Tabithas and Savannahs who smoke like chimneys and are as thin as rails. ‘But open their homes to them?’

  ‘I read it in a magazine article at my gynaecologist’s office.’ She waves an inconsequential hand. ‘The point I’m trying to make is, a foster fail is someone who keeps the creature rather than let it go to a new home.’

  I glance at my watch. ‘I still don’t get your point.’

  ‘You’re a one-night stand fail. You were supposed to have shagged him and moved on. Set him free to fill holes elsewhere,’ she says, throwing her arms wide.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ I reply, picking up my purse.

  ‘That club has a sinister side, you know.’ In a change of tone, Flo eyes me gravely.

  ‘What does that matter?’ I reply. ‘Pretty sure they don’t serve dinner there.’

  ‘No,’ Flo says, raising her head. ‘They serve you your arse.’

  As I close the front door behind me, I decide Flo can be so cryptic at times.

  Chapter Eleven

  DAN

  At ten past seven, Louise saunters into the restaurant; her heels the cause of her swaying gait, and the saunter its hypnotizing effect. High, high heels and swaying arse and hips. Peach cheeks and pink lipstick. She looks like a dream.

  I stand as she pauses by the hostess, my expression calm.

  ‘You kept me waiting.’ My words are a whisper as I hold her to my chest. A moment later, I relinquish her to her chair.

  ‘Only ten minutes,’ she says, fussing with her bag. She doesn’t return my gaze.

  I thread my fingers through hers to focus her attention. ‘Try all week. You didn’t return my call. You think I might be used to it by now, but I’m not. I don’t appreciate it.’ I’d fretted. Wanted to call—caving only earlier today. I’d also considered she might need a break to think about things.

  ‘I-I didn’t know whether I’d come,’ she stammers.

  ‘Liar,’ I purr in response, suggesting all sorts of things, though mainly that I’m pleased she’s here. Our fingers entwined, I bring the tips to my mouth for a kiss. ‘You’re only kidding yourself,’ I add. And torturing me.

  As she shrugs lightly, I make her a small promise. ‘I’ll go easy on you,’ I murmur, my voice low in register. ‘While we’re in public, at least.’

  Her tongue darts out to wet her lip, heat crawling across her cheeks.

  ‘Who says I want you to?’ Her tone is blithe, even as she begins fiddling with her napkin.

  ‘Wanting and receiving. One doesn’t necessarily follow the other, but I think you know that.’

  ‘You mean you can’t always get what you want?’’ She almost sings her response. Can a person sing and snigger at the same time?

  I school my expression as the waiter approaches our table with the drinks menu in hand.

  ‘The lady would like wet pussy,’ I tell him, deadpan, and ignoring Louise’s dumbstruck expression, I carry on. ‘It’s not on the cocktail menu, but if the barman would like an introduction, do let me know.’ I add an imported beer to the order, while also requesting the wine menu. And I do it all without acknowledging Louise.

  The waiter doesn’t know where to look—doesn’t take down the order on his tiny pad. He seems to have been struck mute. So I coughed, and the young man nods quickly, seeming to come back to himself before stumbling away.

  ‘What the fuck was that all about?’ Louise whispers—no, hisses—narrowing her gaze.

  ‘You didn’t want me going easy on you.’

  ‘I don’t appreciate being embarrassed—’ I chuckled darkly, and she begins to splutter with indignation. ‘I do not! And I don’t appreciate having my drinks ordered for me. I’m not a little girl.’

  ‘You aren’t? Then stop acting like one,’ I reply, straightening my cuffs. ‘And while we’re airing our grievances, I don’t appreciate being made to wait.’ The crux of it. The reason my stomach had been in knots since she left last weekend. ‘Let’s move on now, shall we?’

  ‘Whatever,’ she huffs, folding her arms. ‘But there’s no way I’m drinking that god-awful ick.’

  ‘If you know what’s good for you, you will.’ My cadence is even, but she couldn’t have misheard the steel underlining the words.

  ‘Good for me how?’ she asks, sounding more curious than coquette.

  ‘Good girls get rewarded.’

  ‘What do reasonable women get?’ she snaps in response. But I don’t answer. Don’t lift my head from the menu. I don’t reward outbursts unless it’s for my benefit. ‘Maybe if you ask nicely,’ she begins, changing her mind and her tone. ‘You know what? Fuck you.’

  I place the menu down slowly, leaning back in my chair. ‘I don’t do nice very often; I thought you knew. Thought that’s why you liked me?’ My smile takes on a brutal edge, one that, if appearances are to be believed, creates a shiver against her spine. She blushes. Fully. Her cheeks as red as her arse cheeks last week. And I want to do it again. Want to hear her cry for me again so beautifully.

  ‘When I offer you a wet pussy, you take it. Otherwise, you’re just being impolite.’

  She’s prevented from answering, prevented from rolling expletives from her tongue, as the waiter returns, placing the gaudy pink drink in front of her. I almost laugh at her expression of distaste, though am intrigued as it morphs into something else.

  Dipping her forefinger into her drink, Louise lifts it to her mouth. Devilment is her absolute purpose, and her eyes glint as she lifts them to the waiter, her eyelids and lips closing languidly. The noises she makes as she sucks on it? Pure seduction. A moment later, she withdraws it with a soft pop.

  ‘I’ve never fingered a pussy in public before,’ she purrs, dipping her finger back into her drink. ‘It tastes . . . sweet. Here, baby, taste.’ She offers me the finger, surprised when I take her hand in mine and play along.

  ‘You do taste sweet. And sticky.’ As she withdraws her finger, I catch the end with a long flick of my tongue.

  The poor waiter stands unmoving as if he doesn’t know where to look—where not to look—frozen stock-still like he’s been caught watching porn. By his mother.

  ‘And wet, just how you like me.’

  ‘That w
ill be all,’ I drawl, curling a brow. I’m not sure if the direction is for Louise, the waiter, or both. ‘You’re wicked,’ I add on the breath of half a laugh as the waiter snaps out of his daze to stumble away. ‘The poor boy’s going to be wanking to images of that for weeks.’

  ‘What’s not nice? I just gave him . . . material. I’m lovely,’ she says, laughing.

  The heavy atmosphere changes to light in the blink of an eye. I’d been more anxious than annoyed as the minutes had passed by. What if she wasn’t coming? What if she didn’t feel the same? And then she had arrived, sauntering into the restaurant without a care. Or an apology. Anxiety had certainly turned to annoyance. But now? Now I’m just relieved. And a little bit overwhelmed as I lean closer, interrupting her with a sudden kiss. I don’t imagine it as she melts at the touch of my lips.

  ‘You’ve such a beautiful mouth,’ I whisper. ‘And it talks such a fierce game. But anything you don’t see with your own eyes always creates a cloud of doubt, I find.’

  It’s always easy to redirect the conversation to sex, I find.

  She frowns, not quite grasping my meaning. ‘You want me to . . .? Is that why you had me wear a dress?’ Swallowing audibly, she closes the space between us. ‘You want to follow me into the bathrooms?’

  ‘Tempting, but a bathroom stall isn’t nearly big enough for me to do all that I want to do to you. Tell me something else.’ Distract me before I drag you from your seat for just that. She deserves better than being bent over a toilet bowl. And I don’t do those kinds of things anymore. ‘Tell me something about your week.’

  Her teeth graze her lips as she considers her answer. ‘Maybe you’d like to hear about what I’ve been doing to myself while thinking of you?’

  ‘Have you been touching yourself?’ She nods, though barely blushes. ‘Interesting, I’ll agree. But I’m not some horny teenager. I need more material to go on. You can show me later how you do the deed.’

  Chapter Twelve

  LOUISE

  We ordered dinner, but I barely ate, feeling as nervous as the waiter who’d delivered our plates. I hadn’t meant to make him feel so uncomfortable, but being around Dan does all kinds of things to me. I replace my dinner with the liquid kind. One cocktail and a lot of wine. I’m all about quelling the nerves for tonight, to help me in this corner I’ve painted myself into.