Ben

by Cody Young

  “Come here,” he said, stretching out a hand for her.

  She shook her head. “No...”

  “What if I could give you pleasure without going the whole way. How would that be?”

  “What?”

  “Pleasure without penetration. I’m sure you get the idea.”

  Pleasure without penetration. Oh, God. A kind of shiver of longing mixed with fear went through her. “I think that would be cheating.”

  “Cheating?” he said, amused by her choice of word.

  She stood there, feeling very vulnerable. He would think she was very young and naïve if she tried to tell him what she really meant. She tried not to think about what Ben had in mind. Kissing, touching, doing things with his smooth doctor fingers that she was terrified she might like a little too much.

  “How is it cheating?” he insisted. “If we don’t have sex, you’re still a virgin, right?”

  “Yes, but…it will change me, won’t it?”

  “You think if I give you an orgasm, you’ll be changed?” He laughed. “What – forever? Well. I’ve never heard that one before. It does put me under a certain amount of pressure, I suppose. To deliver a life-changing experience. But I’d be willing to give it a go. If you’ll let me?”

  She wondered if she could go back in the bathroom and lock the door. Spend the night in there. “I told you. I need time.”

  “Okay. It was just a suggestion. You can have all the time you want.” He sighed and got up off the bed and opened the cupboard where they kept the pillow and the single duvet. He held them for a moment, staring at them. Then he shoved them back into the dark cupboard in frustration. “Look. If I promise not to touch you, can I sleep in here like I did the other night?

  She hesitated. It hadn’t been easy the other night. It hadn’t worked out well. And tonight would be harder.

  He took a step towards her, and his dark eyes seemed to plead with her. “It’s killing me sleeping on the couch. I need a decent night’s sleep. We both do.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  So they lay down in the bed together, side by side. He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Just like yesterday. And she lay there feeling like she was committing some kind of crime, her emotions jangling and her heartbeat jittery inside her.

  “Are you okay?” he said, still looking at the ceiling.

  “No, not really.”

  “You’re scared.”

  “Shitless,” she admitted.

  So then he turned towards her, lying on his side. “This is how it works, okay? This is how normal people do it. If you think I’m getting too fresh, you tell me. And then I have to stop. That’s how it goes – the guy gets ideas, but the girl can always say no. If the guy’s a decent person – he honours her right to say no. He wants her heart as well as her body. And he’s hoping that ‘no’ might really mean ‘not yet’. Which is a much better answer. You understand, Layla? You can always say no, or not yet. Because this is the real world, and it’s not like the Fizz Club, you see?”

  She thought about all of that. Slowly, giving herself time to think. Then she looked up and caught the hope burning in his dark eyes. “I see.”

  He glanced down – eyelashes doing a slow, flirtatious descent towards the bedclothes. Then he looked up at her again. “Of course, if you say yes, you will catapult me into heaven, but it is your right to say no. Always.”

  She almost giggled. “Catapult you into heaven? The things you say!”

  “You’ll get used to me.”

  She didn’t think she ever would – there was something about Ben that always seemed to make her catch her breath and gaze at him in surprise and admiration. “I’m sorry about tonight, but I think I have to say not yet.”

  And he smiled. “That’s progress.”

  “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Goodnight, baby.” He rolled over and pulled the sheet up over his shoulder.

  She acknowledged in the quiet privacy of her heart, that she felt both guilty and a little disappointed. She rolled over onto her side, and tried to relax – which was about as easy as lying on a bed of broken glass. But somehow, she forced herself to set aside her hopes and fears. And they went to sleep.

  But in the dark of the night, she woke and lay there with her heart thundering, just like before. She tried to ground herself – to shake off the fear. She was in Ben’s bed. Where she wanted to be. Safe and warm with Ben beside her. His breathing was steady and relaxed. She was sure he must be sleeping – which is why it caught her like a scary scene in a movie when he put his arm over her.

  She stifled a cry of surprise. “Ben! I thought you were asleep.”

  “Hey – I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pulled her close, kissed her face tenderly like she was a child who had woken from a bad dream. “It’s okay, Layla.”

  As the trembling subsided, it was replaced with another feeling. A more persistent one.

  He kept holding her – in an embrace that was more about affection than sex. He didn’t try anything. No accidental brushing up against her breasts, nothing. And then, after a while, he kissed her forehead and let her go, and settled back down to get some more sleep.

  But the feeling inside her was more than persistent now. It was a voice that couldn’t be ignored. A realization that slammed into her – like her heart kept beating inside her ribcage as if she was nothing more than a frightened bird.

  “Ben?” she whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “What was it you said when we were getting ready for bed? About not going all the way…”

  There was a silence and then his breath came out in a kind of shivery sigh. “Come here. I’ll show you.”

  He kissed her for a long time. Slow and tender. He ran his left hand down over her body, letting it rest on the curve of her breast - through the shirt. Then he stopped kissing her, and that was the scariest moment. Because he moved down to where the curved edge of his shirt lay across her thighs. And she knew he was going to move it.

  She didn’t want to be scared. She wanted to enjoy it. But as he slid his hand under the edge of the shirt, she was struggling to hold on to her composure.

  “N-no…”

  “Okay. No.” His voice barely concealed his disappointment, but he removed his hand, and put it up to her face instead. He gazed down at her and sighed. Kissed her forehead, very gently.

  She felt so bad. “Tomorrow night, maybe?”

  “Maybe,” he said, sounding kinder now.

  “Or the night after.”

  “The night after tomorrow, I’ll be in Honolulu.”

  Oh, yes. The medical conference. She had forgotten. They’d talked about it at the weekend. But in all this angst they’d been having, she had forgotten about it. Three days and nights without him.

  “Maybe that’s for the best," she said.

  He rolled over again and sighed. "Maybe."

  There was a pause.

  “Ben. Come back. I’ve changed my mind.”

  And he made a strange sound – not exactly a laugh, but something like it. “Yes. I’m definitely in bed with a woman.”

  And, then, gently, patiently, he began all over again.

  Pleasure

  He had her where he wanted her now, lying on her back on the bed. He’d even got her to relax and let her lovely legs fall open a little bit. He was right there now, between them, lowering his head to kiss her. When his tongue hit her body he felt a tremor go through her.

  “Oh, Ben…”

  He sighed too – this time a sigh of enjoyment – then he held her legs to stop her trembling and plunged in, letting his tongue glide over all the secrets she had tried to hide from him. Oh, she was so sweet. And he loved doing this, licking and tasting, even though he knew he was taking her to the very edge of her fear. This deep, intimate kissing was a kind of delight she couldn’t shy away from. He wouldn't let her, and she didn’t seem to want to. Not now.
He kept tight hold of her legs and licked some more. She moaned and he was glad to hear nothing in that soft sound that could possibly be construed as a ‘no’.

  Ah, Layla. I’m going to get you, he thought, as she responded to him. She pushed and pressed her body against him, despite her fear. Yes, you like it. I know you like it. Hunger and lust. Wanting and yearning. All channelled into this – his tongue sliding, gliding over her. Tonight, tonight. I’ll reach in and bite your heart, baby. Hardly daring to believe she was letting him do this to her, he went all out before she changed her mind again. He plunged in, tasting the heat of her body and the slick wetness of her desire for him. It almost drove him crazy, and he doubted his ability to keep his own lust in check. He felt a wild impulse to leave this and give her the real deal, but he had promised, and he was a man of his word. So he gave her his tongue and kept the secret of his rock-hard erection to himself.

  She arched on the bed, and he knew he had her. Just a few more strokes, baby, and I'll get you there.

  “Oh, you bastard! To make me feel like this. Oh, Ben…Oh, God…Oh, please…”

  Her sentiments weren’t quite what he was expecting, but then, she was full of surprises. He took her over the edge with relentless strokes of his tongue and a refusal to give up even when she started screaming. She threw her arms out across the bed and gave herself up to him. Warm wet strokes of pleasure and she was sobbing, shaking. When the sound subsided, he knew it was safe to stop. He raised his head and looked at her. Flushed, shaking, fists clenched in the sheets.

  He felt almost guilty, until he saw that her eyes were shining.

  Yeah. He had changed her. Forever.

  * * *

  Mr. Birch stood in the public bar at the Fizz Club looking at a framed photograph on the wall. A row of girls – about five of them – all in fishnets. And top hats. And not a lot else. One of them was Tara Gilbert. Going back a few years, now.

  Mr Birch stared at the face in the photo. Yes, she was passably pretty – before the drugs put an end to all that. But the daughter, now she was the real prize. A lotus flower – a perfect bloom that rises out of the mud every once in a while. And she was a strong-willed little thing too, underneath the shyness. Mr. Birch marvelled that Layla’s attitude to drugs almost perfectly matched his own. Like him, she’d resolved early to avoid the heady delights of substance abuse. Like him, she’d recognised that if she didn’t do the drugs, then the dealers couldn’t control her – except by threats and fear. Like him, she could go places. You could always go places, if you had that strength of character.

  That’s how she’s evaded us for so long. He smiled, thinking of her playing the doctor’s wife in Richmond. He could understand that, for he too liked the good life. He too enjoyed beautiful things. “He’s had her fun with her now. She’s one of us. She belongs here.”

  “What’s that Mr Birch?” Jimmy – who’d worked for Birch a long time – was helping himself to a free drink and a packet of peanuts from behind the bar.

  Mr. Birch smiled. “It’s time we made a social call, Jimmy. Other side of the river. I’ve an itch I want to scratch. In Richmond Park.”

  Honolulu

  Ben wasn’t looking forward to the medical conference in Honolulu. Three days listening to dull presentations about vaccine effectiveness and common skin disorders didn’t appeal one tiny little bit. He’d rather be here with Layla. She was so close to trusting him now. It tantalised him, teased him and encouraged him. The thought of getting even closer.

  He looked at the red plastic travel wallet lying on the kitchen bench. “I wish you were coming with me.” He’d love to share his hotel room with her at night and maybe sneak out of the boring presentations to go and take a dip with her in the hotel pool.

  She shook her head. “You know I can’t go.”

  There was a problem. She didn’t have a passport. And there wasn’t time to get one, not before the weekend.

  “We could pay for an urgent one,” he said. “I could say it’s a medical necessity that you accompany me to Honolulu.”

  She laughed. “No. It’s only for three days. You go. It’ll be good to have a break from each other.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that, either. He didn’t want a break. “Layla? Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “More or less,” she said, with shadows of doubt in her grey eyes.

  “I won’t drink anything in Honolulu. I swear.”

  “I believe you,” she said. “Thousands wouldn’t.”

  He thought about other conferences he’d been to – and saw flashbacks of himself alone with the hotel minibar, working his way towards a colossal hangover. He had a strong premonition that he ought to cancel his plans and stay at home. “Will you be alright here, on your own?”

  “Yes. I’ve got my new job to go to, haven’t I? I’m at the flower shop all day Saturday.”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right. Your first full day,” he smiled, and touched her arm. “I hope it goes well.”

  “It will. It’s lovely in there.”

  That gave him some hope. She loved the life here – the flower shop, the flat, the comfy bed and the sofa, the afternoon walks in Richmond park. It was only him that was causing her to have doubts.

  “Layla. I’ll change. I’ll be everything you want me to be.”

  She smiled and she kissed him. “I love you, Ben. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  No, she’d be somewhere much worse. It made him insecure, thinking that she hadn’t had much choice.

  “I don’t want to go,” he said, suddenly. “I don’t want to leave you here on your own.”

  “I’ll be fine. And when you get back it’ll be like a brand new start. For both of us.”

  He hoped so. He certainly hoped so.

  She went to the wardrobe and pulled out a sleek black case on wheels and an empty suit bag. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get your suitcase packed.”

  * * *

  It was an eighteen-hour flight to Hawaii, touching down just once in Seattle.

  Ben passed through customs at Honolulu International Airport without incident and took a taxi to the hotel. The warm breeze came in through the driver’s open window, refreshing after the cramp-inducing long-haul flight. The room at the hotel was quite nice – decorated in masculine shades of brown and black, with crisp white sheets and a view of the hotel pool. Ben went to the window and gazed out at the blue water and tried not to think about Layla in a bikini.

  He turned back to the bed, where he had jettisoned his luggage and his jacket. It was hot. Eighty in the shade – or in Celsius, around twenty-eight degrees. It was very different from the bleak December day he had left behind in London. He had been to Hawaii before, but the heat bouncing off white stucco and the waving shadows of the palm fronds always came as a surprise. He took off his tie, it was too hot to wear a tie. And they’d said it would be cooler in December. He was supposed to rendezvous with fellow doctors at midday – in two hours’ time – for a meet-and-greet session in the hotel lobby. With drinks. Whatever he drank – it had to have ice in it.

  Two hours. He could shower. He could watch most of a movie. He could open up his conference schedule and read the bio for each one of the speakers. Sod them all.

  He worked out the time difference and found that it would be ten past nine in the UK, a perfectly good time to call her. He picked up the hotel phone and called the number in Richmond, Surrey.

  It rang and rang, but she didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Layla had spent a very happy Saturday in the florist’s shop. It was busy. There were pre-Christmas functions on and people wanted corsages. There were wedding orders to fill – bouquets and buttonholes – prepped the night before and picked up all through the morning. There were impulse buys and guilty husbands and people who just wanted a bunch of cheap and cheerful to brighten up the weekend.

  After work, she walked home to Ben’s flat – she still thought of it as Ben’s flat though he�
��d told her she should call it home, and she didn’t have another. She got herself a plate of dinner and ate alone – feeling rather strange sitting at his little glass table, all by herself. She thought about her old life a bit, so much so that round about seven she phoned up Tracey, wanting to have a girly gossip, like they always used to.

  Tracey said she wanted to come and see her. “Can I, Layla, please? I’d love to see the set up there – and you know – see how the other half live.”

  “I dunno, Trace. It’s his flat. Maybe not.”

  “Why not?”

  She wasn’t sure. It seemed like she ought to ask Ben first, but she thought he’d still be flying. Maybe it was because she didn’t want her two lives to cross over, ever again. She wanted to stay in the new one, and forget the old. And yet she’d been the one to dial Tracey’s number.

  Tracey couldn’t understand it. “We used to be like sisters. I’ve still got your hair in me box of treasures. What’s the matter, Layla, don’t you think I’m good enough for Richmond or something?”

  “Course you are, Trace. I’m sorry. I’m scared of messing things up with him, that’s all.”

  “He’s so smitten I don’t think you could. Everyone’s talking about what they got out of him.”

  Layla didn’t want to think about that. “They took too much. One day he’ll wake up and realize I wasn’t worth it. Come over. He’s got lots of CDs. We can drink his tequila and play music all night – as long as we don’t annoy the neighbours.”

  So that’s what they did. Around nine p.m. they were in the tiny bathroom, trying on different shades of eye shadow. Tracey had brought round a whole selection that someone in the Rookeries had given her – said it fell off the back of a lorry. She knew it was nicked, but she was planning to sell it on at school to her friends and make a bit of pocket money. They had the music turned up loud so they could still hear it while they were in the bathroom – Ben’s bathroom had a lovely big mirror. They were laughing and joking just like they used to, singing along sometimes to the music. They didn’t hear the phone. Purring discreetly on its stand.