Eight Rooms

by Various

  After I had seduced Tiffany I felt that the objects were again charged with my presence. If her Visitor came back, he would now be nothing more than a guest, as I had made it my room, as we had been together in there in a manner that he could not supersede. The objects had witnessed it, and they would look condescendingly on him if those acts were repeated. The Visitor did not have superiority over me, because I had laid the objects there to witness him myself. From now on I possessed her, and therefore the consequences of her actions were also my possession, because the objects I had placed were, if you like, guardians of my superiority.

  Once that had taken place, no more was said on the matter. Tiffany occasionally expressed some concern that I no longer wished to make love to her, but assuming the persona of man who is opposite to me, I had answers that kept her in my flat. Now I had her under my control, I did not want her to leave. I knew that if she did she would only be replaced by someone else who might lay claim to my body.

  The problems escalated when the man returned. Tiffany had tried her best to hide this from me, but I knew the shuffle of her pages, the swish of the sheets, and the wump of her mattress only too well. It was a comfort to know that the lampshade and the fridge were there, maintaining my superiority in the room. What sparked difficulty was finding a filofax of his during a routine check of her room. In itself, of course, this wasn’t a problem. I had three objects in there to his one, but it was probably fair to take this as an aggressive act towards me, an attempt to liberate Anna. My first thought was to check that it was his possession, but deep down I knew that it had to be. As suspected, on the first page, in bold, black lettering carved into the page, were the words ‘Paul Reid’.

  A wave of emotion rose up inside me that I couldn’t quell. At first I felt a powerful anger that crashed through me like a wave, instilling in me an almost euphoric hatred towards the man. I felt a strange venom course through my limbs, filling them with a potent and strange, swinging pleasure. My first thought was of violence, but soon the ecstasy started to fade from my blood. My analytical, cold and dispassionate mind started to leave such feelings behind. I realised I could find a way to overcome any designs this man may have.

  The first stage involved finding a way to observe Paul Reid and Tiffany in their most intimate moments. This would be essential in order to deliver the second stage of my plan. Soon my mind started to torment me at work. I had to overcome this extra Visitor, while he was full of body and still had the potential to cause me mental harm. I began to think of more and more ingenious ways to carry out the first stage of my plan. What constants were there in the room? The fridge, the lampshade, and the gilt-edged mirror on the wall. By chance, the room adjacent to Tiffany’s was a study, which was only accessible through a hallway.

  I drew surreptitious advice from a detective I had worked with in the past who had helped me track down a rare manuscript. With his advice, I was able to buy, for relatively little cost, a camera small enough to fit into the gouged out eyes of one of the cherubs on the mirror. From this I was able to observe the goings on in the room in acute detail. It was only one afternoon’s work to remove a panel in the fridge and replace it with a recording device and then to feed a small microphone (purchased from the same company) to the exterior of its casing so that I would have an audio soundtrack to accompany my images.

  I worked on the principle that only by calculating the exact amount of pain a person can inflict upon you can you measure its retribution accordingly.

  It is important to mention that I observed the events in her room for no personal thrill of my own. In fact, in the proceedings that follow, I was surprised that my observations caused me no pleasure in any sense. This was a functional act by a reasonable man to regain control over his house, and therefore his own body.

  It was four days later when Paul Reid returned. Him and Tiffany talked quietly in the kitchen for between ten and fifteen minutes when a ‘tish, tish’ sound signalled that they were making a drink. When they retired to the room, I drew the blinds. That ochre light was still moving into the room. It didn’t blast in or make efforts to intrude, but it formed a semicircle on the white floorboards immediately beneath the window. The night had now fallen and Anna was not due back for at least two hours. I looked outside to see if the same car was slowing down in the road beneath the window. When I saw that it wasn’t I was unsure whether I felt relief or panic. If something is watching you, in a peculiar way it is a relief to know that it has persisted with its intentions. If it suddenly stops then it is likely to be an indicator that events are to change, that there is no longer a need to observe you. With the fragility of the moment, perhaps I even wanted to be observed. Later on I heard a cars engine sigh by that window and then build in motion as it sped away, and I felt satisfied.

  It suddenly struck me that I was about to witness something unique. Two people alone in a room navigate their interactions almost purely on guesswork. There is no textbook, or agreed tome as to how a man should react when he is meeting a woman following an intimate encounter, when they have not yet formed an exclusive relationship. There is the unspoken promise that, all things are equal, the interactions will lead to such a pairing, but although this conclusion is reasonable (and in retrospect even defensible), it is unreasonable to explicitly state it as the reason for returning until the relations between the two people are deemed inevitable. In similar situations that I had encountered, I had been surprised at how difficult it was to measure the minutiae of such actions. When was it appropriate to sit close? When was it appropriate to make her laugh? And when was a suitable time to advance on this weakness you had exploited?

  I had walked through these motions in seducing Anna, and I had been successful. I realised that I was in a special position being able to watch another man try to reach the same conclusion with the same person. All variables other than me were excluded. It was the perfect experiment. From observing this encounter, I could gain an unusual insight into how the actions of our bodies cause consequence. I could learn what actions of mine, repeated with another woman would be successful or unsuccessful, without having to risk the rejection myself. I also gained a certain satisfaction from suspecting that I had made these steps before Paul Reid.

  Through the scope of the camera I could see that Paul Reid was leaning on the edge of the desk, sipping a drink. Tiffany was tracing her fingers along a bookshelf, and I could hear through the microphone that she was laughing, although I could not make out her words. This lack of information did not cause me to be concerned in redressing the balance I was seeking to make my retribution complete. From watching their behaviour, I conceded that when I had been alone with Tiffany she had not laughed as frequently as she was with him, and she had not used her face as much when she did. I had driven the occasion towards a functional goal, whereas Paul Reid seemed to be almost revelling in the enjoyment of the process.

  She took out a book and passed it to him, and he moved to the end of the bed to receive it. Now he was leafing through it, turning the pages backwards and forwards while she stood over him, one hand or her hips, curling the lock of hair behind her ears. This was the same motion she had performed with me before I had enquired about a book in her room. She was now laughing yet again, and as she did she stepped back. She pointed at the book and he looked up, held her gaze squarely and then returned a glance that lasted a second longer than was merely platonic. He dropped the book, opened his hands and cocked his head to one side. With the tips of his fingers he motioned for her to come nearer. She did, under the guise that she was reaching for the book. With a sudden and strong movement, he pulled her onto his lap.

  I had performed this motion differently, and was surprised that the deviousness of his approach had worked. I understood that a kind of ‘open deviousness’ in these situations alone was not undesirable. Tiffany was an intelligent woman who would have known that she was putting herself in a situation that could allow this to occur. When I had been in her room, I had been
studying a paper on her desk and she had stood beside me to show me the lines on the page that I had feigned interest in. When her hand had reached over me, I had seen this as a sign that she was willingly invading my personal space, and in a second (to make her action seem instinctive and natural) I had placed my hand on top of hers and looked squarely into her eyes. Paul Reid and I had this motion, as a precursor to a kiss, in common. I had then kissed her squarely on the lips, whereas Paul Reid had opted to start with a kiss on the neck. I learnt from this. I realised that, in so doing, Paul Reid had allowed her the time and physical reaction to want to be kissed on the lips, whereas I had created a situation where it was likely, but not necessarily wanted. I suspected that, as a consequence, Tiffany felt she wanted to kiss Paul Reid more than me. I accepted this as a mistake that would have to be taken into account.

  In that second two things happened which were telling. Tiffany reached for the book at the right of his waist, as if she was sitting on his lap to have an excuse to reach it. I caught a sudden smile. When his head raised (and presumably the volume of his voice relative to hers), she pulled in the smile so that it did not seem as wide. His hand started to stroke her hair, and smiling she twisted her head away from his. Paul Reid responded with an almost comic reaction, which seemed well-balanced. He took her head in both hands and looked into her face, his expression earnest to the point of being funny. She laughed, a wide, mirthful laugh, and twisted her head away from him. In that second he kissed her quickly on the neck. I thought I saw her shiver and smile. This was different to how I had first kissed her, when I had done so directly, grabbing the back of her head, forcing her to kiss me firmly to extract any pleasure from it. Paul Reid kissed further down her neck, the muscles of which were now protruding under the harsh bleached light. He had again given her further time to want him to kiss her, whereas I had seen such a pause as risky in allowing her time to reconsider her position and withdraw. I had traded surety of success (a lack of confidence) for an act that would guarantee her more pleasure and therefore, in the long-term, lead to a deeper connection. I again learnt from my mistake.

  She was now lying flat on the bed, in a slightly awkward position that was only offset by the firm smile on her face. Her position looked slightly limp, but at the same time unnatural, and I saw the back of his head as he moved his legs around so that he was straddling her feet. He appeared to be holding the tips of her fingers and making her laugh, whereas I had pushed her hard onto the bed and ground my body against her in a way that almost forced a physical response that would make her visually complicit in agreeing to have sex.

  Although either approach met with the same result (that we left our saliva in her mouth), they were still almost opposite methods. How could opposite methods of seduction lead to the same result? I realised that they did not, it was the approach that precisely defined the reaction, and this was what affected me most in what happened next. His inclusive, tender approach would lead to an increased intimacy that mine had forsaken. Pulling her hands nearer to him, seemingly with the ‘open deviousness’ that he wanted to hear her better, he suddenly started again to kiss her neck and the smile returned to her face, a smile which he could not see, in contrast to the serious expression on her face when I had glimpsed at her during this act. She seemed to be enjoying him more than me.

  Her body squirmed and flushed as he kissed her neck, down to the nape of her shirt, which revealed a chevron of pale flesh. He unbuttoned the top of her trousers and she lifted her trunk, allowing him a second or two to peel them off (and with a small giggle that implied they both wanted the same thing) and her white knickers. This was a similar arrangement to mine, without the laughter.

  The movements of his elbows suggested he was unbuttoning her shirt and, as his mouth moved down to her waist, her breasts surged forward, dressed in a more elaborate lingerie than they had been for me. In giving her more time to realise the inevitable seduction he had allowed her to plan for it more effectively. And in them both acknowledging this preparation he had in turn made her see the importance of him to her.

  Instead of caressing the underside of her breasts while kissing her firmly, he was gently kissing certain features of her body (I ascertained from the way he lingered at her torso that he was kissing the mole above her pubic hair as though it was some sort of medal). Her body was twisting, in a manner that I had not had the time to afford her. Her shirt fell from her chest, and with one hand she unclasped her bra and allowed it to loop over one elbow.

  Suddenly I heard through the wall a cry of delight as his mouth made contact with her vagina. Her vagina had been only partially moist when I had moved my fingers over its exterior but judging from her reaction to his mouth she had been expectant of it in a way that increased her pleasure and intimacy when it did occur. My tongue had only briefly passed over the outside of her vagina (to ensure her readiness) but I watched as her slightly large white thighs trembled as his head gyrated into her waist. Her fingers clambered over the back of his head and pushed his tongue further inside her. When I had performed oral sex on her, her hands had remained limp and only partially open at the sides of her head. They had barely quivered. When my tongue had moved over her clitoris it had been with a firmness that was in stark contrast to his gentle lapping, and although my approach had initially caused her to shriek more loudly, his was causing a crescendo of pleasure that made it appear she might orgasm for real.

  I had allowed her the courtesy of a fake orgasm at this point, pretending to ignore the lack of any kind of physical response. He seemed to almost have no interest in the physical consequences of his actions. Paul Reid seemed single-minded in his determination to increase her pleasure. Her fingers were now moving through his hair in an exaggerated manner to exacerbate his desire to pleasure her. Her ululations against him increased, her body writhing harder against his mouth. Her hair whipped over her face, settling in a half-open fan over her nose and against her lips, rising and falling as she blew in pleasure. The frequency of her trembling increased until her body hung for a second, suspended in a fairly short orgasm, and then her thighs relaxed.

  He moved up her body to kiss her, but in a second she had slipped her head down against his side, untying his belt and letting his erect penis move out. He stood perfectly still to allow this to happen, and to make sure there was no interruption. My brief oral contact had led to me unbuckling my trousers and then, on the second attempt, pushing my erect penis into her vagina, increasing in force. With one glance up at his face, and a lopsided smile, she licked her lips and pressed the tip of her tongue to the top of his penis. Her tongue was wetter than it had been beneath me as she salivated over the swollen red muscle, which looked almost furious with anger. Looking up at him with doe-eyed commitment, her lips trembled down the sun-starved white flesh of his penis, dribbling in small bubbles in a way that the corner of her lips had done as she had kissed me. His white bottom lifted from the covers as he pumped into her mouth, her sticky open lips smeared with lipstick that spread to her cheeks as he masturbated into her nose and cheeks, ejaculating in a white messy stream on her face. I was being superseded.

  At this point, I felt I had gathered enough information for me to secure my retribution, and I left the lovers to their privacy. As my head leant away from the image on the screen I felt exhausted. I had observed such minute details of their interactions that I almost felt I had undertaken some form of physical exertion. In spite of myself, I felt some connection with Paul Reid – the same invasive connection a man feels when introduced to the ex-boyfriend of a lover. A situation that demands that you feign politeness, even friendliness, although festering under the surface is a vile raft of intoxicating questions. In such a situation, our evolution compels us to assert our authority over the other man. We have to balance an outwardly friendly appearance (to placate the partner present), but at the same time manage to acquire enough information to convince ourselves of some kind of shallow and pathetic superiority. We scavenge for scrap
s to make ourselves justified in our efforts; we convince ourselves that we are superior in looks, intelligence, dress, ambition. In such situations, it is possible that when left alone the two men will even engage well due to the unspoken agreement of some shared prey. Yet, given the opportunity to exercise violence on one another in a socially acceptable manner, the men will be barbaric. They would exercise cruelty through channels slick with the slime that evolution’s impossible demands leave on us. Impossible demands to assert our authority covered only with a veil of societies’ requirements for rational behaviour. Violence would be cathartic, not only as a physical manifestation of superiority, but also as a method of establishing who was The Key Player in that environment.

  At that moment, I felt a tremor arise in me at the thought that I might not be The Key Player in the house anymore. I quelled this fear with the same ferocity with which I approached my work. With the same quiet assurance that allowed me to conduct my life calmly, through knowing that I had something over my fellow man. From what I had gathered in Tiffany’s room, Paul Reid occupied a teaching position at the university. From this I took solace in the exclusiveness of my abilities, in knowing that what I had to offer was more unique than him.

  A man can know his place in the world by knowing how easily he can be replaced, and I knew I was less replaceable than him. The key sources of comfort to me were in earning more than him, in commanding more respect than him, and in knowing that in a contest for her affections I had more power. He was younger than me, but not so young that my experience would be a disadvantage. Physical strength and appearance barely featured in my thoughts. If my movement was more precise than him, the pauses in my speech more evocative, the structure of my face better under a stark strip-light, then that accentuated my advantage. This man was nothing more than an appendix to the text I had written on her. He was there as a consequence of my decision. On a base level, I simply felt better at knowing that I had slept with her first as well.