Have You Seen 'Hostel'?

          Last night, before I lost meaningful consciousness, I promised to go with Ed’s next adventure so long as it didn’t break the rules (too seriously, as Ed put it). He told me I had to take two weeks off work and in my drunkenness I gladly agreed.

            This morning, hung over as hell, I had to make it happen. I’m a barrister, so I’m self-employed. This means I can take holidays whenever I like and for however long. This is great, but of course I don’t get paid while I’m not working. Equally, my job is based entirely on reputation, and so long as you’re not working, you’ve got no reputation.

            And then there are my clerks. They live off a percentage of my earnings. That means that any day I’m not working is a day they don’t earn money off my back. In order to book holiday you have to inform them so they can organise your diary properly. So it was that I had to speak to my Senior Clerk today.

            “Er… I was… um… hoping to book some holiday. That is… if it’s okay by you?”

            “Have you got a note from your mum?” He asked.

            “Eh?”

            “I’m only pulling your leg sir.”

            “Oh. Yes. I see.”

            “When?”

            “The next two weeks…”

            “No.”

            “Um… No. Er… I see. Er… it’s just it’s really important.”

            “You have to give more notice than this.”

            “Yes… it’s just that something just came up.”

            “Serious personal issue is it, sir? Do I explain to the solicitors that it’s compassionate leave?”

            “Er… not exactly.”

            “So it’s just a whim then?”

            “No… er… that is, yes, um, it is a personal issue. Yes, serious tragedy in the family.”

            “You have my condolences sir.” He looked at me gravely. “Don’t let it happen again.” He narrowed his eyes briefly before returning to his work.

 

*

 

            This evening Ed and I sat down to discuss the next Adventure.

“I don’t know about all this Ed. I shouldn’t really just be taking time off work on a whim.”

            “You’re not. This is serious.”

            “It’s not though, is it, really? I should be out there living and working properly.”

            “You should be doing nothing.”

            “Everyone’s got to do something.”

            “Whatever. Here’s how this will work. The last song we heard the other night was ‘Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay’. In that song we hear the lyrics ‘2000 miles I roam, just to make this dock my home’.”

            “Okay.” I said.

            “So we go find a dock 2000 miles away and make it our home for a little while.”

            “Right,” I said, thinking. A holiday would be good. It didn’t seem immediately the most idiotic thing to do. “Okay.”

            “Good.” Ed seemed relieved at my acceptance of the situation. The watershed moment had passed and he was still in control. “I took the liberty of consulting an atlas with a compass. Here, look.” He pulled out an Atlas and turned to a page with a giant circle drawn over it. “Right,” he said, “here are the options,” and he pointed to each enthusiastically as he mentioned them, “Dakhla, Sallum, Silifke, Kyrenia, Gagra and Pammiut.”

            “Wow,” I said, “what a bunch of celebrated and worthwhile destinations.”

            “Now now, Tom, we don’t choose our destiny, it chooses us.”

            “Mmmmm… I always knew I was born to visit a fishing town in Georgia.”

            “Ha ha. Well… maybe we won’t go there. Or maybe we should. The remote places might have the most interesting locals!”

            “Have you seen ‘Hostel’, Ed?”

            “Fine. Well, you’ve seen the options. Let’s think about it over a beer and a good night’s sleep.”

Sandstorm

          Today I was in Bicester Magistrates Court. I hear there’s a ‘village’ here where you can find every factory outlet store under the sun. I hear many things about many of the towns around the country. One day I might summon up the energy to investigate them after court, rather than just wandering back home.

            Bicester is notable for another reason. It is within the Crown Prosecution Service Thames Valley region. This is notable because it is Annabell’s area. There are many prosecutors within this region and so I was appalled to discover that fate had selected her, not just to be present at the same court, but actually to be my opponent today.

            It was a domestic violence case and I was defending the accused man. Usually these cases fail because the women involved get scared, or fooled, into thinking that they do still love the man, despite his actions, and they won’t support a case against him anymore. No such reprieve today. Both sides were adamant. She stated he’d repeatedly punched her in the head while holding her down on the sofa and he stated that she was insane and out to get him, and that she’d caused her injuries herself to get him.

            Nonetheless, I managed to persuade my client that it might be in his best interests to offer a plea to lesser charges since the court might have difficulty with his version of events. Very reasonably he asked me to discuss with the prosecutor the possibility of pleading guilty on the basis that he only hit his wife once. I went to Annabell with this.

            She laughed in my face. “Do you think I’d do you a favour like this just because you’re my ex?”

            I was taken aback. “No. Of course not. I thought it was a good offer.”

            “Sell it to me.”

            “Er… Well, I’m sure your witness doesn’t want to go through the stress of coming into court to give evidence…”

            “Actually she’d love to. She wants justice done. Look, let’s not be personal about this, okay? You know as well as I do that he’s bang to rights. He can plead guilty to everything or nothing.”

            “I wasn’t being personal. I’m trying to do my job.”

            “Whatever, Tom. Let’s just get on with it.”

            I couldn’t believe her attitude. She’d spent so long envying my skills at college and my success since then. Who did she think she was, treating me like this?

 

*

 

            My anger carried through into cross-examination. I tore into the ‘victim’, the ‘beaten’ woman, using every single piece of mud that my client could dredge up from his murky memory. I accused her of being lazy, living off my man’s means, neglecting their children, abusing her elderly frail mother, being an alcoholic and finally, being a complete whore at every opportunity.

            At one point I was interrupted by the chairman of the magistrates’ bench. “Mr Evans. I see great concern in the face of your learned friend Miss Steele. I echo it. Is all this strictly necessary? Is it relevant?”

            “It is sir. It is entirely necessary. It is important that you and your colleagues have the opportunity of considering this woman’s full character, so that you might assess the reliability of her evidence.”

            “Very well, Mr Evans, but tone it down please.”

            I made her cry.

 

*

 

            I went to lunch on my own in a local sandwich shop but was soon joined there by Annabell. She sat down by my side at the table.

            “That was so unnecessary.” She spoke with genuine anger but had a condescending edge that reminded me of her voice upon discovering that I had failed to wash up a cup properly.

            “Yes. It was wasn’t it?” I was steeled with barely concealed rage.

            “So why did you do it then?”

            “I didn’t. I made you a perfectly reasonable offer and you turned it down. This is your fault. I told you she wouldn’t enjoy being a witness.”

            “Don’t be so childish.”

            I wanted to swear at her and tell her to fuck off. I sat there in silence, conflicting emotions swirling in my mind. I had a sandstorm blowing in my head, I was seeing many colours but the only one coming through was red. It was stopping me dead. I tried to make some tracks but my feet were feeling like lead. Lunch was slow and painful.

 

*

 

            After lunch my client took the stand. Annabell cross-examined him with all the cool precision of stainless steel carving knife through a pink, tender fillet of salmon. She set trap after trap for him, complimenting him into agreement with her before using his agreement against him. Each ensnarement was as predictable as an episode of Neighbours and yet he fell for each and every one of them. She acted like his friend, sympathising over his wife’s many alleged faults, gently encouraging him to express his anger at her. She made it near on impossible for him to deny striking her; he barely held firm.

            At one stage he came up with a version of events new to even me. Annabell leapt on it; it was at odds with my cross-examination of the wife. “Surely,” she said, “surely you don’t expect us to believe that your barrister was lying to the court this morning, when he put the opposite story to your wife? You don’t expect everyone here to blame him for all this do you? No. He was only repeating what you had told him earlier and deny now. Right? Or do you say he did not put forward your case? Do we blame him, or you?”

            My client paused. This was a horrific attack by Annabell, inviting my client to take a stand against me. She wanted to humiliate me. My client tried to explain the situation without blaming either of us. He made a hash of it.

            At the end of his evidence I had to stand up and close the case. At first it seemed hopeless, but as I began speaking points started to materialise in my head and by the time I sat down I had almost convinced myself of his innocence. I looked around at my client and he put his thumbs up eagerly.  He was pleased. I looked over and glared at Annabell. She smiled back ‘sweetly’. The magistrates retired to consider their verdict.

 

*

 

            Guilty.

            Annabell stood up and calmly sought costs against my client, which were immediately awarded. She didn’t smile or even look at me, but rather acted as though the entire matter mattered not.

            I made my plea in mitigation and my client was told to attend probation for reports to be prepared. The job for the day was over. The magistrates left and Annabell immediately walked out without any flicker in my direction.

            My client left. I packed my things and slowly made to leave court. The day was over everywhere and the building was all but abandoned. Outside, in the corridor, Annabell had been talking to a colleague. The conversation ended and her colleague went through a door, leaving us all alone. She saw me and came over.

            “It got a little heated in there didn’t it?” She said, as though comforting a puppy.

            I wanted to get at her, somehow: violently. Passionately? Hatefully.

            Lustfully.

            Annabell watched my emotions. “You know, whatever I thought of it all, I must admit I enjoyed your speech. You were wonderfully eloquent.” She had spoke genuinely. There was a hint of her old admiration and affection. I gazed at her wonderingly. The moment broke my internal damns and emotions rushed out in freedom. Caught in the maelstrom I leant in towards her, needing to express my feelings.

            She started back suddenly and frowned. She shook her head slightly, looking at me, and then walked off, away from me. Again.

 

*

 

            Back home this evening I told Ed everything. He nodded appropriately and expressed outrage at all the right moments. He’s not as bad as some say he is. He’s there when you need him. I was grateful to him and suddenly I decided that I should stick by him and see where else his ideas would take me. He’d saved me from the mire of Annabell related depressions before, perhaps he could again.

            “Alright,” I said, “I’ll do it.” Ed knew immediately that I was referring to the adventures. He was delighted. “What’s next on this list then?” I asked.

            “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’ve already got it all planned out. Mostly. But for now let’s just go get lashed.”

            It sounded a good plan, in all the circumstances.

Don't Throw It All Away

          I met Robin for lunch again today. We exchanged pleasantries as we bought our sandwiches and sat down. At a break in conversation Robin changed topic.

            “Have you thought any more about that crazy Roxanne idea?” he asked.

            “Er…” I was caught slightly by surprise, not expecting Robin to bring it up. I decided to lie. “Not really.”

            Robin momentarily narrowed his eyes. “I see.” He said, slowly. “That’s good.”

            “Okay. Fine. I did think about it more. In fact…” I wasn’t sure whether to go on. “I did more than think about it.”

            “Are you mad?” he asked, calmly.

            I explained the whole story to him, from start to end. I left out a few details; I’m not exactly proud of all of it.

            “Do you feel better now?” he asked, at the end of my story.

            “For having told you? Or for having done it?”

            “Either. Both.”

            “For a barrister I’m no good at lying. So I had to tell you. As for how I feel about it, I feel… nothing. I can’t work it out. It lies outside my reality. I’m almost unsure that it happened at all. I feel detached. It’s meaningless to me right now.”

            Robin looked at me with something like kindness. “You’ll make sense of it eventually,” he said, “but until then it’s probably best to work out where all this is coming from. Don’t you think?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “It’s time to face up to your real life.” He paused and I looked at him blankly. “Annabell’s gone. She’s not coming back. But she’s not everything. No one person could ever be everything. You still have a life and a good one at that. You’ve got a great job, friends and family that love you. Maybe it’s time to concentrate on those things? Don’t throw it all away, Tom.”

Scheherazade

            “So, how’s single life treating you then?” asked Scheherazade.

            I met her in Chambers this evening and we agreed to have a drink. Scheherazade is a couple of years older than me, aiming for 30, but looking good nonetheless. She’s a society girl who’s just below the critical wealth line: not quite enough money to live without working. Nonetheless, she doesn’t have to work too hard, and often takes days off to watch the polo or attend the weddings of minor foreign royalties on yachts in the Mediterranean.

            In response to her question, all I could think of was Evelyn and Maya. “It’s okay.” I said.

            “Any exciting dates lined up?”

            “Nothing really.” In truth, I knew her question to be one of those asked in the hope of a return play. “You?”

            “There is this one guy… he’s good looking and sweet, but ever so young.”

            “How young?”

            “Twenty-five.”

            “That’s barely younger than me!”

            She blinked and looked at me, as though noticing my shape and form for the first time. “That’s true. I hadn’t really thought of that before.” She paused and her expression changed. “But it’s too young. He won’t be ready to marry for years!”

            Internally I spat out my pint and laughed. Externally I asked, “Is that really a problem? Don’t you just want to enjoy being young and let time tell who the right person is?”

            “Oh! Do you think that would work? Wouldn’t it be ever so lovely?” She seemed pleased by my idea, as though it were ever so novel.

            “Haven’t we all got the freedom and time to make the choices that are right for us? Marriage isn’t so important is it?”

            “No! You’re so absolutely right Tommy!” Her blue eyes sparkled and she flicked back her hair. “Yes. Love is the only thing worth all this isn’t it?” She was getting quite into it now. “In fact, I think I’ll call him right this minute. I’ve left him nearly two and a half days since his last message to me; the timing is perfect! Must obey the rules of dating mustn’t we?” She smiled broadly and dialled a number on her phone.

            Shortly she ended the call and squealed with delight. “I’m going to meet him right now. Oh, Tom, you’re ever so lovely! I do hope everything works out for you. You’re just bound to meet such a sweet girl soon!”

            I was left alone to finish my pint and ponder the rules.

Two Places; Two Faces

          I can’t get it out of my head.

            This morning I was sitting there, in my suit and tie, in the waiting room of Banbury Magistrates Court, reading the newspaper and minding my own business.

            But I wasn’t reading the paper. I was thinking about fucking Evelyn. The scene played out over and over in my head. But it wasn’t quite the same. The setting was Ed’s lounge, and the bodies were the same, but the face was Annabell’s.

            Like a catchy song lyric I saw her face on Evelyn’s body flash through and through my mind. The only thing that broke the spell was the announcement of my case by the court usher.

            But it’s there again now and God I want her… or one of them at least.

Sensory Experiences

            “Why are you drawing Annabell?” Ed asked, walking into the lounge this morning. I looked down at my sketch pad. It was supposed to be a drawing of Evelyn.

            “It’s Evelyn.”

            “Oh God. You’re not in love with the whore are you? Fuck: that’d be a pricey fate.”

            “No. I’m not in love with her.” I unwittingly emphasised the last word just slightly. “I was just waiting for you to get the hell up.”

            “Again.” He said, laughing.

 

*

 

            After lunch we sat down in the lounge. Ed brought up itunes on the computer.

            “Does this bring back memories?” He asked, starting the music.

            The gentle sound of waves started caressing my mind. Otis Reading lent his smooth old voice to the mix.

 

I’m just sittin’ on the dock of bay,

Watching the tide roll away…

Sittin’ on the dock of a bay,

Wasting ti-i-i-me.

 

            “What memories?” I asked.

            “It’s the song we came to last night.”

            I was revolted. Ed was proud of this.

            “Ed. It’s bad enough you were there. You don’t have to be so damn sickly proud of it.”

            “What’s the matter? Are you embarrassed I watched you like that?”

            “Fucking hell Ed, just shut up about it.”

            “Join the modern world, Tom. It’s all about sensory experience.”

            “Right. Well, my senses are happiest away from sharing nakedness with you.”

            “Alright, alright. We’ve got more important discussions to have right now.”

            “Like?”

            “This song. It’s our next adventure.”

            “Christ. I hadn’t even thought about another one. Wasn’t the last one enough? Haven’t we proven whatever it was we set out to prove yet?”

            “Not even close, mate.”

            “Well I think we have. I’m not sure about this anymore. Last night was… weird.”

            “Just think of it like porn. Good porn, but nothing more.”

            “I don’t watch porn.”

            “Then you’re even more of a fucking shitbrick than I took you for.”

            “Why don’t you leave it? I’m not about to jump up and go on some other crazy chase of madness. I need to work some stuff out, and get my life back in order.”

            Ed reluctantly dropped it. I’m not sure how I feel about it all. The last week or two’s been fun, but… I’m not sure. I have to think.

 

*

 

            I’m about to go to sleep now. I had one further thought: how did Ed pay for the girls? He’s only a teacher, with no money. I must remember to ask him… No matter how unsure I am about the whole thing, I have to pay him back. It’s not like I refused the… services.

English Rose; Asian Melons

          “What’s your choice of fuck then? Blonde, brunette or red head?”

            I’d woken up split seconds earlier to an early morning inconsiderate brutish whirlwind called Ed, who’d thrown open my curtains and ripped off my duvet. I cowered in the foetal position as he delivered his opening question to me. A hell of a way to awaken.

            My phone rang before I marshalled my thoughts into any kind of response. I snatched it up and foolishly answered without checking the caller ID first. It was my mum.

            “Hello darling!” Another appalling morning person; it’s like they’re a different breed of animal altogether.

            “Hold on a second mum.” I replied. I put my hand over the handset and turned to Ed. “Fuck off,” I told him. Amazingly, after a disparaging head shake, he did.

            “What was that dear? I didn’t quite catch what you said?”

            “Nothing, Mother. How are you this morning?”

            “Oh never mind me. I want to know about that fine young girl of yours!”

            “I told you, we broke up.”

            “But you don’t mean that! You couldn’t. The two of you were so well suited! You’d hardly throw a thing like that away, not when it meant so much to your old Mother!”

            “As I explained, I didn’t have a choice. It was her decision.”

            “What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you have any spirit in you? She clearly doesn’t mean it, she just wants you to show a bit of passion: fight for her!”

            “I… that’s not how it is. It’s not up to me. She’s serious.”

            “Well! I don’t believe you. I won’t accept it. Now you go out there and get her back. You’ll never do as well as her again, I tell you! She was out of your league already, a top class girl that one. Beautiful, polite… a respectable job, decent family… what more could you want?”

            “Indeed.”

            I made some excuses and escaped her. I didn’t much fancy moving from that to Ed so I simply went back to sleep, content to fade out into oblivion.

 

*

 

            I eventually got up just after midday and wandered into the living room. Ed was on the computer. As I approached him it became quite apparent that he was looking up escort girls on the net.

            “Ed! Stop that! Someone will trace your IP address!”

            “So?”

            “Well… this can’t be legal, advertising this stuff online… or partaking of it. They’ll track us down and then we’ll have to face all sorts of embarrassing questions. If it got out somehow I’d be ruined!”

            “Don’t be such a bloody fool. Sit down and have a look. Here: which of these two would you rather do? Personally I’m a fan of these jugs here but the face ain’t much, and that matters. Maybe not to you though, eh?”

            I frowned, but I did sit down.

            “Here.” Ed said, offering me a beer.

            “It’s only midday!”

            “Sod that. Today’s no ordinary day and if you continue in your current guise as a mammoth pussy you’ll need it.”

            I reluctantly took the beer.

            Ed had found a rather incredible site. It was incredible not just because it contained countless pictures of stunning semi-clad women, but also because it was so damn brazen!

            “I can’t believe they can get away with this. They’re so obviously selling sex!”

            Ed had a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “You’re such a goddamned fool sometimes. Everyone sells sex!”

            “Fine,” I replied, unamused, “but not like this.”

            “Read the disclaimer then.” He said, and scrolled down to the bottom of the site. It read as follows:

 

Money exchanged for legal UK adult services is for time and companionship. Anything implied or inferred on this web site is not to be taken as inducement for services other than this.

 

            “So these are genuine escorts then? No sex involved?” I asked.

            He laughed. “There you go again! Have you only just been released from the sacrosanct nunnery of your virgin mother? You’re like a woolly lamb sidling up to a carving knife out of friendly curiosity.”

            “Very funny.”

            “Alright, alright, let’s get down to business.”

            “I don’t think so, I’m going to go make lunch.”

            “I’ll have a bacon sarnie. Cheers mate.” He replied, without looking away from the screen.

            I sighed and went off to make us lunch. On my return Ed handed me another beer and we watched some random trash he’d recorded on his TV box. Once done eating we switched on his PS3 and wasted a few hours and a few more beers. Towards late afternoon I felt a little light headed and we gave up on the games. Ed went back over to surf the net.

            “Okay,” he said, “let’s just play a game. If you had to choose one of these girls to fuck, which would she be?”

            I looked through the options.

            “Why are some of them £200 and some £250? In fact, why are they so cheap at all?”

            “In response to the first question, it’s basic economics, right? Supply and demand. The pricier ones are probably dirty as hell. As to the second question, I think you’ll find that’s only the starting price. The rest is negotiated later, if you know what I mean.”

            “I see.” I looked through some more of the girls and noticed a particularly gorgeous looking dark haired girl. She had a classically English appeal with blushing cheeks and deep brown eyes. “I suppose she’d be the one, if I had to.”

            “I knew it! You’re so predictable. She’s dull. I’d go for this one.” Ed pointed out an Asian girl with massive breasts. His English-girl-phobia remained fully intact.

            It was my turn to laugh. “I’m not half so predictable as you!”

            “Maybe in your mind, but I’m genetically unpredictable, which is worth so much more.”

            “Whatever.” I replied, a little tired from drinking throughout the afternoon. “I’m going to lie down for a little while.”

I went back to my room and fell briefly asleep.

           

*

 

            “Time to get up you lazy bastard.” A second shocking awakening of the day.

            “Urgh.”

            “Come on you fucker. I’ve paid for her now so you can’t wuss out. Get in the shower. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

            Ed marched out of my room and I checked my watch. It was seven; I’d been asleep for an hour or so. I felt an appalling mixture of dehydration, tiredness and weak fading drunkenness. I dragged myself out of bed and staggered into the lounge.

            “What do you mean?” I asked. “Who have you paid for?” I was still half asleep and too slow to put two and two together.

            “The English Rose and The Asian Melons.” He replied. “We’re meeting them in an hour.” He stared at me defiantly and grinned, almost sociopathically.

            I was defeated, swept along by Ed’s sheer energy and forcefulness. Besides, as consciousness began to seep back into my brain, it seemed alluring. The danger; the unknown; the exotic, erotic intoxicating lunacy of it made it irresistible.

            I went nervously away to shower.

 

*

 

            “So…” I started, trying to frame my next question. We were on the way to the bar. “…isn’t this sort of thing normally done by men on their own?”

            “Your point?”

            “Well… don’t you think it’s a bit weird your being here too?”

            Ed’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “What are you worried about Tom?” I frowned. I couldn’t think of a response. “Fancy some double-teaming later?” He added.

            That, I thought, is exactly what I’m worried about.

 

*

 

            We got to the bar before the girls and ordered drinks. We were both dressed in two of my suits. Ed insisted that suits were the only option, and his certainly weren’t up to it. I’ll admit he did look good wearing proper clothes.

            After around twenty minutes they walked in and went to the bar. The English Rose briefly glanced about. They didn’t order any drinks.

            “Right,” said Ed, “let’s go.” He walked off ahead. I followed, my heart in my mouth. I looked about and felt as though every person in the room were staring at me, in full knowledge of my lascivious intentions. Ed looked confident, as though he were meeting them by right. Indeed he did have a right. He’d paid. I envied that poise.

            “Good evening ladies.” Ed said, extending his hand to Asian Melons. She took it and then pulled in closer for brief embrace, as though they were long lost friends.

            I raised one hand awkwardly, almost waved (I cringe to think of it), looked at English Rose and said hello.

            “Hi there. I’m Evelyn.” She smiled serenely and held my gaze without the slightest hint of shyness of embarrassment over the circumstances. After a further awkward tongue-tied moment by me she pointedly glanced across at the bar. Thoughts began to arise in my befuddled head and all at once I understood.

            “C-c-can I get you a drink?” I was all too enthusiastic. The whole thing was excruciating. The second I faced away from them I pulled all kinds of insane faces, trying to work the madness out of my system. Why was I there?!

            I returned with drinks for everybody and found the girls sitting on either side of Ed at a nearby table. He was laughing and massaging Asian Melon’s thigh who didn’t appear in the least put out by it. She was laughing too.

            Evelyn managed the conversation with me, leading me from one thing to another. She was actually from Estonia though she spoke perfect English. She had come over to study. I somehow didn’t ask what. She ran through so many classic seduction moves, flicking her hair back, leaning in towards me, occasionally brushing my skin with her fingers. I could smell her alluring perfume and could almost feel the softness of her cheek so close to mine. I fell so far into the fantasy as I sat there by her side that I almost forgot how it could be so.

            After a time I left for the bathroom and upon my return discovered that Ed had invited them back to ours for a drink of ‘the nectar of the Gods’ - cue: giggling by Maya (Asian Melons).

           

*

 

            On the way back to our flat, in a taxi, I leant across to Ed. “Ed… I haven’t sorted out my room; it’s a total state.” I said, under my breath.

            “That’s okay Tom,” he replied, out loud, “we can just as easily fuck ’em in the lounge.”

 

*

 

            Once inside the front door Ed wasted no time. He thrust Maya back against the corridor wall and started kissing her, running his hands over her body.

            Evelyn walked calmly past them into the lounge, sultry in her acceptance of the situation. She opened her handbag and pulled out two pills of some type. She beckoned me over. I sat anxiously by her side, neither too close to her nor properly sat back into the sofa. She placed one of the tablets on the end of her tongue and sat up, leaning into me. I realised all too suddenly that she intended to kiss me and pass whatever that pill was into my mouth. With all the will power in the world I managed to stop her.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can’t. It’ll mess with my medication.” It was the first thing that came into my head.

            “Suit yourself.” She shrugged, swallowing it down. She leant back on the sofa and gazed at me, smiling. “You don’t want me?” She asked, with all the confidence of a girl who knows she’s being rhetorical.

            At that moment Ed and Maya came crashing through and landed on the sofa by our side. Ed’s hands were all over her breasts and had worked one free over her top. She moaned. I looked over at Evelyn who winked at me. She leaned over towards Maya and ran her fingers along the inside of Maya’s thighs. She quivered. Ed noticed and grinned, before returning his attention to Maya’s breasts. Evelyn pulled up Maya’s dress and exposed her panties. She reached a hand inside and Maya jerked her body in response.

            The sight was too much for me. Lust overcame me utterly and I lost all ability to think rationally. I grabbed Evelyn and threw her back onto the sofa.

            “That’s more like it,” she purred.

            I grabbed her hard by the breast and dragged her dress off her mindlessly. I fucked her hard. Right there. Without delay. Nothing could hold me back.

            By my side Ed started taking Maya from behind. He positioned her across the sofa so she could libidinously mingle tongues with Maya, right before me. I glanced across at Ed and he winked at me with arrogant joy. He was master, right then, and nothing else mattered.

 

*

 

            It’s over now. They’re gone. It’s two o’clock in the morning and Ed just went to bed. Before he did I asked him if he’d ever done this before. He didn’t reply, but simply got up to leave. As he walked out of the room he simply said, “Does life get any better than this, Tom?”

            I don’t feel dirty. Not really. Somehow it doesn’t even seem sordid in my head. Shouldn’t it? It bothers me that Ed was there. It bothers me that it doesn’t bother him. I feel a little dizzy, like I’m on the brink of an abyss and I’m losing my balance. If you move out of the realms of the life you’ve always known, how will you ever know where the limits are? How will you know what’s real?

            The worst part is that now, at the end of it all, I realise that the only thought that never left my head all night was that I’d have given up every part of that incredible sex for one moment spent with Annabell in certainty of her commitment to me.

            As I fucked that girl, Evelyn, I saw only Annabell…