‘That’s twice,’ he says.

My legs are jelly. I’ll have to send a thank you note to Fat Mary.

‘Open all the way for me,’ he says and I hear the tear of the foil wrap. More? Now? Yes, baby.

Seconds later he pushes his cock inside me, but so slowly I want to scream. Fucking millimeter by millimeter. And when he reaches the end, he grinds himself against me and I swear, I scream. And if I didn’t my clit does. And just as I think I might be reaching the edge and falling over again he withdraws himself. Slowly, but surely all the millimeters go. And like the tide he comes back in. It goes on following a coded rhythm until I am a boneless, mindless mass of nerve endings and desperate flesh.

The technique is sensational and terrifying. Now I know I am nothing like what I thought. I secretly thought I was borderline frigid. I thought sex with all its smells and emissions was disgusting. What those three guys did to me shouldn’t even be called sex. This is a whole different league. His tongue, velvety on the surface and shantung silk underneath, finds its way into my mouth.

I suck it.

Hard.

Skewered by his thick shaft, I move in unison with him, encouraging the sawing of his cock against my clit. An erotic tango. Ah, the sensations. I feel myself building again. My spirit is pressed up against his. We are connected at an indefinable level. We have become one four-legged animal.

I know it is coming, but I am unprepared for the ferocity of the rupture that rips right though me. So explosive that my entire body shudders and vibrates with it and my insides feel like they have melted and are sloshing around hotly inside me.

But he does not stop or allow me time to recover, he carries on pumping into my molten core. His movements so rapid and urgent that they quickly become mine too. This isn’t lovemaking anymore. This is pure fucking. And the rest of the world can go to hell.

Then he does something to me I never would have thought I could respond to. He brings his mouth very close to my ear and whispers a one word erotic appeal: come.

And, fuck me, as if I am some sort of push button doll that he owns or as if I really am part of a four-legged animal, I do: groaning, twisting, my hips spasming and carried along on a rush of delirious pleasure. Somewhere on the periphery of my consciousness I feel him jerk and explode inside me. When the world drops back around me he is on his elbows looking at me. I stare at him. Wow! I didn’t know it could be like that. If I felt that with this stranger, that I am not even sure I like yet, what am I going to feel when I do it with Jack?

His eyes seem dark in the dimness. He is still firm inside me. I don’t move. Whatever is between us is gossamer thin. Even a breath expelled too hard would break it. We have exchanged fluids and essences, we have touched spirits, but there will be no wedding cake, no marquee full of flowers, no champagne toasts, no guests for us. For ours is only a brief interlude, fleeting like the sound of children’s laughter as you pass a neighbor’s garden. Then wasteland. The thought is strangely bitter.

‘I love Jack.’

My voice comes out loud. A shockingly cruel slap. He stills. It is too dark to see the expression on his face. He eases out of me and flips onto his back beside me.

‘Are you thirsty?’ His voice is even. We could have been polite strangers on a train. Is this seat taken?

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll go and get some water,’ he says and makes a move to sit up.

‘Stay, I’ll go and get it.’

I pick the toweling robe from the floor, slip into it and pad out of the bedroom. I need to get away from him. I need time to assimilate what he has done to my body. The entire experience has startled me. I stand in the living room and gaze out of the glass wall into the night. There is a growing moon and no stars.

I’ll just be cool. It’s just sex. He is not important. I can do anything, say anything, and it won’t matter. I see now that I made a good decision. He is the perfect teacher. There is much I can learn from him.

I go past the dining table. His plate is still there, but the meat is gone. The cat has come and eaten it. I look at the mash. Cold, hard mash. I hesitate. Think of the butter, the calories. The cat has probably licked it. I walk away. I pause, then turn back. With my fingers I scoop up the uneaten mash and stuff it into my mouth. I don’t taste it. I just swallow the horrid lump.

I suck my fingers and look at the plate. Now he will know I ate his leftovers. I scrape the remaining food into the bin, rinse the plate and put it into the dishwasher. Then I fill a glass with water and leave the kitchen quickly. Away from the scene of my crime. The cat is sitting on its cushion watching me with eerily bright eyes.

‘Thank God you can’t talk,’ I tell it.

I feel the cold mash in my stomach and feel guilty. I’ll be good tomorrow.

Eighteen

When I get back he has lit one of the bedside lamps and is lying propped up against the pillows.

I sit on the bed and hold the glass of water out to him. Strangely there is no awkwardness.

‘Thanks.’

I watch him drink it. He seems beautiful in this soft light. I let my eyes slide away and look around the room. In front of the bed is a metal pole. Surprised, I turn back to him. ‘Is that a lap dancer’s pole?’

‘Yup. This apartment was rented out to a big gun in the City. And when he left, the pole was left behind.’

‘Surely tenants have to leave the place as they find it?’

He shrugs one bare shoulder carelessly.

I swing my legs up on the bed and lean back against the headrest. ‘City boys and their drugs and their sluts and prostitutes. What parties he must have had here.’

‘Pole dancers are not prostitutes. I’ve known a few with hearts of gold.’

‘Oh!’ A stab of jealousy. Where on earth did that come from?

‘Besides,’ he adds, ‘the best lap dancers are artistes who turn their bodies into canvasses, works of art. You should try it some time. It’s a great turn-on for a man.’

I gaze at him. ‘You think I should learn to pole dance?’

‘Why not? Jack might love it?’

‘And you think my body is good enough for it.’

‘The best pole dancers are voluptuous women, but you’ll do.’

‘Do you think Lana is beautiful?’

He frowns. ‘Lana? As in Blake’s wife?’

‘Mmnn.’

‘Yes, very, but a bit too thin for my taste.’

‘Is she thinner than me?’

‘No, you’re thinner.’

‘Really?’ I feel a warm glow in my stomach. ‘I am thinner than her?’

‘First time I saw you I wanted to feed you.’

I look at him curiously. ‘Why do you like big girls then?’

‘They seem more sensuous to me. Their spirit is often more generous.’

The next question seems obvious. ‘So why are you sleeping with me then?’ His answer is not so obvious.

‘Stand up and take your robe off,’ he says very softly and there is an underlying steel in his voice.

‘No.’ My answer is instant and very definite.

‘It is my wish that you are naked, whenever I wish it.’ He looks at me steadily. Again I am reminded of a hunter. Implacable. He is hunting me without moving a muscle. I want to say no, but that look in his eye. It tells me if I take my robe off there might be more pleasure to come. I have been awakened from a long sexless sleep and now I want more.

I stand and drop the robe, but I am unable to withstand his searing gaze. My hands instinctively go to my breasts and the triangle of hair between my legs in a vain attempt to shield them. He crawls forward on the bed and, standing on his knees, takes away and holds my wrists at the sides of my body.

‘Never cover yourself like that again. You were born to be naked.’