Sinful Deceit (3 page)

Sharon didn't
phone the following day. I wondered whether she was ashamed of her
lesbian act, confused in her guilt. I was going to call her, invite
her round. But a ferocious battle raged within my racked mind. I
was torn between right and wrong, normal and abnormal. As the day
passed, I lifted the receiver again and again, but couldn't bring
myself to dial her number. Maybe I was afraid of rejection. Maybe I
was afraid of my feelings. Having given my body to another girl,
maybe I, too, was ashamed. Was I a lesbian?

Trying to occupy my mind, I sat on my bed and wrote to Uncle
Jack. I didn't mention Sharon. She might have had second thoughts
about the holiday after... after our forbidden loving. I told Uncle
Jack that I'd be on the plane and was looking forward to meeting
him. I enclosed a recent photograph, imagining him standing by the
arrivals gate holding up a piece of cardboard.
KIRSTY
. I'd arranged the time off
work, swapped my holiday with another girl in the office. I'd made
my decision. I was set to spend two glorious weeks beneath the
Greek sun.

I went
downstairs and was about to walk down the road to post the letter
when the phone rang. My mother answered it, making odd facial
expressions at me as I neared the front door. I gathered that the
call was for me. A long journey lay ahead for the letter. A few
minutes more would make no difference. Taking the receiver, I
waited for my mother to fly but she hovered like a bird. I needed a
place of my own.

"Hi," I said,
my stomach somersaulting as I imagined Sharon's succulent lips
close to the mouthpiece. Close to the lips of my love mouth. I
wanted to suck pleasure from her clitoris and drink the juices of
love from her pussy.

"Hallo,
Kirsty," David returned. His voice was deep, dark. My stomach
sank.

"Oh, David," I
sighed. I was never any good at hiding my emotions. My emotions
never hid from me.

"There's a
play I want to see at the Royal on the twenty-fifth," he said. "I
thought we might..."

"The
twenty-fifth? No, I can't."

"Can't?" he
echoed irritably.

"I'll be in
Greece," I blurted out. My mother smiled at me. Was she proud?

"Greece?" He
sound annoyed. "What the hell do you mean?" He was annoyed.

"I told you
that I'd heard from my Uncle Jack. His lives on a Greek island and
has invited me to stay with him for..."

"You said
nothing to me about it," he snapped.

"I've only
just decided to accept his invitation." I sounded too formal. David
made me that way. "He has a villa," I added. I don't know why I
said that. Perhaps I wanted to make him envious.

"You can't go,
Kirsty." He was severe in his anger. He should have been a
schoolteacher. "I'm sorry, but it's just not feasible."

"Not
feasible?" I echoed mockingly. "I've got the plane ticket."

"Already? I
would have thought it only right to consult me before..."

"My uncle sent
it to me."

"Oh, did he?"
I was pleased that he was aggravated. "We'd better meet and talk
about this, Kirsty. I'll come round."

"I'm going
down the road to post the letter to my uncle."

"Before you
post it... Look, I'll meet you in the pub on the corner."

"OK, I'll see
you there."

I told my
mother where I was going as I opened the front door. Her smile
spoke to me. She was pleased with my decision. Perhaps she wanted
me to travel, to see the world. Perhaps she was hoping that I'd
find a young Greek man and fall in love. Maybe she wanted me to
have the things she'd missed. As I left the house, I wondered why
she'd never remarried. My father would have wanted it. I think.

Walking down
the street with the letter in my bag, I was determined not to allow
David to change my mind. My heart was set on the holiday. I
realized that it wasn't the opportunity of a lifetime, but it was
an opportunity not to be missed. Don't look a gift-horse in the
mouth. I never did know what that meant. In my bedroom Sharon had
been a gift-horse. I wanted her mouth.

The evening
sun warmed me as I walked along the tree-lined street. In my
dreaming, I imagined that I was in Greece walking to a taverna.
Sharon was with me, her warm hand clutching mine. She wore a short
turquoise skirt and matching bikini top. The cleavage of her
breasts was deep, inviting. Her ripe nipples stood proud beneath
the tight material. They sought the warmth of my mouth. Beneath her
skirt she was naked. The evening was too hot to wear panties.
Panties were restricting, they repressed sexual love.

We passed an
old man sitting on a doorstep. His gnarled hands toyed with
worry-beads. He didn't look up at us. In his worrying, he hadn't
seen us. He must have lived long ago. He must have lived and loved.
Perhaps he'd loved and died. Love kills. Music drifted from the
taverna as we walked. Glasses chinked and laughter filled the warm
air. Crickets chirped. I was in heaven. I was with Sharon.

Dropping the
letter into the box by the pub, I felt happy. I'd taken the plunge.
The letter posted, the plane ticket at home, I was all set to go.
But there was David. He'd complain, moan bitterly. But I needed the
break, the break from him if nothing else. I'd fallen into a rut in
recent months and couldn't climb out. David was digging the
deepening rut. David was the rut.

The pub didn't look inviting. The paintwork was cracked and
dry, the windows dirty.
The Polar
Bear
. The name was wintry, I didn't like
it. I would have preferred
The Summer
Breeze
or
The
Plough and Meadow
. Entering the building, I
walked to the bar and ordered a coke.

A few people were scattered here and there. They leaned on the
bar or up against the wall. Some perched on stools, their heads
hung in their boredom. They held their glasses nervously, sipping
now and then in their self-consciousness. Their eyes darting, they
caught each other's eyes and let out false chuckles. They were
uneasy. They didn't want to be there. They didn't want to be with
their partners.
The Polar Bear
was appropriate.

Sitting at a
table with my drink, I gazed at the pale faces of my fellow
patrons. One man jumped and looked round every time the door
opened. He was in his fifties, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Was he
trying to discover his lost youth? He was with a girl half his age.
She was blonde, pretty with pouting lips. Her legs seemed too long
for her short skirt. Was I jealous? At the end of the evening she
would open her legs for him. What did she get in return? Money? He
was nervous, twitchy. Did he think his wife would turn up and
discover his infidelity?

I sipped my coke. The bubbles went up my nose, the ice
chinked. I looked about the bar and wondered why I was
there.
Quiz Night Every
Thursday
. The chalked notice wasn't
inviting. David would be the quizmaster. Who are you going to
Greece with? How long are you going for? Is there someone else?
Will you be pleased to be away from me? Why can't we go together?
Why? Why? Why? I didn't know why anything. My dislike for David was
growing fast.

He walked into the bar like a man walking into a lingerie
department. He looked awkward, out of place. He didn't know his
wife's bust size. Padded cups? Under wired? He held his hand to his
head and looked about him. He was angry. Catching sight of me, he
walked briskly towards me and sat down.
Thank you, David. I'd love another Coke. Yes, I'm fine. Yes, I
had a great day at work
. Did he know the
real me? Did I know?

"What's all
this about?" he asked, shaking his head as if he were talking to a
naughty child.

"What do you
mean?" I frowned, knowing full well what he meant.

"This Greek
thing." His expression was pained in his torment. "This... this
holiday nonsense." His grimace made him look ugly. "What's it all
about?"

"I'm Shirley
Valentine," I smiled. I recalled going to see the film with my
mother. She'd wanted to be Shirley Valentine. "You come in my
boat," I giggled. "We no fuck."

"Kirsty!"
David scowled. He looked around the bar and then locked his dark
eyes to mine. "For God's sake," he whispered through gritted
teeth.

I feigned
innocence. "What's the matter?" I asked.

"Your
language. I've never heard you swear before. What's happened to
you? This holiday thing..."

"I..."
I've been touched by another
girl
. "Nothing's happened to me. I'm going
to stay with my uncle for a couple of weeks. What's wrong with
that?" David's penis would miss my vagina. He'd think of my vagina
as he masturbated. He'd miss fucking me. That's what was wrong.
"Sharon might be coming with me," I added happily.

He shook his
head despairingly. "I'm not having you go with her," he said
irritably. "You know what she's like."

"Her?" Was she
an object? "No, what is she like, David?"

"She's...
she's a slut, Kirsty. She'll be off with every man she can get her
hands on. God, the way she behaved at Ian's party was..."

"How will that
affect me?" I interrupted him. He didn't like being interrupted.
"I'm going to Greece to stay with my uncle."

"I can't have
you cavorting about in Greece."

"David, I'm
not going to fuck the local men."

"Kirsty!"

"Yes,
David?"

"I can see
that there's no point in trying to discuss this. God only knows
what your mother will have to say about it."

I grinned a
triumphant grin. "She's been encouraging me to go," I said.

"I don't
believe that."

As usual,
David was beginning to annoy me. I didn't want to be his girlfriend
and wished I'd never gone back to him. We all make mistakes. I
pondered on the restricting chains of relationships. Did I really
need him? I had my candle lover to comfort me. What would I be
doing if I wasn't sitting in the pub with him? Dancing, laughing,
living life. I had Sharon to love me. Sharon was soft in her
femininity. David was hard and cold in his masculinity. I wanted to
sit cross-legged on the lawn and make daisy chains with Sharon.

David walked
across the worn carpet and ordered a drink. Standing awkwardly at
the bar, he toyed with the change in his trouser pockets. He was an
old man in a young man's body. He rarely laughed, didn't like
jokes, and frowned upon me if I seemed to be enjoying myself. He
was boring. Something was missing in his life, but he didn't know
what. I knew what was missing in mine.

As he returned
to the table, I looked down at his trousers. They were too long,
the turn-ups folding over his black shoes. His tie was loose, his
jacket open. His dark hair had fallen over his lined forehead. His
hands and slender fingers that had never worked annoyed me. Up at
seven-thirty, to the office, home at six... Spontaneity wasn't a
word in his vocabulary. I didn't know what I'd ever seen in
him.

Sitting
opposite me, he looked me up and down as he sipped his scotch. What
was he thinking? I was about to ask him when I noticed Sharon walk
in. She must have phoned and my mother had said where I was.
Standing at the bar, she turned and saw me. My stomach somersaulted
as she smiled and waved. I focused on her long legs, the tapering
of her naked thighs below her short skirt. The roundness of her
firm buttocks billowed her skirt. I imagined her naked. My clitoris
stirred.

David hadn't
seen her. He was too busy wallowing in his resentment to have
noticed. His anger would deepen once Sharon joined us. He'd not
have the opportunity to lecture me. He'd have to restrain himself
in his seething. His moodiness made me happy. Sharon ordered her
drink and then walked over to our table. Was her mind flooded with
thoughts of lesbianism? She looked summery, like a flower. I wanted
to smell her.

"Hi, you two,"
she beamed. Her white blouse fell open. I couldn't take my eyes off
the cleavage of her firm breasts. Her erect nipples stood proud,
pressing though the flimsy material as if inviting my tongue.

"I'll bet my
mother told you where I was," I smiled, pondering her nipples. I
wanted to lick and suck them. I wanted to suck an orgasm from her
erect clitoris.

"Yes, I rang."
She turned and looked at David. "We're going to Greece," she
trilled, her wide eyes sparkling.

"So I've
heard," he murmured. Self-pity must be a terrible affliction.

"David doesn't
want me to go," I said. I felt smug.

"I didn't say
that," he returned, obviously not wanting Sharon to think him a
stick-in-the-mud. "Kirsty, I didn't say..."

"No, I'm
sorry. You said that you didn't want me to go - with Sharon."

"Oh," Sharon
breathed, the blue pools of her eyes reflecting disappointment as
they darted between David and me.

"No, I didn't
mean..." David began, toying nervously with his glass. "All I said
was..."

"What he said
was that he doesn't want me to go with you because he thinks you're
a slut who'll go off with every man you can get your hands on."

"Kirsty!" he
growled. "I didn't say..."

"That's what
you said, David. Let's not argue about it. Sharon and I are going,
so it's not worth discussing."

As Sharon
sipped her drink, I gazed at her middle finger wrapped around her
glass. I knew where that finger had been. My inner petals had
lovingly hugged it as she'd driven it deep into the heat of my
tight vagina. It had trespassed into David's penis hole, deep into
his domain. Had she sucked my juices of lesbian love from her
finger? When she'd got home, she might have masturbated in her bed.
Her thoughts would have been with me, my swollen outer lips, the
wet sheath of my girl sex.