Chilli Heat

by Carrie Williams

  I look at her, half embarrassed, half grateful that she is sharing this sexual wisdom with me. And more than a little shamefaced that a younger woman than me knows all this. I think of Ravi and all the things we didn’t do together. What a waste. If only I had known all this back then, our life would have been so different. Perhaps we might even still be together.

  ‘Beware,’ Jasmine is saying. ‘Chris, bless him, is used to all this.’ Not taking her hand from around his shaft, she leans forwards and caresses his hair. ‘Aren’t you, honey?’ she says to him. His facial expression remains unchanged, as if he is in some kind of trance. ‘But if you’re doing this to a novice, you have to go very slowly, be very gentle. It can hurt at first. And also, when you’re accessing the sacred spot, it can open the man up to very powerful emotions, and even repressed memories. I’ve had men cry on me.’

  ‘So then you have to stop?’ I say.

  ‘Not necessarily. You go with the flow, let yourself be guided by him. You are in a very important position of trust, in one of the most intimate roles that any human being can take on. You’re a sort of healer, and healing means letting his emotions run their course. If they feel like crying, or screaming, or if they feel like stopping, you encourage that.’

  She pauses. ‘He’s near,’ she says. ‘It won’t be long now.’ She leans over Chris again. ‘Breathe deeply,’ she says. There’s affection in her tone when she speaks to him, genuine affection, and I feel warmth towards her. There’s been nothing much in it for her so far; she’s devoted herself to Chris’s pleasure and also to furthering my knowledge. I’m grateful that she dragged me in here, when all I wanted was to run away and pack my bags.

  ‘He’s letting go,’ she says. ‘He’s been on the edge at least six times, so this is guaranteed to blow his mind.’ She looks at me. ‘Make yourself come too,’ she says, ‘if you need to. But if you can hold off, watch him, study his face as he climaxes. There are good things in store for you too, if you can just wait a moment. Now, push in a little on the sacred spot.’

  She’s right. Chris’s hips suddenly buck, his face contorts in what looks like agony and he comes with an amazing, almost frightening violence, which is one of the most magnificent things I have ever seen. As he does so, he grabs Jasmine and me by our upper arms and pulls us into him, and as his orgasm dies away we all lie close together, drifting for a while, in what feels like a state of bliss and perhaps even innocence.

  I wake with my head still on Chris’s chest. Jasmine is stroking my hair; behind her, the two other women are asleep on the bed, arms and legs still entwined from their love-making.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘You’re not finished yet,’ she replies.

  ‘Whatever next?’ I say, laughing a little nervously.

  Chris opens his eyes, and we all sit up.

  ‘The yoni,’ he says. ‘The sacred space or temple.’ He reaches down between my legs. ‘Your beautiful little cunt.’

  Jasmine nods approvingly. ‘It is lovely,’ she says, and I feel an instinctive urge to cover it with my hand. She’s shared so much with me tonight, but suddenly her interest in my pussy makes me feel prudish, shy.

  As if sensing this, she rises to her feet, crosses the room and seeks out a candle, which she lights. On the way back over to us she stops and turns out the light. Chris and I are still reclining on the chaise-longue, his fingers massaging my pussy lips, his gaze pinning me down. I swoon, open my legs wide, inviting him in, but he keeps up the outside pressure without slipping his fingers inside.

  Beside us, Jasmine begins laying cushions on the floor. When she’s done, she turns and switches on the CD player, slips a disc inside it. It’s some kind of chanting, but very soft, very slow. Then she comes over to us, takes us both by the hand and, urging us to rise, guides us over to the cushions she has arranged. Before letting us sink down to them, she gives us both a long hug, as if we are setting off on an epic journey. For a moment our pussies touch, our breasts press against each other. I have never been so close to a woman before, either physically or mentally.

  We lie down, Chris and I: me on my back on the cushions, him on his side beside me. There are two pillows at the end where I am directed to place my head, so that I can see my pussy. Kneeling beside us, Jasmine also places a pillow under my hips and eases my legs apart, bending my knees slightly. For the briefest moment, she pauses, looks at my pussy as if she wants to go down on me, to eat me all up. But she contents herself with a rapid, barely perceptible stroke of my lips before kneeling back and giving me over to Chris.

  The latter assumes the lotus position between my legs and, breathing very slowly and deeply, locks his eyes with mine. For several minutes we just gaze into each other’s eyes, and I feel again the profound connection for which we strived when we were alone together. Then he places his hands on my belly and begins sweeping them over me, down to my thighs and then back over my breasts. I close my eyes, relinquishing the visual connection. I feel as if I am sinking into a deep, dark, warm space, something akin to a womb, and that I am now alone, although far from lonely. Instead I feel a profound connection with everything around, as though my blood is flowing outwards through all the universe, as if my heartbeat is the engine that keeps everything in it alive.

  ‘The yoni,’ I hear Jasmine whisper, and it is as if I am hearing through water. ‘Here.’

  Oil glugs from a bottle, then Chris’s hands make themselves felt on my pussy, massaging first my mound, then my outer lips, softly squeezing the latter between his thumb and finger. I start to get very aroused now, my hands flitting up to my nipples. Jasmine gently pulls them away.

  ‘Breathe,’ she soothes. ‘Just breathe.’

  With infinite slowness, Chris now eases one finger into my pussy and begins massaging me inside, moving upwards and downwards and from side to side, constantly varying the speed and pressure, and the depth. After a few minutes I feel him crook his finger backwards towards his palm and know he is looking for my G-spot. I’ve read about it in magazines, over the years – in Cosmo and such like – but have never known that it really existed. Chris shows me it does. There is a moment almost of pain, resembling an intense need to pee, and then, as he again moves his finger, this time in a circling motion, great waves of pleasure. At the same time I feel Chris’s thumb on my clitoris. As he starts moving it up and down, he rests the remainder of this hand on my mound and massages it. With his free hand he begins massaging my breasts.

  ‘Look into his eyes,’ whispers Jasmine. I come up and out of the dark warm space and meet Chris’s gaze. As soon as I do so, I burst into tears.

  ‘Just hold her,’ says Jasmine to Chris, and then to me: ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s normal in yoni massage as in lingam massage to experience violent feelings. Just trust in him. Let him hold you and heal you.’

  I am still crying as I come, and I carry on crying as Chris continues to massage my sacred spot, my clitoris and my breasts. The orgasms keep coming, each more intense than the last. I feel Jasmine’s hands on my shoulders as my whole body spasms, hear her urging, ‘Ride the wave, ride the wave,’ in a low voice.

  When finally I cease coming, both of them remove their hands and I let my head fall back on the cushion, close my eyes again, wanting to feel the afterglow for as long as possible. Chris still lies on one side of me; Jasmine comes round me and lies on the other side. She places one arm over my belly, snuggles up to me. I feel soothed, for a moment. And then the loneliness kicks in and all I feel is homesick. From out the blue I want to be home.

  I open my eyes. Chris is still beside me, but Jasmine has withdrawn her arm and, legs parted, is bringing herself to orgasm on the cushion next to me. Her eyes are trained on my face. When she sees me looking, she brings her face towards me as if to kiss me. I turn my head away, then I quickly stand up. For a moment I feel so spent and used up that I consider just lying down beside Kat and Dionne on the bed, letting myself sleep awhile. But I fear what will happen when I wake up, or ev
en before I wake up. Fear that I won’t be able to say no, even though all of this is not part of me, not what I want. Not that I haven’t had an amazing experience, but I want to draw the line here, before I get in too deep.

  I gather my clothes together, dress and leave the room.

  * * *

  The week is coming to an end and it’s decision time for me: do I stay or do I go? I know in advance that Chris will not consent to giving up the way of life he has created for himself here, but despite my twinge of homesickness, in the cold light of day, away from Jasmine and Kat and Dionne, I wonder if I can live without him. My life before him seems so arid, so devoid of meaning and of meaningful pleasure. He has taught me so much. So I have to decide if I am willing to live with him as he is, even though it will make me miserable. Perhaps a degree of misery is the price to pay for having been enlightened, for being with somebody interesting. Who knows?

  I lie on my bed. I know, in my heart, that I can’t live the kind of life Chris would expect me to here, tolerating the endless procession of women through his room, even if sometimes he shared them with me – or let them share me with him, or himself with me. That’s not what I want, however grateful I am to Jasmine for passing on her not-inconsiderable wisdom to me. I want Chris and Chris alone. I’ll never have that, so I must leave.

  I eye my case in the corner. I feel a kind of paralysis, can’t seem to bring myself to get up and start packing. And anyway, where would I go? I’ve no idea where Nadia is. I’ve no desire to go anywhere particular, see anything specific. None of it would mean anything without her or without Chris.

  I close my eyes, pull the cover up over me. I’ll decide another time. I’ll give him another week. Who knows? Perhaps he won’t want any of the women booked on the course next week. Perhaps he’ll realise that he’s in love with me and change his ways. Perhaps he’ll even renounce Jasmine, renounce his role as a guru and understand that sharing pleasure with one person can be enough. Yes, that’s it, I’ll give him another week, see how I feel and how he feels then. I won’t give up hope.

  27

  I KEPT A diary this past week, the week I have come to call ‘the week from hell’, the week when I thought I was losing my soul. Having realised that Sue would never leave me and Dean alone together again, that she was afraid of what might happen, I should have left immediately. But at that point I guess I was still mistaken about their motivations. It was only later that I stood on the abyss and, seeing no way out, wondered if it would be easier and ultimately less painful if I just hurled myself in.

  Thursday: Dean up and out early; I wondered if perhaps he was embarrassed about the previous night, about Sue fucking him with a dildo while he fucked me.

  I woke up to Sue’s face between my legs. She was tender, to start with. I clutched the back of her head with my hand, pushed myself into her, needily. Her tongue was expert on my clit, circling it, and I felt like I was swooping up and down like a bird. I wasn’t long from coming when she reached down and hunted around beside the bed, and before I could stop her she’d strapped on the dildo and was plunging into me doggy-style. She fucked me hard and fast, and I felt like the biggest slut, like filth, as I rubbed my clit and ground myself to an almost painfully intense orgasm, thinking of Dean. Then she fell away from me, wanked herself off on the bed, eyes closed. She got up and showered without even looking at me. I felt like I was being punished, punished for trying to have Dean to myself.

  She went to meet him for lunch. I cried off, stayed in the room. To my disgust I found myself sniffing the knickers she’d left lying on the floor, then rubbing them against my clit and making myself come again. I started crying when I was done. I hated her, hated what she’d made of me, hated that I still let her at me despite everything that had happened.

  I met them for dinner, but when we went back to the cottage I told them I wanted to read and sat up in the lounge, drinking toddy and feeling sorry for myself. I heard them fucking in the next room and touched myself between my legs and wanted to die.

  Friday: Avoided them all day, taking a bus to Trivandrum and having a look at the market there. I bought a few souvenirs I didn’t really want, more to take my mind off things than anything else. Having dinner together was unavoidable, though Sue barely acknowledged my presence, and I felt as if I might as well not be there. But when we went for a walk up the beach, she draped an arm around my shoulder, nibbled on it. When we got to one of the abandoned fishing boats that line the end of the beach, she stepped inside it and pulled me towards her. Sitting down on the vaguely intact wooden bench across the middle, she yanked her bikini bottoms to one side and gestured me for to kneel in front of her. In two inches of sea- or rain-water, I don’t know which, I grazed my knees against old splintered wood as I licked and bit and fingered her to orgasm. Dean watched, smoking a joint. We walked back to the cottage in silence, and I sat up again, telling them I wasn’t tired. When I woke up on the sofa in the morning, nobody said anything about me not coming to bed all night. Sue did mention, however, the possibility of my posing for some photos for her, as we spoke about at Kanha. I told her I’d think about it. The thought no longer turns me on, now that all trust is gone.

  * * *

  Saturday: Couldn’t help myself – when they went out for a morning swim, before the sun grew too hot, I looked through both their rucksacks. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I had a feeling that there was more to everything that was going on than met the eye. It had stopped being fun. There was a nasty undertone to everything Sue did, even her ostensible love-making. I realised I had overstepped the mark in trying to have Dean to myself, if only for an hour or so, but to be edged out like this, when it was her who invited me in, just didn’t seem fair. Especially when I was now prepared to abide by the rules.

  Inside Sue’s luggage was a notebook a little like this one. I thought I’d lucked out – that it was a day-by-day journal that would give me the key to her heart, explain her behaviour to me. But only the first page had writing on it, and it was a list without explanation, a list of girls’ names: Emily, Sarah, Danuta, Kristina, Sophie, Gina, Sunita. Down the page, each on a new ruled line. As I leafed through the blank pages, a number of photographs fell out. Pictures of Sue and Dean with different girls, self-portraits taken with the camera on a tripod, I guessed. In greater or lesser degrees of undress, everyone mugged for the camera. Looking more closely, however, I noticed what looked like fear, or self-hatred, in some of the girls’ eyes.

  I replaced the pictures, not wanting to dwell on them, and put the notebook back in the rucksack. It seemed I wasn’t the first to become ensnared in Sue’s and Dean’s web, and with that knowledge came the understanding of why I’d been feeling so cheap and sickened every time something happened between us – all three of us, or just me and Sue. I was a pawn, an interchangeable component in some kind of game between them. A power game perhaps, or perhaps just a game they’d invented to keep themselves interested. Sue, terrified of losing her Greek god of a lover, seemed the most obvious ringleader, sparking his jealousy and possessiveness by messing around with girls.

  I recalled the girl she danced with in the nightclub in Bangalore. I’d thought she was doing it to make me jealous, and I couldn’t understand why she felt she needed to do that. Now I understood that it had been Dean to whom she was relaying a message. But it wasn’t only about making him jealous. We – by which I mean me and the other girls in the photos – also served as offerings to Dean, little titbits to keep him titillated. But there was only so far we were allowed to go with him, for fear that he would prefer one of us to her.

  I stood in the bedroom, thinking all this through, thinking about Dean and feeling sad that I would have to leave him. He was clearly complicit in all this; Sue couldn’t force him to live the way they did if he didn’t consent to it in some way. And I reasoned that he must get a lot out of it – he’d be a fool to turn down the chance of fucking both his girlfriend and an endless parade of cute chicks who she
lures into their trap. But I remembered the apology in his eyes, the chaste kiss, as he’d fucked me while being fucked from behind by Sue. It had seemed genuine and I suspected that part of him rebelled against what they did to people.

  Whatever – it seemed clear that I must leave. The situation was undesirable and, although I’d never forget them and what they’d taught me, it was time to put an end to things. I resolved to do it after a good night’s sleep.

  Now it’s Sunday and, appropriately enough for the holy day, I find that miracles do happen – Sue has actually left us alone, Dean and me. Not really alone, but alone enough to talk. She’s gone to take some pictures on the shore, leaving us in one of the beachfront cafés, sharing some poppadums over a beer. Remembering Dean’s apologetic eyes, I decide to forewarn him of the announcement I am soon to make.

  He looks genuinely disappointed, if not wholly surprised.

  ‘You must have noticed how unhappy I’ve been,’ I say, ‘these last few days. This is just not me at all.’

  Looking out at the beach on which Sue roams, he reaches for my hand under the table. ‘Stay,’ he says. ‘Even if it’s for just one more night.’

  ‘One more night to fall even more in love with you,’ I say.

  ‘One more night to realise all the more completely that I’ll never have you.’

  ‘You’ll have me,’ he replies.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll sort it out.’

  I look into his eyes, those eyes that I wanted to wake up to every morning, and I don’t believe him. Which isn’t to say that I think he’s a liar. I think he believes it himself, that he can engineer the situation. Whereas I don’t – I think Sue is far too clever and cunning for that. But in any case, tempting though the prospect is, what good would it do? I’d sleep with him once, and no matter how good it is, I’d never do it again. Not unless he fell in love with me and left Sue …