But I can’t deny that this sex-wallpaper covers all the many, many cracks in my relationship with Mary. Or, at least, it did.
Because it feels like Mary’s let me down by misjudging things with Thomas. And just to underline how much she has lost her usual astute touch tonight, she doesn’t even seem to have realised what she’s done. So maybe that’s why I do the thing I do next.
Or maybe I just want to punish her. Want to make her feel bad right now like I feel bad. Or maybe I don’t want to be this Mr Cripple anymore, who might be good enough for a pervert like Mary but certainly isn’t good enough for a real person.
Or maybe it’s just an accident.
Accidents will happen. Fucking tell me about it.
The ‘accidents’ happen two days later. I do two really bad things, one after the other. One at physio, one at the social club. I don’t know why I do them, or if I even mean to do them. Obviously there must be a connection to the whole Thomas fuck-up, but I don’t know if I would have done either of the bad things if it hadn’t been for the conversation I had with my Callum, my physiotherapist, right beforehand.
Before I got to physio I might have said I was getting over the whole Thomas thing. Mary and I had just spent the whole weekend in bed, and by the time I’ve reeled from Friday night’s horror to Tuesday’s physio I’m on the up.
Except that as soon as I’m rolling through the hospital’s doors I feel all weird about it again. And that’s not a big surprise. I mean, I might not be a genius when it comes to the workings of the human mind, but I can see why being at physio might remind me of that whole mess – Thomas strolling into my living room and calling me a pervert for being in a wheelchair.
So I’m already antsy when Callum sits down and starts what I can only describe as a woefully mistimed heart-to heart.
‘Look,’ he says fixing me with an earnest expression. We’re sitting at a white plastic table, the sort you’d find in a suburban garden, in a corner of the big gymnasium. Eleanor is there too, for some reason. I don’t know why; she hasn’t said anything.
‘I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you for a while,’ Callum continues, ‘about your progress.’
‘What about it?’ I say, with a small shrug.
‘Well, look, David, there’s no easy way to broach this, but…’ And it’s then that I notice that Callum seems very uneasy, and start to feel a bit uneasy myself.
‘Well, don’t look at me for help,’ I say, trying to lighten the heavy mood, ‘you’re the one who gets paid for being here.’
Callum smiles, but his tone doesn’t get any brighter. ‘OK, David, the fact is, I want to ask you, is walking still your ultimate goal?’
Woah! And just like that urban 4x4 two years ago, I never saw that one coming. I don’t know how long it is before I manage an answer, but at last I say, ‘I don’t know.’ And I look down into my can of Coke so I don’t have to look at Callum. ‘You tell me. You’re the doctor.’ (Although I know he isn’t.)
Callum says, ‘Well, I don’t know any better than you, David. No one knows. A lot of it is down to what you want.’ He fixes me with a placid look.
‘Well, if it’s that simple,’ I say, not sparing the sarcasm, ‘if it’s just down to what I want, then I’ll walk home right now. And I’ll have a ten-inch cock that comes fifty-pound notes while I’m at it.’ I sigh. ‘Don’t give me that mind-over-matter shit. Please. Like everyone in a chair is there because they haven’t got the willpower not to be. It’s so insulting.’
Callum looks hurt, and I’m rather glad. ‘Look, David,’ he says, his face changing. He’s got that look, that here’s-the-bad-news look. He swallows. ‘That’s not really what I meant at all. You know I don’t want to patronise you, but at your stage you might want to think about whether walking is the right goal for you or whether learning to live with your disability would make you happier longer term.’
I open and close my mouth. I don’t know what to say.
Eleanor, who hasn’t spoken once through this whole conversation, puts an encouraging hand on my forearm and says, ‘Don’t give up, David.’
Callum looks at her, a bit surprised and somewhat pissed off. ‘Yes, well,’ he says, ‘no one is saying anything about giving up. It’s just about what’s right for you.’
Eleanor gives me another squeeze on the arm as my mouth drops open and my eyes start to prickle ominously.
So I guess it is mainly to impress Eleanor that I fix Callum with what I like to think is a steely gaze and say, passionately, ‘Walking is my goal. It has always been my goal and it will stay my goal until I walk out of here.’
After that I probably spend far too much of the rest of the session staring at Eleanor, thinking manly, heroic thoughts, because after the session has finished, while I’m buying another Coke from the machine in the hall, she comes up and stands right behind me. So I guess my staring must have been interpreted as a come-on. Well, in that case it was interpreted right.
It’s funny, because I’ve heard other people – other people in chairs – say that after a while the chair itself starts to feel like a part of their body. That they don’t like people touching their chairs without permission. But I always thought that was bollocks. Until now, when Eleanor leans forward a little and her polyester-clad breasts brush against the back of my handles. She might as well be rubbing her tits against my cock, the way it makes me feel. And remember, Eleanor is a trainee physiotherapist – she knows all about the whole chair/part-of-the-body thing. It’s a come-on – or maybe a reply to my come-on. And it lasts less than a second.
I grab my Coke and Eleanor leans over me and starts to press the buttons on the front of the machine herself. She buys the same drink as me.
With me parked up in front of her she can’t reach the slot at the bottom of the machine to take the Coke when it rattles into the tray, so I grab it for her and hand it over. She lets her fingers trail on mine as she takes the icy can.
Oh shit, she really means this.
Now, Mary might have been the only woman to give me the nod in two years, but once upon a time I knew exactly what to do in this kind of situation. And now I almost wish I didn’t. I almost wish I was just some tongue-tied fool in the face of Eleanor and her seductive fingers and breasts. And I can’t help myself. I rise to the occasion.
I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to, not without running over her toes – but I don’t want to. Not at all. She’s made her move; she’s waiting for me to make the next. And I know exactly what the next move is.
‘Hey,’ I say, tipping my head back so I’m looking at her and sort of up her nose. She has a pretty nose, but straight up the nostrils is not a good look on anyone. Maybe this viewpoint will help to steel my pathetic, faithless resolve (yeah, right). ‘Hey,’ I say again, ‘you could have shared mine.’ And I hold up my can.
Eleanor smiles. ‘Really?’ she says, managing to end the word with a very slight pout. Unflattering angles aside, this really works for me. Really stokes my already smouldering fire.
And I suppose it’s no surprise when Eleanor, spurred on by my dirtiest smile, leans down and kisses me. Her lips are cool; she tastes a little like toothpaste. I feel the zingy tingle from her mouth creep right through my body. Every last inch is refreshed. Clean and minty. It feels like Eleanor, in her baggy white uniform and her practical white shoes, has purged a kind of darkness from me.
When I pull my head away from hers I should feel bad, dirty, a cheater, but I don’t, I feel clean and sparkly.
We don’t say anything else. It’s almost like we said it all in the kiss. A statement of mutual intent. And, with that statement made, Eleanor takes a step backwards and I do an elegant turn and glide off down the corridor to physio, feeling like some kind of sex god.
Not feeling even the tiniest twinge of remorse, I go over to the social club and hang out there. I get yet another Coke from the machine, though I already feel a bit buzzy and over-caffeinated, and end up talking to Andy, as usual
. But I’m still in this strange place, mentally, and I talk to him in a way I probably haven’t before.
He starts asking me about sex and Mary and how things are going in the whole erection-getting department. And when I tell him that things are great, Andy starts to sing Mary’s praises, going on about how sexy she is and how lucky I am.
That isn’t what I want to hear right now. After what just happened with Eleanor the last thing I want to consider is how wonderful Mary is and how lucky I am. So, I don’t know, I’m buzzy and pissed off and, well, just in a funny sort of a mood, so I say, ‘Yeah, but there’s a few things you don’t know about Mary.’
Andy smiles. He obviously thinks I am referring to Mary’s kinky tastes. And I am.
‘You know what she really likes,’ I say, my voice full of low-register sexy promise, which makes Andy grin a dirty grin, ‘she really likes the fact I can’t walk.’
Woah! Andy looks as if he has just had 50,000 volts up the arse. It takes him a while to respond. ‘You mean Mary is a devo?’
‘I don’t know. What’s a devo?’
‘A devotee. Someone who shags cripples because it turns them on.’ Then he pauses and looks a bit vexed. ‘It turns on the devos, that is, not the cripples, if you see what I mean.’
‘Oh, well, in that case, yes, that about sums her up.’
‘Shit.’ Andy still looks shocked. He’s gone white. ‘I thought she was so nice. Just a sweet straightforward girl. Fond of the kinky sex, but … oh mate,’ and he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Now this is weird. Yeah, I’m pissed off with Mary. And yeah, I just kissed Eleanor. But I’m not ready to consign Mary to the pages of my sexual history. And Andy’s readiness to commiserate seems to be making me want to spring to her defence. ‘Oh, don’t be sorry. I’m having a good time. I mean, there are issues, obviously, but I’m having my brains shagged out – like I said, no problem there.’
Andy looks confused. ‘When did you find out?’
‘Find out? Well, I’ve always known, really. I didn’t mention it before because Mary doesn’t like people knowing. She thinks they might react badly.’
‘Look, mate.’ Andy’s voice has taken an oddly urgent tone, as if he’s about to tell me something I ought to have known sooner. ‘Devos are not good news. It might seem that way, but a good-looking guy like you ought to be concentrating on finding someone who’ll love him for who he really is.’
Mary
David’s been a little strange these last few days. I know it’s because of Friday and Thomas, but I don’t know what to do about it.
He got back from his physiotherapy session today in some kind of weird mood, because instead of coming over to pick me up like we’d arranged, he just sent me a text saying he was too tired.
So I’m trying to turn a negative into a positive by spending the evening working on my dissertation. But I haven’t increased my word count by more than about five hundred when I find myself on the phone arranging to meet Mercury for a drink.
Despite my current problems, though, we don’t talk about David. I’ve been with David almost two months and this is the first time I don’t want to talk about him, even though there is stuff to discuss. I feel pretty much all Davided out.
Over two of Monroe’s finest and most intoxicating pink creamy cocktails, Mercury does his very best to take my mind off my troubles and my sulky, skulky boyfriend.
‘Oh, darling,’ he says, gushing a bit, as he has a tendency to do when he is trying to cheer me up, ‘I did think of you over the weekend. In fact it’s such a shame that you are no longer a single girl, because I found the perfect someone for a girl like you, or, should I say, someones.’
While Mercury is making this teasing statement, I am trying to remove the crème-caramel moustache that my cocktail has left on my top lip, first with my tongue and then with my bottom lip and then finally wiping it away with the back of my hand. There are enough moustaches in this place without me adding to the quota. ‘Tell me more,’ I say coquettishly, once I am satisfied my face is cleanish. ‘I might be more or less a smug married these days, but surely I can at least hear about the thrills I’m missing out on.’
Mercury smiles a brief but eager smile; clearly he cannot wait to tell all. ‘I was introduced to two English Lit undergraduates the other day. Second years. Both taking the same course. Twins. Identical twins.’
Mercury pauses here, just long enough for me to hear my blood start to pump harder – all over my body, but especially between my legs. I’ve been developing a real kink for the idea of brothers. Twins would be even better. Identical twins would leave me in a dead faint on the floor.
Of course, I don’t doubt for a minute that Mercury knows all this. Even if I haven’t told him directly he has an uncanny knack for reading between the lines when it comes to my ever-evolving kinks.
‘Mmm, well,’ Mercury continues, ‘I do know that for something as exciting as identical twins we might forgive them not quite meeting our usual aesthetic standards, but in this case such allowances don’t need to be made because they are both delightful. Each as delightful as the other. Like perfect peas in a perfect pod. And the thing is, although they are both working very hard, somehow I think they need a little extra push. Some extra tuition, I thought. Firm discipline.’
Mercury grins his dirty old man grin. And I’m grateful, he knows just what to spin to take my mind off horror and hurt and heartbreak. ‘And you wouldn’t be treading on my toes if you decided to take the job on. I’m far too old for this sort of thing anyway. But it would definitely take a creature of your talents to tame them. Kinky as hell, those two. It’s so obvious. They’re both those terrible gothic types. You know the sort, all studded dog collars and clumsy eye makeup. Almost but not quite enough to disguise how pretty they are. And I know a lot of that sort does it for “fashion”,’ Mercury says, not making the quote sign with his fingers, but you can hear the quotation marks in the way he says the word, ‘or the sheer perverse pleasure of looking as unappealing as possible. But believe me, these two, they like the feeling of a little scrap of leather across their throats. Dirty bitches. It isn’t just wishful thinking; I’ve spent the last thirty years observing these things.’
I smile at Mercury. I’ve all but drained my glass of its delicious concoction of something very sweet and very creamy and very, very alcoholic. ‘Mercury,’ I say slowly, ‘sweetie, I know you’re just being nice, charitable even, but I am with David. Even if he is being a bit of a prissy arsehole at the moment. You know, we’re going to get over it. We have to get over it, because, well, he’s the one. I’m in love with him.’
I really ought to get around to saying that to David himself sometime.
Much later, at home in bed, I can’t help thinking about Mercury’s deliciously evil words about those deviant twins. I’m a little drunk, and a little too used to all the sex I can handle, and I find myself pacing the floor. Bored and restless. And extremely sexually frustrated.
I end up on the computer, tracking down the boys Mercury told me about. I know their names and the subjects they are taking so it doesn’t take long to find a photograph of each of them on the university’s website. And Mercury is right. They are hot. They’re not wearing the gothic shit he described; maybe they decided to keep it normal for the university’s photo shoot. In fact, they look almost too clean-cut here, with their overly square jaws and short-back-and-sides dark hair.
Nice. Maybe not my type, exactly. A bit square-jawed and big-toothed. But, what with the twin thing and the kink thing, I’d probably make allowances. In a parallel life, of course.
But even later, even darker, even drunker, I’m still thinking about them. About tying one of them down on the bed and ordering his brother to suck his cock. Watching those two perfect reflections become one entity.
Instructing the poor tied-down suckee not to come, while the sucker receives the opposite order – to bring his brother to orgasm as quickly a
s possible – and then sitting back and watching them battle it out, as one brother sucks and teases with all his might, while the other fights his ropes and his urgent, hopeless need.
I run this fantasy over and over, backwards and forwards, while I trail idle fingers over my cunt, masturbating slowly, deliberately.
But after a while of this, a delicious drawn-out while of fantasising, I find that when I finally come, I’m not thinking about either of the brothers. When I come, I’m thinking about David. Thinking about his hard powerful arms tied down on the bed and his bruised-fruit mouth stuffed with a gag. I’m saying his name and twisting in the sheets. And even as I come, right in the blissful peak of the moment, the fact that David isn’t lying beside me makes me feel utterly lonely. Hollow and empty inside.
David
It’s been a few days since my crappy-boyfriend double whammy of kissing Eleanor and telling Andy that Mary is a devo. And now Mary wants to meet me after physio, at the social club, which is a tricky one because I know Andy will be there and he so isn’t Mary’s best friend right now.
But I can’t seem to persuade her not to come. She was a bit funny about the fact that I stood her up after Tuesday’s session. I guess that’s why she wants to meet me this time. Make sure I don’t do it again.
That might have been only three days ago, but Mary’s been a little odd ever since it happened. She used to act super cool most of the time. She was always the more casual one. The one who made me feel like I was over-keen and over-eager. But now, all of a sudden, the balance of power seems to have flipped. She’s been the first one to call or text in the morning for three days in a row. Today she suggested meeting me at the social club. And I always used to be the one chasing around after her.
Equal Opportunities Page 14
