The Choice (27 page)

‘Fifteen?’

‘The South City team, after they got promoted. They threw a big party at this hotel, you see, and I was working in a lap dancing club to earn some money for my fees, so I got asked along, and well …’

She trailed off, but I was quite able to fill the details in for myself, imaging her naked and drunk as she entertained an entire football squad, and I’d been worried about Giles taking advantage of her. That was obviously not a problem, especially when she’d as good as admitted selling herself, and with no more than a trace of embarrassment. To me it was a dark, very private fantasy, to her, simply part of life’s reality. She’d needed the money, so she’d done it, as simple as that, and I wondered if I’d have been quite so choosy if I hadn’t always had my parents to rely on. I couldn’t help but be impressed.

‘Good for you, Lucy.’

‘It was in the papers, not my name, because I used to call myself Peaches, but a shot of my face. I thought I’d lose my place here, but nobody noticed! Nobody who mattered anyway.’

‘You know what they say: today’s news, tomorrow’s chip wrappers.’

It looked as if Giles had been eating fish and chips.

Lucy invited me to have dinner in hall at Mary’s, after which I walked back to college. I was exhausted, and would have liked nothing better than to be pampered by Violet and put to bed with a warm bottom, but she was still with James. The temptation to pull myself together and cycle out to his house was considerable, but I badly needed a good night’s sleep and I was unlikely to get one in their company, however good their intentions.

I decided to be virtuous and go to bed, despite the soft summer-evening light still filtering through the gaps in my curtains. It can only have been a few moments before I was asleep, only to wake with a horrible start from a dream in which I’d overslept and missed my economics exam, ensuring that I failed prelims. For a few awful moments I couldn’t decide whether or not it was real, before my head cleared and I realised that it was not only two days to go before the exam but also the middle of the night.

My body was prickly with sweat from the surge of adrenalin and I’d been asleep for over seven hours, as much as I normally take. I decided to have a shower, hoping the hot water would make me drowsy again but it made little difference and I found myself lying in the darkness with the sheets pushed down against the warmth of the night, thinking vague thoughts about my life; first wondering if it might be possible to reach a compromise with Stephen after all, perhaps with Giles to mediate between us, then trying to come to terms with my jealousy at the thought of what was going to happen to Lucy at the Hawkubites dinner, and, lastly, wondering what would have happened to me if I’d accepted two terms before.

The simple answer was that I’d have been had by all twelve or so of them, but I had no idea how these things actually worked. As they were paying me I’d presumably have been expected to do as I was told, a thought that sent a shiver of mingled resentment and excitement right through me. Maybe I’d have been expected to do a striptease first, or serve in the nude, or with nothing on but a little frilly apron and high heels. Certainly they’d have expected to touch, unexpectedly cupping my breasts from behind, or making me stand still with my hands on my head while they felt me up, my bottom too, maybe even smacking my cheeks.

Only when they’d got drunk enough to overcome their inhibitions would I really be put to work; maybe put under the table to take them in my mouth one after another, or sent into some back rooms where they’d come in one by one after drawing lots for who was going to have me first. Then again, if the articles I’d read about footballers were anything to go by, they’d bend me over a table in full view and make me take them on two at a time, one up me from behind and one in my mouth. I remembered the awful term they used for it – spit-roasting – as if I was a pig skewered on their cocks and another shiver ran through me, more powerful than the first.

I was going to have to do it, because I couldn’t stop myself. My thighs came up and open and I was searching my mind for some fantasy that might at least allow me to retain some tiny shred of dignity as I began to masturbate. A couple of touches to my clit and I’d given up even on that, reminding myself of what Violet had said about making a fantasy as rude as possible. She was right, especially in the darkness and quiet of my own room with nobody to know my thoughts or watch as I stroked at my breasts and rubbed my sex.

As I closed my eyes I was wishing there had been people to watch, lots of them, perhaps the Hawkubites, or better still the
men
in the rowing club, from all three boats. That made 24 big, active young men. I imagined how it would be if it was traditional for the girls to be fucked at bumps suppers, with all eight of us bent over a table, our rowing shorts pulled down and our tops up over our breasts, first to be spanked with an oar, then fucked and made to suck, three men to each girl, or, worse, to have the third take us up our bottoms.

The thought had me arching my back in ecstasy and biting my lip. I’d never done it, but I’d thought about it, and teased myself with a finger. In my mind it was easy, with me mounted on one man as he lay on the table, another in my mouth, my bottom spread to a third, my cheeks rosy from my spanking and the tight pink hole between vulnerable to his erection. I imagined my friends to either side, gasping out their feelings as they were given the same treatment, and myself, pop-eyed and dizzy as my bottom hole was penetrated and filled.

I was biting my lips as I came, determined not to scream as wave after wave of ecstasy ran through me, my back arched tight and my hands clawing at my breasts and at my sex. At the very last moment the image in my head changed, to France, with James up my bottom and two local men filling my mouth and sex, men who paid the grand sum of ten Euros to have me any way they pleased. That was better still, and I brought myself to a final shuddering peak before letting my body go limp on the bed, my mouth curving slowly up into a satisfied, shame-faced smile.

When I woke up for the second time that morning it was broad daylight and time to get up. I had my day mapped out, revision in the morning, then down to James’ for lunch. There was also Stephen, but I still didn’t know what I wanted to say. If he was going to join in with the others when they had Lucy it put our engagement in rather a different perspective. I’d had no idea
if
he intended to stop misbehaving with Giles or not, but if he expected to join in with gang-bangs then I was in a strong position to bargain. All I needed to do was tell him what I knew and make him agree to an open relationship.

It made sense, but it didn’t feel right and I was still trying to decide whether or not I could go through with it as I left hall after breakfast.

Dr Etheridge was in cloisters, talking to another don and I gave him my usual friendly greeting, only for him to raise a finger. ‘One moment, Poppy. Might I have a word? Excuse me, David.’

He sounded even more formal than usual, and my first thought was that I’d failed my prelims, but the papers couldn’t possibly have been marked, let alone passed on to him. Nevertheless, I was feeling distinctly nervous as I followed him to his rooms.

He sat down, eyeing me for a moment over his glasses before speaking. ‘As you know, Poppy, I am, at least technically, your moral guardian as well as your tutor, and it is a moral matter I wish to discuss.’

The blood had begun to rise to my cheeks as I realised he must have heard the rumours about Violet and myself, and I was desperately trying to choose between denying everything and standing my ground as he went on.

‘You are, I believe, close friends with your neighbour, Miss Aubrey?’

That one at least was easy.

‘Yes.’

‘And also with her, ah … um … associate, Dr McLean?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have in fact stayed at his house on numerous occasions?’

‘A few times, yes.’

‘You are, um … perhaps unaware of his, um … reputation?’

He obviously was having serious difficulty in choosing his words for embarrassment. I was not about to admit that I knew James liked to spank girls, let alone that he did me.

‘Reputation, Dr Etheridge?’

‘Yes. The thing is, Poppy, that he is something of a, um … a roué, a sexual predator.’

I pretended to look shocked. ‘He’s always behaved very well towards me.’

He had, by keeping my bottom warm, so it was true enough in a way.

‘I am very glad indeed to hear that, and yet, in my position as your moral guardian, and also with respect to your career, I really must advise you that you would be better off if you were to see less of him or, better still, disassociate yourself from him entirely.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’

It was all I could say, but I felt sick to the stomach. I’d had no idea I’d been so obvious or, as Giles would have put it, indiscreet, and Dr Etheridge was still talking.

‘As to your personal relationship with Miss Aubrey, well, in this day and age it is not for me to criticise, but I do feel that you should consider your situation very carefully. You are, I believe, engaged?’

‘Er … yes.’

‘Congratulations, but do bear in mind what I have said.’

‘Yes. I will. Thank you.’

‘You may go.’

I went, blushing furiously as I clattered down the stairs and around cloisters. He knew, or had guessed, far more than I’d expected. James’ reputation was obviously worse than I’d realised, while I wondered if the students in the room below and to either side of me and Violet could hear us at night, for
all
the massive stone walls and thick floors. It didn’t bear thinking about, but at least the subject of spanking hadn’t come up directly, or the interview would have been ten times as embarrassing.

Everybody seemed to be looking at me, and I was sure they knew. I had to get out of college and find somewhere to calm down. There was only one thing for it, to go to James’ early, despite Dr Etheridge’s well-meant advice. I fetched my bike from the sheds and was waiting for a gap in the traffic before turning into the High when I saw Giles coming towards me. He was a friendly face, of a sort, and I paused, waiting until he came up with me.

‘Hi, Giles. I have just had the most embarrassing interview with Dr Etheridge.’

‘Oh yes, what’s old Jarrow John been on at you about then? Caught you talking to the Conservatives, did he?’

‘No, it was about Violet, and James McLean.’

‘Ah. Well, you must admit, he does have a point. I was actually going to have a word with you about that myself.’

‘Why? I can choose my own friends, Giles.’

‘No doubt, but you are spending rather a lot of time with him, and staying at his house, so I hear.’

‘Is there any privacy around here?’

‘Not when you make a habit of cycling smack through the middle of town to go and see a man best known for birching young girls on their bare bottoms, no. The man’s a liability, Poppy.’

‘That’s rich, coming from a man who gets regular blow-jobs from his male friends, not to mention running a club dedicated to trashing restaurants.’

‘That’s different, gay sex simply isn’t an issue nowadays, while a reputation as a bit of a hell-raiser can do a man more good than harm.’

‘A hell-raiser? You offered me a thousand pounds if you could spit-roast me!’

‘The Hawkubites are extremely discreet, while I was sure you could be relied on in order to protect your own career.’

‘And Lucy?’

‘Lucy?’

‘Yes, Lucy. You’re taking her to the Hawkubites dinner tonight, aren’t you? Don’t lie to me, Giles.’

For once I’d got him off balance, and he was weighing his words as he answered me. ‘She is invited to the dinner, yes, but as a guest. I felt it was time to bring the club into the modern …’

‘Bullshit! You chose Lucy because she’s got enormous tits and fewer inhibitions than a rabbit on E. I know, Giles, because I spoke to her.’

‘Good heavens, you are full of surprises. Quite the little detective.’

‘Yes, aren’t I? You saw her picture in the papers, didn’t you, after she’d been caught out with the South City squad, and that’s why you went out with her in the first place, isn’t it? Because you knew she’d be willing.’

‘Now you’ve lost me, I’m afraid.’

‘Don’t deny it, Giles.’

‘I do, absolutely. I didn’t know anything about that, although it does sound rather fruity … then again, no. I mean to say, with soccer yobs? I’m surprised at her. But no, that’s not why I chose her. I chose her because I can recognise a slut when I see one.’

‘Giles, she’s your girlfriend!’

‘Don’t be prissy, Poppaea. She loves to be called a slut while we’re at it, and I bet you do too. I had other reasons too, first because there isn’t an ounce of malice in her juicy little body, and second because she will undoubtedly end up as a mathematics don and therefore can be relied on for discretion every
bit
as much as you can. I had to find somebody anyway, as you turned us down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I said I would, Poppy, I gave my word, something you perhaps would not understand. But all that is beside the point, which is that James McLean is a pervert.’

‘That’s what they used to say about gay men, Giles, and not so very long ago.’

‘Maybe so, but this is now and there’s a world of difference between the occasional discreet encounter between men of the same age and a supposedly responsible don pushing his female first years into dropping their knickers for a thrashing!’

‘That’s not how it happened.’

‘Maybe so, or maybe not, but do you think that matters? What matters, Poppy, is how people perceive him, which is as a dirty old man who likes to beat young girls.’

‘And I suppose you’ve never done anything of the kind?’

‘I haven’t birched any first years. Look, Poppy, I’ve nothing against a spot of swish myself, but you know as well as I do that sort of thing is anathema to ninety-nine per cent of our
hoi polloi
electorate. It’s really very simple. If you are serious about pursuing a political career, and in that I include the benefits you’ll gain from working for my uncle, you cannot possibly be seen to associate with men like James McLean. You’re going to have to make a choice.’