Putty In Her Hands (5 page)

And so I confessed, merely to
shift the focus away from myself.
Actually, I have googled
you.

Ah,
she said
triumphantly.
And…?

Well, you’re all over the
place. The people you’ve met and the places you’ve been.

I know, a wet Wednesday in
Nuneaton to photograph a bit-part soap star was quite
something.

Don’t be silly; it’s a really
impressive C.V. And your work as a model?

Yeah, I mentioned that, didn’t
I? Horrible business. So I stepped round to the other side of the
camera. It’s not so bad there.

You know, you do take a very
good picture.

Well, thank you, honey.
She took my hand and squeezed it. I kissed her cheek.
I do like
you, you know, Robbie.

I know,
I said quietly
in her ear.
And I like you too.

And so, with hands held, we
chatted for the rest of the evening. She told me about her
parentage: English mother, white; Brazilian father, black. He,
Muslim; she, Catholic. So Dawn had to decide and was tempted to
piss both of them off by becoming atheist. But a Catholic education
influenced her and that’s where she’s been ever since. Not the most
devout of followers, but she still attends the occasional mass, the
odd confession, and wears a crucifix around her neck and a bracelet
depicting various saints and the Holy Mother around her wrist.

Me – I was Church of England
through and through, which means not very religious at all.
Although as a boy I did sing in the church choir and even attained
the status of Head Boy Chorister. But in a choir of 13 girls and
only three boys, of whom I was the eldest, it didn’t count for
much. Emily goes occasionally, dragging the kids with her. I go
infrequently. I always come out feeling vaguely better for it but
never truly convinced it was the best use of my time on a Sunday
morning. Not that the alternatives are especially fruitful either –
going back to bed for a kip, viewing dubious websites, or reading
yet another book on the Second World War. Sometimes, when faced
with such stiff opposition, church takes a poor fourth place. And
very occasionally, if it’s not too cold and the wind is blowing in
the right direction, I might go out for a bike ride.

I’m trying to lose weight. I’d
always been a skinny youth, sometimes painfully so, but as soon as
I hit forty the pounds piled on. I used to complain to Emily that
my torso had gone from being a boy’s pidgin chest to that of a
middle-aged man with paunch without the benefit of the in-between
bit. So I decided to fight back – I started cycling to work, or on
a Sunday morning, and eating more carefully. I’ve ditched my
nightly two pints of beer. And it’s made a difference.
I’d got
to a stage,
I said to Dawn,
when my stomach became so large
I could no longer see my willy.
She laughed raucously at that,
far more than my feeble joke merited, even if it was based on
fact.

Oh, Rob,
she chuckled.
I so want to sit on your face.

My eyes popped.
Did you just
say –?

No.

You did.

Did not.

I must have imagined it
then.

Yes.

Oh.
Pause.
Well…

No. It’s too soon.

OK.
I went to take a sip
of my beer but I think my hand trembled too much and gave up.

Kiss me,
she said. And
so I did.

I drove home, happy after such
a lovely evening, collapsed into bed and fell asleep dreaming of
Dawn sitting on my face.

Tuesday, 11th December

So now I am thinking about sex;
sex with Dawn, and how to seduce her. I don’t stop to think
whether, as a married man, I should, and the idea that I shouldn’t,
that it would be plain wrong to sleep with Dawn, never enters my
mind. All I feel is a sense of excitement. Emily and I have always
had an active sex life so it’s not as if I have that as an excuse.
I haven’t even seen another woman naked in all the time I’ve been
married and for a couple years before that. The idea is exciting
but scary at the same time – what if I duck out at the last minute?
What if I can’t perform? Basically, what if I can’t get it up?

Dawn wasn’t due at work for the
rest of the week. She sent me a text – the first. I saw the
unfamiliar number but guessed it was her:
Bonjour monsieur
,
it read.
I wonder who that could be
, I replied. I added her
name to my address book. Gary – snuggled between Garage, where my
car scrapes through its yearly MOT and Harriett, wife of Ralph, who
as a couple are our best friends. She text me again, asking if I
fancied going out Friday evening. She didn’t say where but it
didn’t matter; I did.

I went to bed and lay there
thinking of having sex with Dawn. I tried to visualise her breasts
and the colour of her nipples. I drifted in and out of
consciousness with a stiff cock, fantasising of Dawn on a bed on
all fours, her cunt waiting for me, beckoning me in. In the end, my
erection kept me awake. I tried to think of other things, anything
to let me get to sleep but nothing worked; I kept coming back to my
naughty thoughts. I looked at my alarm clock – two in the morning.
Perhaps, I thought, a cigarette would help me calm my feverish
thoughts. Quietly, I got out of bed. Slipping on my dressing gown,
I opened the bedroom door, trying not to wake Emily, and crept
downstairs. I stopped on the landing to stroke Ginger. I had my
cigarette outside in the garden, the cold having the desired
effect. Then, in the living room, I lay on the sofa, making myself
comfortable. Yet, even here, I could not rid my mind of Dawn naked.
My erection returned, protruding from my pyjamas. There was only
one thing for it. I found a tissue in my dressing gown pocket. I
started playing with myself. With one hand pressing down on my
perineum, I used my other hand to wank myself. Boy, it felt nice. I
was soon ‘jerkin' the gherkin’, ‘greasing the pipe’, ‘bashing the
bishop’, while visualising Dawn lying in front of me, naked,
playing with the cunt, rubbing her clitoris.

Are you alright, Rob?
Oh fuck. Emily.

What are you… Oh dear, having
fruity dreams, were we?

Yes, sorry.
I felt my
cock lose some of its hardness.

Don’t be silly. Here, let me
give you a hand. So to speak.

What?

She kneeled on the sofa, her
knees either side of me.
Now where were you?

Well…

Go on; let me watch you.

Are you sure?
Come on, wank for me, baby. I want to watch you cum.
Hesitantly at first, I resumed my tugging. My semi-hard
man meat soon perked up at this unexpected turn of events. Lifting
her nightshirt, Emily flopped her ‘double whoppers’ out, jiggling
them side to side.
Do you like what you see, baby? Do you like
my tits? Are they big enough for you? Hmm? What massive knockers I
have, and all for you.

God, yeah, you’ve got fantastic
tits.

Let me see you jerk off, then.
Let me see you spurt your creamy juice all over them. Would you
like that? Would you like to shoot your load onto these puppies?
Let me rub your hot cum into my jugs, then you can suck them
dry.

She reached over and gently
squeezed my balls. I could feel my cum building up at the base of
my cock.
God, yes, I’m coming.

Quickly, she leant down, her
mouth wide open in front of my throbbing cock, while tweaking her
nipples. I hesitated for a moment – I’d never cum into Emily’s
mouth before.
Are you sure?
I said again.

Yes, I want to taste your
cum.

I needed no second invitation.
I came, emitting a long groan as huge gushes of white cum exploded
into her inviting mouth, on her lips and over her cheeks.

Oh, yeah; that’s good,
I
grunted, tugging on my cock, making sure I’d shot every last drop
of cum.
Wow.

Emily sat back up, her mouth
open, revealing a pool of sticky cum on her tongue while more of it
dribbled down her chin. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the
back of her hand.
Hmm, salty,
she said.

Finally, back in bed, I was
able to sleep.

Friday, 14th December

I have thought of Dawn and
nothing but Dawn all week. I may have paused briefly on Wednesday
to try to think of a Christmas present to buy Emily, and then, with
a panic realised I would have to buy one for Dawn too. And that is
difficult. I’ve only known her just over a week (the months between
her starting during the summer up to last Wednesday don’t count)
and come January I may already be history. I don’t want to go
overboard and even worse is the idea of her being underwhelmed. And
what will she buy me? Will she be going through the same dilemmas?
Somehow, I think not. But Friday solved all.

Come on, I’ll take you
shopping. I love shopping, don’t you?

Yes!
I say. But really I
hate shopping. I am a typical man when it comes to shopping – fix
in your mind what you want, make a list of required items, work out
exactly where you need to go to buy them, do not stop to listen to
carol singers, do not stop to buy the
Big Issue,
aim
straight for the product, do not look left or right, do not be
distracted by browsing or window shopping or by pushy salespeople,
buy your product, don’t fall for the extended warranty bit, go
home, and recover with a cup of tea. Job done. Simpler still, do it
online.

By the time Dawn had finished
with me I was exhausted. We’d whisked through the Men’s wear in
M&S, Top Man and some trendy little gaff that normally I
wouldn’t dare go into, and had numerous shirts, jackets and jeans
held against me.
Hmm, that would look nice on you,
or
That’s suits you perfectly,
or
Oh no, I don’t think
so,
and emerged from the other side feeling as if I’d completed
an assault course.

Finally Dawn leads me to the
Women’s department on the first floor of TK-Maxx, and tries on
various coats and jackets. It astounds me how she suits them all.
Her face and her colour simply brings any garment to life. They all
look fantastic on her. She’s trying one on, a dark suede jacket
with a fur collar, when an old gent with a colourful silk scarf,
huge black Trilby and a long, expensive looking coat winks at us.
What a lovely couple you two make.

Dawn wrinkles her nose.
Oh,
thank you,
she says, purring.

It looks nice on you,
he
says.
It’s got a good cut. Very nice.

Do you think I should buy
it?

No, dear, get your boyfriend
here to buy it for you for Christmas. That’s what I would do.

He disappears among the racks,
moving with regal slowness, his eyes sparkling.
Wasn’t he
lovely?
says Dawn.

I don’t think your gay radar
needs to be too accurate as far as he’s concerned.

Wasn’t he so camp? And what
style – that coat.

Watch out, he’s coming
back.

This time I notice he was
holding a pair of black leather gloves and had a set of gold rings
on his fingers.
You haven’t seen my wife, have you?
Once
again, so much for Dawn’s radar.

Five minutes later, still in
TK-Maxx, Dawn is looking at women’s shoes and I am visibly tiring.
I love shoes,
she says.
You’d be shocked if I told you
how many pairs of shoes I have.

Go on, shock me.

Eighty.
OK, I was
shocked.

Hey, Robbie, tell me, what are
you like in bed?

What am I like in bed?

Yes, I want to know.

Heck.
What sort of
question is that? I am hardly likely to answer with
fairly dull
really.
I’ve never really assessed it before: 4.8 points out of
five for effort; 3.6 for performance? Emily’s never complained and
is often very complimentary so I suppose I must be OK but is a
wife’s opinion anything to go by? My time is up, Dawn is waiting
for my answer:
Fairly animalistic, I guess.

Animalistic? Wow, I like it;
that sounds good.

Well, you know, once I get
going
.

I reckon I could get you
going.

Oh, I don’t doubt it, baby!

Oh fuck. Now, if we ever get to
that stage, she’ll be expecting a bestial performance worthy of
Stone Age Man. Nothing like putting yourself under pressure. I come
away shocked by the way she casually asked, as if the two of us
having sex was a foregone conclusion. Well, I thought, if so, bring
it on…

Fancy a
drink?
Crikey, I wondered what she was
going to ask then. But yes, after an hour’s hardcore shopping, I’m
whacked and a drink sounds like a nice idea. We head for the same
pub we went on Tuesday evening, and go upstairs to the restaurant
part. Neither of us is hungry but feel we must eat something. We
eat, nibbling at our bland jacket potatoes with a glass of chilled
white wine each.
I’ve not eaten a thing
all week,
says Dawn.