The Choice (7 page)

‘He and I were together, while I was an undergraduate.’

‘Here at Boniface?’

‘No, at Mary’s. He got dismissed.’

‘And you?’

‘I was the innocent victim, as far as they were concerned. I got counselling.’

She made a face, a little worried, a little defiant, and I hastened to reassure her.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t mind. Why should I?’

She bit her lip, and for an instant looked close to tears. I knelt up, holding her to me for a moment before letting go as she went on.

‘Thanks. It was all a bit fraught, as you can imagine. Very fraught, in fact, and it still is.’

‘I was wondering. Let me guess; you feel he pushed you into it but you can’t let go?’

‘No, just the opposite. I seduced him.’

5

I DIDN’T MANAGE
to get the full story out of Violet, but as I lay in bed that night reading the book she had lent me I began to feel that I was gaining at least some insight. She’d referred to the book as erotica, but it wasn’t so much about sex as about obsessive love, cruelty and manipulation. It was also beautifully written, drawing me into the atmosphere of nineteenth-century Seville and the highly charged emotions of the narrator. Had it not been for the title I wouldn’t have been sure who was manipulating who, as the narrator, Don Matteo, was mature, wealthy, confident, everything you’d expect in a predatory older male, while the girl, Concepcion or Conchita, was young and seemingly both vulnerable and naïve. Only as the book progressed did it become clear that she had more than a touch of the devil in her, while he was at least to some extent her willing victim.

When I finally put the book down, no longer able to focus properly on the page, my head was full of images of sun-drenched Spanish streets, dark windows and darker eyes hinting at sensual delights only to draw back at the last instant. I felt pity for the man, Don Matteo, yet also sympathy for Conchita and a savage yet also guilty pleasure in the way she tormented him, apparently for no better reason than to take pleasure in his frustration. What I hadn’t felt so far was arousal, mainly because the descriptions were a little coy, but also because I had no real desire to treat a man that way myself, nor to be treated that way in turn. I wondered how Violet felt, and if her affair
with
James McLean really mirrored that of Conchita and Don Matteo.

I woke late, very glad indeed that it was the weekend, made myself coffee and went straight back to the book. Within a few pages I’d reached a much better scene, in which Conchita ensured that Don Matteo knew she was dancing nude for other men, bringing his lust and jealousy to boiling point. She handled him with consummate skill, flirting and feigning innocence, making promises of surrender only to withdraw them at the last moment, and all the while making him seem to be the aggressor. Finally he snapped and simply took her, which proved to be what she had been angling for all along.

That I could appreciate, the idea of teasing a man until he lost control, much the way Stephen had on our first night together but with no more contact than a kiss. I could imagine Violet doing it too, although from what I’d heard through the wall I knew that whatever she might have held back from him in the past she had now given herself over completely. She said she’d seduced him, implying that he had tried to resist but eventually broken his will, leading to his dismissal. No wonder their relationship was stormy, and yet he still came back to her.

I had never had that sort of control over a man, and found the idea compelling, also curious. Violet was pretty, and she had a languorous, sensual way about her, intensely feminine despite having snake hips and no bust to speak of. Evidently Dr McLean’s desire for her went beyond the merely physical, which was no surprise given his intelligence and learning. Yet he was also physically attractive and no doubt had plenty of admirers, which meant that there was something about Violet that set her apart, something for which he’d been prepared to risk losing everything.

The obvious answer was that he had fallen deeply in love
with
her, but that didn’t quite seem to fit. He was too cool, too in control. When I’d listened his voice had been calm and authoritative even as she sobbed out her passion, while if he was desperately in love with her he’d hardly have suggested dealing with me too. Perhaps whatever dealing with Violet involved was what was so compelling about her, in which case it was something that could be done to me too, but which I wouldn’t accept because they thought I was a nice girl.

I’d imagined hot wax, but that now seemed trivial, too small a thing to excite such passion. Maybe Dr McLean had some rare and curious fetish that Violet was willing to accommodate, and yet she had been the one moaning with pleasure. It didn’t seem to make sense, but it had turned me on, both the last two scenes in the book and thinking about Violet and her lover. As my thighs came up and open I had to push aside a brief jolt of shame for having masturbated more often in the previous week than over the rest of the year, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

My hand slid in down my knickers and I closed my eyes, imagining how Stephen would feel knowing that I’d danced naked for other men, perhaps waiting for me outside some sleazy club while I performed a slow dirty striptease within. It didn’t work, not with Stephen. He was too nice. Giles was better, so arrogant, yet I couldn’t actually imagine him caring one way or the other.

He would if I did it in front of him but he was unable to touch. That worked. I imagined that I’d told him to stop in some quiet lay-by on the way back from Les Couleurs, promising him that he could have me if he did as he was told. We’d leave the car headlights on, making a tiny stage for my performance, invisible from the road. I’d tease him, kissing him and touching him gently, promising everything, until I’d managed to persuade him to allow me to tie him to a tree.
His
wrists would be secured behind the trunk with his tie, leaving him helpless as I began to strip in the pool of light. I’d do it slowly, teasing as I gradually exposed myself, before finally showing it all.

By then he’d be struggling in his bonds, demanding that I release him, then begging as I began to dance naked in front of him, posing to show off every rude detail of my body, nothing hidden. I’d come in front of him, my hips pushed forwards as I stroked my breasts and sex, or ruder still, with my bottom stuck out so that he could watch my fingers work and imagine where he’d like to stick his straining cock.

He’d have been erect from the start, and desperate for my touch as he watched me come. I’d have obliged, after a fashion, pulling his cock and balls free, tugging briefly at his shaft, perhaps kissing just the tip. Then I’d leave, walking away with a last taunting wiggle of my bottom, throwing my clothes casually into the car and driving off, to leave him helpless with his raging erection still sticking out of his fly.

I was on the edge of orgasm for real, and ran the whole glorious fantasy through my head one more time, hitting my peak at the point when I finally lifted my bra and holding it all the way to that last cheeky wiggle. It was very good indeed, and only slightly spoiled at the very end by the thought that, whatever the details, I had just come over the thought of Giles Lancaster.

For a long while I lay still, my warm satisfied feeling slowly giving way. It was to all intents and purposes the end of Freshers’ Week, with the majority of second- and third-year students arriving, so that the college was full of bustle even at ten o’clock in the morning, with friends calling out to each other and people bumping cases up the stairs outside my door. I knew I was wasting my day and ought to be out and about instead of playing with myself. There would be new people to
meet,
new things to do, while my essay had to be in on the Wednesday. Then there was the debate, which meant finding out exactly what Giles had dropped me into, meeting Dr McLean and the rest of our team, preparing my speech and generally running around and being enthusiastic. From Monday onwards there would also be lectures to attend, so I really needed to get my act together.

If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s making myself work when I know I have to. My technique is to promise myself a treat once I’ve completed a certain amount; my favourite sweets when I was little, pieces of chocolate for my GCSEs, cans of lager for my A levels, and now that I was at Oxford glasses of old port, which seemed appropriate. By the Tuesday evening I not only had my essay done, but also had compiled several pages of notes for my speech, all between lectures, study groups and three brief but passionate liaisons with Stephen.

One thing that quickly became clear as I did my research on prostitution and the state was that Giles Lancaster had set me up, both in the hope of gaining an easy victory for his side and to ensure I made a fool of myself. It was crafty, and pretty low down, but he wouldn’t have been giving Niccolo Machiavelli any lessons, because I’d realised what he was up to within a few seconds of typing ‘male privilege’ and ‘patriarchy’. Both terms belonged to the most radical feminist ideologies, used by extremists who’d lost all touch with the fundamental need for equality. Had I based my argument on what I found on the net I’d have been laughed out of the building, which might very well have been the end of my political aspirations.

Stephen’s idea was far better, a little idealistic perhaps but that would probably be expected of me. It also made sense, because I’ve always felt that there should be somebody for everybody, and if people were just a bit less hung up about sex
then
nobody would need to sell it, or buy it. The only problem was that it didn’t really answer the question, except in that state-run brothels might make paid sex seem the norm. That part needed work, but I felt I was ready to discuss my ideas with Dr James McLean.

Violet had passed on a message to say that he and the other two speakers would be meeting in the White Horse rather than the Chamber bar, allowing us to discuss our position without fear of being overheard. Given Dr McLean’s reputation and his casual suggestion that I should be dealt with in some unspecified but presumably kinky fashion, I was glad that there would be four of us there, but as it turned out he was polite and friendly, while the other two speakers were also female undergraduates, although third years rather than first. After making the introductions and a little casual chat, he got down to business.

‘Do you all know Giles Lancaster?’

We nodded as one.

‘Then you’ll know the angle he’s likely to take; bread and circuses to keep the masses quiet, meanwhile eliminating the crime associated with prostitution by undercutting private enterprise, which in this case means traffickers, pimps and other thoroughly unpleasant people, an idea which has plenty of popular appeal. He used much the same arguments in the debate on the legalisation of drugs last Hilary term, as Komali and Susan will remember, and their side won. I have some ideas on how we combat the approach, but I’d like to hear yours first. Poppy?’

‘Um … OK. Essentially I want to argue that state-controlled brothels legitimise the concept of sex as a commodity.’

‘Which you regard as a bad thing?’

‘Yes. Sex should be a shared experience between loving, consenting adults, surely?’

‘OK. Let me ask you a question. Will you concede that a disabled person, perhaps in a wheelchair, still has a sex drive?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And that they have the right to express their sexuality?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now let’s take it a step further. He, or she, is also ugly and socially inept. How are they going to find their loving, consenting partner?’

‘Dating agencies, something online perhaps?’

‘Do you really think that would work?’

‘Sometimes, maybe … OK, not very often.’

‘Hardly ever, I expect. Realistically, their only opportunity for sexual expression will be to pay.’

‘I see what you’re getting at, but you seem to be arguing for the proposal, not against?’

‘Not at all. My argument supports sex work as a valid profession, but that in no way implies it should be controlled exclusively by the state.’

‘OK, I’m sorry. Obviously that wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘Not at all. I’m merely playing devil’s advocate, but the opposition might very well put forward the same argument.’

‘What do you think I should say then?’

‘Your point is valid, but needs to be qualified, while I’d also like the four of us to be singing from the same song sheet. One argument in favour of our position, and I expect the one Giles himself would use if he was on our side, is the capitalist argument, which is self-explanatory.’

He glanced between us and I was pleased to see that I wasn’t the only one looking blank. After having my own idea squashed so easily I didn’t want to speak up again, but Susan was bolder.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Essentially the argument is that prostitution should be legal, but run like any other business, designed to make a profit but regulated to prevent abuse, the idea being that any state-controlled system inevitably panders to the lowest common denominator, resulting in a dull, uninspiring service, low wages for the producers – in this case the girls who actually do the work – and a top-heavy management.’

‘Isn’t that just right-wing theory?’

‘Yes, it is, which is why I want Giles to think it will be the main thrust of our argument when in fact I intend to emphasise the social disadvantages of state control: government intrusion, data gathering and its potential misuse, poor service and so forth, topical things that will resonate with the audience and, hopefully, win us the vote. Also, I want to …’

He carried on, the three of us listening as he outlined a complete plan, leaving only one question I wanted to ask.

‘How are you going to make sure Giles thinks we’re going to use the capitalist argument?’

‘Because, Poppy, you are going to tell him.’

I couldn’t have hoped for a better task. Not only was it great fun, making me feel like a secret agent, but it gave me an excellent opportunity to revenge myself on Giles for his behaviour. The only question was: how to go about it without arousing his suspicions?