Going Too Far (3 page)

‘Sorry, just clarification. And I don’t know how he sizes up. Anyway, we met at university, same college, different class of degree. I did journalism after while he went to Harvard, then our paths crossed again briefly when I was on the
Evening Standard
and he was working for some high-flying management consultant in London. Then he got some job in Madrid and I went into mags. He moved to the States a couple of years ago. Don’t you remember I stayed with a friend in New York when I went over on assignment last year?’

‘Strangely enough I don’t remember every detail of your itineraries,’ I said drily.

‘I bet,’ said Kip complacently. ‘Anyway I’ve always thought of him as half Spanish but, believe it or not, Bliss, I have been agonising over the predicament I’ve put you in and it came to me that in fact his father was Peruvian. There was a bit of a left-wing coup before Charlie was born and the family left when he was a kid. I vaguely remember him talking about it; they were quite well off but the government gave the land to the peasants and they were kicked off the estate,
estancia
or whatever they call it. Charlie spent the first ten years or so of life in Spain, then came here to school.’

‘So what’s he like, apart from the biographical details? Looks, personality?’

‘Quiet, reflective, strong, muscly; quite a bit like me, actually.’

Bless.

‘Sounds a great improvement on you,’ I observed archly, getting fonder of mouthy, dissolute Kip by the minute. ‘Don’t tell me he’s got the same predilections.’

I fixed his eyes and kneeled between his legs. My fingers pushed his shirt further apart and fastened gently round his nipples and then squeezed, just a little firmly, then harder. His breath quickened in anticipation.

‘So?’ I demanded, pinching meanly. I let go with my right hand and pushed it up to pull his head back hard. His angular face was pale under the raven black hair.

‘No, he hasn’t. I don’t know exactly, and that’s the truth. But a girl I know who went out with him said he was . . . he was weird.’

My breath was coming harder too. ‘How?’

He narrowed his eyes as I unzipped him and curled my hand round his hard-on. ‘He made her dress up, corsets and so on.’

‘I like doing that; it’s normal.’

‘And he had handcuffs but she wasn’t into it.’

My interest was definitely piqued now, and a pulse beat between my legs. Kip was big and solid and I swept my hands up and down him hard, the way he likes. ‘Did he make her do anything she didn’t want?’

‘Christ, no, this is a friend of mine; he obviously just likes a little rôle play. Don’t tell me you’re worried?’

‘Just excited. Get your kit off.’

He stood to take off his trousers, and as always he turned his back so that I could see the faint scars, white even against Kip’s luminously pale body, where he was whipped once, too hard, which made him realise that his pleasure in a little pain didn’t extend to real masochism. For my part I like to imagine being whipped while crying out for mercy, but if it came to it I’d wimp out. Still, looking at Kip’s scars and imagining myself in his place gives me a little thrill. Discarding my skirt and black top I stood tall in my high heels, still in my expensive cream satin bra and knickers, but in my mind I was wearing a black basque and suspenders for Carlos, alias Charlie.

‘What does he look like?’

‘Oh don’t mind me, the one who’s actually here. Dark, long hair, short body, muscular, nice face, big nose, like a Spaniard, you know? Can we fuck?’

‘Not yet.’ I kneeled on the floor and took his cock in my mouth and gave him plenty of spit and a mixture of little licks and big sucks. Then, when he started to get comfortable, I dug my nails into the cheeks of his arse, both sides, and rotated my hands while still gouging away. He made guttural noises in his throat but didn’t say a word as I ran my hands slowly down the back of his thighs, still digging in.

‘Vicki thinks you’re a repressed homosexual,’ I told him after I removed my mouth to make way for my hands. ‘But I told her you didn’t care who you fucked as long as they dug in their nails.’

‘There’s a guy at work,’ he gasped as I circled my left hand round the root of his prick and swept my right up and down the smooth, saliva-wet length of him. Compared to the paleness of his body his cock stood out pinkly from the smooth black pubic thatch. I wanted more about the guy at work and I wanted Kip to enjoy telling me, so I reached over to my desk and pulled out my little box of tricks. He sighed with satisfaction as he saw me fit the slim finger-sized attachment on to the vibrator and I gave his balls a nasty little squeeze as I told him to rubber up and get down on all fours like the dog he was, both of which intensified his excitement. Lubeing his arse and the vibrator, I pushed the vibrator slowly but firmly inside him and wriggled it around a bit until I was sure he was loving it even before I switched it on. Leaving it hanging out of him I took my knickers off, then got Kip’s arse buzzing as I lowered myself directly under him for face-to-face, cock-to-cunt contact. I wrapped my legs around his back and levered myself up so I could slide wetly over him. He was even bigger than he had been before and I pushed hard against him, my legs gripping and my hands moving back to the vibrator, which I started moving slowly in and out.

‘This guy?’ I queried.

His voice was coming in little jerks. ‘Photographer, called Stevenson. Long hair, tied back. Wears black, great body; he’s got presence, you know? Likes to talk sex, almost made me come in the bar just by talking.’

‘What? The man who likes hands-on viciousness nearly came without even a stroke?’

‘Yeah, once we established a sort of connection I told him what I liked and he said it reminded him of a story about a woman he knew who had two guys who both wanted her but before they could have her she made them submit to hurting each other while she watched. It wasn’t anything too weird at first: a little light whipping, pinching, gouging, that sort of thing, just enough so they’d scream a bit and beg her to let them stop, then she’d reward them with a shag. But things got harder and meaner and when she said they could stop they asked to carry on for longer before fucking her.’

‘Sounds like she might have got her come-uppance.’ Clamped hard around Kip’s cock I moved my legs so that I could dig my heels in his sides. His breath was fast and I guessed he was almost there.

‘Yeah, but then she thought she’d teach them a lesson and she made them fuck each other. At least, she thought she was making them, but maybe they wanted to. It progressed slowly at first, a finger or two then the slim end of the vibrator, but before too long they were just giving it to each other up the arse. She got off on watching them and then let them take it in turns to fuck her and finger her, but after a while they were so turned on they came with each other.’

‘So they did without her?’ My clit was connecting like an electric point with the plug of Kip’s bone and spreading a nice warm current through me but I needed more. Leaving the vibrator buzzing inside him I eased off my shoes without breaking rhythm. As Kip confirmed that the guys turned the tables and gave her a quick hand job after she’d watched them I stuck one stiletto in Kip’s mouth, to his joy, and used the toe of the other on my clit. He bowed his head in shame and excitement and came just a second after I did.

I detached myself from his cock and lay back on my elbows. With the shoe in his mouth, the johnny on his fast-shrivelling prick and the vibrator up his arse, he looked as ridiculous as even he could wish. I got him with the Polaroid; although he’d messed up my travelling plans, I was sated and felt generous enough to give him a special treat.

The going-away party was a blast, full of people who had absolutely nothing in common. Rachel’s leg arrived plastered and that’s how everyone left, apart from Kip’s object of desire, the man in black who was attractive but too self-contained. Kip was welcome to him. Daily phone calls had kept me aware of the progress of their relationship, which was tantalisingly slow. While pretending to do a line or two in a toilet – Stevenson was pretending, that is; Kip has never said no to an illegal substance in his life – the man gave Kip ‘the most amazing blow job I’ve ever had in my entire life’ (thanks a bunch, pal) except he didn’t let him come. Well, if he had a pain in his balls for the rest of the night, I guess that suited him just fine.

Mum came with Terry, her new guy who I’ve met once or twice and who gives me the creeps. While he’s never blatantly groped me, he uses any excuse to get his hands on my body and I can just see it reflected in his nasty little John Lennon glasses that he’s not going to let go of his sordid little mother and daughter fantasy. Dream on, sunshine.

The crowd from work was miffed to be out-hipped by Kip and Stevenson and made up for it by swanning around me as though I were their bestest friend. OK, I admit I did say I’d probably be back after my travels, but it’s like a sort of maternity leave in that there’s nothing to stop me telling them to shove it, which is probably exactly what I’ll do. A few eyebrows were raised by the blow-up of the Kip Polaroid I’d put on the wall, but everyone else loved it. I wasn’t sure about exhibiting it in front of Mum, but at her age and vanity level she can’t see that well without the glasses she never wears, so I’m not sure she even knew what it was. Anyway, photography could be the next project for me so, despite my reflex antipathy to Stevenson, his approval of the picture led me to be nice to him in an abrasive way, which seemed to go down quite well.

The lesbian contingent, headed by Vicki and without Jo, had a great time and it was brilliant to see her relaxed and happy. It was even more brilliant to see the looks I was getting from her friend Sally, which improved as the evening wore on and more booze went down.

‘Your hair’s terrific; why didn’t you do it before?’ she said as she ran her hand over my newly cropped head. ‘Hey, have you seen the light? I mean, planning to go away with Rachel, cutting your hair; are you making some kind of statement here?’

‘What, an outing? No, but I’m very flexible,’ I told her, trapping her hand on the nape of my neck. ‘Are you?’

She laughed and raised her eyebrows. ‘What time are you expecting this to break up?’

‘I don’t know, but you look like you’ve got staying power.’ I fluttered my newly dyed eyelashes a couple of times and gave her the narrow-eyed, parted-lips look and hoped for the best, though if my new highlighted deep fringe and feathered nape didn’t do the trick I didn’t know what would. I’ve been thinking about short hair for a while but needed the impetus of the trip to get it organised. With my healthy-looking complexion and freckles it gave me a gamine look that seemed to be appealing, if only to lesbians and pain-hungry wannabe gay guys.

As it turned out Sally couldn’t stay the distance, as Mum and Terry seemed to have set in for the night and Rachel was rambling on about the trip of a lifetime she’d had to forgo while Unity and Franco, the two I do like from work, were engaged in landscaping her cast.

‘So you’re going camping? On your own?’ asked Mum anxiously.

I shook my head. ‘Nah, seemed like it was asking for trouble, apart from which we had enough grief trying to put up the tent with two of us, let alone sticking pegs in and stretching guys out on my own.’

‘Stretching guys, sounds right up your street,’ said Rachel defensively but obviously feeling guilty.

‘I am taking a sleeping bag and mat, though, as I’ll probably have to do the Inca Trail in an organised group, and I’d rather have my own than hire. Can you imagine, a sleeping bag that tons of dirty travellers have slept in.’

Rachel looked even more remorseful, as well she might. One of the impetuses that had propelled us into going now, this year, was that soon the authorities are going to stop people hiking the Inca Trail on their own, and force them to go on organised tours. I do not like tours in any form and so we booked our flight to get to Cuzco in time to beat the new rule. Now, of course, that was irrelevant.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said for the zillionth time, but this time there were tears in her eyes and I realised she’d had enough booze to blub all night. Franco tried to wipe away her tears and Unity turned to me.

‘Are you coming back to work?’ she asked quietly.

I shrugged. ‘Only if all else fails. I want to do something a bit more me, you know? This was only supposed to be a temporary job for some experience, and it’s been five years now. Just because I did that textile project at college doesn’t mean I want to spend my life designing dress material.’

‘You’re good at it,’ she observed.

‘Yeah, well, I’m good at screwing but I don’t want to spend my life as a whore either.’

‘Oh, Bliss,’ sighed Mum. ‘I am going to worry about you. Peru can be dangerous, you know. What about those revolutionaries?’

‘It’s all died a death, Mum. Don’t worry, honestly. Kip’s old college friend lives there. He’s going to meet my flight.’

She beamed. ‘Oh, that’s marvellous; I’ll stop worrying then, I promise.’ She ruffled my hair as though I was still ten years old. ‘You do look like your dad with your hair short.’

Frowning, I moved her hand. ‘Mum, I thought when you lived with Dad he had hair halfway down his back.’

‘Yes, he did, until he got that job. Such a shame. But you look like him now.’

‘You mean I look like he did when he reached thirty and decided to be sensible.’

‘He deceived me,’ she said solemnly. ‘Changing so drastically . . . still, it worked out all right in the end.’

Briefly I wondered why Mum couldn’t have fallen for someone who looked more like Willem Dafoe than Willem van Bon. Sculpted cheekbones and a wide mouth would suit a girl far more than Dad’s snub nose and round face. Still, can’t have everything.

I finally stopped dropping hints and threw them all out. Common sense had kicked in for once and I hadn’t held the party on the eve of my departure, so I had the whole of the next day to clear up. The only thing I had to get done in order to get to bed was move the sitting-room furniture out of the bedroom. I piled my leaving presents on the sofa: guide books, condoms – amazing how many people thought that was original – a couple of decent paperbacks, which was thoughtful considering the long flight, and a watch that lit up in the dark, which would have been perfect in the tent, but Mum had bought it before the Rachel disaster.