by Amy Cross
"Sorry," he says, smiling nervously, "I guess saying you have goose pimples isn't the biggest compliment, is it?"
"Don't worry about it," I reply.
"So when are you going back to Bristol?" he asks.
"Next week," I say. "I've just got to get my father's funeral out of the way first."
"When's that?"
"Monday." I pause for a moment, realizing that I'm not ready to say goodbye to my father just yet. I think about what it'll be like to see his coffin, and then later to see his grave. "It's fine," I say, drinking some more beer as I feel a slight lump in my throat. "It's just a big drag to have to sit through. I've never really been to a funeral before, so I guess it'll be mildly interesting."
"You got someone to go with you?" he asks.
"My mother," I reply, smiling. "My dear, demented old mother."
"So are you seeing anyone?" he asks suddenly. "Sorry," he adds, looking embarrassed, "that came out totally wrong, and at a totally inappropriate moment. I'm an asshole, I'll leave you alone -"
"No," I reply.
"No I'm not an asshole, or no you're not seeing anyone?"
I pause. "Both," I say finally. The old Elly would have run by now, but I figure I've got to start doing things a little differently. I've spent my whole life waiting for the perfect guy, but maybe I'd be better off just going with the flow for a while. It wouldn't mean I'm a slut, just because I mess around occasionally. As I smile at Rob, I make a decision: I'm going to go with the flow tonight, and just see what happens. If I feel like running, I'm going to make myself stay.
"That's weird," he says.
"What is?" I ask.
"I just assumed you'd have a guy back in Bristol," he continues, stubbing his cigarette out on the railing.
"Why would you assume that?" I ask, my heart racing.
"I don't know," he says, stepping closer. "Maybe 'cause you're beautiful." With that, he leans in and kisses me gently. Apart from the fact that he tastes of tobacco and has a load of stubble, it's actually not a bad kiss; for a few seconds we just let our lips linger together, and then finally he opens his mouth and our tongues meet. It's the first time I've kissed a guy for ages. I feel him put his hands around my waist, and I lean back on the street railing. For a moment - just a moment - I forget about everything else and instead focus on this experience. There's a voice in the back of my mind that keeps reminding me there's no way Rob and I could ever work out long-term, but then I remember that we don't have to work out long-term; we just have to work out for a few hours.
"Surprised?" he says, pulling back a little.
"Yeah," I reply, unable to hide a dumb smile. "In a good way. I think." My heart is pounding so fast, I'm worried I might faint. I've kissed guys before, of course, but I've always held back when it comes to going all the way. Tonight, though, I'm going to make myself really go for it. I know I'll regret it in the morning, but right now I want him.
"Come over here," he says, grabbing my hand and leading me down a small alley that runs to one side of the pub. It's pretty dark down here, and to my surprise Rob turns and starts kissing me again, this time with even more passion. I'm soon pressed against the wall with his tongue deep in my throat, but I resist the urge to push him away and - instead - I keep reminding myself that I have to fight my instincts. As he continues to kiss me, I slip my tongue into his mouth and press my body against his. It feels wrong and right at the same time, but I tell myself not to think in those terms; there'll be time to analyze things later, but right now I'm just going to live in the moment.
"Is this okay?" Rob asks after a moment, as he starts kissing my neck.
"Yeah," I reply, taking a deep breath. I feel his hand slipping under my shirt and reaching up to touch my bra, but I tell myself to just let him do it. Still, my chest feels tight and I'm so nervous, I almost feel like I might throw up.
"How about this?" he asks as he strokes the front of the bra.
"Yeah," I say quietly.
"And this?" He slips the bra down and brushes his fingers against my nipple. I feel a shiver run though my body. This is so wrong. I shouldn't be letting him touch me.
"It's fine," I say, swallowing hard.
He kisses my neck again, before moving his hand down and starting to unbutton my jeans. "I really like you, Elly," he says breathlessly. "I hope you don't think this is too fast, but I can't help myself. There's something about you that's driving me crazy. I just want you. Right here, right now. No waiting. I want it raw." He kisses my neck again. "I want it to feel real."
"Me too," I reply, momentarily distracted as a police car speeds past the end of the alley, its blue lights flashing as it heads off to some distant emergency. It feels like the real world is so far away right now.
"Does this feel nice?" Rob asks, sliding his hand down the front of my underwear. "It feels good to me," he continues as his fingers tousle my pubic hair. "I've always thought you're really hot, Elly."
I smile nervously. I'm not hot. I'm just plain and normal.
His fingers slip further down, before suddenly he grabs the waist of my jeans with his other hand and gently pulls them all the way down, followed a moment later by my underwear. There's a pause as he unzips his trousers and reaches in, pulling out his erect penis. He's not the biggest guy in the world, but I guess I can't be too picky. I just stare down at it, imagining what it'll feel like to have him inside me.
"Use a condom," I say.
"We don't need that," he replies. "Sit back on the ledge."
"You have to use a condom," I tell him as I move over and sit on the ledge, keeping my knees together.
"I don't have one," he says, moving closer and reaching down to part my legs
"I've got one," I say, pushing him away for a moment as I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. Sure enough, there's an old condom inside. My hands are shaking as I tear the packet open and take the sheath out. "Come on," I say, "we have to use it. This isn't debatable."
Sighing, he takes the condom and carefully slips it over his penis. I can tell he's not happy about it, but at least he hasn't turned and walked away. The last thing I need is for tonight to have any unintended consequences.
"Okay?" he says once the condom is in place.
"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath before I finally open my legs so he can get closer.
The next few minutes pass in a blur. I feel Rob inside me, although I'm not really very wet and the whole process feels a little sore and painful. At least I don't have to do much; I just stay in position, with my legs open as I support my weight with my arms, and I wait while Rob fucks me. The whole thing feels kind of mechanical and repetitive, and after a few minutes I actually find myself wondering how much longer he's going to take. Eventually I realize that he's getting close to the point of orgasm, so I take a deep breath and brace myself; finally, he starts thrusting harder and harder until he grunts and it's all over. There's a pause as he stands still, keeping his penis inside me, and then he steps back. I don't really know what to do, because I didn't feel anything particularly pleasurable during the encounter, and now I'm just waiting to see if he makes any new moves. Is it over? Was it good? I have no idea.
"Was that your first time?" he asks, standing there with his penis still poking out from his jeans, the wet condom glistening in the moonlight.
"No," I say defensively, getting down off the ledge and pulling my jeans back up.
"Did you cum?"
"I don't know," I reply, although I immediately realize that's a stupid answer. "It's okay," I continue. "It's not always about cumming, is it?"
"I guess not," he says. removing the condom before tucking himself back into his jeans. "It was pretty good, though. I can't believe we did it!" He holds the condom up, and I see the little blob of sperm pooling in the bottom. Suddenly I feel nauseous again, and I can barely believe I actually just had sex in an alley. This is so not me.
"You're so fucking hot," he says, tossing the condom away.
> "Thanks," I say, suddenly feeling pretty dirty as I glance around to make sure I haven't dropped anything. As Rob stands there with a big, stupid grin on his face, I feel like I just want to get out of here. "I need to go home," I say, barely even able to look him in the eye. I turn to walk away, but he grabs my arm.
"Seriously?" he asks.
"What's wrong?" I say. We stare at each other for a moment. "It was just a one-off thing," I continue. "It was just a bit of fun. Two people, fucking 'cause they want to. No big deal. You know how it is. Aren't there rules for one night stands?"
"Is that what this was?" he says. "A one night stand?"
I nod. "Life's just a game," I tell him. "You should try learning the rules some time." Turning, I walk away, and I don't look back. I reach the street and start walking toward the bus stop. All I want to do is get home and go to sleep, and preferably not wake up until it's time to go back to Bristol.
As I walk, I feel as if every person I pass knows what I've just done and thinks I'm a total slut, but of course they don't know; the sense of shame is coming entirely from within. I reach the bus stop and check the times, realizing I've got a few minutes to wait. Huddling against the brightly-lit advertising hoarding for warmth, I turn and glance through the window of the restaurant a few feet away. For a moment, I absent-mindedly watch the diners and find myself wishing I could meet a guy who'd actually take me out to dinner before he fucked me. Suddenly, to my surprise, I make eye contact with one of the diners and we stare at one another. It takes a moment, but finally I realize I'm looking straight at Mark Douglas.
Edward Lockhart
1895
"There is a gentleman to see you, Sir," says Martin, standing in the doorway of my study. "Sir Robert Marchant. I believe he is the industrialist who owns some land near Southfields. Shall I bring him through, or shall I tell him that you're busy?"
Sitting at my desk, I feel a cold chill run through my body. Of all the people in the entirety of London, Sir Robert Marchant is the man I least want to meet right now, or indeed ever. Since the unfortunate scene with his wife outside the club the other day, I have lived in a constant state of fear, worried that at any moment something might intrude further upon my life and threaten to bring the question of Sophia Marchant to the surface. Now, finally, it seems the dread moment has come. I have always prided myself on my ability to remain very much in control of the various conflicting elements in my life, but now I feel I am in serious danger.
"Show him in," I say, standing up and waiting as Martin goes back through to the parlor. Moments later, an elegant-looking man walks through, wearing a top hat and carrying a cane. He has the unmistakable air of someone who wields a great deal of power and wealth, and I immediately feel that this conversation is to be difficult.
"Mr. Edward Lockhart?" he says coldly, narrowing his eyes as if he has already begun to analyze the nature of my character.
"At your pleasure," I say, walking toward him. "I have long admired your work, Mr. Marchant, as a -"
"Let's cut to the chase," he replies, stepping past me and walking over to the chair by my desk. "I hope you don't mind if I sit down," he continues. "I'm afraid I have a bad leg, so standing can be a little tiring."
"Of course," I say, walking over to the desk. As we both take a seat, I ring the bell next to my writing pad.
"There's no need for any drinks," Mr. Marchant says. "This is not a social visit, and it is unlikely to be very pleasant. I'm quite certain you already understand the reason for my attendance at your home today."
Martin appears in the doorway, but I wave him away. "Perhaps we should get down to business," I say, my heart racing. I have never before been directly confronted in this manner. "How can I be of assistance?"
"There are two matters," he says. "They are connected, but I think we should deal with them separately. First, there is the fact that my wife reportedly caused quite a scene outside your club the other day. I hear she made a number of accusations, and that she caused you a great deal of embarrassment."
"Well..." I start to say.
"Clearly that was unacceptable," he continues. "Regardless of the facts, she should have held back. She is usually a strong woman, but recent events have taken a terrible toll on her senses and I'm afraid she suffered a moment of temporary insanity. You know what women are like, Mr. Lockhart. They are emotional creatures and they can, on occasion, behave quite irrationally. Rest assured that she has been most thoroughly reprimanded and she knows absolutely that such behavior will no longer be tolerated. I have sent her to her sister's home in the country for a month, and I hope that the fresh air and relaxed pace of living will benefit her constitution." He pauses. "You have my sincerest apologies for the whole incident."
"I am very grateful to you, Sir Robert," I reply. "The apology was hardly necessary, but I appreciate it nonetheless."
"Then there is the matter of my daughter, Sophia," he says firmly. "Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Lockhart. I know full well that she was involved in a dalliance with you, and I know she saw you on several occasions. I'm not sure whether you're aware of the situation, but Sophia has now been missing for more than a week. There is no trace of her, and my inquiries through the usual channels have all been fruitless." He stares at me for a moment. "I have three daughters, Mr. Lockhart, and I am not in the habit of losing any of them. I have held back from going to the police, because I believe there is a chance that we can resolve this situation in a more amicable manner, and with less publicity. Nevertheless, I am here today to tell you that Sophia must come home at once."
I take a deep breath, aware that I am beginning to sweat profusely. "I must confess," I say slowly, choosing my words carefully, "that I do not believe I know anyone by the name of Sophia Marchant -"
"I have cause to believe that you do," he says bluntly.
"And what would that cause be?" I ask.
"That is not the matter under discussion," he continues. "I am satisfied in my own mind that you do know my daughter, and that her disappearance is in some way linked to your mutual association. If she is with child, arrangements can be made to have the baby removed once it is born. Sophia can be sent to my sister's, and a scandal can be averted. However, I would ask that you respect my right to be the one who makes the decisions. Unless, that is, you intend to make an honest woman of Sophia."
"I hardly see that I can do that," I say, "since I am afraid I do not know the girl."
"You are lying," he replies. "Mr. Lockhart, I had hoped that we might be able to resolve this matter in an agreeable manner, but clearly that is not the case. I will not tolerate the disappearance of one of my daughters, and I will take appropriate steps to ensure that she is returned to my family. We are both men of the world, Mr. Lockhart, so I am quite sure you can understand my position."
I swallow hard, determined not to let Mr. Marchant see that I am slowly being enveloped by a sense of true terror and panic. "Might I ask what makes you think I know your daughter?" I ask. "Perhaps if you tell me the cause of this illusion, I can help allay your fears?"
"Information has been handed to me," he says sternly. "The information was provided on an anonymous basis by someone who clearly believes I have the right to know my daughter's whereabouts. I am not willing to go into the precise nature of that information, but I have reason to believe that it is accurate. Therefore, I must ask you one more time, Mr. Lockhart. Where is my daughter, and will you return her to me at once?"
"I do not know where your daughter is," I say, "and therefore I cannot assist you."
He gets to his feet. "Then, Sir, you are a fool," he says. "You think you can sit behind your desk and hide from the responsibilities of your actions, but you most certainly cannot. This matter will be going to the highest authorities in the land, and I will see you rot if you have laid but one finger on my girl. However, I am a generous man and I understand that it might take time for you to recognize the need to do the right thing. I will give you until midnight tomorrow to d
eliver my daughter back to my household, or you must face the consequences." He turns and walks to the door, before stopping and glancing back at me. "You know who I am, Mr. Lockhart. You know I have power in this land. Do you really think you can withstand this onslaught? I will have Sophia back, one way or another." With that, he walks out and I'm left alone in the room, with just one thought going around and around in my mind.
Lady Red...
This is Lady Red's doing.
She is the only person who could have orchestrated this situation; she is the only person who would want to cause so much trouble, and who would dare to go to such extreme lengths in order to place me under such extreme pressure. That treacherous, lying woman is squeezing her fist around me, either because she wishes to have me out of the game or because she simply seeks a little amusement. Either way, I must find a way to fight back.
As I sit here in my study, feeling the noose tightening around my neck, I try to work out what to do. If I run, I will confirm my guilt. If I stand and fight, I risk being crushed by Mr. Marchant's determination to uncover the truth about his daughter. Perhaps my only option, then, is to turn against Lady Red and seek to save my own skin. However, I know that she will have planned ahead for my every possible move, and I realize that I have been comprehensively outmaneuvered. Finally, after all these years, the net is closing around me. After a moment, I grab my waste-paper basket and vomit, unable to contain my nerves any longer.
Elly
Today
Determined not to stare at Mark, I give him a polite smile and then look away. My heart is racing, and I'm tempted to just hurry on and wait at the next bus stop, but I figure that would look a little strange so I decide to stay put. Trying to calm down, I force myself to stare at the traffic rather than turning to look back at Mark, but it's too tempting and eventually I glance over my shoulder. This time, he's not looking at me, and I see that he's having dinner with the same slutty-looking woman who was in his car earlier. It doesn't look like they're having much fun, either, since they seem to be sitting in silence as they eat. After a moment, Mark glances over at me and we briefly make eye contact again before I turn away.
