He swung his hips forward and she felt his member tapping against the small of her back. Clare cleared her throat. ‘Are you Matt?’ she said in a small voice.
The man froze.
He leapt backwards out of the bed in one movement, catching his feet in the sheets and crashing to the ground. The bed was an enormous teak thing, painted to resemble an antique opium lounge. The distance to the floor was substantial. Clare switched on the bedside lamp and leaned out over the edge of the mattress. The man on the floor had curly brown hair and a solid build. He was probably in very good shape a few years ago, but was now carrying the extra padding that comes to so many men in middle age. He clutched the sheet to his chest to cover himself, unaware that it reached only down to his navel. His eyes darted, his brow furrowed and his penis throbbed involuntarily.
Clare recognised him from the footage Lisa had included in the pre-briefing video. ‘Yeah, you’re Matt,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Clare. Lisa probably told you about me.’
Matt took her hand cautiously and shook it. ‘She said something about a friend. Might be staying. This week. While I was out of town.’ Each phrase ended with an upward inflection as he searched for reassurance. ‘Are you the friend?’
‘Sort of.’ Her gaze slid down to Matt’s exposed crotch. ‘She said you probably wouldn’t be home for another week or two, at least.’
‘Conference got cancelled,’ Matt propped himself up on one elbow and tugged at the sheets for more coverage. ‘Look, I thought you were my wife. I’m sorry, for grabbing you.’
‘Don’t be. That’s what’s supposed to happen.’
‘What?’
‘Really? Didn’t Lisa tell you why I’m staying in your house this week?’
‘Oh god, she did tell me something actually, about a house swap or job swap or something,’ Matt rubbed his face, as if the effort in remembering his wife’s words had caused immediate exhaustion. ‘Wait, she said someone wanted to test-drive her lifestyle? I thought she was talking about real estate. I honestly have no idea, sorry. We haven’t been speaking much lately.’ He looked up at Clare, waiting for an explanation.
‘I’m staying in your house because, for this week, I am Lisa.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘It is unusual, yes, but it’s also the truth. Lisa rented her life to me for the week. Are you sure she didn’t tell you?’
‘What are you talking about? How can you rent someone’s life?’
‘Oh, I know. It sounds wild, but it’s just supposed to be a little bit of fun for us girls. There’s this new website that makes it so easy, just like renting a holiday villa. A friend of a friend put me onto it.’
‘No, I mean, why would Lisa want to rent out her life?’
‘Maybe you’d have to ask her. But she told me that you’d be away on business and you probably wouldn’t mind anyway, that you two have friends from out of town who stay all the time. Besides, your maid is here to make sure I don’t get anything spectacularly wrong with the kids. They’re adorable, by the way.’
‘My wife let a complete stranger move into our house? And look after our kids?’
‘Oh god no! Not a complete stranger. We have some mutual friends. It’s a funny story, actually.’
Matt cut her off with a raised finger. ‘Where is she?’
‘You don’t know where your wife is?’
‘I know where she’s supposed to be. Chiang Mai or Chiang Rai or Chang whatever. Some sort of yoga detox spa. She loves all that shit.’
‘Maybe you should give her a call.’
‘Stay here.’ He rifled through his clothes and found his phone.
As soon as Matt left the room, Clare grabbed her own phone and started texting Lisa, hoping to give her some warning. It would be a shame if her week had to end now, and even more of a shame if she didn’t get to sample the F part of being a MILF.
***
‘Who was that?’ asked the dark-haired woman in tall leather boots and nothing else.
Lisa slung her phone into her handbag. ‘Oh, nothing. Just a little commotion on the home front.’
‘In my experience, commotions on the home front are rarely little.’
‘I just had to get my husband up to speed with our arrangement this week.’
‘You didn’t tell him? That’s cheeky of you.’ The blonde opened a large timber wardrobe and flicked her way through an ordered selection of bras, bustiers, corsets, masks and capes.
‘I suppose so, Gretchen. But I honestly didn’t expect him to be home until late next week. We’ve had a don’t-ask-don’t-tell thing going on for a while now.’ Lisa ran a wooden brush through her long straight hair.
The room was long, narrow and well organised. One wall was dominated by a timber shelf, heaving beneath a pharmacy’s worth of beauty and hair products. A large mirror, framed by small naked lightbulbs, gave the impression of a back-stage dressing room – which in effect, it was.
‘Is that something you two agreed to explicitly? Or just a polite way of saying that you don’t talk about your sex life anymore?’ Gretchen asked, rubbing a clear lotion onto her breasts and under her armpits.
Lisa lowered herself onto a wooden stool. ‘I guess it just happened that way, didn’t it?’ She pulled the brush through in strong, deliberate strokes. ‘I assume he goes to places when he’s travelling.’
‘Places like this?’ She stretched a shiny black bodice into a loop large enough for her head to pass through unmolested.
‘Oh, he doesn’t much like the rough stuff, more’s the pity.’
‘Or maybe he doesn’t like it rough with you,’ Gretchen smirked and ducked into the bodice, snapping it onto her chest like an elastic band.
‘You know, normally, I would be furious at hearing that. But I think I’m starting to get it now. These men,’ Lisa gestured past the heavy wooden door at the end of the room, ‘they can’t ask their wives for what they want. They’re afraid it will change the way she sees him.’
‘They should be afraid. You can’t respect a man who asks you to stomp on his balls and then pays you for it.’ Gretchen threw her head back and laughed like she was on a college drinking team. ‘Oh, Lisa, I like you, darling, but you are so innocent sometimes.’
‘I’m not innocent.’ Lisa rose and shook her hair out, tossing the wooden brush onto the bench.
‘Yet you are a long way from guilty, my dear.’ Gretchen nodded at the brush. ‘Bring that, I think it may be of use today.’
***
Matt placed his phone on the kitchen bench, not quite believing what his wife had just told him. Clare’s life-rental story checked out. Lisa even scolded Matt for not paying attention when she had explained it last week while at some over-priced faux-French restaurant in a newly-renovated hotel near the river. But then again, every restaurant in Singapore was faux-something and charged the equivalent of Togo’s GDP for two mains and a bottle of red, so remembering the venue was going to be no help. He had to admit he’d forgotten all about the conversation. He’d probably been checking football scores on his phone under the table.
Never mind. Now he had a deal: a ‘hall pass’ for the week, which she encouraged him to use, provided no questions were asked, in either direction. As much as he wanted to know where his wife was and what (or whom) she was doing, the deal was too sweet to refuse. Even better: Lisa seemed to be under the impression it was all her idea.
He slapped his abdomen a couple of times, puffed out his chest, walked back to the bedroom and threw the door open. ‘Hi Honey, I’m home.’
‘Come here,’ Clare grinned and patted the space on the bed beside her, ‘tell me all about your day.’
***
The sex was awkward and fumbling, and not just at first. Matt was careful not to appear too familiar with the mechanics of fucking unfamiliar women and Lisa had been mindful of appearing too hungry. As they lay in the oversized bed, their heart rates returning to resting, he admitted a large part of the thrill of sleepi
ng with women who were not his wife came from the knowledge that he shouldn’t be sleeping with women who weren’t his wife. Lisa’s blessing had made it feel that much tamer. The conversation stalled for a while as Clare searched for something comforting to say, until she realised Matt had fallen asleep. Assuming this was all part of their routine, Clare picked up a novel from the small stack on Lisa’s night stand.
‘Urgh, clit lit,’ she said to herself as she scanned a few pages. ‘If this is the quality of sex you get when you marry and have children no wonder you end up reading this tosh.’
***
‘Window cleaner?’
‘The smell reminds them of hospitals,’ said Gretchen as she finished wiping the gurney down and removed a handful of instruments from the autoclave. ‘The bright lights are another trigger. We’re just taking shortcuts to their memories. You did very well today. You seem to have a knack for this.’
Lisa blushed and looked down, her hair partially covering her face. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m just doing what they ask me to do.’
‘Of course you are, darling, but the trick is to get them to ask. They can never do that with their wives.’ Gretchen rearranged the instruments in a neat row on the table. ‘Finish the chair and then we’re done. I’ve asked some of the girls to meet us for a drink.’
Lisa sanitised the various crops, paddles and flails, returning them to their allotted places in the open cabinet in the room they called “Emergency”. Nachtmusik was one of the more established dungeons in Berlin, well known but not strictly famous. Gretchen had been running the place for the last decade and preferred to keep it discreet, cultivating a clientele that was mostly local and overwhelmingly regular. Half of the girls who worked there were experienced domination professionals, the other half were a rotating cast of travellers, part-timers, students and artists. Gretchen’s talent lay in knowing what a particular client might want for any given session: steady hands or fresh faces.
A few of those hands and a couple of those faces were now gathered around a bar table in Kreuzberg, Berlin’s most recent answer to Williamsburg. Once a migrant ghetto, the suburb had been terra-formed first by gays then by hipsters. The speakeasy-styled bar was accommodating both tribes this evening, many of whom kept throwing glances at the striking group of women in an attempt to divine their sexual allegiance.
‘It’s only a matter of months before the breeders start buying up warehouses, demanding organic sourdough and segregated footpaths for baby strollers,’ Gretchen spat. The girls cackled and called for another round. The drinks had been coming at velocity and Lisa was struggling to stay abreast.
‘You rented Dominique’s life for one week, just like that?’ asked a slim Hungarian girl with fierce blue eyes and cheekbones like balconies. ‘Why?’
The table fell silent and looked to Lisa.
Lisa took a large mouthful of red and smiled. ‘You know those men who pay to see you – us – every day?’
A table full of nodding.
‘Do you ever think about their wives and their girlfriends?’
A pause, followed by a table full of shrugs.
‘That’s me. I was at home every day, with the kids, reading interior design blogs, wondering where my husband was but not really caring, and I thought to myself: How did I get so old? I was becoming depressed, I think.’
The girls nodded – less in agreement, more as a sign to continue.
‘I got a phone call from a man my husband knows through work.’
‘Did he ask you to stomp on his balls?’ asked Hungarian cheekbones.
Gretchen slapped the young girl lightly on the arm and motioned for Lisa to continue.
‘No, he’s sort of an investor. Startups and websites and things. One of his companies has a new service he wanted me to test-drive. All I had to do was let another woman pretend to be me for a week.’
The Hungarian clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my gott! So you’re here, pretending to be Dominique, while another woman is in your house pretending to be you?’
Lisa nodded.
‘This is amazing. What does your husband think?’
‘I think he’s getting more comfortable with the idea,’ she smiled and reached for her glass. ‘I know I am.’
‘And how about your life here with us? Are you getting more comfortable with that?’ Gretchen swirled her drink.
‘Well, I’ve certainly learned a few things,’ said Lisa glancing around at her audience. ‘But I wouldn’t mind lying back and letting someone else do the work for a change.’
The girls roared with laughter. Hungarian Cheekbones produced a twenty euro note and passed it to Gretchen, who slipped the cash into her bra.
‘What’s funny? What’s the money for?’ Lisa’s head swivelled, seeking reassurance.
‘Oh darling, don’t worry. We can definitely put you on the receiving end. Everybody wants to give up being in control now and then,’ Gretchen winked at the girls as they giggled into their drinks. ‘I’m only surprised it took you this long to ask.’
***
Although it was 33 degrees Celsius and what felt like 110 per cent humidity, Clare shivered as she inched forward in the taxi queue. She’d spent most of the morning lying on a marble slab, covered in chilled volcanic mud, bathed in the frigid zephyrs of industrial-strength air-conditioning and left to contemplate her steadily declining core temperature while her therapist disappeared into a bubble-popping game on her phone. It was only when Kate – the cheat sheet from Lisa described her as your bestie from the school mums group – returned from the pedicure room and raised the alarm that Lisa was rescued. An aggressive shiatsu massage and a botanic facial brought her back to life. Clare left the spa feeling she’d been beauty-parlour water-boarded, almost four hundred dollars poorer and unable to fully rotate her left shoulder.
She air-kissed her temporary bestie, who promised to call about the school fund-raiser, and walked out of the cavernous mall to the taxi rank. The heat marched in through the pores, hitched a ride on the bloodstream and kicked over the starter motors on her sweat glands. Her taxi arrived a few minutes after the perspiration. On the short ride home she fished the crumpled post-it from her handbag and reread the note Matt had left on the bedpost: That was fun. But I’m sure I can do better. C U after lunch?
She was sincerely hoping so. After last night’s fumble she was looking forward to a do-me-over. Clare trotted up the driveway, half-expecting to find him waiting, perhaps with his tie loosened and shirt unbuttoned, prowling the kitchen and barking orders at subordinates on his mobile phone. Instead, Clare was greeted by Lisa and Matt’s live-in maid.
The help is called Julia, the cheat sheet offered. Reasonably trustworthy, great with the kids, less so with the dog (not many dachshunds in her village back in the Philippines). You can play with the kids any time you like, but leave all the real work to her – that’s what she’s (mainly) paid to do.
‘I go and get the children now, Mrs Lisa,’ said Julia nodding and offering a little bow. ‘I think Mr Matt already come.’
‘Already come?’ Clare stopped.
‘Yes, already. About maybe one hour,’ said Julia with a shy smile. ‘I take the children to music lesson, then gymnastics class. Then I come home to make pasta for dinner, OK?’ She hefted a violin case under her arm and trudged off through the thick afternoon air.
Clare smiled at herself for misunderstanding Julia. That post-it note must have given her a one-track mind. She climbed the stairs and found Matt’s clothes strewn across the floor of the bedroom. If someone else always picked them up, she thought, I’d probably leave them there, too. She pushed open the door to the ensuite and watched Matt’s silhouette through the frosted glass of the shower, thinking he looked much better in rough outline than fine detail. Never mind. She cleared her throat loudly to announce herself.
Matt spun the taps shut and opened the door, smiling. ‘Hand me the towel if you don’t mind. No, not the green ones, they’re Lisa’s. I mean, t
hey’re yours. I’m brown.’
‘How was your day?’ she handed him the towel and let her glance linger on his wet body. ‘Julia’s accent is too funny. I got a shock for a second when she said you already came.’
‘She did? God, I’m so sorry,’ Matt stopped towelling. ‘She has to learn to be more discreet. Just give me a little while and I’ll be ready to go again. Promise.’
Clare gave a laugh, not knowing what else to give. ‘What are you saying?’
Matt also gave a laugh. ‘Nothing. Umm, did you enjoy tennis?’
‘Spa, actually.’ Clare crossed her arms. ‘Did you just sleep with the maid?’
Matt wrapped the towel around his waist and shuffled past her into the bedroom, his eyes avoiding Clare’s.
‘Oh my god, you just slept with the maid.’ She followed and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his wet hair, which was showing early signs of retreat.
‘I was kinda horny all day, wondering if you got my note. Then I came home to find Julia cleaning the bathroom in one of my old t-shirts, sopping wet. She was bent over, scrubbing the wall and everything was jiggling about.’
‘Are you serious?’ Clare put her hands on her hips.
‘Don’t get mad at me, it was Lisa’s idea,’ he began, then his eyes widened. ‘Actually, that makes it your idea, doesn’t it?’
‘Wait. What?’
‘When you interviewed her, remember? She had said her rate was four-fifty a month for standard, or six hundred including headache duty.’
‘Headache duty?’
‘Julia’s last employer paid her to sleep with the husband any time she had a headache and didn’t want to do it herself. You thought it was funny at first, but then decided it was pretty smart. If you’re going to outsource the cooking, the cleaning, minding the kids all day, why not just add fucking your husband to the list?’
‘Matt, look, I’m not really Lisa.’
‘This week you are. You told me. And my wife told me to treat you just like I would treat her. You girls started this little game, I’m just playing along.’ Matt rose from the bed and walked towards her. ‘So that’s our little secret, Lisa. Now you know that I know that you pay the help to suck my cock, because you don’t want to do it anymore.’
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