With her mouth open and lips tingling, she looked up at him.
‘Shall we make ourselves more comfortable?’ he asked as he began unbuttoning his shirt. Closing her mouth she nodded, then asked,
‘Bathroom?’
He led her by the hand into the hall and at the bathroom door, opened it, reached round to turn on the light and left her there. She supported herself against the sink by her hips, whilst she cleaned her teeth and stared at herself in the mirror. She wished she hadn’t drunk so much after all. She splashed water over her face. After smelling the hand towel and establishing the cleanliness of it, she dried her face and her toothbrush. Slipping the toothbrush back in her handbag, she took out her phone. Flipping it open, she pressed speed dial and looked at her watch whilst waiting for the taxi firm to answer. She calculated two hours would be long enough. He should be sated and asleep by then. Whispering she gave the address and requested her pick up for three fifteen.
The bedroom wasn’t hard to find as it was the only door off the hallway she had yet to venture through. The main light was off, but a bedside light illuminated the room sufficiently for her to see a sparse space, with only a bed, bedside table, canvas chair and travelling wardrobe. Nothing adorned the floor, with all his clothes neatly folded or hung up. When she entered he advanced towards her, wearing only his white boxer shorts. He stopped before her, waiting. She watched his face as she removed her blouse and bent to take down her trousers. She was thrilled by the obvious pleasure in his eyes when she stood before him wearing only her black pants.
He reached his arm around her waist as she stood up straight pulling her towards him. His mouth came down on hers once more, just as insistent, and before she had time to respond his hand was inside her pants and he skilfully inserted his fingers deep inside her. Spontaneously she called out, electricity shooting through her body as it flowed with his movements, only his arm around her waist keeping her knees from buckling under her. She could not remember ever reaching an orgasm so quickly.
*****
Pushing the hotel door open, Robert reached for the light switch, then held his arm out to allow Becky through first. She took a small step into the suite, stopped and waited, as he closed the door and walked immediately to the bed. She joined him, sitting close, looking up at him. Her hand reached out to touch his knee.
‘I can’t believe I’m here with you. I think you’re amazing. I’ve been to nearly all your concerts.’ Her voice thin and small.
He ignored her, shuffling off his shoes before picking up the phone.
‘You hungry?’
‘Um, I don’t know. I don’t mind.’
He sighed.
‘Two beef club sandwiches, a couple…’
‘Um, I’m sorry but I don’t eat meat.’ He heard her small voice interrupt him.
‘Hang on,’ he said down the phone and turned to her, ‘What? Oh for fucksake,’ then carried on speaking into the phone, ‘have you got a sandwich without meat? … Yea that’ll do. A couple of glasses and a bucket of ice. Room 108.’ He hung up. Turning to Becky, he took out his cigarettes and offered her one. She shook her head, took her hand from his knee, placed her hands in her lap and looked at the floor.
‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’
Robert thought her voice was far too much of a whine and wished she’d stop talking. It wasn’t her voice he wanted.
‘You don’t have to stay.’
‘Oh no I want to. I’ve got tickets for all three nights.’
He looked at her for a moment realizing she was probably younger than he first surmised, he also noticed her hair was not so much black as dark brown. But what the hell, she was here now. Taking a drag on his cigarette, he went over to his suitcase and took out the orange dress.
‘Take off the clothes you’re wearing. Put this on. No underwear underneath.’ He demanded as he handed it towards her. ‘And what d’you want to drink?’
‘You choose,’ she replied taking it from him and going into the bathroom.
‘Where you going?’
She looked up at him,
‘Toilet.’
‘Change where you are!’
She looked about uncertainly, then down at the floor, holding the dress.
‘I need to go.’
‘Oh for fucksake, go on then, and hurry up.’
He put his bottle of whisky on the table in readiness for the glasses, then made himself comfortable on the bed. He picked up the remote control and flicked through the channels until he found what he was looking for. An image of a woman on her knees in front of a naked man came on the screen. Robert undid his trouser zip and let his hand grope inside. Watching the adult channel he tempted his body, in readiness for the girl when she emerged from the bathroom. It remained flaccid.
The knock on the door forced him back to reality and he realised she still hadn’t come out of the bathroom. He sighed, zipped up his trousers and got off the bed.
‘Hang on, I’m coming.’
He let the waiter into the room, and then called to Becky.
‘Hey you alright in there?’ The waiter put the tray down on the table. Robert fished for a tip and showed the waiter out before knocking on the bathroom door.
‘I said, are you alright in there?’ Still no reply. ‘Come on, food’s here.’ He played with the handle, it opened. Dressed and sitting on the toilet seat, she looked up at him.
‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’
‘Um, the dress, I can’t do the dress up at the back.’
‘Is that it?’
She nodded.
‘Oh for fucksake come here.’ He was pleased with what he saw as she stood. It was tight, but that was ok, it accentuated her body and he did like her big tits.
After zipping her up, he told her to sit on the bed, then moved around her arranging her with her legs curled up underneath. They were not as tanned as he would like, but youth was on her side. Taking her hair in his hands, he fondled it momentarily before tucking it all behind her to enable him to view her entire torso. Then he hitched the skirt up to reveal the very top of her thighs without exposing hair. She reached to pull it back down again, but he slapped her hand away saying,
‘Leave it.’
When she was positioned exactly how he wanted her, he waited on her. He handed her a glass of whisky on ice, encouraging her to swig back so he could refill it. She tried, gagging, but he held the bottom of the glass lightly, tipping it back and then wiped her chin for her. He refilled it then arranged half a sandwich delicately on a plate, cutting it into small bite sized pieces. Before letting her eat, he filled her drink once more, again helping her tip the glass to her mouth, then handing her the plate he said.
‘Eat it slowly and carefully. I want to see you chew each piece.’
He enjoyed seeing fear in the eyes staring up at him as he nudged the plate at her and watched her hands shake as she lifted them towards the food.
He sat on the chair opposite watching her exaggerate her chewing while he stuffed his mouth. When she finished eating, he gave her another drink without offering any more food. He continued watching her, propped on her elbow sipping her drink whilst he polished off the remaining sandwiches. He had learnt previously not to allow them to eat too much, the young ones tended to throw up when they were not used to these quantities of his whisky. He didn’t mind that. In fact, sometimes he liked it. Watching them lose everything, watching them squirm as they tried to reach the bathroom while he held onto them. The feel of their bodies struggling. Tonight he didn’t feel like being messy.
When he observed her posture slacken he got up and removed the drink from her hand. He took the camera out of his jacket pocket and started to take photos. She was startled by the flash and moved. She pulled the dress down. He walked towards her and re-positioned her once more. He could see her eyes slightly glazed. When he was once more happy with how she looked, he took more photos from different angles. He tried standing on the bed, over her, but couldn’t quite fit her all in. Fuck, he needed a wider angle. The cheap digital was alright for the snaps but he wanted to be creative with this girl. She wore the dress so well. No one else had looked close to how he imagined it. Frustration rose within him. He put the camera aside and knelt beside her, moving to kiss her.
He put an arm under her head to raise her for his comfort while caressing her breasts. Her body curved towards his pressure, her arms went around his neck and she let her fingers play with his hair. He pulled her arms from his neck and put them back by her side. He continued to kiss her for a moment longer. He could feel her body fidget beneath him. Using his knees he held down one of her arms. He reached under himself and undid his zip, then reached for her free hand and guided it inside his pants onto his naked and flaccid penis. She immediately cupped him and started to massage. The fucking little tart knew what to do. She’d done this before. Fucking little slag.
He dug his fingers deep into her shoulder and neck. His teeth bit hard down on her lips when his body refused to respond to her massage. Feeling her squirm away from him, he held tighter, his knee dug deep into her arm refusing to let it go. Fucking little bitch, playing him along. The palm of his hand pushed and bruised her breast. He tasted the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. She managed to pull her head from his.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she cried.
.
S
arah felt an unusual feeling of anticipation on her way to Stephanie’s office. She felt an unfamiliar sensation of excitement. Should she broach the subject of Robert? Should she wait for Stephanie to bring the subject up? By the time she actually arrived at the office all she managed to do was confuse herself and when she was sitting in the client’s chair she kept her mouth closed, deciding she would follow Stephanie’s lead. She wouldn’t mention the phone call about meeting Robert until Stephanie did. She would let Stephanie have control. It was easier, she didn’t have to think about it.
Sarah had finally recalled where she had seen his name; Robert D’Lyn was the subject of an article in one of her precious magazines, kept hidden from her mother, who naturally thought they were a waste of money and told her often enough; anyone with half an ounce of sense would never read them anyway. Because her mother kept a check of all of Sarah’s spending and controlled her money as much as she could, Sarah stole the magazines from work.
The magazines, donated to the surgery by patients and people like Stephanie, who could afford to purchase new editions for their clinics, were usually months old, some of them years old. Sarah didn’t mind how old they were, she found them so informative. They gave her a glimpse of another kind of world; of another kind of life. They were another route for escape, helping her retreat from her own life, giving her such hope for something better. And she kept a couple of them in her bedroom to read late at night when her mother was comfortably asleep. For all her nosiness and interference her mother refused to do housework, or any kind of work; she was above all that. Sarah did not consider this a fault in her mother, but rather one of her more endearing qualities, because it gave Sarah the only bit of freedom in the house.
Lying on her bed, she searched through the magazines for the article. She read it several times until she knew it by heart. Robert D’Lyn was a gifted guitar player, he had played in several bands before forming the Bob Dylan Tribute. Now the tribute band had taken off, causing Robert to become semi-famous in the last few years. So much so, the article hinted this as the reason for his wife’s departure. There was only a fleeting reference to her. She obviously was not much of a wife, Sarah thought. She wanted a photograph or description, something to give her an idea of what his wife had been like. Because according to the article, Robert had it all; talent, money and looks. His wife must have been rather stupid, Sarah decided, to leave such a man; he looked really sweet; and she was going to go out with him.
The article concentrated on Robert’s rise to fame from his East End background and mentioned his real name was Michael White. She tested the feel of Michael on her tongue. Michael. Michael. Or maybe he liked to be called Mike? No Mike didn’t sound right. Perhaps Mick? Studying the attached photographs, she tried to imagine what he would be like. He didn’t look like a Mick. She searched his face, did he look like a Robert? Or a Rob? Or a Bob? Not a Bob. Definitely not a Bob. But he could be a Rob. Yes, Rob was a nice name. Better than Mike, even better than Michael.
The article said he was 35, although the photos made him look older. But if the article said he was 35 then he must be 35. Sarah turned back to the cover of the magazine, it was over a year old. 36. That was a good age, she decided. He wasn’t too much older than her. Anyway, a man should always be older than the woman. She found it fascinating to read about all these women with their younger men. It wasn’t her idea of right. He was reasonably handsome. Yes handsome, rather than good looking. And of course, he must have lots of money. Gazing at his photograph she tasted the metallic taste forming in her mouth; far away in her head bells started to chime as she let the voice take hold.
The door bell rings as she skips down the hallway, hardly noticing the lack of boxes and rubbish bags as she opens the door. Robert stands there smiling at her, holds out his hand to her. She takes it, feels the soft texture of his skin on hers, as he firmly encloses her hand in his. He leads her to a waiting car, walks her round to the passenger door and opens it for her, stands smiling down at her, then closes it before he walks round to the driver’s side and slides into the seat. The car drives off and she knows her mother stands at the front door watching, screaming for her to come back. But Robert takes Sarah and she is never going back. He loves her, he wants to be with her and look after her.
‘Sarah? Sarah!’ Her mother’s voice screamed up the stairs. Sarah opened her eyes and saw the clock. Anxiety replaced the warm glow of the daydream. How did time slip so quickly away from her? Half an hour! That was the longest absence she had noticed and she hadn’t even turned the page of the magazine.