Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

by Eva Mazza

  She moisturised her body and carefully dried her hair. After getting into her new underwear, she admired herself in the mirror. What are you expecting to do tonight, you vixen? She turned around to check her derrière. Not the best bottom, Ms Pearce. She wore her new wrap dress she’d bought that evening and applied a little mascara and eyeliner. She took one final look at herself. Her dress plunged at the neckline, nipped her waist and opened to show a hint of thigh as she walked. Very unsubtle, she concluded. She dabbed on perfume and left the apartment with a palpitating heart.

  Myron’s home in the upmarket suburb practically hung over a cliff. It seemed to be constructed entirely from glass. Jen wondered what the hell she thought she was doing as she rang the doorbell. She had had another vodka tonic before leaving, the effects of which seemed to be wearing off fast.

  Before she could retreat, Myron had opened the door and his friendly welcome put her at ease.

  She burst out, “I lied!”

  “You did?” Myron responded, still standing in the open doorway.

  “Before I make a complete ass of myself, I need to ask if you’re gay?”

  He laughed, “I’m Greek, single and have immaculate taste.”

  Jen’s shoulders sagged. Maybe it was too good to be true. How could he have possibly been straight?

  “Okay, then I didn’t lie. It is what I said it was: a catch-up,” she said as she stepped over the threshold and took in her surroundings. This is definitely a gay man’s abode. It was impeccably furnished with modern, industrial elements enhancing the structure of glass, stark concrete and iron beams running from ceiling to floor. Items were placed for impact rather than practicality and there were numerous paintings and artworks – three pieces unmistakably by Madi Phala, renowned for his ‘herd boy’ theme.

  “A Dylan Lewis bowl! I’ve always hoped that one day I’d have one on display in my home. Pity my bag is so tiny,” she joked.

  Myron leaned against the front door and watched her take in the vastness of the place. She could hear a grin in his voice as he said, “I’m not gay, Jen. You are so presumptuous. I am a single man who hired an interior designer who was given carte blanche as I have no fucking idea about interiors and I’m too bloody busy to care.”

  “Ohhhh. Then I’ll have to go back to my introductory confession. I did lie.” She walked towards him, close enough to feel his body’s warmth.

  “Mmmm, well, ’fess up. What’s the lie?” he teased as he closed the door.

  “I didn’t come to catch up. I came to pick up where we left off at school.”

  “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” She could tell he was trying to play the innocent.

  “No,” she said, as she moved her body even closer. Pressing her groin up against his, she could feel him stir. “I really don’t want to know anything about you, Myron. I just want to… What’s the word my kids used to use? Hook up with you. Bag you.”

  “I think the word you are looking for is ‘shag’.”

  “I think shag is less explicit than what I had in mind, but let’s go with that. Are you okay to be used and abused?” She hardly recognised her seductive voice.

  “Jen, that’s what every man dreads: an easy lay.”

  They both smiled, and Jen leaned in to kiss him, feeling that familiar urge: the forgotten lust of youth. She never imagined she could ever feel this way again. After a time, she pulled away. “I think your hand was here when we were last together,” she said as she placed his hand on her breast.

  He cupped it, and her nipple rose. “Where was my other hand?” he asked, feigning innocence.

  “I don’t know, Myron, I honestly can’t remember,” she said hoarsely, aware of the intense stirring in her loins. “What I do remember is that my arms were around you. Like this.”

  She placed her arms around his shoulders, clasping her hands behind his neck, and, pouting, said, “Sadly, I’m not that innocent any more, and I was thinking of placing one hand here.” She touched his groin. He sucked in air as her hand pressed harder against him. She lowered herself, her face in line with his crotch, as she unbuttoned his jeans and slid his zip down, excruciatingly slowly. She wasn’t as slow with his jocks. There was a need to unveil him. He was hard, yes, and very well endowed.

  Myron leaned back against the door and closed his eyes as she nuzzled him. “I see you have very little to be embarrassed about,” she murmured. He smiled, his eyes still shut. “Before I go any further, does your ‘member’ have a name?”

  “What?” Myron asked, his eyes now wide open and looking down at her quizzically.

  As if she were speaking into a microphone at an information kiosk, she repeated more clearly, “Do you have a name for your dick? Do I address him by name?”

  He snorted. “No, I don’t. If you want to christen my shaft, feel free, but please hurry up. I need your mouth.”

  Jen moved her lips up against his nameless member. “Oh good. If you had named it, I would have had to go back to Plan B, which is to…”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he was in her mouth, and she was turned on by his urgency. I think you’re enjoying this, Jen. You’re a bad girl! Years of withholding from John and now you’ve all but swallowed Myron whole.

  Jen ran her finger along the line leading to just under Myron’s butt. He groaned with pleasure and pushed her head closer to him so that he could get deeper into her. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t gagging! This was one thing that she and the girls would bitch about: ‘the helping hand’.

  “I mean really,” Shelley would scream with laughter. “It’s bad enough having to cram a whole bratwurst down my throat, let alone have that ‘helping hand’ to guide me!”

  Jen had to rein in her thoughts or she was going to burst out laughing.

  Then Myron stopped her, pulling her to her feet. “I’m going to explode without having pleased you,” he said. “Unless that’s what you want? You’ve made it very clear that you are in control tonight.”

  He suggested moving away from the door, but she shook her head and untied her wrap dress, which fell open exposing her lace underwear. Her brown nipples were pert and peeked through the lace of her bra and she knew that her pubic hair, thankfully waxed and trimmed at the spa – at great expense to John – cast an enticing dark shadow under her knickers.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Jen,” Myron whispered. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “Oh my God, you are just beautiful.”

  Okay, fabulous. The practical underwear in my wardrobe will have to go to charity. The French should be canonised.

  “Take your dress off,” he said.

  Is he kidding? He wants to see the whole of the moon? Not sure I will look as good without the dress framing my silhouette. But then she remembered her meeting with Leonard in the morning and decided to do as she was told. The last thing she needed was love stains all over her one and only item of clean clothing.

  She took a deep breath and removed her dress as sexily as possible, remembering to suck in her tummy. But Myron hadn’t noticed. He pulled her towards him as he expertly unclasped her bra. His hands were on her as he hungrily felt her up, squeezing her nipples and weighing each breast in his hands. It’s obvious they’re ample, she thought, as his head dived into them. Parting like the Red Sea, Myron allowed himself time to frolic between them before coming up for air. She closed her eyes and began to relax and enjoy the idea that he may just find her absolutely tantalising. Her body began to rock against his and she was coaxing his hand to touch her between her thighs. It was clear that he was now in charge, and, instead, he grabbed her butt and squeezed, gently at first and then again with more pressure. She groaned.

  “Please, please, I want to feel you inside me.”

  He kissed her hard, stopping her from saying another word while he ran his fingers under the elastic of her knickers. She moved her hips longingly. Touch me, she pleaded to herself. Touch me. His fingers skimmed over her, teasingly, while his teeth bit gently i
nto her nipples. She thought she was going to burst when she felt his fingers move under her panties.

  Her body convulsed. He pulled her panties to the side, lifted her up, her legs wrapped around his waist as he entered her. They stood still for a moment, enjoying the newness of each other. Before long, their bodies started to move, pounding the front door.

  Jen wanted him deeper inside her and she ordered him to put her down.

  “Lie on your back,” she whispered. She stood over him, her back to him as she removed her knickers and he writhed with desire at what he saw. She slowly sank onto him, riding him feverishly, and before long they were both panting and crying out.

  She eased off him, put her knickers back on, clipped back the clasp of her bra and tied up her dress. She noticed that she was still wearing her sandals. Grabbing her bag and her keys, she blew him a kiss and opened the door.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, as she closed the door behind her, a broad grin on her face.

  Part Three

  Twenty-eight

  Although Faith had covered Frankie’s shoulders with a blanket, she still trembled. Her trusted helper had taken on a supportive role since the tragic news; it was Faith who had spoken to Frans. He had instructed her to tell “Madam Frankie that Madam Shelley was on her way with her friends”, and that he would be there as soon as he could.

  All Frankie wanted, needed, besides Lee’s arms around her, was her friend Jen, and she had urged Faith to phone her. Jen’s phone was on voicemail.

  Instead, Frankie had found John standing in front of her, a hangdog expression on his face. She glanced at him and then looked away. He was the last person she wanted to see – a reminder of her betrayal. In fact, he was why Lee had stormed out of their house, which in turn had led to his fatal crash.

  John’s words of condolence echoed through her. “I’m really sorry, Frankie,” he said. She ignored him. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare of which John was an integral part. He tentatively placed his hand on an unresponsive leg. “It feels hypocritical to mourn, I know. But he was my best friend. I’m devastated.”

  Frankie’s face was stained with tears. Her head moved slowly from side to side.

  He continued, hand firmer now on her thigh. “If anyone knows, it’s me. Cheating doesn’t mean you loved him less. God knows, I’m also guilty; I cheated on him too. But I refuse to allow the guilt to get in the way; you mustn’t either.” When she finally turned to look at him, he was sobbing unashamedly.

  Disgusted, she struggled to push his hand from her leg.

  “You are despicable, John. Lee’s dead because he found out about you.”

  John’s sobs came to an abrupt halt and he wiped the tears away with his hands.

  “My husband was in an absolute state when he left the house last night.”

  John tried to touch her again.

  “Don’t you dare come near me! Don’t touch me!” she hissed.

  “Okay,” John said, retracting his arm. “It upsets me that you think I’m the cause of all of this. We were both involved, Frankie. But if you want to pin this all on me, do it. If it makes you feel better…”

  She spoke over him. Not listening to a word he had to say.

  “He uncovered a whole lot more, you know.”

  John’s head jerked back.

  “Son of a bitch!” she hissed at him again.

  Although she had managed to finally shut him up, the nightmare still played on.

  “He drove away last night at such a speed; it’s no wonder he crashed. Don’t speak to me about guilt. You have no scruples, John. I know I’ve been a pretty shit wife, but you, you’re not only an adulterous husband, you’re a cheating lover too.”

  She began to laugh at this ridiculous notion. The shrill laughter brought Faith running in to check up on her. Both Frankie and John gestured for her to leave them alone.

  Frowning, he said, “Look, Patty was a mistake. You know that.”

  She scowled at him.

  “I don’t understand,” he said as he combed his fingers through his hair.

  For the first time since she had sunk into Lee’s armchair, she hauled herself out. He followed her, but she swung around and barked, “Stay where you are!”

  He complied. She could feel his eyes on her as she shuffled like an old woman to her bedroom, returning with the incriminating images. “You piece of crap,” she hissed, throwing them in his face. “Now fuck off out of my house. I never want to see you again, you hear me?”

  She saw him wince as a corner of a photo nicked his face, and it gave her pleasure. Sitting back down into Lee’s chair, she watched as he picked up each photograph from the floor, studying them one at a time as he did so.

  “The fucking bastard!” he murmured with every implicating picture. “He had me followed. All his life he wanted to pin something on me and he couldn’t, until now.” Frankie glared at him. “Sadly, my friend is dead, but now I’ve got these pictures it’s just your word, Frankie. The word of a two-timing whore. If it gets out that you and I were fucking, you may as well say goodbye to everyone who respects you.” Frankie’s eyes widened. “And you know better than I do that you will be doing your late husband’s reputation a huge disservice. The last thing he would’ve wanted is a scandal.”

  “Get out!” Frankie screamed. Then, remembering that Faith was waiting in the wings, she whispered, “Just get out!”

  John walked away, evidence in hand, then swiftly turned. “Remember, you are the devastated widow and I’m the best friend. So far, your performance has been sterling, and I will have a chance to shine at my friend’s funeral,” John’s tone hardened. “Where I will be pallbearer and I will be given an opportunity to speak. Believe it or not, I am truly devastated, and I will not be made to feel that I have no right to be.”

  At that moment, Shelley and her friends entered the room bearing dishes of food and concerned facial expressions.

  “I’m just leaving,” he said to them.

  She heard Shelley whisper, “How’s she doing?” Not giving him a chance to answer, she quizzed, “Did you manage to get hold of Jen?”

  John answered aloud, “No. We haven’t been able to reach her as yet.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t see,” John retorted as he lifted the tinfoil from the dish she was carrying. He grabbed a frikadel before he walked towards his car. “Focus on what matters, ladies,” he said, his mouth full of fried mincemeat. “Lee is dead. That’s why you’re here remember?”

  Before rushing off to Frankie, John had called Brigit to relay the tragic news. She was inconsolable. She didn’t care if her father might think her reaction over the top. My godfather is dead! It felt so surreal. Death’s unpredictability had become a reality to Brigit and it frightened her. She had spoken to him only yesterday. He was alive only yesterday!

  Yesterday’s morning paper’s headline had read, PROF SUSPENDED FOR ALLEGED SEX WITH STUDENTS. Shaking, she had opened the paper, searching for the article that read: “The dean of faculty has taken firm action against Professor Pierre Renoux, English department head and professor, for allegedly fraternising with students from the university. According to the statement, many have felt aggrieved by his alleged misconduct and are happy that action has finally been taken against him.”

  Without thinking, she had dialled Lee’s number.

  He answered immediately. “Brigit?”

  “Have you seen the headlines of the papers?” her voice could not contain the rush she felt.

  “No, I haven’t had a chance.”

  “Well, do yourself a favour and read it. Seems like the horny professor has been suspended! Finally, he’s got his comeuppance.”

  She remembered the silence that followed. Lee hadn’t asked her how or why. And then it had dawned on her. “If I didn’t know different, I would think that you had something to do with Pierre’s suspension, Mister Holms.”

  Lee laughed. “As much as I’d love to take responsibility
for this, I’m afraid I had nothing to do with it. Wish I was that kind of guy.”

  “Well, whatever. I’m glad!” Brigit said vehemently. “That should make finding his next appointment very, very difficult.”

  “You are a vengeful woman, Miss Pearce,” he teased. “I’m pleased this bit of bad news has made your day and you feel vindicated.”

  “I do feel vindicated.”

  She would never speak to Lee again. She would never see him again.

  John interrupted her thoughts.

  “Brigit are you listening to me? I’m going to check up on Frankie. You need to get hold of Pete. Tell him he needs to come to the farm immediately. It’s not up for negotiation. We have to be around as a family to show our support and love. Remember there’s Clive as well.”

  Then he said, “Mom’s not answering my calls or my messages.”

  “I spoke to her yesterday. She said she was at home.”

  “Yes, she was, but she left early this morning without telling me, and she hasn’t come back. I’ve tried calling but her phone is off.”

  “You can’t exactly blame her, can you, Dad? She’s angry.”

  “I know she’s angry with me but in the grand scheme of things, this is far more important. I have lost my best friend, Brig. My best friend. How do you think I’m feeling?”

  Brigit felt a pang of guilt. She had forgotten that Lee and he had grown up together – that they were practically brothers.

  “Anyway, Frankie’s been asking for her and it looks bad, me not knowing where she is and her not answering my calls. You know what everyone’s like. They’re already talking.”

  “Well, just tell them that she’s still at the spa,” Brigit advised.

  She tried her mother’s number immediately after. It went straight to voicemail. She left both a voice message as well as a text message for Jen to contact her urgently.

  Now all that Brigit had to do was convince Pete to come back.

  “I don’t see why I have to. It’s not like Frankie needs my shoulder to cry on. I’ll be at the funeral.”