TWELVE
Around noon, having woken late, Emma, wandered down to the balcony to find Sally entertaining the boys. Both men wore only their board shorts and sat in the full glare of the sun. Each held a beer in hand. Their feet were sandy and their hair stood on end in weird and wonderful ways. Sally was perched on the arm of one of the other chairs, seemingly ready to grab either of them another beer. At the sight, old rivalries were reawoken and insecurities rekindled. For the little scene was one from Emma and Sally’s teenage years. Two men fawning over the blonde. Emma found herself returning to the stereotypical role of bookish brunette. She made herself a coffee and picked up her book and sat in the shade a little way off from the trio. They hardly noticed her. David came over and touched her shoulder and kissed her cheek, but he was on the way to the toilet. Kiss the wife and empty the bladder. Kill two birds with one stone. Lovely. And he wanted her to have his children.
As the pantomime continued, though, Emma relaxed. She could now watch without anger as Mark and David vied for Sally’s attention. When Sally fussed with the placement of the potato salad, leaning over David to do so, David slapped Sally’s bottom and called her a tart for wiggling her arse about. Mark joined in the play but made no attempt to carry that familiarity over towards Emma.
David was the undisputed leader of the pack. Emma found his gregarious nature dominated the mood of the group. Everything was seriously light-hearted and forcefully free and easy. Finally, lunch was ready. David had cooked the meat himself, leaving Mark to stand about with the obligatory beer, talking of past barbecues and the plans he had for building a patio.
The whole show was as natural as could be and Emma was half snoozing through lunch when something David said startled her out of her complacency.
‘I forget to tell you, Em,’ he said, then turned to Sally. ‘You know that boy who lives next door, Sal? Simon and Anne’s son, Jason? He’s gone off the rails.’
Emma was lost for words. Thankfully, Sally took her place.
‘What happened?’
‘Well the other night, I don’t know, maybe Monday night or Tuesday, there was a knock on the door. Jason was standing there on the verandah. He looked upset, he asked whether you were home, Em.’
Emma hoped her pale face wasn’t blushing as red as she felt it was.
‘He said you’d promised to lend him a book for an assignment. I didn’t know you were tutoring him.’
‘I’m not,’ she managed to reply. ‘The last time I saw him I joked about it with him.’
‘She teases the kid,’ David said to Sally.
‘I’m sure he loves it,’ said Sally. ‘I bet he has a crush on you, Em.’
‘Sounds like she has one on him. She’s the one pulling his pigtails!’ said Mark laughing.
‘What happened, darling?’ asked Emma, ignoring Mark. Like the snake that he was, he felt the subtle tremors of a wounded prey. Something was amiss, he was sure of it.
‘I let him go in and have a look for the book he wanted,’ he said, ‘then the phone rang and after the call I went to see what he was up to and I couldn’t find him. I shouted his name, but he was gone. I know he’s shy, but that’s just weird.’
‘Is that what you call going off the rails?’ asked Sally. ‘You probably just frightened him.’
‘That was just a little bit of background information, Sal, you know, to set the scene.’ David paused a moment for effect, before continuing, ‘As I was leaving the next day I stopped to chat with Simon, across verandahs, as one does. Are you following, Sal?’ he asked, and received a playful slap on the hand for his trouble. ‘And he told me about the difficulties he’d been having with Jason.’
David stopped his narrative to butter a piece of bread. They all watched in silence as he leant across and stole an unwanted piece of sausage from Emma’s plate and rolled the bread around it. He was about to take a bite when he stopped and said, ‘Apparently he’s been fucking that girl – you know, Em, the daughter of that hippy you met at uni.’
‘Simon told you that?’ Emma was certain now that the colour was gone from her face, all of it.
‘Who?’ asked Mark, but he was ignored.
‘Not in those words,’ said David, wary of Emma’s wit.
‘What you mean to say is, in no words at all,’ she said, realising her interest in this point of fact was unaccountable but sure David wouldn’t pick this up.
‘I had a crush on my neighbour when I was a kid,’ said Mark. ‘She used to pay me to mow her lawn. She’d stand and watch. I’d take off my t-shirt. Now that I know more about women, especially older women – she would have been in her thirties, maybe forty – I reckon she was hot for me. Back then I thought it was just one way. I’d spy on her from my bedroom window, just trying to catch a glimpse of her naked. Now I know better. She was probably fantasising about me. You’d better watch this one,’ he said to David, nodding towards Emma. ‘Does the kid mow your lawn?’
‘Nobody is going to mow my lawn. I mow my own lawn, thank you very much,’ said Emma.
‘Emma!’ screamed Sally and laughed.
‘David has hired a smelly old man to do the garden. I bet you did it on purpose, too. But, now that I think of it, it would be cheaper to pay Jason to mow our lawn. Don’t you think?’
‘We’re moving,’ said David, pouting.
Emma laughed and Sally joined her. Mark smiled too. David had no idea of the undercurrents of desire present. David thrived on inane, flirty conversation. Nearly every long business lunch ended with such irreverent banter – that is, if a woman was present. He thought nothing of it. Of course that wasn’t always true of his companion – that is, the woman present.
With Mark at the table, Emma was uneasy about the flippant tone of the conversation but then she was also very happy David’s narrative had been stalled. She wanted to know what had happened to Jason, she just didn’t want the story to be told in front of Mark.
She noted Sally’s interest in David with pleasure. For two reasons, one wicked, and one – well, the other was wicked too, actually. The first was her desire to share her husband with Sally, the other was the hope that having been exposed to David’s more gentle, caring, intimate aspects, Sally might pick up on the differences between the two men. Emma assumed Sally would see that David was the better man. She’d be very happy if Sally filed for divorce. So many men could make Sally happy, but she’d prefer that the man wasn’t a vain jerk. How selfish of me, thought Emma.
‘We have to be the luckiest two men in the world. Just look at our beautiful wives.’
‘I’ll raise my glass to that. To beauty!’
‘To good fortune!’
‘To drinking in the sunshine and losing your minds!’ said Emma.
‘I’m not drunk, Emma,’ said Mark. ‘But looking at you two together overloads my senses, eh, David?’
‘Anyone for a swim?’ asked David, delivering them all from evil.
‘Don’t we have to wait half an hour after eating?’ asked Sally.
‘Are you three?’ joked David.
‘Excuse me, sir. I haven’t finished eating. How rude!’ said Emma, playing the stern mother. ‘If you like you can clear the table.’
Sally stood up immediately.
‘Sit down, Sally. Let the boys do it.’
‘But …’
‘Sit!’
The boys leapt up and began piling everything, hoping to make but one trip to the kitchen. Watching their buffoonery, Emma thought how she would never call a man like her father a boy, but saw her husband, his friends and her friends’ husbands as mere boys sometimes. Maybe it was the way they wagged their tails like excited pups whenever they were teased?
The boys left and Sally relaxed back in her chair, making the appropriate sound effects to really make sure she was comfortable.
‘I’m drunk, Em,’ she said. ‘I’m drunk.’
‘Yes, you are,’ replied Emma, reaching out her hand and squeezing Sally’s lightly. ‘But that’
s alright, we’re on holiday.’
‘Are the boys going for a swim?’
‘I think they are. Do you want to come down to the beach with me? We’ll set up the umbrella and you can have a snooze.’
‘You know what I want?’ said Sally, leaning closer to Emma.
‘What, Sal?’ she asked, in a conspiratorial tone.
Sally hung there for a while. She looked at Emma with a bleary-eyed intensity, then looked down to hide behind her eyelids. Emma waited. Sally held Emma’s wrist tightly.
‘I can’t say it,’ she finally confessed.
They both looked towards the kitchen where the men were stacking the dishwasher and probably discussing the merits of forks up or forks down, or some such stupid male obsession.
‘I know what it is anyway.’
‘Do you, Em?’ asked Sally, hopefully.
‘You want to fuck my husband,’ said Emma laughing.
‘No. Emma, no! I don’t. Listen, Emma,’ Sally lay her hand on Emma’s cheek to steady her face. ‘Look at me. Listen, Em. Listen.’
‘What?’
‘I want you to go down on me. I’ve been thinking about how you made me feel. I have, Em! Mark can’t do what you do.’
‘What can’t I do?’ said Mark, who seemed to have materialised beside them. One moment he was in the kitchen, the next he was right there. Both women jumped back and started laughing uproariously.
But the feeling was a strange one for Emma. Had Sally said I want you, Emma would have felt better about it. But now she felt slightly, well, yucky.
‘What can’t I do?’ repeated Mark, marvelling at the distinctive beauty of each of the women. He had nothing on his mind, nothing at all. He had a full stomach, the sun was shining, beer was plentiful, the house was lovely, and he felt truly blessed at that particular moment. If anything, vaguely, very vaguely, was the hope he might overcome what he thought was Emma’s unreasonable attitude towards him.
Adept as ever (could nothing catch this woman unawares?) Sally chimed in with:
‘Massage. Emma gave me a massage the other day. It was better than yours.’
‘Rubbish. Those tiny hands couldn’t give you a deep tissue workout,’ he said, holding his hands before Sally’s eyes, showing off their muscularity and size.
‘Emma’s was more relaxing, baby. She knows what a woman wants. Yours is good, for what it is, but sometimes gentle is better.’
‘Well maybe I can watch what Emma does and see if I can pick up any tips? Would you let me watch? Or is it secret women’s business?’
‘You can watch if Sally wants,’ said Emma, with a broad smile on her face. Sally was smiling too. ‘I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable though.’
‘How could you?’
‘Well, I’m good. Sally might make sounds with me she doesn’t make with you.’
‘Oh. I see. You think I might feel jealous.’
‘No, I was thinking you might feel inept.’
Sally couldn’t help but laugh now. She hadn’t wanted to, he was her husband, but it was too much for her. Mark just wasn’t going to catch on. He stood, smiling generously, looking beautiful but completely at a loss.
David came out. He’d stayed in to finish the cleaning up, but just couldn’t resist the sound of feminine laughter.
‘Shall we all go down for a swim? What do you think?’ he asked, taking hold of the back of each of the women’s chairs. He leant over and kissed Emma’s neck, lingering a moment longer because of her lovely scent.
‘I’m in,’ said Mark. ‘Come on, girls.’
‘We’ll come down with you. But I don’t know if I want to go in,’ said Emma, and received a tap with a bare foot beneath the table.
Sally was determined to stay in the house, it would appear. So they sent the boys off with a promise to join them.
THIRTEEN
When they were alone, after watching the boys cross the dune, Emma asked, ‘Where has the romance gone, Sal?’
Sally had no idea what Emma meant. She initially thought she was referring to something their husbands had, or hadn’t done, and laughed. But then found nothing to reproach them for. She was about to answer but realised she had nothing to say.
‘Let me put it this way. I love you, babe. No one gives head like you do,’ Emma said, in a low, slow, very stupid sounding voice, lampooning the sentiments of a vast majority of males.
‘I’m sorry, Em. If that’s how I sounded. Oh, how awful!’ Sally rose from her seat and came to sit on Emma’s knee. She threw her arm around her friend’s neck and kissed her on the lips. Emma welcomed her. ‘I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it like that. Honestly.’
‘You made me feel yucky, Sal.’
‘I’m sorry, baby, I am. Truly. Forgive me?’ asked Sally, before kissing Emma’s lips again. ‘You make me feel so hot, Em. You do, and I forget myself. I try not to think of it, I try to be good. But the alcohol … When I’m around you I feel anything can happen; I feel I can do or say anything.’
Emma listened to her friend in two minds. She resented being made responsible for Sally’s loss of personal control, even if Sally had blamed the alcohol.
On the other hand, Sally was sitting on her lap, being affectionate. She loved Sally, and always had, knowing full well her limitations and yawning deficiencies, as, presumably, Sally was aware of Emma’s failings. But then, that was part of the problem. She wondered whether Sally was as flexible in that regard. Could she forgive Emma as readily as Emma could forgive her? Sally truly had a kind of blind faith in Emma, a readiness to abdicate responsibility in her presence. This caused Emma anxiety. Sally would certainly blame Emma if anything went wrong. And due to Sally’s limitations Emma could not always safely assume what wrong was for Sally.
Emma could see the boys down by the water’s edge. They were standing, arms folded, observing the surf, presumably discussing something of importance. The swell was much larger now than it had been in the morning. She had no fear for their safety, both were strong swimmers.
Emma felt Sally’s soft kisses on her neck. She was trying hard to be strong, for what reason she could not say, for some principle she should probably uphold, most likely. The kisses were soft and delectable, warm and moist, and they sent delight through the whole of her body. Sally was purring, or as close to purring as a woman can get, and Emma could not resist stroking the cat in her lap.
She noticed the boys diving into the surf as her hand ran along Sally’s thigh. She watched their bodies rise out of the waves to dive again. She wondered how long they would stay in the water. Or, more precisely, how long she had with Sally.
Sally lifted her head from Emma’s neck and kissed her properly, on the lips. A spark was generated by this kiss, which ignited the highly flammable tinder box of lust that lay in each woman’s breast. There was an explosion and that one lingering kiss began to burn, and their skin smouldered and fused as they pressed together. Harder, heavier and hotter was their embrace, with hands and fingers, thighs and hips moving and grinding, and pressing and thrusting, like flames in dance.
Now Sally sat on the edge of a chair and Emma knelt between her open legs. Emma’s warm palms ran along the soft skin of Sally’s thighs moving slowly upstream. Their kisses had become deeper, slower and more intense, like the heat of the red coals after the first flush of bright, leaping flames. Emma’s hands reached their goal and held Sally’s butt, a hand gripping each fleshy cheek, pulling Sally to her. Sally was being undone – the alcohol and Emma’s presence tempting her to give in to desire, tempting her to feel more, to ache openly, and to take.
‘Not here, Emma!’ she said, verbalising her fears and solidifying her perversions.
The daylight seemed brighter to her knowing the boys were around. The beach house had been thoroughly debauched by the girls but the boys had normalised it again with their presence. The balcony had seen much this past week – nakedness, sex, love – but now, with neighbours about and the beach dotted with family groups, kit
es being flown, a large group of surfers out the back of the break, Sally felt naked in her bikini. She had worn her sarong all morning. Having Emma kissing her in such a place at such a time was so very wrong. Anyone might be watching. Not clearly, for sure, but from any distance they were definitely two women in an embrace.
‘Please, Em, let’s go inside,’ she begged. But Emma seemed not to hear, she just kissed her harder, more passionately, and Sally teetered on the edge of reason. Emma’s reluctance to pay any attention to her wishes just served to turn Sally on more. She was being taken against her will now, ravished by her friend in front of the world. She could see a neighbour lying on her stomach on a banana chair by the pool next door, her fat white thighs spilling over the sides.
‘Oh, Emma!’ she said, breaking from their kiss for a moment and looking into Emma’s eyes, eyes which were monstrous in their intensity. Their hunger frightened her. ‘Please, stop!’ she said with determination, but she welcomed Emma’s next kiss. ‘Please,’ she said, between kisses, in a lovely, sexy, seductive whisper, ‘stop,’ and kissed her again, devouring Emma as wildly as Emma devoured her.
The natural anxiety of being discovered heightened all of her physical sensations, enhancing each touch, each long, deep kiss. Each of Sally’s words, her own protestations excited her, but not nearly as much as they excited Emma. Poor Emma was manic, almost overcome by her desire.
‘The boys will catch us, Emma.’
‘Let them,’ she said, knowing her unconcern would only serve to intensify Sally’s anxieties.
Emma slid out of their next kiss and without any ado pulled down Sally’s bikini bottoms from under her sarong.
‘No, not here, Emma. The neighbours!’ she said gasping, but obliged her friend readily by lifting herself as they were peeled away. How wet she was!
The Secret Lives of Emma: Distractions Page 6
