Willing Victim

by Carla Blake

  Knowing none of this, Kate reached across the sofa and took her hand.

  “You alright, babe?” She asked. “You look miles away.”

  Rachel blinked. “Do I? Sorry. I was just.. remembering. It’s not easy…”

  “Then take your time, there’s no rush, hon.”

  “No.. I guess not. Erm, what was I saying?”

  “ Something about him punishing you?” Kate said, gently stroking her fingers. “ Although I can’t imagine what he thought you had done.”

  “Nothing.” Rachel answered, pulling her bathrobe tighter around herself. “But then I didn’t actually need to do anything to get Simon going. He just made it up as he went along.”

  Winter that year had been harsh and dressed for warmth in a soft grey trouser suit beneath a darker grey overcoat, ( Rachel had declined Polly’s offer of a hat for fear of looking like a private eye), she’d been busy trying to thaw out her frozen fingers around a piping hot skinny latte when the door to the café had swept open and Simon had wandered in.

  Her first thought had been to ignore him, deciding he was probably just another city type who ordered big, then hardly touched what was put in front of them as they thumped away at laptops or shouted instructions into a mobile phone. Except Simon did neither. Tall and blond and dressed in an expensive, black suit that looked more used to dining in fine restaurants than frequenting tiny cafes with red checkered tablecloths, he’d cleared his throat, plonked himself down at the table next to Rachel’s, and politely asked for two large Scotches. Then, once they’d arrived he leant across and in a very smooth voice, asked whether she would like to join him?

  Cold, fed up and on the verge of ordering anything that might thaw out her bones, Rachel had broken with her stern tradition of never accepting drinks from strangers and agreed straight away, turning her chair to face this handsome stranger, and completely blocking out the sound of her mother’s voice shrilling the warning that he ‘could be anybody.’

  Accepting the amber liquid gratefully, she’d gently clinked glasses and tipped the molted fire down her throat, silently telling her mother to shut the hell up! Where was the harm? She wasn’t about to jump into bed with the guy just because he’d brought her a drink, and besides, she was gay remember!? She wasn’t even likely to even go out with him. It was just a drink. Bought by a stranger trying to be friendly.

  One little drink though quickly turned into four and by the end of her fourth Rachel was sagging in her chair and giggling like a loon. Unfortunately, Simon wasn’t. Stone cold sober and with an expression that said Rachel’s company suddenly wasn’t all that great any more, he called for the tab, paid it and then marched her out into the chilly, winter air where in an attempt to sober her up, he’d roughly shaken her arm and demanded that she never, ever embarrass him like that in public again.

  Rachel had stared at him and with sobriety rapidly returning in the form of indignation, had wrenched her arm free and walked briskly away. What was his problem, she’d fumed! And what was he on about? Embarrassing him. She’d hadn’t embarrassed anyone. She’d just been laughing. Having fun. What was wrong with that? And what business was it of his anyway? He’d had no business shouting at her and marching her out of the café like that. Who the hell did he think he was? Her boyfriend!? Hell, she didn’t even know him! He was just some bloke she’d met in the café. Or rather, he wasn’t just some bloke she’d met in the café, he was an asshole.

  A complete and utter asshole who was now pulling up beside her in a spanking new, red Ferrari, leaning out the window to ask if she wanted a lift home as if nothing had happened.

  “And don’t tell me, you got in the car.” Kate said incredulously. “Bloody hell Rach, what were you on? Stupid pills?”

  Rachel nodded numbly. “Repeat, bloody prescription more like, cos that’s exactly what I did. I got in the car and allowed Simon to convince me that everything that had just happened was nothing but a stupid mistake. And that’s pretty much how it went on, until I finally realised it wasn’t me that needed the medication, but Simon. He was a complete and utter control freak.”

  A trait Rachel realised only three days into their relationship, if it was three days. In truth it was difficult to say, because no matter how hard she tried to remember, she couldn’t specifically recall ever actually agreeing to go out with him.

  Simon had just assumed.

  And after dropping her off at home, where he’d leant out of the car window again and briskly informed her that he would pick her up tomorrow at seven, he’d then gone on to say that it would be nice if she could be ready on time, preferably dressed in something smart and showered. Oh, and her hair should be washed too and smelling nice and her accessories should match. That was crucial. They were going somewhere posh, somewhere up-market and he didn’t want her showing him up. Okay?

  Rachel had merely nodded, barely able to believe the cheek of a man she had only just met, and walking away from the car, had almost stormed up the garden path, determined she wasn’t going anywhere with an arrogant bastard like that!

  The next evening Simon rang the doorbell at seven o’clock sharp.

  Rachel was ready.

  She hadn’t planned to go with him, in fact she swore blind to Polly she was never going into that café again if that was the kind of clientele it attracted. But her love life, or rather lack of it had finally persuaded her otherwise, and deciding she was bored of being messed around or stood up completely by time wasting females who nicked all the shampoo and left her sexually frustrated, she figured she didn’t have much to loose by going out with Simon. At least if she started bringing home sexy guys Polly would be pleased.

  Because Simon certainly wasn’t.

  Her perfume was too strong. Her dress too cheap. Her shoes didn’t match her handbag and what the hell had she done with her hair? Had something hatched in it? And what on earth was going on with her panty line? Didn’t she know he could see it! Hadn’t she checked? God, how common was she?

  The list was endless and Rachel had stood there dumbfounded. Stunned by this totally overwhelming attack of rudeness and unable to do anything but mouth apologetic excuses, whilst Simon, grabbing her roughly by the arm, expertly guided her inside the Ferrari and moodily gunned the engine.

  Only once they were under way did Rachel start to wonder why she hadn’t smacked him in the mouth and told him to bugger off, but by then it was too late. Simon had locked the doors.

  He took her to ‘Privilege’. An exclusive club in the West End of London Rachel had often read about in gossip magazines but never expected to visit. It was huge and it was expensive. The rich went here. The famous and money screamed from every corner. From the classy furnishings to the designer labels draped across every elegant back. It was entirely out of her comfort zone and Rachel felt totally out of her depth. Why had he bought her here, she wondered. To show off? Or to humiliate her ‘cos there was no way could she afford their prices! God, she doubted if she could afford a straw let alone a drink to go with it. And what about the VPL Simon had banged on about? If he could see it then everyone must be able to and she could just image the reaction if she walked in there showing off her knickers. Every pair of perfectly plucked eyebrows would go into orbit. What the fuck was she going to do?

  Their car was valet parked and a tall, black man dressed in a red uniform opened the club’s door for them. Simon’s scowl tearing the smile of gratitude from her face, as escorting her in, he whispered into her ear to stand up straight, smile nicely and do exactly what he said or he’d to rip every item of clothing she possessed into tiny, little pieces.

  So Rachel smiled, terrified to do anything else, whilst Simon entwined her arm with his and every pair of eyes swiveled to check out their arrival as they crossed into a toxic cloud of perfume and Rachel discreetly coughed. Almost flinching when Simon nearly crushed her fingers and ignored her discomfort to nod in the
direction of the curious gazes and mouth a few ‘hellos’.

  Comfortable in their presence and pleased they had seen him, he played the perfect gentleman, and escorting his perfect girlfriend to a table in the corner, he seated her on a plush, red sofa and then introduced her to his Champagne guzzling friends who immediately stood up to either shake her hand or peck the air on either side of her cheek whilst clapping Simon on the back as if he was one of them and one hundred percent human, instead of the rude, ignorant, cold hearted bastard Rachel was starting to think he was.

  The evening was a nightmare. With nothing in common with any of Simons’ friends and no way to pay for any of the exorbitant drinks on offer, Rachel gradually found herself pushed to the end of the sofa, where cut off from conversation, alcohol and one blessed side effect, Simon himself, she nursed her lone glass of champagne and wondered why she had ever come.

  Eventually though, Simon remembered she was there and obviously concerned that his mates might think he was being anything less than attentive towards his new and wonderful girlfriend – his actual words- he again turned on the charm. Complimenting her on a dress he’d moaned about not an hour earlier and lightly stroking her hair as he pretended to breath in her perfume and made sure she had a very expensive drink which, nervous as hell, she accidentally managed to spill down herself and which Simon helped clean up, reminding her that accidents happened and that if she insisted on spilling alcohol down her dress, then it was always better to go for the good stuff eh?

  He even danced with her, although not to the slow songs, and not once did he actually make bodily contact with her, but he did dance, and when his friends asked how they’d met he regaled them with a charming and totally inaccurate account of their meeting in the café, making himself out to be the knight in shining armour whilst Rachel was portrayed as the hapless female, almost ready to slit her wrists until he had swept in and saved her.

  His account had made Rachel seethe, but she bit her tongue, and smiling sweetly, allowed him to waffle on whilst she pretended to agree with his outrageous statements and secretly decided that after he’d dropped her home, she was never going to see this cretin again. And he was going to take her home, because she was blowed if she was going to stump up for a taxi after listening to this pathetic bilge all night.

  The Ferrari was cold after the heat of the nightclub, yet despite Rachel blowing into her hands and remarking how chilly it was, Simon made no attempt to turn the heater on. Instead he seemed to take a perverse delight in seeing Rachel shiver and pulling away from the kerb, after making sure she gave one last, cheerful wave to his lingering friends, he demanded Rachel stop fidgeting before telling her she would be spending the night at his.

  “And did you?” Kate asked quietly. “Or did you not get the choice? What happened! Did he.. you know?”

  “Yes, he did.” Rachel said flatly. “And it was bloody horrific.”

  Simon’s apartment, when they finally pulled up an hour later, was spotless.

  Situated at the affluent end of town where litter never touched the streets and an expensive car wasn’t an option but a mandatory requirement, even getting across the threshold into the building proved to be an exercise in the amount of faffying money could buy. Cameras tracked their every move and whilst Simon punched in a bewildering series of numbers into a coded door lock, before finally gaining entry and nodding to a smartly dressed concierge, Rachel shivered with cold and tried to look impressed when the concierge greeted Simon by name and asked them if they’d had a pleasant evening?

  Simon assured him they had, and with his fingers digging painfully into Rachel’s arm, he guided her, or rather dragged her, towards the gaping yaw of the open lift.

  The interior was mirrored and smiling tightly, terrified Simon would notice how uncomfortable she was and make her ride the lift for the rest of the evening just to freak her out, Rachel pretended to inspect her lipstick and ask herself for the hundredth time what on earth she thought she was doing with this maniac? Her love life wasn’t that bad, and so what if girls and Joanne in particular, had given her the run around, at least they hadn’t constantly insulted her or made her feel small - well, that wasn’t strictly true, Joanne had made her feel humiliated beyond reason –but she still hadn’t threatened to slice up her wardrobe if she didn’t slap a smile on her face. Not like this cretin! He was vicious and he was rude and why, oh bloody, why had she allowed him to cajole her into getting into his car- again- and drive her to his apartment? She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know where to get a cab from. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she could get out of the bloody building without a guide, yet here she was. Stuck in a lift with him.

  The lift stopped and Simon stepped out. Rachel stepped out after him, feeling shaky from the ride to the third floor and wishing she’d stayed at home. Without checking to see if she was following, Simon walked ahead, reaching his apartment and sliding a key into a lock. The door swung open and he propelled her inside, shutting it behind them and then leaving her, standing in the hallway. Too nervous to move or speak but silently watching as Simon swung open a cloakroom door and shrugged off his coat.

  Sweeping the hair from her forehead, Rachel again asked herself how had she got into this mess?

  If indeed, it was a mess? Because what if she being too analytical? What if her anxiety was due more to being out of practice rather than to actually having made a mistake? Because let’s face it, her past relationships hadn’t exactly been an oasis of success. She’d been conned, lied to and filmed for Face book. Hardly encounters to be proud of. And all of them because she’d been a sucker for a pretty face, even though it was becoming increasingly obvious that no matter how much she fancied women, women plainly just didn’t fancy her, or at least not enough to stop constantly using her. Maybe she just needed to accept that it was time to give the guys a go. Guys like Simon. Good looking and rich. Men that might be able to compensate for the fact that she was a loser in love. Because she was sick of being on her own. And yeah, maybe Simon was a little odd, but maybe that’s what relationships with men were like? After all, how would she know? A quick fumble with a nine year was hardly a solid basis upon which to base comparisons, and she didn’t really want to give in yet. Not with several failed female relationships under her belt and a skeptical Polly at home already telling her she was making a huge mistake. She didn’t think she could face the humiliation.

  Simon had finished taking off his coat and watching him come towards her, Rachel folded her arms across her chest and prepared to be berated for some minor misdemeanor she wasn’t aware she had committed. But Simon didn’t say a word. Instead he took her hand and ignoring the fact she was still wearing her coat, led her into the lounge and sat her very precisely on the sofa. Then he stood in front of her.

  This, he explained, was her space. From now on she sat nowhere else. Not on the other chairs. Not at the other end of the sofa. Just there. Where he had put her. She was also not, under any circumstance, to enter the kitchen, the bedroom or the bathroom without first asking his permission.. She was to wash her hands every time she came into his apartment and she wasn’t to bring in anything he didn’t know about. Germs were everywhere and he would not have them in his apartment. Did she understand?

  Rachel said she did.

  Then he took her to bed.

  “And what was that like?” Kate gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. “I bet it was like fucking by numbers wasn’t it?”

  “You’re kidding!” Rachel exclaimed. “God, that would have been almost normal. Simon didn’t actually fuck me at all. He just touched me a bit, after he’d washed his bloody hands and made me have a shower, and he sucked my tits, but he didn’t actually made love to me. Didn’t even try. I had to give him a blow job in the end and then he wanked off until he came all over my stomach.”

  Kate pulled a face. “That’s disgusting!” She said, “ I mean most guys usuall
y can’t wait to get their end away, it’s all some of them flippin’ think of, so why not him? Was it the germ thing, do you think? Was he worried you had an STI or something?”

  Rachel shook her head. “I doubt it, if he’d thought that he would have had me down the clinic taking a blood test. But that was what our sex life was like. He never fucked me once. Not properly. He just used to touch me a bit and then I had to bring him off. I reckon he might have been gay you know.”

  Kate pretended to suck on a pipe. “Really?” She said, raising an eyebrow. “And on what grounds do you base this conclusion?”

  Rachel swiped her shoulder. “ Well, like I said, he never entered me, not that I’m complaining about that, but when he did want something, he always wanted it in a way another bloke would have given it to him.”

  “So why didn’t he just go find himself a boyfriend? Wouldn’t have been that hard.”

  “True, but can you imagine what being gay would have done to someone like Simon? His world is so bloody perfect. Perfect house, perfect job. Even his friends look like they’ve stepped out of a mail order catalogue, so can you imagine how he would have felt if he had to admit to being gay? It would have driven him crazy! He would have seen it as sleazy and dirty. An affront to his carefully ordered existence and a definite threat to the way he sees himself, which incidentally is way superior to us ordinary mortals. And that, by the way, is probably why he was always bad mouthing gays and lesbians. It was his way of distancing himself. Of proving to himself he was perfectly straight and perfectly normal and no way connected to anything so… filthy.”