With Vicki still straddling him, Rhys placed his hands on her hips to help ease himself forward and upright into a sitting position. At the same time, she manoeuvred her legs around his back. He placed his hands under her buttocks and, with a great heave, lifted both Vicki and himself off the bed. He shuffled over to the wall opposite until Vicki’s back slapped hard against it, her feet hanging loosely either side of him. Rhys then thrust as hard and as fast as he could with his hips. The muscles in his thighs were straining to their limit under the weight and sheer physical effort of it all; moisture beads formed on his brow and shoulders and down the centre of his back. Vicki hung onto his shoulders tightly, her nails digging deeply into his flesh, and cried out loudly in time to each thrust from his hips. Sweat was soon cascading down both of their faces. Rhys, too, emitted loud grunts as he pushed harder and faster. Finally, he could hold back no longer and he came with an extended groan. On feeling Rhys’s body shudder, Vicki came too, her head riding up high before slumping forward and over Rhys’s shoulder. For a few minutes, they neither moved nor spoke as they allowed their panting to return to steadier breaths and they remained in the same position against the wall. It was Rhys who was the first to speak.
‘What a ridiculous sight this must be. Now that’s what I call “sex on legs”!’
Vicki burst out laughing. ‘You’re right there!’
When her laughter had subsided, Rhys took a step back to allow Vicki to place her feet onto the carpet. The relief in his thighs almost matched the sensation of his orgasm. He took her hand and led her back to the bed where they lay down next to each other, Vicki on her side with her right arm and leg over him. She removed the condom and dropped it onto the floor. He noticed a speck of blood on her shoulder. A ridge in the wall had pierced her skin.
‘You’ve got a small cut here. I hope it doesn’t hurt or sting, like.’
‘I can’t feel a thing. I don’t remember doing it; I must have had other things on my mind,’ Vicki replied with a grin. She moved her arm and leg off him and lay flat on her back, pushing Rhys right over to the edge of the bed until he almost fell off. A small pool of sweat formed between her breasts and in her navel. Rhys flicked at them with his forefinger and droplets splashed everywhere. ‘Stop it!’ Vicki commanded in a jocular tone, grabbing his hand.
‘Helllllooooo, Vicki, how are you doing in there?’ The faint but clearly audible question thrown at her in a “I know exactly what you’re doing” voice startled them and, instinctively, they both looked towards the door. Without their knowing, Sophie and Jill had arrived home and were standing outside the bedroom, their hands over their mouths to stop them giggling. ‘We’ll be off to the pub in a min. Are you coming?’ Sophie’s pun touched Jill’s funny bone and made her splutter with laughter. They clasped their hands over their mouths even more tightly to drown out the noise and their cheeks reddened like beetroot, Jill having to wipe away the tears from her eyes. Inside the bedroom, Vicki and Rhys could hear them and smiled.
‘Not now, Sophie, we’ll be coming later.’ This triggered Rhys and he began to laugh. Jill and Sophie were now corpsing in hysterics and gave up even trying to hide it. Vicki wondered what was so funny until it finally clicked and she, too, broke out into a giggle.
‘We’ll see you later then. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do now. Have fun. Byeeee.’
Sophie and Jill finally left them, their faces beaming and desperate to tell their friends all about it.
Vicki snuggled up more tightly to Rhys and ran her finger over his washboard stomach, noticing that he was starting to become aroused again. ‘We’ll have to get up in a minute. At this rate, by the time we get ready and down to the pub, the evening will be over.’ Rhys did not reply for his eyes were staring at the poster of the Moulin Rouge. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Vicki said as she continued to run her finger up and down his stomach.
‘Nothing really. I’m just looking at the poster. Paris must be a fantastic city. I wonder if all the girls are like those dancers over there flashing their knickers,’ he added with a lecherous Sid James-like chuckle. ‘I wish I could read French; I can’t make out any of the words. You speak French, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think knowing the words to Michelle constitutes speaking French, somehow.’
Rhys turned to face her. ‘Actually, come to think of it, I do know some French,’ he declared proudly but with a hint of mischief. ‘Soixante-neuf.’
Vicki smiled before allowing herself to be turned round by him into the relevant position.
Vicki and Rhys never did get up in a minute. In fact, the only time they got up that weekend was to go to the bathroom or to fetch some snacks and drinks from the kitchen, which they invariably included in their sex games. They found it impossible to keep their hands off each other. By Saturday evening, even Sophie and Jill had given up asking Vicki when they were likely to make an appearance. At least Vicki always replied back through the bedroom door, so assuring them that they were still alive. That’s not to say that Sophie did not get to see Rhys, even if only a blurred outline of him, as she peered through the frosted glass of the bathroom door on Saturday morning. What he was doing to Vicki in the bath, with water splashing everywhere, got her juices flowing and her own boyfriend wondered with immense satisfaction what had got into her that evening.
But now, as the sun started to dip on a lazy Sunday afternoon, Rhys knew that it was finally time to get up and prepare to leave as his train would not wait for anyone. Vicki knew it too, and resigned herself to the fact, a tear forming in her eye.
‘I can’t leave it any longer, Vick, I’ve got to get up.’ His tone conveyed his reluctance and sadness. Vicki did not reply, fearing that she would burst into tears if she did. The room stank of sex; a mix of rubber, sweat and sperm. It also stank of wine, beer, stale bread, crusty cheese and pickles but no longer of chocolate, however; Vicki and Rhys having earlier re-enacted the legend of the Mars bar made famous by Marianne Faithful and Mick Jagger.
Rhys finally stirred and swung his legs round, planting his feet on the carpet. He tried to stand up but his legs felt as jelly-like as those of a boxer on the receiving end of a Joe Frazier left hook. The rest of his body felt as if it had been rucked over by the ferocious All Blacks pack of forwards. His thigh muscles and shoulders were aching and his body was marked and lined with scratches and bruises. He looked down to where he was experiencing a throbbing sensation, but this time it was through pain rather than desire. It was the same for Vicki as she slid her feet off the bed and onto the carpet. Her body was marked and her cheeks flushed. Her mouth and chin were red raw as a consequence of Rhys’s bristle scraping her face. The same redness was evident on the inside of her thighs and she was almost unbearably sore. They sat next to each other, Vicki’s head resting on his shoulder, naked, tired and sad. Three used condoms lay at their feet, soon to join all the others and empty packets in the wastepaper bin. Despite her soreness, Vicki nudged Rhys hard in the ribs as she reminded him of how she had missed out on one further fuck due to the fact that, in a moment of merriment, he had shown her his party trick of blowing up a condom over his head until it burst. It had been funny, she had to admit, so she let him off.
‘First thing tomorrow I’ll be down the laundrette with these sheets. They’re disgusting.’
‘You might be better off burning them. I can’t believe any washing powder will get these clean.’
Vicki smiled but there was an inherent sadness to it and she stroked his thigh with affection. Rhys finally stood up and shuffled over to the armchair. He unravelled his clothing and began to dress. Vicki remained sitting on the edge of the bed, casting her eyes over him, before accepting defeat by dressing herself. They did so in silence, both of them recalling the vivid and exhilarating events of the past couple of days. But, other than the sex, what struck Vicki about Rhys was how kind and considerate, caring and funny he was and how he encouraged her to realise her ambitions. He wanted her to do well, to succeed, to
be confident and to push hard to fulfil her dreams. She shivered with excitement when he told her that he would help her all the way as best he could. She knew Rhys lacked her education, broader experiences of life and connections, and that his background had acted as an anchor to his ambitions while hers had acted as a sail, but he showed not one iota of resentment or jealousy. What had he said? It’s the way the cards have fallen. You make do with the hand you are dealt with. Don’t complain, just get on with it and do the best you can.
For his part, Rhys wondered when he would wake up from this blissful dream. Had he really just spent the weekend with the most beautiful girl he had ever set eyes on? And not only beautiful but warm, loving and caring. During the journey down to Exeter, he had been worried that, in the cold light of day, Vicki would realise that someone from his background was not for her and that the weekend would turn out to be an unmitigated disaster. But not a bit of it. She was genuinely interested in his life back in Pontypridd and even keen to meet his parents. She encouraged him not to give up on his ambitions, not that he had many, other than to get a better job and move to a larger town or city. She even made him believe that London was not out of the question. London, he always believed, was just an impossible dream. Vicki had dispelled that totally. They had conversed for hours, easily, and on all manner of subjects, which led to their laughing, crying, arguing, discussing, getting angry and getting sad, depending on which. Vicki had opened his eyes to so many new possibilities. When she told him that he possessed the kindest heart she had ever known, he was forced to hide his face from her as he could feel his eyes welling up with tears. No one had ever said such a beautiful thing to him before in all his life.
The house was deathly quiet as they left the bedroom and walked down the stairs. Vicki thought that she might start to cry at any moment. Jill and Sophie were both out, the latter no doubt round Giles’s house, her chauvinist pig of a boyfriend. Vicki loved Sophie, she was her best friend, but, for someone who claimed to be a liberal feminist, it amazed her that she would go out with someone like Giles. It was like Germaine Greer cosying up to Hugh Hefner.
They were soon on their way to the station, Rhys’s hand on Vicki’s thigh as she drove in silence. Rhys, too, was quiet. They were sad to be parting but ecstatic at the same time. They both knew they were in love. They would not admit it to each other just yet, but they knew that that time would not be far off.
‘I can’t wait to come down again next weekend,’ Rhys finally declared. ‘The next few days are gonna be really hard.’
‘The same here.’ After a short pause, Vicki carried on, her voice brighter and her eyes shedding their sadness. ‘Saying that, I’m going to need the week to recover!’
Rhys grinned. ‘I know what you mean! Must get down to Boots to stock up.’
‘Me, too,’ Vicki replied with a smile.
‘Hey, if we wanna make a few quid, why don’t we buy some shares in Durex first? Their price will go through the roof.’
Vicki chuckled. ‘Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. Might be easier if I go on the Pill, though?’
‘Let me know when you do. We’ll sell the shares before then.’
They burst out laughing which did not stop until they arrived at St David’s. They were on time but had only a few minutes to spare. On the concourse, they hugged each other, neither of them wishing to be the first to break off. Vicki’s eyes were moist and Rhys felt a lump in his throat.
‘Only a few days to wait. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Tonight, please,’ Vicki choked.
‘Okay, tonight.’
Rhys finally let go of Vicki, picked up his holdall and turned to catch his train. After only a couple of paces, he turned back with a broad grin on his face. ‘Oh, by the way, it was nice meeting your friends and the party was great.’
Vicki giggled and blew him a kiss, the happiest she had ever been in her life.
June 1970
CHAPTER 5
‘Now where is it? It’s got to be around here somewhere.’
The impatience in Rhys’s voice reflected how hot and bothered he felt for he had been sweltering away for nearly five hours in his father’s mustard-coloured Mini despite having the windows open wide.
It was scorching hot outside, being Midsummer’s Day, and he was running late, not helped by the fact that at one stage the car had over-heated and broken down. While waiting for it to cool, with nothing better to do than gaze at the rusty wheel arch from the side of the road, he was worried that he would never make it to his destination in time … if at all. But now, as it loomed closer, he knew he would soon be arriving and this came as a massive relief to him.
The day was an important one for Vicki had invited him to a party to celebrate her parents’ wedding anniversary which coincided with the longest day of the year. It would be the first time Rhys had met them and he was on edge, keen to make a good impression.
With Vicki having received a first-class honours degree, the party would be a double celebration. She had been shocked but ecstatic when she heard the news, never imagining it possible. It had been Rhys who had made her believe that she was capable of it. Right up to the day of the first exam, he had continually urged her to believe in herself, to believe that she was bright, intelligent and diligent. His final words before she entered the Great Hall on campus for that first exam were ‘show them what you’ve got’, his fist clenched in front of him to inspire her, like a rugby captain rallying his team before entering the field of play. Vicki went in emboldened and confident and it paid dividends for she had succeeded like he said she would.
‘Here’s the lane,’ he muttered, glancing at the scribble on the piece of paper on the passenger seat, the words corresponding with those on the name plate at the entrance to a narrow road on his right. ‘She said it’s just along here.’ He indicated and turned in, the Mini almost at walking pace as he drove along the lane which was lined either side by neatly trimmed hedges and passing numerous cars parked bumper to bumper to his left. He was intrigued why there were so many and blew out his cheeks at the quality and expense of them. There were even two E-Type Jaguars, his favourite car of all.
He slowed down to barely a crawl as he passed the end of the line of cars and arrived at two imposing, black wrought-iron gates. To their side was a pedestrian gate which was open. He stopped in front and saw the beautiful, double-fronted stone house at the end of a short gravel drive. Next to the house was a triple garage, outside of which he recognised a white MG Roadster.
‘Fuck me, I didn’t think she lived in a house like this!’
He drove on, wondering where to park the Mini, as another long line of cars stretched far down the lane the other side of the gate.
‘They must all be going to the party,’ Rhys concluded. ‘She said it was only a small affair with a handful of close friends. They must have a hell of a lot of close friends!’
Eventually, a quarter of a mile further on, the line of cars came to an end and Rhys pulled in. To his astonishment, for he had never seen one before in real life, he was parked next to a Rolls-Royce. When Rhys stood back to admire it, flexing his shoulders at the same time to relieve their stiffness, it seemed as if its massive grille would open up and devour the tiny Mini.
He wandered back down the lane, becoming more nervous with each step he took. This is a much grander party than Vicki had let on, he realised with a frown, admiring the cars. He wondered whether the four warm cans of lager in the Tesco carrier bag he was holding were appropriate for such an occasion. He was even more worried, however, at his choice of clothes. ‘It’s very casual, wear what you like.’ He recalled and spoke Vicki’s nonchalant advice word for word, then scolded himself for not asking her to be more specific. At least his Levi’s 501 Shrink-To-Fit jeans, which covered his shiny tan Chelsea Boots, were new, though they felt a little tight, as if he had sat in the bath for too long in them. Well, either that or he had put on a bit of weight. He held in his stomach as he strolled up the
lane, trying to relieve the strain around his waist, but then cursed when he noticed a couple of specks of oily dirt from the Mini’s engine on his thighs. His blue and white gingham Ben Sherman shirt showed off his muscular torso to the maximum but he was conscious of the whiff of perspiration, which was impossible to hide, and regretted not spraying on his Old Spice deodorant that morning, not wanting it to clash with his Hai Karate aftershave. Rhys was also worried whether the Levi’s waistcoat was a bit over the top. With all the denim he was wearing, he felt like a cowboy.
Finally, a moment later, with butterflies fluttering alarmingly in his stomach, he arrived at the pedestrian gate, passed through, and walked up the gravel drive, each crunch beneath his feet sounding like a step closer to the hangman’s noose. He sucked in some enormous deep breaths, gulping down as much air as he could to try and calm his nerves. This was not what he had been expecting at all. In fact, it was worse, for when he pulled down on the handle of the butler bell, a tall, straight-backed, impeccably dressed man answered. He was wearing beige linen trousers and brown suede loafers. His sparkling white cotton shirt bore not a single crease and was as fresh as newly mown grass at the start of the cricket season. The two open buttons revealed wisps of grey-brown hair on a Mediterranean-tanned chest. Despite the heat, he was wearing a lightweight navy-blue blazer with a white silk handkerchief protruding with a flourish from the breast pocket. On his wrist, Rhys noticed a chunky gold watch. It was a Rolex.
‘Yes?’ Vicki’s father enquired, looking Rhys up and down as if he were a workman arriving to carry out some job in the house.
‘Oh, hello. Is Vicki around? I’m Rhys.’
‘Ah, Rhys. Could you just wait a minute?’ and with that Vicki’s father turned away, leaving him on the doorstep without even the courtesy of a smile, handshake or invitation to come in.
Rhys stood stock still, feeling extremely self-conscious, an outsider looking in, as across the threshold hordes of elegantly dressed guests mingled in small groups with glasses of champagne and wine in hand. He witnessed two young girls dressed in black dresses and white pinnies refilling glasses. A third girl was offering canapés from a silver tray with the friendliest and politest of smiles. Some of the guests looked at him with intrigue before turning back to their conversations, wondering why he had not used the tradesman’s entrance.
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