Sex stories

Short sex stories




An Audience with Carstairs Ch. 06

Last curtain call

Wednesday morning the boys from Black Magic emailed me to help them out. They were doing audio for a video game and needed a lot of voices for background effects. I called them and said I'd do it if they paid me cash. An hour later I was in the studio. I have no idea what game it was for, but I was 'thug 7' and did a lot of 'He's got a gun!' and 'Take cover' and 'Aaaaargh' in my best American accent (which is awful, but I'm okay in short bursts) and then I was a traffic controller on a spaceship and had lines that went like: 'Federation freighter, you are cleared for landing pad four.' Half an hour's work and I left with 150 quid in my pocket.

On my way back I got a text from Samantha:

"Martin, are you a leg man?"

"I beg your pardon?" I texted back. Somehow that worked on this stretch of the Underground.

"I'm trying to pick an outfit", followed by a smiley.

"I may be a cheap date, but I'm not easy. And the rest of the audience are American tourists in white sneakers and with fishing hats."

That wasn't quite true; the women hardly ever wore fishing hats. And they were a fantastic crowd, very eager to laugh and make some noise. You have to love them, really. I've always wondered why such charming and spontaneous people turn into mouth frothing maniacs in the voting booth.

"I'm not taking them out on a date, am I?"

"I'm sure you'll look lovely. I am a leg man, come to think of it. Your ticket is at the register, just give your name to Lola."

"Looking forward to it."

At that point I had a transfer, so I ended it there. A leg man... I guess I was. I certainly liked the things at the end of legs. Both sides.

Obviously I told Kate as soon as I got home. She was at Heathrow again, 'being nanny' as she called it, to some American movie star that had come over for a few TV appearances in Europe to promote a new movie. It was impossible to keep track of Kate. Generally I only knew if she'd be home that night by around 11 am, when she took a break to call me.

"You are a leg man," she said.

"Yes, I know that. That's not why I'm telling you this."

"Too bad my legs are tiny," she sulked.

"Your legs are perfectly proportioned, as is the rest of you. Now what am I going to do with that woman?"

"Who are you asking?"

"KATE!"

"Alright. Martin, it's fine. Pussy is for fucking. I'm not home tonight, have some bloody fun. Get condoms. When I come home, you can tell me all about it and we'll do the same things, except I'll do them longer and better."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"Then don't fuck her. It's not mandatory. Her article is already printed and we've got more than enough press covering the opening of your exhibition."

"I don't have an exhibition."

"You do now. It's renamed 'The National Gallery presents: Caravaggio, hosted by Martin King.' We're having new banners printed and everything. How is your speech coming along?"

"Fine. Piece of cake. I'm using Giuditta e Oloferne as an example."

"Right. Which one is that? Slightly less poncy please. Use English."

"Um... Judith decapitates Holofernes, I suppose."

"Oh right. The nasty one. Or the particularly nasty one, to be precise. I'll see if they can put that behind you then. Now I'm not going to be there, can I trust you to not fuck this up Martin? Because all that damage control is getting old."

"By your command."

She moaned.

"Oooooh you evil bastard... I've got a two hour flight! They're boarding first class, gotta go! Love you!"

Not having anything better to do, I took the crew bus again. Edmund and I had a nice chat. He told me about his pigeons, which was less boring than you'd think. When we arrived in Hertford, the weather was so nice I decided to go for a walk, listening to my headphones. I got a call from a lawyer in The Netherlands, the one retained by Evert to deal with the Tax Authority. He needed some documents and I was able to send them then and there, because everything was in Dropbox. I shared a folder with him.

"This is amazing, Mr. van de Casteele. You seem to have your affairs in order."

"I do. And I don't owe any taxes. So I want it back and I want compensation. I nearly had to sleep on a park bench because of this."

"And how are you now?"

"Fine, although I am literally sleeping on my sister's couch. Still, I'd rather have a handsome pay-off than get my money back quicker. The interest is next to nothing, so a few thousand in damages will be much nicer. Unless that goes to your fee. Which is how much?"

"Mr. van de Casteele, I'm doing this for a fixed fee which will be paid by the government if we win. When we win, I mean. Your accountant drives a hard bargain. But it's a pleasure to work with you, since you seem to have kept track of everything perfectly."

I bloody well did. They had had enough of my money and they were not getting a cent extra. I thanked him and bought myself a chocolate bun at Greggs. Then I texted Kate I loved her, so she'd get that message when she landed. It turned out she already had, because I got one back:

"You've made me so incredibly happy, you'll never know."

I think I did.

I made my way back to the theatre and got comfortable in one of the seats in the auditorium. They were having their Wednesday meeting, but that was no longer my business.

"Martin, you have a visitor at the box office," said Lola via the intercom. The meeting was in a room next to the box office, so Lola could always answer the phone.

I got up and went to greet who I assumed to be Samantha. She stood with her back to me, talking to Lola, who nodded and left as soon as I came into view. I could tell from the back that her hair was different. She wore blue suede open shoes with high heels. When Lola left she turned around and began to take off her blue coat.

"Hello, Samantha, lovely to ... Godallemachtig!"

I'm not the sort of man to whistle or honk at women. I don't stare. My hands don't wander and I try not to look at cleavage that isn't meant for me. But this just escaped me, it just popped out before any kind of filter could be applied. She was stunning. The new hair, a bit of make-up, a lovely blue dress with a fair bit of cleavage, a silver belt, a hemline that showed lots of leg. Legs with a nice tan that ended in feet with silvery toenails in sexy shoes. She was nothing like the ever so slightly crumpled and disheveled woman that had interviewed me.

She smiled and kissed me on my cheek, just once.

"That sounds like Dutch for God Almighty. Is that a good thing?"

"That... yes... I'm sorry that just popped out. You look absolutely wonderful. May I take your coat?"

"You do know how to flatter a girl. I do hope that look on your face was real, you can never tell with actors."

I took her coat and walked her in. We passed through the bar first but I assumed she'd want to see a bit of the backstage area and that's where I would put her coat anyway.

"You know, I have the same problem with actors. And I'm not nearly good enough an actor to fake social interactions. I wouldn't be in so much trouble if I could."

"Right. So that girl who let me in, she's Lola?"

"Yes," I said, reaching for the gold rail to open the auditorium doors.

"And you've slept with her?"

I forgot to keep pulling and walked into the door.

"AUW! Shit. Sorry. No, I'm good. Really. My foot caught the impact. How on Earth do you know? She didn't tell you, did she?"

"I should have timed that better, sorry," she giggled, after she saw I was fine. "No, she didn't, you just did. I just guessed, from the way she looked at you when you came in."

We were in what I call the 'airlock', a small area that leads to another set of double doors to keep noise and light from the bar out. It seemed a good place to hash this out.

"Well, it was a one time thing. And she always looks like that, she's terribly shy. Though not that shy, she seems to know what she wants alright."

"Too late, you've let the cat out of the bag," she teased. "So why just a one time thing? Just another notch on your belt?"

"Hardly. No, after due consideration she found she'd rather have an intimate encounter with one of these."

I was already opening the doors and pointed in passing at one of the massive fire extinguishers that were mounted on the wall near the airlock. Samantha laughed so hard she misstepped, which was made worse by the fact that the floor was slanting downwards from here, plus those heels. I managed to catch her when she fell past me. It looked like the final move in a passionate tango and although she yelled out, once she found I had caught her she kept on laughing.

"Oh, look at you, my hero. Although that was an awful, awful joke."

I helped her get up again, trying not to cop a feel as I did. Her shoe was okay and she rearranged her hair with a casual flick of her hand. I couldn't help but look at her breasts. It was only half a second, but she spotted it.

"Don't worry, darling, I've brought something to cover myself up during the show. Wouldn't want you to get too distracted."

I showed her the backstage area. It takes away a bit of the magic, but given the sort of play we did, there wasn't a whole lot of it. Our set was actually fairly sturdy, because it was built to last. Even so, anything you couldn't see from the audience was just plywood, painted black. I showed her how the sets rotated and were hoisted or pushed into place when we changed scenes. It was all done in a matter of seconds. While I was showing her, the meeting had ended. Everyone filed out of the office on the side that led to one of the wings.

"Do they know I'm press? If not, could you not mention it? Bit awkward, especially since I'm not here to write about the show," she whispered.

Diana came up to us and greeted Samantha warmly. A bit too warmly.

"New suit, Martin? Looks very good on you. Oh hello, how very nice to meet you! I'm Diana. You must be Martin's girlfriend!" Before either of us could say anything Samantha got a big hug and two kisses. Then Diana looked her over.

"My God, you are stunning! Well done, Martin. How on Earth did you almost manage to lose HER? Sweetheart, do take care of him, will you? He's such a lovely man, if a bit slow on the uptake with us girls."

"Hi. I'm Samantha," she said, clearly amused by this.

"Actually, Samantha is..." I began.

"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Albinson. I've seen you in 'Anne Boleyn' and that's when I knew I could never be an actress and should stick to writing."

"Oooh, I like her," said Diana, winking at me. "Who do you write for, darling?"

"Anyone who'll pay me. Copywriting, you know. Boring."

"I'm sure it's not. So you've come to see Martin do his thing?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, he does it very well. He does a lot of things well. Like blushing. Look at him. Stop it Martin, you're clashing with her dress. It's marvellous, darling, it's like you were poured into it. Martin, do you have chips for the bar?"

"I'll get some off Lola."

"Good. Have you met my daughter, Samantha?"

"Daughter? Yes. Yes, I have."

"Let's go get a drink then," I said, taking Samantha's arm somewhat firmly and almost dragging her away towards the steps on the side of the stage. As soon as we were in the airlock, she stopped walking.

"So now I know about three women you've slept with. That girl who was in the Mail, clearly. Lola. And her MOTHER! You hound!" But she smiled as she said it and she was clearly out to tease me with it.

"Who says I slept with Diana?"

"Pull the other one. It's Diana Albinson and you're you. But her DAUGHTER?!"

"Do you still want that drink or shall I walk you to your car?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, as if I had just rebuked her for not handing in her homework.

She let it go, at least for the moment. From her silver purse came a pashmina, with which she covered her shoulders and her d├ęcolletage. We found a quiet table on the balcony and had drinks until the bus showed up, talking about the exhibit tomorrow. I had my speech on my phone and let her read it.

"It's very good, Martin. Do you have a background in journalism?"

"Yes. I've always written all my own press releases, copy for the website, everything."

"Maybe you could be my colleague if this acting doesn't pan out."

"It's not panning out all that much so far. After tonight I'm done here."

"Poor boy. You're with Keller and Fox. You're bound to get more work."

"Attention, busses are arriving, both together today," said Leo. I showed her to her seat first and then saw her watch me as I 'worked the room', calmly leaning against the wall of the orchestra pit and chatting to Edmund. I wasn't sure I liked that, those two chatting.

The show went fine and I actually never saw her, the lights are constantly in our eyes. I didn't go see her during the break because that's unprofessional and she didn't appear backstage, so I assumed she'd found people to have a chat with. She was a journalist, they tend not to be shy. I saw her observing the photo shoot but when that ended she finally came up and said:

"Okay, you're mine now. Say goodbye to your friends. Say bye bye! Bye Diana!"

She actually took my wrist and puppeteered my hand. Most people smiled, Diana blew me a kiss and she took me to her car, a very presentable, dull Volvo.

"Right. Where to?" she said.

"You're asking me? Who's taking who on a date here?"

"Oh right. Well, I was hoping to end up at your place, but since your sister's couch turns out not to be a metaphor..."

"Your place?"

Damn straight I was fucking her. I had Kate's permission and she was fucking gorgeous, I'd never forgive myself. Look at those tits. Those legs. Look at them. Tell me you wouldn't hit that. I would have restrained myself if Kate had asked me to, but with her blessing I was going to get me some of this. Her feet in those shoes alone were driving me mad.

"Well, my place has my son and my wife in it. They're okay with me having dates, but... dear God, what's wrong?"

"A WIFE and a son?! You said you had a CAT!"

She laughed.

"I knew it. I knew that would get you. Yes darling, I'm a lesbian. Well, bi-sexual, sometimes. I have a cat, and I have a son. He's 15, he's called Sebastian and he already has a father and two mothers so you can relax. And I call Susan my wife because we've been together for eight years and we will be forever."

"Right. Fascinating. Has anyone ever told you you have a tendency to give off mixed signals?"

"Ha! These two right here? That's not a mixed signal, Martin. Now I get the feeling that you've had a few adventures since you got here. At least three, by my reckoning. And your jaw dropped to the floor when I opened my coat."

"True."

"So... Where to? Any nice hotels in Southwark?"

"No. Hang on... could you drive round the back of the theatre, drop me off at the rear door? I promise I won't do a runner."

"Oooookaaayyy? But if you are, please tell me."

"Promise."

She drove to the rear of the building. Diana's sports car was still there. I stepped in, walked to her dressing room and knocked.

"Yes? Martin? Didn't you just leave? Is there a problem?"

"Yes. Are you going to your farm tonight?"

She gave me a very naughty smile.

"Not unless I'm getting a threesome..."

"You're not. Oh Jesus... I wish you hadn't said that... She's bi-sexual. Oh fuck..."

A threesome with these two. What a great way to die. But then I'd miss the rest of my life with Kate and I wasn't ready for that.

"Relax," she said. "I was kidding. Well not kidding but I've got a gig tomorrow and I'm getting up at 5 am as it is. There's a key under the middle flower pot at the back of the house. There's condoms, everything. Croissants, wine... knock yourself out."

"Thank you."

"I do insist on a proper kiss, though. Come here."

"I already know where the key is now."

She smiled and got up. Without a word she put her arms around me and we kissed. I kissed back, I admit it. Alarm bells were going off, but I was helpless. It must have lasted at least a minute, but eventually she let go. And then she checked my face. She reached for a make-up removal tissue and cleaned me up a bit.

"Good to go. Have fun, Martin. Toss the condoms in the black bin near the back door in the morning, will you? Can you find it back?"

"Blindfolded."Last curtain call

Wednesday morning the boys from Black Magic emailed me to help them out. They were doing audio for a video game and needed a lot of voices for background effects. I called them and said I'd do it if they paid me cash. An hour later I was in the studio. I have no idea what game it was for, but I was 'thug 7' and did a lot of 'He's got a gun!' and 'Take cover' and 'Aaaaargh' in my best American accent (which is awful, but I'm okay in short bursts) and then I was a traffic controller on a spaceship and had lines that went like: 'Federation freighter, you are cleared for landing pad four.' Half an hour's work and I left with 150 quid in my pocket.

On my way back I got a text from Samantha:

"Martin, are you a leg man?"

"I beg your pardon?" I texted back. Somehow that worked on this stretch of the Underground.

"I'm trying to pick an outfit", followed by a smiley.

"I may be a cheap date, but I'm not easy. And the rest of the audience are American tourists in white sneakers and with fishing hats."

That wasn't quite true; the women hardly ever wore fishing hats. And they were a fantastic crowd, very eager to laugh and make some noise. You have to love them, really. I've always wondered why such charming and spontaneous people turn into mouth frothing maniacs in the voting booth.

"I'm not taking them out on a date, am I?"

"I'm sure you'll look lovely. I am a leg man, come to think of it. Your ticket is at the register, just give your name to Lola."

"Looking forward to it."

At that point I had a transfer, so I ended it there. A leg man... I guess I was. I certainly liked the things at the end of legs. Both sides.

Obviously I told Kate as soon as I got home. She was at Heathrow again, 'being nanny' as she called it, to some American movie star that had come over for a few TV appearances in Europe to promote a new movie. It was impossible to keep track of Kate. Generally I only knew if she'd be home that night by around 11 am, when she took a break to call me.

"You are a leg man," she said.

"Yes, I know that. That's not why I'm telling you this."

"Too bad my legs are tiny," she sulked.

"Your legs are perfectly proportioned, as is the rest of you. Now what am I going to do with that woman?"

"Who are you asking?"

"KATE!"

"Alright. Martin, it's fine. Pussy is for fucking. I'm not home tonight, have some bloody fun. Get condoms. When I come home, you can tell me all about it and we'll do the same things, except I'll do them longer and better."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

"Then don't fuck her. It's not mandatory. Her article is already printed and we've got more than enough press covering the opening of your exhibition."

"I don't have an exhibition."

"You do now. It's renamed 'The National Gallery presents: Caravaggio, hosted by Martin King.' We're having new banners printed and everything. How is your speech coming along?"

"Fine. Piece of cake. I'm using Giuditta e Oloferne as an example."

"Right. Which one is that? Slightly less poncy please. Use English."

"Um... Judith decapitates Holofernes, I suppose."

"Oh right. The nasty one. Or the particularly nasty one, to be precise. I'll see if they can put that behind you then. Now I'm not going to be there, can I trust you to not fuck this up Martin? Because all that damage control is getting old."

"By your command."

She moaned.

"Oooooh you evil bastard... I've got a two hour flight! They're boarding first class, gotta go! Love you!"

Not having anything better to do, I took the crew bus again. Edmund and I had a nice chat. He told me about his pigeons, which was less boring than you'd think. When we arrived in Hertford, the weather was so nice I decided to go for a walk, listening to my headphones. I got a call from a lawyer in The Netherlands, the one retained by Evert to deal with the Tax Authority. He needed some documents and I was able to send them then and there, because everything was in Dropbox. I shared a folder with him.

"This is amazing, Mr. van de Casteele. You seem to have your affairs in order."

"I do. And I don't owe any taxes. So I want it back and I want compensation. I nearly had to sleep on a park bench because of this."

"And how are you now?"

"Fine, although I am literally sleeping on my sister's couch. Still, I'd rather have a handsome pay-off than get my money back quicker. The interest is next to nothing, so a few thousand in damages will be much nicer. Unless that goes to your fee. Which is how much?"

"Mr. van de Casteele, I'm doing this for a fixed fee which will be paid by the government if we win. When we win, I mean. Your accountant drives a hard bargain. But it's a pleasure to work with you, since you seem to have kept track of everything perfectly."

I bloody well did. They had had enough of my money and they were not getting a cent extra. I thanked him and bought myself a chocolate bun at Greggs. Then I texted Kate I loved her, so she'd get that message when she landed. It turned out she already had, because I got one back:

"You've made me so incredibly happy, you'll never know."

I think I did.

I made my way back to the theatre and got comfortable in one of the seats in the auditorium. They were having their Wednesday meeting, but that was no longer my business.

"Martin, you have a visitor at the box office," said Lola via the intercom. The meeting was in a room next to the box office, so Lola could always answer the phone.

I got up and went to greet who I assumed to be Samantha. She stood with her back to me, talking to Lola, who nodded and left as soon as I came into view. I could tell from the back that her hair was different. She wore blue suede open shoes with high heels. When Lola left she turned around and began to take off her blue coat.

"Hello, Samantha, lovely to ... Godallemachtig!"

I'm not the sort of man to whistle or honk at women. I don't stare. My hands don't wander and I try not to look at cleavage that isn't meant for me. But this just escaped me, it just popped out before any kind of filter could be applied. She was stunning. The new hair, a bit of make-up, a lovely blue dress with a fair bit of cleavage, a silver belt, a hemline that showed lots of leg. Legs with a nice tan that ended in feet with silvery toenails in sexy shoes. She was nothing like the ever so slightly crumpled and disheveled woman that had interviewed me.

She smiled and kissed me on my cheek, just once.

"That sounds like Dutch for God Almighty. Is that a good thing?"

"That... yes... I'm sorry that just popped out. You look absolutely wonderful. May I take your coat?"

"You do know how to flatter a girl. I do hope that look on your face was real, you can never tell with actors."

I took her coat and walked her in. We passed through the bar first but I assumed she'd want to see a bit of the backstage area and that's where I would put her coat anyway.

"You know, I have the same problem with actors. And I'm not nearly good enough an actor to fake social interactions. I wouldn't be in so much trouble if I could."

"Right. So that girl who let me in, she's Lola?"

"Yes," I said, reaching for the gold rail to open the auditorium doors.

"And you've slept with her?"

I forgot to keep pulling and walked into the door.

"AUW! Shit. Sorry. No, I'm good. Really. My foot caught the impact. How on Earth do you know? She didn't tell you, did she?"

"I should have timed that better, sorry," she giggled, after she saw I was fine. "No, she didn't, you just did. I just guessed, from the way she looked at you when you came in."

We were in what I call the 'airlock', a small area that leads to another set of double doors to keep noise and light from the bar out. It seemed a good place to hash this out.

"Well, it was a one time thing. And she always looks like that, she's terribly shy. Though not that shy, she seems to know what she wants alright."

"Too late, you've let the cat out of the bag," she teased. "So why just a one time thing? Just another notch on your belt?"

"Hardly. No, after due consideration she found she'd rather have an intimate encounter with one of these."

I was already opening the doors and pointed in passing at one of the massive fire extinguishers that were mounted on the wall near the airlock. Samantha laughed so hard she misstepped, which was made worse by the fact that the floor was slanting downwards from here, plus those heels. I managed to catch her when she fell past me. It looked like the final move in a passionate tango and although she yelled out, once she found I had caught her she kept on laughing.

"Oh, look at you, my hero. Although that was an awful, awful joke."

I helped her get up again, trying not to cop a feel as I did. Her shoe was okay and she rearranged her hair with a casual flick of her hand. I couldn't help but look at her breasts. It was only half a second, but she spotted it.

"Don't worry, darling, I've brought something to cover myself up during the show. Wouldn't want you to get too distracted."

I showed her the backstage area. It takes away a bit of the magic, but given the sort of play we did, there wasn't a whole lot of it. Our set was actually fairly sturdy, because it was built to last. Even so, anything you couldn't see from the audience was just plywood, painted black. I showed her how the sets rotated and were hoisted or pushed into place when we changed scenes. It was all done in a matter of seconds. While I was showing her, the meeting had ended. Everyone filed out of the office on the side that led to one of the wings.

"Do they know I'm press? If not, could you not mention it? Bit awkward, especially since I'm not here to write about the show," she whispered.

Diana came up to us and greeted Samantha warmly. A bit too warmly.

"New suit, Martin? Looks very good on you. Oh hello, how very nice to meet you! I'm Diana. You must be Martin's girlfriend!" Before either of us could say anything Samantha got a big hug and two kisses. Then Diana looked her over.

"My God, you are stunning! Well done, Martin. How on Earth did you almost manage to lose HER? Sweetheart, do take care of him, will you? He's such a lovely man, if a bit slow on the uptake with us girls."

"Hi. I'm Samantha," she said, clearly amused by this.

"Actually, Samantha is..." I began.

"Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Albinson. I've seen you in 'Anne Boleyn' and that's when I knew I could never be an actress and should stick to writing."

"Oooh, I like her," said Diana, winking at me. "Who do you write for, darling?"

"Anyone who'll pay me. Copywriting, you know. Boring."

"I'm sure it's not. So you've come to see Martin do his thing?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, he does it very well. He does a lot of things well. Like blushing. Look at him. Stop it Martin, you're clashing with her dress. It's marvellous, darling, it's like you were poured into it. Martin, do you have chips for the bar?"

"I'll get some off Lola."

"Good. Have you met my daughter, Samantha?"

"Daughter? Yes. Yes, I have."

"Let's go get a drink then," I said, taking Samantha's arm somewhat firmly and almost dragging her away towards the steps on the side of the stage. As soon as we were in the airlock, she stopped walking.

"So now I know about three women you've slept with. That girl who was in the Mail, clearly. Lola. And her MOTHER! You hound!" But she smiled as she said it and she was clearly out to tease me with it.

"Who says I slept with Diana?"

"Pull the other one. It's Diana Albinson and you're you. But her DAUGHTER?!"

"Do you still want that drink or shall I walk you to your car?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, as if I had just rebuked her for not handing in her homework.

She let it go, at least for the moment. From her silver purse came a pashmina, with which she covered her shoulders and her d├ęcolletage. We found a quiet table on the balcony and had drinks until the bus showed up, talking about the exhibit tomorrow. I had my speech on my phone and let her read it.

"It's very good, Martin. Do you have a background in journalism?"

"Yes. I've always written all my own press releases, copy for the website, everything."

"Maybe you could be my colleague if this acting doesn't pan out."

"It's not panning out all that much so far. After tonight I'm done here."

"Poor boy. You're with Keller and Fox. You're bound to get more work."

"Attention, busses are arriving, both together today," said Leo. I showed her to her seat first and then saw her watch me as I 'worked the room', calmly leaning against the wall of the orchestra pit and chatting to Edmund. I wasn't sure I liked that, those two chatting.

The show went fine and I actually never saw her, the lights are constantly in our eyes. I didn't go see her during the break because that's unprofessional and she didn't appear backstage, so I assumed she'd found people to have a chat with. She was a journalist, they tend not to be shy. I saw her observing the photo shoot but when that ended she finally came up and said:

"Okay, you're mine now. Say goodbye to your friends. Say bye bye! Bye Diana!"

She actually took my wrist and puppeteered my hand. Most people smiled, Diana blew me a kiss and she took me to her car, a very presentable, dull Volvo.

"Right. Where to?" she said.

"You're asking me? Who's taking who on a date here?"

"Oh right. Well, I was hoping to end up at your place, but since your sister's couch turns out not to be a metaphor..."

"Your place?"

Damn straight I was fucking her. I had Kate's permission and she was fucking gorgeous, I'd never forgive myself. Look at those tits. Those legs. Look at them. Tell me you wouldn't hit that. I would have restrained myself if Kate had asked me to, but with her blessing I was going to get me some of this. Her feet in those shoes alone were driving me mad.

"Well, my place has my son and my wife in it. They're okay with me having dates, but... dear God, what's wrong?"

"A WIFE and a son?! You said you had a CAT!"

She laughed.

"I knew it. I knew that would get you. Yes darling, I'm a lesbian. Well, bi-sexual, sometimes. I have a cat, and I have a son. He's 15, he's called Sebastian and he already has a father and two mothers so you can relax. And I call Susan my wife because we've been together for eight years and we will be forever."

"Right. Fascinating. Has anyone ever told you you have a tendency to give off mixed signals?"

"Ha! These two right here? That's not a mixed signal, Martin. Now I get the feeling that you've had a few adventures since you got here. At least three, by my reckoning. And your jaw dropped to the floor when I opened my coat."

"True."

"So... Where to? Any nice hotels in Southwark?"

"No. Hang on... could you drive round the back of the theatre, drop me off at the rear door? I promise I won't do a runner."

"Oooookaaayyy? But if you are, please tell me."

"Promise."

She drove to the rear of the building. Diana's sports car was still there. I stepped in, walked to her dressing room and knocked.

"Yes? Martin? Didn't you just leave? Is there a problem?"

"Yes. Are you going to your farm tonight?"

She gave me a very naughty smile.

"Not unless I'm getting a threesome..."

"You're not. Oh Jesus... I wish you hadn't said that... She's bi-sexual. Oh fuck..."

A threesome with these two. What a great way to die. But then I'd miss the rest of my life with Kate and I wasn't ready for that.

"Relax," she said. "I was kidding. Well not kidding but I've got a gig tomorrow and I'm getting up at 5 am as it is. There's a key under the middle flower pot at the back of the house. There's condoms, everything. Croissants, wine... knock yourself out."

"Thank you."

"I do insist on a proper kiss, though. Come here."

"I already know where the key is now."

She smiled and got up. Without a word she put her arms around me and we kissed. I kissed back, I admit it. Alarm bells were going off, but I was helpless. It must have lasted at least a minute, but eventually she let go. And then she checked my face. She reached for a make-up removal tissue and cleaned me up a bit.

"Good to go. Have fun, Martin. Toss the condoms in the black bin near the back door in the morning, will you? Can you find it back?"

"Blindfolded."

with   audience   carstairs  

May 12, 2018 in romance

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