Sex in the City--London

by Maxim Jakubowski

  At last it was time to go home, and Dinah turned from the window and pulled back the curtain. Letting Michiko go first, she glanced back over her shoulder on a sudden impulse and felt a thrill run up through her, making her skin tingle. He was there, standing back from the window again, his posture suggesting aloofness but his gaze scorching her. She swallowed painfully; her throat was impossibly dry all of a sudden. Then, almost without thinking about it, she broke into a run, racing back through the shop towards the staff quarters, fighting the urge to strip off her Juicy Couture hooded top as she ran. Once there, she changed breathlessly and took the exit onto Argyll Street at a jog, thrusting her pass at the friendly blue-eyed security guard, oblivious to the slight look of hurt that traversed his boyish features. Bearing sharp left, she raced along the side street. She knew it was unlikely he would still be there, but this might be her only chance.

  In front of the table football window she halted briefly and gauged the exact spot where he had been standing. Then she sprinted up to Regent Street. There, the sheer volume of pedestrians persuaded her of the futility of continuing her search.

  Back in the changing room, where she had left her shoulder bag, Dinah splashed some water on her face and stared at herself in the mirror. What had come over her? She was actually like a schoolgirl becoming deranged over some distant crush. She didn’t know the first thing about this man. What had she thought she was going to say to him?

  ‘Penny for them,’ came a voice behind her, and arms insinuated themselves around her waist.

  Dinah smiled. ‘Hey, Suzy,’ she said to the face in the mirror, its chin resting on her shoulder. ‘How was your evening? Fancy going for a drink?’

  They linked arms and strolled out of the building and down Regent Street to Heddon Street. A jazz band was playing beneath a string of Christmas lights, and they were able to find a cosy table on a bar terrace lit by gas burners.

  After spending a few minutes vainly trying to work out the spot where Bowie had shot the cover image for Ziggy Stardust, they talked of their partners in the displays, exchanging experiences. Then Dinah lit a cigarette and looked her friend right in the eyes.

  ‘Have you noticed anything funny about the people who watch you?’ she said.

  ‘Funny? Like how?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just, well, sometimes staring maybe a little too hard?’

  Suzy laughed. ‘Oh, I see. You got yourself some unwanted attention? Don’t worry, I guess it’s bound to happen.’

  Dinah looked down, traced the frosted rim of her glass with her fingertip. She wanted so much to confide in her friend, but how could she even begin to explain how she felt, to tell her that a stranger’s gaze had sent her running to the loos to pleasure herself, had sent her dashing out into the street on some crazed quest?

  No, she thought, lighting another cigarette. There were some things that were best left unspoken. It would be best, she told herself, if she didn’t see him again the next night. With any luck that was it. That was what she wanted, and also what she was frightened of.

  As she and Suzy had agreed, they were partners again the following night. Shortly after they’d arrived, Erin had told them she wanted them to be in the main window, which meant dressing up as sexy elves in little red Lycra hotpants and crop-tops, and sitting in a sleigh next to a waxwork Santa, while fake snow fluttered down on them.

  Though she didn’t say anything to Suzy, Dinah was secretly pleased by the allocation: it meant that Erin rated her performance so far. Which was all the more reason to keep her eye on the ball and not allow herself to be distracted again.

  As before, the time flew by when Dinah was with Suzy, and there was soon a large gathering at the window, watching them frolic on the huge wooden sleigh, tossing presents around, sipping at glasses of would-be champagne, showing all the signs of festive cheer. Dinah found herself wishing she could be with Suzy every night; she couldn’t imagine them ever running out of things to talk about.

  There was only a half-hour or so to go when Dinah spotted him, positioned well back from the crowd so that he was almost off the pavement. His gaze was almost appraising, she felt. Heart in her throat, she dived out through the curtain without a word to Suzy and ran blindly towards the main exit. Pushing through a mass of shoppers and into the revolving door, she spun out onto Regent Street.

  The cold spanked her bare legs, and it was only at that moment that she remembered that she was wearing next to nothing. Folding her arms across her bra-less breasts, more as a reflex to stop them jiggling around than to hide her bunched-up nipples, she carried on at a run. Her quarry, too, was on the move, but he hadn’t made it far, and though Dinah wasn’t particularly fit she gained ground rapidly and pounced, fingers closing around his shoulder.

  ‘Just stop, will you?’ she panted as he turned towards her. Even then, face to face with him, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was that had impelled her to run after him. He wasn’t ugly, certainly, but there was nothing obvious that made him stand out from the crowd. Yet as they carried on looking at each other, both shocked by this sudden confrontation, there was something in his eyes, some need, that made her legs shake under her.

  It was now that she remembered the window displays, and she glanced back over her shoulder, afraid that Erin might be stalking down the street with an irate look on her face. Dinah needed this job, and she realised how rash her behaviour had been. She should, she told herself, have thought of Suzy too: her friend would be worried about her.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, panicked into breaking the silence. ‘I know you’ve been watching me. I’ve seen you, every night.’

  The man lowered his eyes.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s fine. It’s a fucking window display, after all. That’s what I’m there for – to be looked at.’

  He raised his gaze, looked at her full-on, and then spoke to her for the first time.

  ‘I’ll be there when you’ve finished tonight, at the back entrance,’ he said in a low voice.

  She paused, the space of a heartbeat, then heard herself say, strangely assertively, ‘Great.’ She turned around and ran back up the street.

  She’d been lucky: Erin hadn’t found out about her absence, and Suzy, assuming that Dinah had answered an emergency call of nature, had somehow managed to keep going alone – largely, it seemed, by holding a one-way conversation with the inanimate Santa. Realising she owed her one, Dinah decided to come clean about the whole incident.

  When she’d finished the story, Suzy was looking at her with concern.

  ‘You mean, you’re just going to go off with this guy you’ve barely even met, who you know absolutely nothing about?’ she said. ‘Some creep who’s been staring at you?’

  Dinah shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, Suze,’ she said. ‘We’ll just go for a drink, see if we still like each other.’

  Suzy frowned. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘but if he tries to make a move and you don’t feel one hundred per cent comfortable, just get the hell out of there. Call me, if you like. I’m meeting some friends nearby.’

  Over the public address service came the announcement that the store was about to close, and the girls clambered down from the sleigh and crossed the beauty hall. In the changing room they dressed and hugged, and then Dinah hurried out past the security guard, who flashed her a bright smile she was too anxious to return, and into the night.

  For a moment she didn’t see anyone, and she felt empty inside. Then, in a taxi waiting on the opposite side of Argyll Street, she saw a face at the back window. She lifted a hand and ran across the street.

  Inside, the door closed behind her, she found that she didn’t know what to say. As soon as the man had instructed the driver where he wanted to go, unable to think of what else to do, she threw herself upon him, forcing him back onto the seat. Pushing his lips apart with her tongue, she probed his mouth, not caring that their teeth were clashing.

  As she kissed him, her hands tugged his shirt out from his trousers.
Her pussy was deliquescing deliciously, and she had an almost overwhelming urge to tear off her knickers and mount him right there in the speeding cab. She had never known such an appetite in herself, and adrenalin coursed through her veins.

  Their journey wasn’t long, but she took little heed of the route, noting only that they passed several famous hotels as they traversed Mayfair and then swung right onto Park Lane. She was too busy trying to ignite some kind of spark within him: he was curiously passive beneath her, and every so often he’d murmur, ‘Wait, wait!’ and try to sit up, before giving way again to the persistence of her caresses. Each time, he’d swoon back onto the seat of the cab, eyes closed, and she had the bizarre feeling that he had almost abstracted himself from the scene.

  In a dimly lit street in the strange territory where Bayswater segues into Paddington with its budget hotels and cheap trattorias, standing at the man’s front gate as he leant into the cab window to settle his fare, she looked up at the impressive white stucco house and was disturbed to see a figure standing in darkness at the first-floor window. For a moment the mad thought fluttered through her mind that his reticence in the taxi was down to his having someone waiting for him at home: maybe he’d fancied a threesome but had grown nervous on the journey back. As she carried on looking, however, she saw that the figure was uncannily still. This was no spying spouse, it dawned on her, but a shop mannequin. She had to admit that, as a deterrent to burglars scoping out the area, it probably served quite well.

  The man was walking towards the front door now, and she followed him, rethinking her strategy. It was clear that she had been too full-on for him, and she decided that inside she would play it cool: a chat over a cup of coffee, or a G&T if he offered her one, would give her the chance to assess the situation a little more clearheadedly. Perhaps, in jumping him in the cab, she’d given him the impression she was a bit of a nympho. Some men, she knew, didn’t like the feeling that their women had been round the block a few times.

  He opened the front door, ushered her inside and then reached for the light switch.

  ‘Please,’ he said, gesturing through a door, ‘make yourself comfortable. Red or white wine?’

  ‘Red, please.’

  Dinah edged into the living room, where another lurking figure made her jump, until she realised that this was a dummy too. Dressed in an elegant black silk dress and a hat in a similar fabric, it looked impassively back at her. Discomfited, she turned away. Partition doors into a dining room allowed a view of a garden. She wandered through, dragging her fingertips along the dusty glass of the dining table, and spotted another two – naked this time – in each corner of the garden, limbs entwined with the foliage of the evergreens that surrounded them. A spotlight over the back door illuminated their pale torsos and limbs. She shuddered slightly, turned back to the room.

  He had stepped inside silently, was watching her, a large glass of red wine in each hand.

  ‘Nice house,’ she blurted, and immediately felt foolish.

  He smiled indulgently. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  She advanced back towards the living room, wondering why she had come here. It seemed like it was going to be hard work. Did she have anything in common with this man, or even any kind of physical chemistry, or had she just been flattered by the insistence of his gaze? If so, then more fool her.

  ‘I see you have a thing about dummies,’ she said as she took the glass he proffered, looking over towards the front window. ‘Where did you find them?’

  He smiled again. ‘I liberate them,’ he said enigmatically. At her confused stare, he added: ‘There are more upstairs, if you’re interested.’

  She felt her knees go weak, her pussy throb again. Her excitement mounted when it registered that he wasn’t going to wait for her answer, that he had already turned and was walking up the stairs. She took a large gulp from her wine, then another. She immediately felt lightheaded, and she remembered she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Head beginning to spin, she went after him.

  At the top of the stairs, she risked a peek into the bathroom as they passed it, and clocked another mannequin at the window. Then she followed him into the bedroom. The dummy she had seen at the window was turned away from them towards the street, but from closer up, even in the darkness, she could make out that it, too, was wearing some kind of dark, close-fitting dress.

  The man turned, put his hands on her shoulders and moved his mouth to her neck. She felt his breath on her, then his lips brushing her skin, and wondered if her legs were going to give way beneath her. With one hand he played with the loose strands of hair at her bare nape that had worked themselves free from her ponytail.

  Fearing collapse, she turned him around and let herself fall back against the bed, bringing him down on top of her. One of her legs was between his, and against her upper thigh she could feel his cock straining within his trousers. She fumbled for his belt buckle, then unzipped him and pushed his trousers down as far as his knees.

  From out of the blue he pushed himself up from her. She looked at him searchingly: she’d been following his cue this time, was reacting to his ardour. Or so she’d thought. Was the wine addling her brain?

  He was standing now, pulling up his trousers and heading for the window. She watched him as he drew the curtains, then rested her head back against the pillow, eyes closed. Why the interruption? There was no chance anybody outside could see far enough in to get an eyeful of them fucking, and in any case the light was off. No, he was stalling again.

  ‘I’m just going for a wash,’ she heard him say, and she opened one eye in time to see him leaving the room.

  ‘Well, fuck you,’ she thought. ‘Or not, as the case may be.’ As she listened to the sound of running water, she let her fingers play around her wet pussy. His libido might have died a death, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything until she’d had some satisfaction.

  Sliding out of her jeans and knickers and pulling up her top and bra so that her breasts were exposed, she began strumming at her clit. With two fingers of the other hand, she tweaked at one nipple, felt it pucker at her expert touch. Who needed a man when she could make herself feel this good? Her juices were in full flow, coursing down over her onto the duvet cover as she twisted her hips from side to side, obeying her internal rhythm. The pace accelerated as she moved her hand down from her breasts and bunched four fingers to push them up inside herself. She arched her back to meet her climax, pushing her breasts up towards the ceiling as if displaying them to an invisible observer.

  As she came, legs spasming, she rolled her eyes to one side and met another pair. She clutched at her searing pussy with excitement, for the moment it took her realise that she was under the blank gaze of the mannequin. It took another moment to remember that the last time she’d looked, the doll had been facing out from the room and not in.

  On the way back to the Seven Sisters Road, she resolved to put it down to experience. The guy was obviously fixated on these perfect, impossible women with their alabaster skin and figures that no mortal could ever attain, no matter what Primrose Hill diet or fitness craze they embraced. In Paley’s living tableaux, he must have believed he had found something to give him what his mannequins couldn’t. But faced with a real woman, a woman who under the designer gear had freckles and lumps and underarm fuzz and even a touch of cellulite, whose breath smelt of garlic from the pizza she’d had at lunchtime, whose hands were a little rough from the washing up, he’d chickened out. Who could ever match up to his dolls?

  She smirked: she’d had her fill, in any case, and her blood still buzzed from the orgasm. Only one thing still niggled her: when she’d turned her head and believed she was being watched, the intensity of her orgasm had risen to a new level. What was that all about? As an actor, she aspired to make her living from showing herself to people. But was there something deeper that she’d never tapped into? She rested her head back against the seat of the bus and dreamed.

  It was almo
st too easy. He’d been flirting with her a little anyway, every time he frisked her when she clocked on for work in the evening, and when she whispered to him of her plan, he was happy to go along with it without too many questions. And so, as the store had closed, he had signed her out and then let her slip back into the staff rooms, in which she’d found a hiding place until it was safe to cross the deserted beauty hall.

  She’d wondered about the Santa window, but decided it might be just too visible. There were limits after all. So she’d headed for the cocktail window, and sat for a while on the chaise longue looking out at the dwindling number of shoppers trailing up Regent Street. The windows were still lit – would remain so until the early hours, she imagined – but no one stopped to look at her. She was perfectly still, breath held in her throat, blinking only when she was utterly sure no one was looking her way.

  At the appointed hour – an hour when the scant passers-by were mainly drunks or couples too wrapped up in themselves to see the world around them – the curtain drew back. She was pleased to see he was still in his uniform: it emphasised the honed contours of his chest and upper legs. He looked at her. What’s this all about then? his eyes seemed to say.

  She lay back on the chaise longue and drew up her skirt. She’d already divested herself of her knickers. He moved across to her, kissed her fully before lowering his face to her pussy and nuzzling her, then gradually beginning to explore her with his tongue. She arched again, nipples chafing against her bra in their erectness.

  Sitting half up, she reached down and took a firm hold of the solid baton of his member, gave it a playful squeeze. Why had it taken her so long to understand? He had been there for the taking, and she’d been wasting time on some doll-fixated weirdo.