Desire

by Mariella Frostrup

  “Wring those out and put them out to dry in the sun. I’ll need to get a fresh pair from my case.”

  “But not until after you have taken lunch, my lady.” Duval gestured towards the tree stump with a groundsheet spread on the grass slope nearby. She sat with her legs tucked under her and helped herself. He passed her a can of fruit juice and she ate and drank voraciously for a few minutes.

  Feeling the warmth of the sun Duval stripped off his shirt. He might as well add the final touches to quite a decent tan he had picked up in the last three days. He unzipped his slacks and stepped out of them before helping himself to a smoked salmon sandwich. He heard Sara’s soft wolf whistle as he reclined at her knees.

  “Lucky you’re wearing boxer shorts! So long as nothing gets hard,” she commented tartly with her mouth half full.

  “Now why should that happen?” He looked up at her.

  Sara opened her eyes wide in a show of innocent surprise. Then she loosed the bottom two buttons of the denim dress, pointedly looking at his crotch area.

  “Nothing to report,” he commented, looking there also.

  Her hand moved to the top two buttons. Then she slipped the dress off her shoulders so that it lay around her thighs. From the road it would look as if she were demurely sitting in a halter top and shorts.

  She reached languidly for another sandwich. “Still nothing?”

  “Not really. Not worth writing home about anyway.”

  She shifted her position and parted her thighs slightly.

  “Prove it.”

  “What here?”

  “Why not? Surely you’re not ashamed of displaying those manly assets to the world.” She smiled knowingly.

  “As far as I know the laws in Scotland relating to indecent exposure are much the same as in England. I don’t fancy being hauled up before the magistrate.”

  “Chicken! It’s your turn!” Sara accused, pulling her dress back on, re-buttoning it and standing up. “Have you finished the last sandwich? Typical.”

  Duval stood up as she tugged at the groundsheet and the towel. He was in two minds about this. He suspected she was bluffing and just wanted him to come on more strongly. Could she really want him to stand naked before her? Or was she pushing him into it to confirm some suspicion she had about his sexuality?

  “Well?” She was looking him right in the eye. “Are we shy, Mary Ellen?”

  He took a deep breath and eased the shorts down over his semi erect shaft which seemed to take on new life once out in the open. He hesitated with them half way down his thighs and then realised he looked ridiculous.

  “All the way. And hand them over.”

  Duval did so, resisting an instinct to cover himself. “Now what? Are you satisfied?”

  “Not really. I’m sure if you try just a little bit harder you would, well, get just a little bit harder.”

  To his horror he heard the faint sound of a motor. So did Sara. She bobbed down, swept up his shirt and trousers, and skipped away towards the road. “I’ll see you back at the car. Don’t forget to bring my briefs,” she called over her shoulder.

  He was caught without a stitch. He started to run after her but she saw him and darted away with a shriek of laughter. He cursed as the sound of the approaching motor became unmistakeable. Her pink panties were all that remained. He squatted down quickly on the grass as the car drew level, making himself as small a target as possible. He almost prayed for it to go on. It seemed to slow but didn’t stop.

  A blessed silence, but his relief was short lived as he heard the sound of his car starting up. Damn! She still had the keys.

  He called out in panic. His erection had completely subsided. There was only one thing for it. He stepped into the panties and pulled the damp garment up as far as it would go. It hardly covered him but he couldn’t care. He heard the car pulling away.

  Slipping his shoes on he tore through the beechwood, collecting several painful scratches on his legs. He could see the rear end of Goldie several metres up the road and he began chasing after it screaming in indignation. To his relief the brake lights came on and then the reversing lights. Sara swept past him smiling sweetly over her shoulder and backed into the passing place. He cursed again. What further tricks did she have up her sleeve?

  She wound down the passenger window a crack.

  “Did you bring my pants with you?”

  “Of course I did. You can see them!”

  “Mm, very fetching. Well, if that’s you fully dressed, you’d better get in. Otherwise I could hand you out your clothes?”

  “No, I’ll get in like this. I don’t trust you when you’re behind the wheel and I’m out here.”

  She let him in but killed the engine immediately. He reached over to the back for his shorts but stopped as he felt her hand firmly outlining his crotch. He slumped back into his seat as a preliminary wave of pleasure swept over him.

  She leant over him and whispered into his ear. “I think these are just a little too tight, so let’s have them off.” He could not resist.

  Resistance was at an even lower ebb as he was taken in her mouth, at first just over the glans but then she sucked him in deeper. He half closed his eyes as he prepared for a journey towards physical ecstasy. The hot sun, dappled by the branches overhead, poured in through the sunroof.

  “Lower the seat back, darling. I want to make love to you.”

  He did so and was reminded of Myra. Now he didn’t feel the same guilt, only a sense of justice that he should be sharing something of her experience. He heard a tearing sound and Sara dangled an unwrapped condom above his nose. But when he reached for it she whipped it away.

  “Knees up!”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m going to make love to you.” She bent down and kissed him deeply, pressing her tongue into his mouth. At the same time she reached down and pulled his legs up into an upright position.

  She sat up again and massaged his shaft with her left hand but her right was somewhere else. He felt a tickling and then a slow burning at his anal cleft as she inserted two fingers cloaked in the condom. It felt cold and then burned.

  “Now, darling, just relax. I think you will enjoy this. And it will help you to get in touch with your feminine side. Just feel me entering you and try to imagine how a woman feels when she is making love.”

  “No, Sara!”

  He tried to take her hand away, but she firmly raised his arm above his head, pumping him slightly harder with her two active fingers. He groaned and felt his sphincter relaxing as she penetrated a few millimetres deeper. It was a sensation that was so novel he didn’t know how to respond. At one level Duval was under attack but on another he knew he was being taken on a seriously circuitous route to a final and cataclysmic orgasm.

  Sara took his other hand and moved it up to his crotch. Putting it over his she encouraged him to masturbate himself vigorously, squeezing his bulging glans and spreading the seeping fluid all the way back down his shaft. Her probing fingers below picked up his rhythm. As she slid further in with more aggressive strokes he felt her thumb nail flick his tightly suspended balls.

  “Relax, darling. I want to see you really come. This is exciting for me too.” He groaned as the numbness of release inexorably approached.

  Another car drew close and then crept past with a friendly toot on the horn. Sara looked up, cursed softly, withdrew her fingers from his anus, leaving the condom in place, and waved briefly in response. Immediately she re-entered him and returned to her vigorous penetration, this time spreading his thighs as wide apart as they would go in the confined space.

  He frigged himself with an increasing frenzy as he felt the moment of release was imminent. Her fingers must now be in him as far as they would go, making a slow-burning fire as she twisted them first one way then the other. With her thumb she put a slight pressure on each testicle in turn.

  He came with a force that was like nothing he had previously experienced. His hand fell away from his pe
nis as it continued to pump bursts as high as his chest. Both arms were above his head in an unconscious gesture of surrender. She gently massaged the last spasms from his spent shaft. Only then did she withdraw from his anal passage, giving him one final moment of raw sensation. She folded the condom in on itself and dropped it out of the window.

  Sara bent over to rub the jism into his chest and belly then bent down to kiss him on the forehead. “Next time,” she breathed, “do that inside me and you’ll have a better idea what I’m feeling.”

  THE PERFECT ITALIAN WIFE

  Alessandra Rivalta

  Alessandra Rivalta is originally from Italy but moved to London when she turned eighteen, attracted by the vibrant, multicultural big city. She has a deep love for good food, and in her spare time she enjoys scoping the city for little and unknown restaurants, delicatessens and peculiar fast foods. Her adventurous spirit and trusted backpack have accompanied her on many trips around the globe, where she prefers to travel alone in order to connect with the local people and culture. She is a good cook and likes to experiment, in her stories as much as in her kitchen.

  I’m sitting in the hospital lobby, waiting for them to come out and call me. It’s packed: everywhere you look, pregnant women sit by themselves, with their partner, with other children clinging to their knees and crying for attention. Some of their faces are happy, some tired and worn out by one too many sleepless nights, some are reading baby parenting books like they hold more truth than the Bible. The high-pitched squeals do nothing to soothe my nerves: my eyes keep darting to the ultrasound room door. I just wish I could tell them all to shut up and be quiet, but somehow I don’t think that would go down too well with the hormone-crazed women sharing the room with me. So I just slouch a little in my plastic chair and go back to staring at the door.

  *

  The church is beautifully decorated, white satin ribbons flowing in the summer breeze from the open door, people coming in and filling the places on the benches and chatting vivaciously. I look at the groom next to the altar, handsome in his dark blue tux with a white tie, and such a happy look in his brown eyes he seems to light up the entire church. He catches my glance and nods: we’re ready. I take my cue and walk briskly to the back room where the bride is waiting.

  “Carolina, everybody’s here. Are you ready?”

  From where she sits at the mirror, her excited blue eyes meet mine and she smiles. She looks so much like me, we could be twins, but my eyes are green and she’s my baby sister, getting married today.

  “Sure Toni, just help me with this veil, will you? You’ve got the flowers, right?” I laugh at her anxious tone and nod. “Great. You’re the most amazing maid of honour ever, I swear. You’ll be an amazing bride, too.”

  I make a face.

  “I’m not sure I’ll live to see that day... Massimo is so slow! I swear if I have to drop one more hint, I might as well spell it out for him.”

  She’s laughing hard, beautiful in her white dress, her face now covered by the exquisite lace veil, hands modestly clutching the bouquet.

  “Trust me, Toni, he’ll pop the question soon. Remember: they want the perfect Italian wife, devoted to the house and the children and, most of all, the husband’s needs. Keep being who you are, the lovely housewife who makes his house a home, and he’d be a fool to let you go! Now, hurry, dad’s waiting for us.”

  *

  A hand gently shakes my shoulder.

  “Antonia, darling, have you been waiting long?”

  Massimo’s sister looks worried. She seems so out of place in her Chanel tailleur, somehow managing to convey pity and disapproval, taking in my old jeans and paint-streaked hair.

  “No, Giulia, just a few minutes. But they said it might be a while, so if you want to go for a smoke, don’t worry, there’s time. I’ll call you if you’re not here when we have to go in.”

  “Thanks, Toni, you’re a star.” She smiles, grateful for the opportunity to leave this alien environment, so filled with snotty noses, messy hair and dirty clothes. I don’t even turn around to watch her go, choosing to get lost in my own head again, while I still can.

  *

  There’s a letter on the table, official looking, with an embossed logo and header, on display against a bottle of Montepulciano amongst the carefully set dinnerware. I can hear the front door opening and a voice shouting “Honey, I’m home!”

  “Come through, I’m just putting the lasagne in the oven. Hurry and take a shower, dinner’s ready in twenty!”

  Then hands are circling my waist and I turn to give him a kiss. I swat his arms away. “Go get ready: wouldn’t want the food to spoil...”

  Sitting at the table, I pour him a glass of wine as he reads the letter. I’m looking at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

  “I don’t understand, Antonia. What does this mean?” His brow is furrowed and he doesn’t look too pleased. I’m confused.

  “They offered me a job in one of the best practices in town. They said they’re looking for someone with my background to work with bilingual children and their families. And maybe, in a few years, I could be a partner!” I’m almost squealing, but I’m too happy to care. “It’s a great job, a fantastic start for my career!”

  “But... what about the children?”

  My face falls, my stomach ties in a knot and I reach for my wine.

  “Max, we talked about this. You know what the doctors said...”

  “I don’t care what they said! We can find a way!” Now he looks enraged. “And you want a family, too. But how are you supposed to do that if you take a job that’s going to keep you busy all the time? Don’t forget, the doctors also said that stress is a huge factor, and this job has such a big responsibility you’ll be stressed all the time! Did you think about that?”

  “Max, please...” I feel the tears welling up but I refuse to cry. “They said another miscarriage might kill me. We’ve already lost three, I don’t think I can... I can’t do it again, Max.”

  “Then we can adopt. It’s true that I said I didn’t want to before, but now... if it’s our only option, we’ll adopt.” He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and he kisses my palm.

  “Really? You mean it, you wouldn’t mind...?”

  “Really.” He smiles at me, and I’m lost into those eyes. They’re my downfall: when he stares at me like this, he can make me do whatever he wants, and I don’t mind. “But, we won’t get considered for adoption if you take this new job. The hours are too long, the responsibilities too big; they need to know you’ll be staying home with the children, and you can’t take maternity leave if you’ve just started in your position. I want a child, and I want it now. We’re ready.”

  “You’re right, of course. I’ll call them...” I kiss him gently on the lips. “I’ll turn them down.”

  *

  Mother is furious, I can hear her screaming through the phone even without the loudspeaker.

  “You’re letting him manipulate you again, Antonia! How can you throw your life away like this? You’ve got a masters in education for god’s sake!”

  “Mamma, please, understand. I’m not throwing my life anywhere, I just choose a family over a career. Why can’t you just accept that I want this...”

  “Because this is not you, Toni! This is Max talking. He’s a no good, bigoted caveman. And you’re letting him walk all over you! One day you’ll realise this, and it will be too late: you’ll still be working as a behavioural therapist at the nursery, a glorified babysitter, with a pitiful salary, and you’ll regret it.”

  “Mamma, please, let me explain...”

  “I’ve heard enough in these past three years, Toni. You want to be just another housewife? Fine. I thought we taught you better than this, but evidently not. Your father and I are very disappointed in you.”

  She hangs up the phone and I feel like crying, but then I look at the pictures on the wall, of me and Max in the past three years. So my parents don’t understand, but it
’s okay, because I have Massimo and he loves me and he wants a family with me. And this is all that matters.

  *

  The door opens and a nurse in a white uniform shouts my name. I get up, take my bag and coat and walk towards her. She leads me to a smaller room with a curtain separating the few chairs and a computer from the bed. I can hear people talking behind the screen as I drop my things to text Giulia and, for a moment, I feel utterly lost.

  “If you want to come through here, please,” says the nurse, and I avoid looking at her eyes, because I can already feel the pity and I know if I actually see it written all over her face I might either cry or scream, and I refuse to do either. I choose to follow her in silence, to the bed where Massimo is standing talking to a doctor, his hand on the shoulder of a beautiful woman. Her features are striking, olive skin standing out against the hospital’s white sheets, the gown raised so her flat stomach is bared, a paper towel covering her pelvis leaving her legs naked: a mile long of tanned skin, taut and waxed to perfection, stretching out leisurely against the gurney. I can’t hear a word they’re saying.

  I’m too busy remembering the last instance I saw those exposed legs.

  *

  It’s late afternoon and I’m running home early. I asked for a half day at work to cook dinner: tonight Giorgia, Max’s childhood friend, is coming to stay with us for a few days. I went food shopping for her favourites and I’m going to surprise both her and Max tonight with a perfect dinner.

  When I open the door, the first thing I see are Max’s work boots and bag next to them. Did he have a day off today and I forgot? Before I can think about it, I hear muffled sounds coming from upstairs, so I drop my bags and walk up. I’m being exceedingly quiet, and I’m doing it without even realising, as if I already know what I’m going to find. No amount of thought or imagination could have prepared me for what’s waiting for me in my bedroom. I wish I could move, whether to leave or to walk in, or even just to say something, but I’m rooted to the spot, standing against the doorframe.