Six Flavours of Sin (13 page)

(Did I mention he's a TV gladiator too?)

"Hi Rob! Please go away, I'm half naked here!"

He winks at me, "Sure!"

So with a sigh of relief, I know that I at least have two friends here who are male. At last I don't feel quite so vulnerable. If Gary could see me now he'd have a seizure. I relax as Tim and Rob close the door. I know I'll be left alone now, until this rather raw-feeling body art, is complete.

When
it's done, I rub the ointment over it to prevent scabbing, carefully pull on my jeans, and call the next victim. I get Don a drink. (He, at least, is allowed to have one.)

Oh, and did I mention that people would be talking about this party, for years, at work? This nice sweet girl, that blushes, had a tattoo party. And Dianne tells the world that we were the only girls at it. Nice one!

Well, I'm now a chop that has a chop.

Chapter 23

Double Whammy

Friday, two weeks from then, I wake up with an overwhelming feeling of dread. I look outside my blue and white bedroom curtains and see it's a fabulous, beautiful morning. The sun is out, the sky is periwinkle blue, not even a breeze. Why do I feel like this?

I walk to my closet and take out a blue skirt suit, don my pantyhose, pull on my matching court shoes. Brush my hair and my teeth – (I no longer have to wear make-up, do I?) – and walk to my door. As I turn the handle, my stomach knots with tension. I start shaking. I sit down on the closest slate grey sofa to the front door, to catch my breath and try to instill calm.

No. I can't do it. Something very bad is going to happen today. We aren't allowed to take a Friday off work without a doctor's note. I don't care. I have to trust this instinct. I never take off anyway. Even when I'm sick I go to work.

I walk back to my bedroom, take off the suit, hang it back up, and pull on skin tight jeans instead, with Chuck Taylor's. I can't shake this fear creeping all over me.

I sit in the corner of my lounge knitting; I do that in winter to keep my hands warm. I'm deliberately sitting
where I can see every window and door, but where I can't be seen if someone tried to peer in. From my view I can see my full, floor to ceiling, bedroom window. I notice a white car rev past noisily. My fear intensifies as the car reverses back into my view, drives up the driveway and stops outside my kitchen window. They could be here for anyone, for anything. But I can barely breathe right now. My lungs are constricting with my stomach, and I slowly lower my knitting onto the couch and keep an eye on the car.

Two young white guys get out, and come straight to my front door. Ding dong! I ignore it. My instincts are screaming at me that opening the door will end badly for me. Ding ding ding ding dong.

Just go away!

I hear a noise. I sneak a peek down the passage to my bedroom. One of them is trying the door to my bedroom. It's a glass door and I am now certifiably terrified. At the same time, I notice the front door handle twisting.
Fuck!
My phone is dead and I don't have a landline. I can't even call for help. I sit back down on the couch with shaking legs, and wonder what the hell to do.

I watch in panther silence as the two of them bang, knock and fiddle with my bedroom door, which faces the street. The two of them presumably decide it's better to try
the front door because that is hidden from anyone driving past. And it's glaringly obvious that all of my neighbours are at work.

Thump. Gaboing. (Metal clanging.)

I sneak up to the front door to peek through the spy-hole, and see the two of them up against my new security gate. They are both looking down, concentrating on breaking the lock. Crap. I have to take a stand.

Aha! I remember, long ago, I saw a black and white movie with Goldie Hawn, where she uses a knitting needle to poke a man in his eye when he tried to attack her. I sneak back to
the couch, and pick up the loose knitting needle.

I tiptoe back to the front door with my blood gonging in my ears and my stomach, intestines, kidneys and heart all lodged in my throat. I am so afraid, I feel dizzy.
I know I'm going to have to be quick. The element of surprise and pain have to work in my favour.

Silently, I unlock the door, and unlatch the bolt. Planting my feet firmly, I fling the door open and am ready with the needle. Ready to stab the closest eye.

Waaaaahahaha. The looks on their faces! I have never seen anyone turn so white, so fast. They just dropped the file they were using to file through the bolt of the lock, and ran for their car. They reversed with stunning skill, as fast as they could, and took off down the road. I let out a
looooong
sigh of relief. They could have been armed. I took a huge risk. Lucky for me, they simply just wanted to break in. I stare at the file and get my key to unlock the security gate. And I try and I try: the damn thing is now broken. I am locked in!

I sit back down on the couch and breathe, pondering my dilemma. Then I recall the bedroom door. Well, thank God this place has more than one door. The plus and minus factors of an apartment on the ground floor. I give it another hour and a half before I decide they're not coming back. The wild dread has left me. Now I simply feel adrenalised. I have to go and get coffee anyway, so I decide
to take my bag and take a quick walk to the mall down the road. This is the one part I hate about living alone. Dealing with drama by myself.

I'm walking with the warm sun heating my limbs, lost in thought. I would almost pin my money on the fact that those boys knew about my place through someone that came to my tattoo party. I don't have insurance yet. If I hadn't been home they would have broken in and left with everything I own. Half of which is on loan from my mom,
fridge and TV for instance. I'm now angry that people like that exist in the world. I'm also feeling really chuffed with myself for listening to my instincts, even if it meant a warning at work.

Fuckenhell man!
Watch
where you’re driving!

This stupid woman, who can hardly see over her steering wheel, just went onto the wrong side of the road
and nearly ran me over! What is going on today? Do I have ‘Here I am – come and get me’ emitting from me like a radio wave?

I stop and watch the moron park her Fiat and jump out, "I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I wasn't concentrating …"

I can't believe it. "Cindy, you stupid woman! When are you going to get your bloody license?"

Poetic justice: I have a license and no car. She has a car and no license.

"Stef! Omigod. How
are
you?"

"Been better."

"Come in for coffee. I've really missed you. It's so great to see you!"

I belatedly realise that I am in her road. "Okay."

I sit in her lounge and light a smoke while I wait for her to come out of the kitchen with coffee. She smokes more than I do, so I don't feel bad about this decision. I also feel shaken up. I don't know why I can't join her in the kitchen, but she didn't want me to see it in a mess.

I smile as she sits down opposite me.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay. How are you?"

"Missing you. I wanted to stay friends, but Graham wouldn't let me."

I nod and sip my coffee.

"How's everyone?"

"They're fine. Gary has a new girlfriend. She's very nice."

I nod. Mouth full of teeth.

"Stef, do you know why you guys broke up?"

I shake my head. I'm not saying anything here.

She gives me this accusing stare. A real bitchy glare. And with scorn and disdain dripping off her tongue, she accuses me. "Stef, men need sex. He broke up with you because he wasn't getting any."

I almost gag on my coffee. I had been watching her, not my cup, and nearly throw up as I notice the thick white ring edging my cup half way down on the inside. I feel simultaneously ill and angry.

"Is that what he told you?"

Choke
.

She leans back in her black velvet chair and glares at me with  ‘don't you dare deny it’ eyes.

"He came to us a couple of weeks ago. He was nearly in tears. He didn't know what to do. He was desperate."

I have read the statistics. 'Normal' couples get laid about twice a week. Gary was getting laid every morning; (he lived by the maxim, ‘never waste a hard on’). He was getting laid every night. He had a blow job literally daily. And he’s not getting any? Fucking liar.

She sits forward and smiles, her long curly hair almost dipping into her coffee as her cold blue eyes impale me, "We all understood where he was coming from. Stef, you fucked up."

I can't sit here and listen to this shit. Complete and utter
shit
.

I stand and pick up my bag, "Thanks for the coffee. I have to go." And I never, ever, want to see you again. How DARE you judge me?

She gives me a wounded glance. As if she was trying to counsel me, help me see the error of my ways, to get that lying scumbag back.

I pause at the door on my way out of her lounge, "Cindy, he lied. He was getting plenty."

Her compassionate visage turns icy again. "Bye."

Oh, I'm ready to pop a blood vessel and blow up his face, I am so outraged. He set me up. That lying, conniving, son of a bitch, set me up. He has them all feeling sorry for the poor man that isn't ‘getting any’.

Any!

That's quite a statement. So, somehow he's managed to visit the friends as the victim. Not knowing what he's going to do with Stef. Stef, who doesn't have a sexual appetite to save her life.

Bitter tears are blurring my footsteps. My pleasure at being outdoors is stripped. I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.

So they all are backing him. Giving him support when I’m the one who needs it. Lying fucker.

I hope you go straight to hell, Gary Fuchs.

Chapter 24

Marty

Saturday morning Lindsay from work pops in to see how I am. I tell her about Friday, how it sucked so badly and why I didn't go to work. She works with me, as does her boyfriend Ted. Ted was seeing Deborah, who works in reception; it's a huge office scandal that Lindsay ‘stole’ him from poor needy Deborah.

She has shoulder length honey-hued hair and huge green eyes. She's fun, pretty, and totally on my side.

"You're coming out with us tonight. I won't take no for an answer."

(She and Ted both smoke. Both she and Julie manage to make sucking on a cigarette look like foreplay and I'm envious of how seductively she's smoking in front of me.)

"Okay."

She stands and winks, "Come, let's go shopping. You need to get out and forget about those people."

I love you!

"Okay."

That evening, I'm sitting at a picnic table outdoors, with candlelight illuminating this dim place. It's dead boring and I'm wondering why we're here.

"Can't we go somewhere else?"

"We're waiting for Marty," Ted explains. He's shorter than Lindsay, with amazing blue eyes. And wow, can he gossip.

I discover that Deborah's only 'experience' came from romance novels. And he could no longer stand her lacerating his back until it bleeds with her false nails when they were 'at it'. I smile. (And Gary thought he had it tough?)

This tall dude, in midnight jeans and a matt navy blue silk shirt, comes striding purposefully toward us. Ted stands and automatically shakes his hand as he reaches us, "Finally!"

He gestures at me, "Marty, this is Stefanie."

He nods at me as his hazel eyes slip down me and back up again, "Hi."

Then he dismisses me and sits down next to Ted, "I need a drink. What a fucking day!"

I feel awkward. I'm definitely the extra wheel here. So, I swivel around and stare at the other patrons as I light a new smoke, and think, ‘
It's damn cold out here. The music is from the seventies. We're the youngest people here. Why did I agree to this?
’

"Stef! Hey Stef!"

Huh, what?

Embarrassed, I turn back to the three heads staring at me. I have no idea what they want. I wasn't paying attention. Oh look, Marty has a drink.

"Sorry?"

Lindsay gives me a stern glare, "Can we leave you with Marty? Is it okay if he takes you home?"

I stare at Marty. Deep sigh. "Okay. Where are you going?"

"We forgot we have to see Ted's sister tonight. We have to run."

I nod, "Okay. Bye."

Well now, isn't this uncomfortable. I am sitting with a complete stranger who's had a shit day, and the only common connection just abandoned us.

"Should we duck? Are you hungry? I'm starving!"

I observe him as I nod. Food is good. He's about six-foot-two. His hair is so black it looks oily. It's wavy like mine. His eyes are dark right now. His complexion is Mediterranean. Olive toned, I think they call it.

Oh wow, look at that, I have the door opened for me. I get into his SLK, and off we go to a restaurant I have never been to.

It's so awkward. We're sitting outside because we both smoke and he's staring off into the night. Neither of us knows what to say. We're at the top of a long road sitting outdoors at a table lit with a lamp. Italian opera floats faintly over us as I stare absently down into the Waterfront. The sea seems limitless from up here. The black night kissing the ocean, merging seamlessly. Both spattered in twinkles of reflecting light. The sky is wearing her sequinned velvet party dress for this special occasion.

This guy must be loaded. On tenterhooks, I flick my eyes at him. I wonder how Ted and Lindsay know him. And why he agreed to have dinner with a peasant like me.

He stubs out his cigarette and stares hard at me. Gosh, there's some serious chemistry going on here. He fiddles with his clasped hands, leaning on the table, just staring at me. I return the stare, unwavering. (I can stare you down any day, dude.)

His hand reaches over and covers mine. Wow, it's so warm. I'm freezing out here.

"I just want to kiss you. It's all I can think about."

My hair feels like it's standing up with static, I'm feeling so charged. His eyes are beautiful. They're so hypnotic. Mysterious. His mouth is full; he missed a spot when he shaved. It makes me smile as I look at the tufty patch on his chin. My heart is
bounding
like a kangaroo.

The biological signs are all there. I'm hot for this guy and we've only just met. But I like to keep it cool. I've always tried to hide my real depth of feeling. I turn everything into a game so that I don't feel stupid if I'm alone in my perceptions.

"So do it then."

Gauntlet thrown down. Challenge issued.

He leans across and without touching me, places his warm lips on mine. Zing! Ooh. Moreish. More. Totally yummy. Man, he's the hottest kisser I've ever had the luck to kiss. A hand behind my head pulling me closer. Oh my god. Yes! I could kiss him
forever
.

Soft pliable lips, sucking, pressing, warm,
oooh,
this feels,
hmmmmmm
!

"Excuse me!"

Kissing,
oooh
, flirty tongue, you taste nice, you smell nice. Don't stop.

"Sir?"

He pulls away with a wicked grin as the waiter tries to put a huge plate of butternut ravioli drenched in formaggio sauce down in front of him. I have the same, but mine's the half portion. As soon as the plates are down he leans over, slides his hand into my hair again and continues where he left off.

My body just turns into an amoeba. I am
aching
for him. I just want to fuck him like a bunny, a playboy bunny! Love right now has nothing to do with it. It's pure, unadulterated, primal chemistry.

He pulls away and pops a square of ravioli into his mouth. I grin and do the same. We've hardly said two words to each other. He leans over and slips his tongue in the corner of my mouth, teasing, "You messed your sauce."

You're going to be messing your sauce, if I have anything to do with it
.             

He chuckles.
Oh swoon. His voice is deep and velvet. He's like a vampire seducer. And hey, I don't care. I'm falling for it. In fact, he has that untouchable vibe about him. He seems aloof and unobtainable. His posture, regal. I wonder about him. He's enigmatic and it's a complete turn on.

How we managed to eat anything, I have no idea. Between each mouthful he kissed me as if a nuclear blast
had just detonated in the harbour, and this was the last moment on earth alive.

Passion took over my body. I had such a deep ache of longing that I could hardly walk as he threaded his long fingers through mine and tugged me out of my chair, against his side, wrapping an arm around me, (wow he's so warm), and down the stairs to his car.

He slips in behind the wheel, leans over and kisses me further. His hand finds my nipple and he knows what is going on inside me. Unexpectedly he jerks away, and grips the steering wheel before running his hand through his sleek black hair, "Come home with me."

Yes!

"Okay."

The smile that he then shoots at me, with his fathomless eyes, is so happy and pleased, my heart feels like someone just thumped it hard. I am so used to games, having a man openly reveal his joy, his lust, to me
–
(because of me)
–
I find I have a weird sadness mingling with pleasure.

The engine purrs into life and I feel a thrill of excitement as I do what a good girl would
never
do. I have been set up. Ted and Lindsay set this up. But the chemistry, it's mind numbing. And I'm going home with a complete stranger I met about three hours ago. And I don't care!

The wild thumping of my excited heartbeat blurred the ethereal drive through avenues of ancient oaks, to his expansive home in Constantia. As I suspected, this guy probably doesn't live on a budget like mine. However, my body was so busy trying to split the atom, most of this only occurred to me later.

I feel like laughing, telling you this because it was so choreographed. There should have been a camera and a script. It was the classic Hollywood passion scene. Clothes were being ripped off in a frenzy the minute his front door closed. All the while trying to keep our lips and tongues glued together. I lost all of my clothing, as did he, before we'd even travelled down the passage to his bedroom. The rooms were
huge
.

He just picked me up and I wrapped my legs around him, as he carried me against his warm silky skin, in the dark to a room. He flipped the switch, and a gigantic bed in a vast room was revealed. Bohemian throws adorned the walls.

I stare at him with renewed interest. Exotic and mysterious. Now I'm wondering if his colouring comes from an Arabian line. He lets me stand and I look around with curiosity.

He trips me and I fall backward onto ... oh my ... this bed is just s
ooo
cosy. He falls over me and starts raining hot kisses on me and I'm ready to rape him if he doesn't do something
soon.
He chuckles again. It's deep and seductive. Throaty and flirtatious. This guy should bottle charisma. He'd make a killing. He fumbles in a drawer and rips open a wet suit.

Stop breathing. I am spasming with pleasure. The Marty-lucky-packet rocks. Fuckenhell! Yes!
Yes
!
Yes
! I stare up into inky eyes, and smile back at the dimples cornering his mouth. He seems very pleased with himself. His physique is smooth. Nothing like the Chippendales who bombarded my home. He's got long muscles to match his long arms.

Whoa! He flips me up to sit on him as if I'm a plastic bobble-head and weigh nothing. I entwine my arms around his neck and smother him with tasting, tempting, kisses, as I shimmy up and down on 'Mr Ever Ready'.

Sharp indrawn breath as he picks me up, and walks with me attached to him to the kitchen. It's a huge room, cold and breezy, with haunting moonlight flooding in over the sink. He takes me straight to that sink, pushes my shoulders back and blasts me with ice cold water from the tap. Cold.
Cold.
Cold
. I am covered in an all-over nipple stand.

Actually, this is hectic fun. It works! His laughter fills the room and I fall back into his hypnotic spell, mesmerised as he rides me against the kitchen sink with water spewing everywhere. He's so vocal I'm finding it delicious.

We are both soaking, and giggling. Man, this ride is awesome. He walks with me like that, back to the bedroom, where he carefully disengages and flips me over. Onto my knees, as I hear a new wet suit package ripping open.
Aaaaah fuck
.

I have that hot and cold sensation rippling up and down my spine as my body covers in tiny bumps. My nipples, frigidly hard with the unexplainable sensation of being nailed fervently from behind. My cheeks are glowing with the exercise.

The minute I feel him explode, I withdraw and wrench his arm, making him fall, as I sit on his legs and hold him down. Sucking, tasting his skin from his shoulder down. Holding his hands with his fingers laced through mine.

Straining, he pushes back, and I watch his muscles outlining, his stomach rack hardening. We are taking sex to Olympic level as we strain in a wrestlemania style against each other. Each of us winning bouts, giggling, breathless, screwing endlessly. Again and again and again.

Finally we fall together with arms resting peacefully. Relaxed, he moves my hair away from my face, and tenderly puts his lips on mine. Gentle nuzzling. Delicate pressure.

I move my eyes up to meet his, and smile. I think I've just found the perfect man for me. He's fabulous.

"Thirsty?"                                         

I nod.

Caught off guard, he picks me up and carries me squirming, into the shower, as he blasts me with cold water, "There, there's plenty of water in there."

Squeal.

I'm shrieking, my body's relaxed stupor is annihilated rudely as he chuckles, and we slip and slide, chasing each other down the wide passage. Dripping like bedraggled rats caught in a thunderstorm. His arm swoops around my waist and he hoists me into the kitchen, "Coffee or alcohol?"

Hmmm coffee
.

"Coffee." I smile as I lick my lips. I feel like a voyeur in the best zone ever as I watch him confidently stalk around the kitchen with long legs, stark naked, making me coffee.

Can I stay? Please can I keep you? Please?