It started so very, very ordinarily. A second date, a promising, breathless end to the first date and warm seductive conversations on the phone the next day so I was convinced that tonight would be the night and that an old friend would become a new lover. We had met years ago, both of us married, no real spark, just a warm friendship with no ulterior motives. Both our marriages had broken up, mine first, hers a few years later. Both ended fairly acrimoniously and painfully. We had drifted apart, on our own separate trajectories, I had played the field, a string of short term and long term lovers lay behind me, she had gone into seclusion and seen no one, drifting in a lonely life of bitterness and anger.
We met by chance one day while she was still angry and bitter, we exchanged cell numbers and parted, not enemies, but definitely not bosom buddies. The silence between us stretched for months, possibly even a year before I ran into a situation where I needed help and I knew that she was the person who was the best in that field. I hesitated, and as I hesitated the situation deteriorated, until in desperation, I phoned her. I asked politely after her health, her children. Her answers where brief, careful and to the point. Not a good sign. Finally, with great trepidation, I raised the topic that was preying on my mind.
"I need some of your expert advice." I said
"You guys always want something."
"I did offer to listen to you six months ago. And I said there were no strings attached. Phone calls, Skype. I offered, you turned me down."
"I was in a bad place six months ago.
"I gathered as much. I am sorry."
"Yes. Well. I recovered. No thanks to any old friends." Sarcasm dripping off the word old like syrup off a spoon.
I know when it is time to beat a hasty retreat, this was definitely one of them.
"Ok. Sorry that I disturbed you. Or didn't disturb you. I don't know which you wanted. Good bye, you have my number. Call if you need someone to talk to."
I rang off, sighed and pondered my next steps. Marge had really been my last resort and now that avenue was closed to me.
Then the phone started to ring, I looked at the display. "Marge"
I hesitated, not willing to endure another sulky battering.
She rang twice more.
Finally I answered.
"You always were too sensitive to my feelings. You always thought I was a delicate, hot house flower that needed protecting and that I had it in for you."
"You also have an inflated sense of your own superiority. I say "old friends" and you immediately think I am talking directly about you."
"I am not an old friend?"
"Of course you are. An old and very dear friend. However you are not one of those who flocked around here trying to "comfort" me while all the time want to lay me."
Five years of being single and half an hour of irritation kick in.
"Now who says I don't want to lay you?"
There is silence on the other side of the phone, then
"I've heard stories about you and the trail of women in your wake. Absolute is the word used to describe you. Absolute genius in bed, absolute bastard when it comes to relationships. I didn't believe them. Not him, not George. George is too caring, too sensitive. He wouldn't do that. Now, after our conversations, I am not so sure."
I stayed quiet. Anything I said would be damaging, but I was intrigued. There was no anger, more curiosity, laughter and something unidentifiable. This was not the married woman I had known years ago.
"Well? DO you have anything to say for yourself?"
I swallowed hard, looked at the ceiling, at the floor, "I don't seem to be the only one who has changed."
"I heard things in your voice now, that would have urged me to be a very bad person while we were both still married."
"Who says they weren't there then?"
I swallowed again, hard. Heard my ex-wife teasing me one night as we made love after visiting Marge and her husband.
"Who you thinking of? Me or Marge. She has the hots for you."
I laughed, told her I thought only of her and tried to banish thoughts of Marge for the rest of the evening.
"A good thing I was so innocent otherwise our marriages would have blown apart far sooner than they did."
"Innocent? You? Nah. Not innocent. Just careful. Which, I must hasten to add just made you more interesting. And not so innocent that you didn't cop a feel in the pool one night. Now that excited me. Hubby scored big time later on and didn't know what he did to turn me on. I couldn't tell him it was you slipping your hand into my bikini bottom in the pool that did it now could I?"
I remembered the incident. We were playing water polo in their pool. I was seriously inebriated, actually all of us were. I was unable to resist the chance of slipping my hand into her bikini bottom. I did it, realised what I had done and waited for the scream, the slap. None came. She rubbed herself back and forth twice then moved off rapidly leaving me completely immobile. She scored a goal while I tried to catch my breath. Nothing more was said or hinted at and I put it down to alcohol and her gamesmanship.
"Now, having gotten that off my chest, what is it that you need my help on?"
I told her and she listened then asked some questions and then:
"Easy enough. I will have a list for you on Friday. You can buy me dinner in lieu of payment. Pick me up at 8 and it had better be a good restaurant otherwise you don't score."
"Score your list, is what I meant." And she hung up.
Dinner was at a really good restaurant that provided grandstand views of sunset over Camps Bay and sufficient privacy for us to flirt very happily and we ended up on the sofa in her flat getting into what the school kids call "heavy petting" or did when I was at school. It never got beyond that point and I left unfulfilled, searching for a late night score which did happen, a bouncy, bubbly, happy woman with "hubby away for the weekend and nothing to keep me on the straight and narrow." I usually avoid such women, but it was late and I was really and truly fired up after an hour on the couch with Marge so we drank a bit, danced some more, talked dirty to one another and then I took her to my home as she was reluctant to be seen with another man by the neighbours.
We made it to the bedroom. Just.
I have this thick woollen rug at the end of my bed and when she saw it, my new friend Sure kicked her shoes off, wiggled her routes in it ecstatically, groaned almost orgiastically and then fell to her knees in front of me, wrenching my pants down and taking a mouthful. just as I was about to lose it all she pulled back, said "Your turn" and rolled onto her back.
"First some candles." she sort of purred before I could get there. I found a huge mosquito repellent candle and lit that and pushed my head between her legs and set to work. She was just about there when she stopped me.
"Candle." she gasped, "candle going out."
That was the reason I seldom used the thing. it rapidly filled up with hot wax and drowned the wick. the thing needed draining repeatedly. I picked the candle up and as I did so she clamped her thighs around my ears. the candle splashed hot wax all over the carpet and on my hand. I felt like I was on fire, the wax was beeswax which burns far more hotter than paraffin wax so the burn was ferocious.
I made for the back door burning candle in hand. I hit the grass at a run hurling the candle into a sandy garden bed and found the garden hose. sprayed my burning hand with ice cold water. the wax immediately turned solid.
I was staring at my solidly waxed hand when Sue intervened with what felt like a full blooded rugby tackle and I went down hard. Mindful of the neighbours I didn't scream but it was a close run thing. Before I could react, Sue had rolled me on my back and promptly attempted to impale herself on what had been a ferocious erection but had now shrunken to a limp excuse in horror at the brutality on the situation. Not dismayed by this turn in events she proceeded to apply what I can only describe as artificial resuscitation. While she was busy, I lay staring up at the stars trying to keep my hand in the stream of water and as gently as possibly break the wax off my burnt hand. Despite all this she was successful and having restored the situation to a more acceptable stiffness, she again impaled herself and to my complete and utter surprise rode us both to as unlikely an orgasm as I have ever experienced.
An hour later we were in my big double bath drinking wine by the light of of far better behaved candles which we found tucked away in a forgotten cupboard. My hand had been carefully cleaned and dressed by a more sane and somewhat chastened Sue.
"I get very impatient." was all she could offer.
We didn't sleep much that night and so I was reasonably groggy when Marge phoned later the next morning to thank me for the meal, indulge in a bit of phone sex and suggest that maybe we needed to meet again sometime soon.
It was to be a late Sunday afternoon date. Meet for cocktails at a fancy club near Clifton, the onto dinner somewhere "discrete" in Marg's words. When I fetched her she was a vision of drop dead sexiness, she even twirled around allowing her skirt to rid up under the force of the twirl which reasured me that she was wearing stockings and a suspender belt, but not any knickers. I tried to get my hands on her, but she skipped away, laughing, "Later, later."
We headed out to Clifton and drank cold wine as the sun set. Marge was the essence of seductiveness. I caught sight of her nipples on one occasion followed up with a knowing smile. She was playing me for all she was worth. Five years ago, I would have fallen for it, now with the unknowing assistance of Sue, I was not so driven and I watched the performance with growing interest laced with a bit of concern. What was she up to? The restaurant that she had chose was in all senses of the word, discrete. We were ushered into a room that was more like a bedroom than a dining room, A bed dominated the one side and the table was surrounded with couches deep enough to get lost in. A waitron, dressed in skimpy clothes that covered less than it revealed arrived, took our orders and closed the door behind her. Marge smiled gently, "Well? Come show me the absolutes."
I took her in my arms, kissed her gently on the mouth, then the breasts, then the navel. A flip of the skirt exposed her naked crotch to me and I took full advantage of her open legs. I was just about to mount her when I felt a hand on my testicles. I swung my head around to see the waitron smiling before she pushed down on my naked buttocks, pressing me into Marge. the next thing I knew there was a stinging pain across my buttocks, I tried to pull free of Marge, but she held on tight. I looked around, the waitron was swinging a black whip to hit me again. I kicked up and away from her swing, managing to expose part of Marge s body to the downward swipe of the whip. Marge yelped loudly and let go of me.
I rolled to my feet, snatched the whip from the waitron's hand and held the handle under her nose. "Do that again and they will have to remove it from you with surgery."
She backed off and ran for the door. Marge started to get to her feet. I pushed her back with one foot, grabbed her round the throat with my hand and pressed just hard enough to start the choke.
"This what you want?"
Her eyes were wide, mouth agape. She shook her head. I pressed a bit harder. "Want an auto-erotic orgasm? One that starts as you pass out?"
Head shakes again.
"No? I thought not. We are leaving. Get dressed. You pay the bill."
We parted not very amicably and I ended up at home, furious and unexpectedly randy as all hell.
I phone Sue. "How about it?"
"Not now. He gets home soon."
I rang off and resigned myself to a bachelor night.