7 Tales of Sex and Betrayal (2 page)

“Now, now, Joanne, don’t go blaming
yourself. You did everything you could. It was bound to happen
sooner or later.”

“You’re sure it was a heart attack?”

“Of course. He’d had a poor heart for ages.
Why do you ask?”

“Well, he kept saying there was a spider – a
tarantula between the sheets.”

“Tarantula? Really? How odd. Still, that
might account for the small bite on the left side of his
chest.”

“But that didn’t kill him then?”

“Of course not. People think tarantulas are
deadly, but most of them aren’t, except for one found in parts of
southern Italy.”

“Oh yes. Pepie, our houseboy told me that.
He keeps one as a pet, but it’s perfectly harmless. You can pick it
up but you have to be careful not to drop it. They’re very delicate
creatures I’m told.”

After the doctor left, Joanne sat on the
verandah and looked out on her beautiful garden. She smiled
serenely. From across the grass, Pepie returned her smile.

But he says he loves me

I wasn’t going to stop dating him because he
seemed too bossy. He was tall, dark and handsome and I wanted him
to be The One. My mother said, ‘I don’t think he’s right for you’
and my best friend said, ‘I think he’s trouble with a capital T’.
But what did they know? He made me feel special.

In the beginning, when we were together, it
was like we were the only two people in the whole world. Nobody had
ever known love like this. I was dizzy with excitement, a slave to
his scent and he was besotted with me. Wasn’t he?

That’s how I now remember it. But memory,
I’ve learnt is unreliable. Each time we remember something, we
remember it differently. I read an article in a respected journal
about memory and recall and I was unsettled by the idea that every
time we remember, we remember from our perspective of the now, not
the perspective of the past.

So, memory changes according to where we are
in our lives and how we feel about ourselves. We can rework our own
life story, without even knowing that we’re doing it. It’s not like
we’re actively and consciously retelling events to suit ourselves,
just that each time we look back and reflect, we’re in a different
place and we see the past through the lens of our present.

So, here’s my story as I remember it.

We met at a party in the late summer. It was
one of those magical nights with stars shining and a warm breeze
moving through my hair and teasing my skirt. I was with a group of
friends on the balcony. I’d seen him earlier in the evening, but
he’d been talking to another girl and I thought he was taken. I was
laughing at a friend’s joke when he walked up to me and without a
word, reached out and gently tucked some strands of my hair behind
my ear.

‘There, that’s better. I was looking at you
and I couldn’t help myself. I think your hair looks better behind
your ears.’

Self-consciously, I raised my hand to my
other ear and tucked errant strands behind it.

‘I’m Seth.’

‘Uh, hello, I’m Karina.’

From that moment on, introductions over, we
seemed to develop a bubble around ourselves, as if we were the only
ones in the place. We talked and talked for hours. I listened while
he talked. Then he listened while I talked. I’d never had a man
listen so intently to me before. It was uplifting. It was
empowering. I felt wonderful.

We were in a hurry to marry and when he
lifted my veil almost exactly as I had imagined it, I was over the
moon. Then he kissed me with great tenderness. My eyes welled up in
a mix of love and happiness. Could any girl want more?

We were happy. I was happy, wasn’t I? Well,
‘happy’ might not be quite the right word. I learnt that our
relationship was a strong and passionate one, but one also very
fragile. Ours was a dangerous love.

Most of the time, I felt excited, edgy,
exhilarated, distracted, disorganised, disappointed, even
despairing. I was in a permanent state of thrill and fear of
falling, as if I was all the time at the top of a ski run. But that
was what I had wanted, wasn’t it? It was what a lot of my friends
wanted. They used to say to me that at least I was living.

But daily life with a volatile man is
exhausting. You are always on the look-out for things you haven’t
done, things you have done that you shouldn’t have done and a
hundred other little anxieties. He was demanding and could be
fierce if things didn’t suit him, but when he was loving, I
wouldn’t have traded my place for anything in the world. The good
times were just that good.

I knew about his infidelities. You’d have to
be living under a rock not to have seen or heard enough to confirm
that Seth was a ladies’ man. Mostly, I’d learned to live with it
and if my mother’s words came back to haunt me, I’d bat them away
as quickly as they’d lodged in my consciousness.

To give Seth his credit, he was usually
discreet about his women. But what happened next was public and I
reacted. In many ways, we both acted uncharacteristically, but
that’s part of being human.

I was used to women flirting with him and
him flirting back outrageously, but when I passed a couple of women
at a party and overheard one say, ‘Look at that. She might as well
just straddle him here and now’, I turned around and saw a pretty
young woman gazing up at Seth, nodding effusively, her body
language unmistakable. I felt that tight pinch of jealousy. He was
leaning towards her and in a too-familiar way, wiped what? a morsel
of food? From the side of her lips. That was confirmation
enough.

I turned around and headed back in their
direction, but they were so absorbed in one another that neither of
them felt me moving in on them. Walking with purpose, I came within
striking range and with as much force as I could muster, I slapped
my husband’s face. Before either of them had time to react, I
turned and slapped hers as well. Then I turned on my heel and
walked to the ladies’ room.

Once alone behind the door, I stood over the
sink and looked at my reflection in the big mirror. A calm-looking
woman peered back at me. My image was much calmer than I felt,
although I did feel good. I laughed at my image and got a kick out
of seeing myself laugh so loudly. The slaps must have released all
that pent-up energy.

She walked through the door and joined me at
the sink. Dabbing her face with powder from a slim black compact,
she was leaning into the mirror under the mellow light. We regarded
each other’s reflections for a moment. The glass was tinted, making
us both appear unnaturally tanned, like we’d just returned from a
holiday.

‘He’s all yours,’ she said simply before
dropping her compact in her purse, tidying her hair and leaving the
room.

Sure he is, I thought. But the question was:
Did I want him?

He was waiting for me outside. He grabbed me
and pressed me to his chest. I knew the routine. He’d look closely
into my eyes and smile that charming smile of his. Then he’d kiss
me tenderly, holding me tight. Giving me that sense of security
that I so loved.

Then he released me a little and looked
earnestly at me saying, ‘But you know I love you.’

Chloe

He considered himself to be a happily
married man. A man who had no intention of, nor need for, amorous
adventures. Leading a busy life, he had little time to speculate
about such matters. Besides, he had Chloe. She was sensual as well
a sexual, a truly beautiful creature. With Chloe as his wife, he
had all he ever needed. She was all he would ever need.

Being in a strange Asian city was not a new
experience. How often had he rejected his host’s offer of lithe,
almond-eyed young women who had acted as dinner escorts, but who
placed inviting hands on his thighs under the table? Had he not
been surprised by their seeming innocence, their winning smiles,
soft voices yet bold hints of desire and passion?

But he had rejected their advances with the
self-confidence of a man truly secure in his virility. With his
strong sense of integrity, he had also dismissed any connotations
of prudery. His host had suggested a spa and massage before dinner.
Since the long flight had tired him, he accepted without
hesitation. He would enjoy the spa and massage, which would relax
him, but it would go no further. To ward of his host’s hints and
winks, he spoke deliberately about Chloe, his loyal and loving wife
in the most tender manner

In the limousine on the way to their
destination, which was a little way out of town, he relaxed by
accepting a bourbon. The drink was relaxing and he began to unwind
from the strain of the long flight. He was impressed by the large
house which was surrounded by extensive gardens and set back from
the road. This establishment was private, elegant, expensive and
new to him. As he commented on this, his host told him it had only
recently opened and was exclusive, more like a ‘gentlemen’s
club’.

As they entered, they were greeted by an
attractive woman who introduced herself as Michelle, their hostess.
She was warm and engaging, offering them comfortable seats and more
drinks. When they were settled, Michelle excused herself and
returned with six smiling, cleverly half-dressed young women. They
were all beautiful and their names were labelled on heart-shaped
broaches: Melissa, Candy, Suzie.

Michelle teased the men and coaxed them to
choose, if they could, from the excellent selection lined before
them. His host chose quickly and the young woman came forward,
taking him by the hand and leading him away. Left alone with
Michelle and five young women waiting for his decision, a matter of
moments passed before he chose a young woman who seemed to hang
back at the end of the line. Her long straight hair fell heavily,
hiding her breasts, and making her seem shier than the others.

As she led him away by the hand, he saw how
petite she was, and so slim. Chloe was a beautiful woman, but in a
totally different way. No-one would have described Chloe as dark
and petite, for she was the exact opposite, a blue-eyed statuesque
and curvaceous blonde. He quickly dismissed these thoughts, the
comparison seeming unnecessary to him.

She showed him into an enormous room
resplendent with mirrors on the walls and ceiling, which had the
effect of reflecting and doubling the whole scene before him. At
one end of the room was a large bed draped with red satin sheets,
and at the other end, a spacious round red-tiled spa, steaming
faintly. The lighting was low, casting deep shadows and
highlighting the vases holding sprays of cream, pink and purple
orchids. There was a welcoming, warm red glow which suffused the
room. As he sank into the spa bath, he breathed in deeply the
mingling fragrances of the room.

The young woman began to chat casually. She
was easy to talk to, but he reflected on how she was trained for
this scene. Where was he from? Had his flight been tiring? What
business was he in? Would he like a drink? Champagne perhaps? Yes,
why not? After all, he deserved it after such a tiring day. She
handed him a tall, fine glass of bubbly and joined him in a toast.
Did his host hope to clinch the deal by first having him yield to
such temptations?

All thoughts left his mind as he felt the
invigorating jets of water run over his body. The young woman
seemed to be enjoying the experience and she pulled him gently
towards her and with expert hands massaged his temples. You worry
too much, she said, you must relax, she admonished him with a soft
look and a wide smile. He let his head fall back as she moved
closer with her body and began to give him a facial massage. He
closed his eyes and the tension began to melt away. She had such
expert hands, so soft yet so therapeutic. Almost as if in a trance,
he allowed himself to be led to the bed where she had placed a
towel for him to lie on.

The oil she was using on his back and thighs
was aromatic and heady. Her hands were sliding and pummelling his
buttocks and thighs and the sensation was arousing. When she asked
him to turn onto his back, he was surprised and excited by the
whole scene being reflected from the mirrored ceiling. As she
continued to work on him, first his shoulders and chest, he felt
caressed and looking closely at her, realised how beautiful she
was. Pulling himself up, he remembered how beautiful Chloe was,
perhaps more beautiful than this young enchantress. But his
feelings were stirring and the wonderful sensations continued.

He recalled how he and Chloe had discussed
infidelity. But he now realised it had always been an intellectual
discussion. Had she really meant it when she had said, ‘I don’t own
you, I don’t mind what you do – you’re a free man.’ These
discussions had always seemed so liberated, but had there been an
implicit, unspoken message of ‘I wouldn’t like you to do it – maybe
you’ll be tempted, but I’d like you to be faithful’? He was
puzzled, he didn’t know. Was Chloe really giving him his freedom,
or just the illusion of freedom? But, he was only human, and yes,
he had been tempted before. Something had always stopped him. Maybe
it had been the suspicion that Chloe would find out and the
betrayal would harm their relationship. It was a relationship he
valued and one he would not jeopardize for a cheap thrill. This
encounter would lead to nothing. He shook off her silky hands and
demanded another glass of champagne.

Why couldn’t he just relax and enjoy the
moment? Nothing need happen. After all he had just had a spa and a
massage. He needn’t tell Chloe, who would never know of this
innocent encounter. There was no doubt in his mind that he could
resist this young woman’s advances. But there was no doubting the
fact that she was sensual, and young, very young. He looked at her
more closely and saw the firm body encased in little more than
brief panties and a lace bra under a georgette wrap that was
designed to drape in such a way that it fell open to reveal. Her
breasts sat rounded and high above the tiny waist, and her skin was
a lovely dusky colour, crying out to be touched, to be caressed. He
looked away trying to block out the image of her.