The Sexopaths (10 page)

‘Well – I had the same as
you – that ice, and then the cold shower.’  She hesitates, as if on
the brink of an irreversible decision, apparently makes it, and then continues:
‘That was when one of the funny things happened.’

‘What do you mean, funny?’

‘Well – just before he
tipped the iced water on me he tried to pull me towards him – I think to
get me under the stream – but I stepped away from him – it seemed
too close.’

Adam is silent for a moment.

‘What else – I mean the
strange things?’

‘Probably just in the bubbles
massage.  I mean – nothing really – and he made it very nice,
spending lots of time on my face.  But there were a couple of times
– once he pressed himself against my hand – leaning over me, and I
could feel his… his pouch.’  She adds, hastily: ‘My hands were just lying
at my sides the whole time.’

‘Did he have an erection?’

‘I don’t know – I didn’t
try to find out.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I just froze.  I didn’t
move a muscle – I didn’t want to respond in case he took it as a sign
– anyway it could just have been the way he needed to reach over at that
time.’

‘Why didn’t you move your hand away?’

‘Well I thought about it –
but it felt like that would be acknowledging that I knew something.  It
felt easier just to ignore it – obviously he had to move after a few
seconds?’

‘What about him touching you
– did he touch your breasts?’

‘Well – only around them
– not my nipples.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’

‘It was ok.  If it was back
at home, I would have expected a girl masseuse to touch me more than that.’

‘What about your legs and so
on?  I got all that done.’

‘Well – when I was face
down I lay with my legs together – he moved them apart – only a
little – but obviously he wanted to get at my muscles properly.’

‘Did he touch between your
buttocks?’

‘Adam!’

‘Well… did he?’

‘No – I don’t think so
– he did a long massage on my bottom in three places – it was hard
to tell.’

Adam shakes his head, affecting
disbelief.  ‘But you partly liked it – you were turned on?’

‘Well – of course, in a
way.  I was half liking it and half worrying about what you would think
– I knew you’d already had the bubbles and would be imagining it
happening to me.  I didn’t let anything happen.’

‘Do you think it could
have?  I mean do you think he was after that?’

‘I don’t know – everything
was very subtle – you couldn’t go and accuse him of doing anything
untoward.  The last thing was a bit queer – when the bubbles had
finished and I had put a towel around me, we went to the door and first he
turned off the light – it was pitch dark and I was standing right next to
him – my natural reaction was to grab at him, and I had to resist doing
that.  Then he said something I didn’t understand and tried to open the
door and the handle fell off – then he was scrabbling round on the floor,
and when he found it he couldn’t fit it back on.  I don’t know why he
didn’t just switch the light back on to do that.’

‘And what happened?’

‘Well – eventually he got
it fixed and opened the door.  That was when I came to see you.’

‘Sounds to me like they’ve got a
scam going here – let’s take it in turns with the nice girl and see if we
can have sex with her.  Or maybe your guy gets all the girls and mine gets
all the boys.’

‘No – it can’t be –
this is a respectable hotel.  They could not have that kind of thing going
on.’

‘I’ve got a good mind to
complain.  Right now I want to go down and smash that guy.’

‘No – no, you couldn’t
– there was nothing – it was just the slightest things – it
might just be the way I interpreted it.’

They trudge in silence for a few
moments.  A tiny scaled Sanderling scoots ahead of them, darting in short
bursts like a clockwork mouse, re-energised each time they near it.  Adam
stops and turns, as if someone has hailed him.  His inner compass has
registered their progress.  Maybe, too, his inner self is satisfied by her
explanation.  He says:

‘We ought to head back –
look how far our hotel is.  There – see?’  He indicates a
distant row of flags, clearly stretched out in the biting Baltic breeze.

‘We could go via the
shops?’  Monique’s statement is a suggestion posed with just enough hint
of a question.

‘What for?’

‘While you were speaking
yesterday – I went out – I saw massage oil like we have at
home.  And candles.’

‘You
were
turned on.’

‘I said I was.  But it is
just a physical thing.  It didn’t mean I wanted to have sex with the
guy.  How would you have been in that situation with a girl?’

‘Hypothetical.’  Adam is
forced to accept this line of reasoning.  He gives her hand a
squeeze.  ‘Look – I kind of like it that you liked it – it’s
exciting.  Feel.’  He positions her palm.

‘Bad boy.’

‘It’s just that I know I wouldn’t
like you to… you know.’

‘I know, my darling.’

‘So it
was
nice?’

‘Yes – it was nice. 
There were a few times I was a bit scared – well, not scared exactly… a
little worried.  But more because it was such a crazy situation.  I
kept thinking I’m lying here naked and this guy can see me completely and is
rubbing bubbles all over me.’

‘And could he have made you
come?’

‘No – no – I wouldn’t
have let him do anything like that.’

‘But… I mean – did you feel
as if… there was a part of you that would have liked to have continued –
for you to have been made to come?’

‘Well – yes – it
would have been a nice physical experience.  That was just fantasy though.
 A fantasy can be exciting and it doesn’t have to happen to feel good.’

‘What about that honey
stuff.  Did he rub it on your breasts?  I had it completely all over
me – I mean he even put it over my cock.’

Monique bursts out laughing at
the tone of frustrated anger in Adam’s blunt statement.  ‘My darling
– maybe he brushed over my nipples – but it was all quickly done
– just a coating of the honey mixture and then I was wrapped up and left
alone.’

‘And did anyone come to tell you
when time was up?’

‘No – I just unwrapped
myself after a while and looked for you.  Then I had a shower in the
changing room and came back.’

Adam’s thoughts swing
pendulum-like from approval of Monique’s guarded though patent admission of
arousal – providing him with a snapshot of her prone, exposed, compliant,
torn… reluctant to pass by the sensual delight – to the unbearable idea
of her having sex.  He pictures the grinning caveman mounting the slab,
ostensibly to stroke from the small of her back up to her shoulders, while she
lies unsuspecting yet prepared for what is to come, thus responding when his
naked erection slides assertively between her well-soaped thighs, lifting her
buttocks to admit him, abandoning herself to the act: the animalistic taking of
his wife, the sly withdrawal, the pouch deftly refilled, the massage resuming
as if nothing had happened.  Disconcertingly, the scenario fitted all too
comfortably with the self-satisfied expression on the guy’s face when he drew
Monique back towards the honey room.  Was this the Russians’
strategy?  The selected ‘victim’ is reduced to her most vulnerable,
inhibitions stripped away, disoriented by the naked hot-and-cold treatments,
massaged to the point of ecstasy, pleasured… then fucked.  But… no –
that didn’t happen.  He believes Monique.  She liked it, but not that
much.

‘Up here I think.’

He guides her away from the
shoreline, across the soft trampled sand and up a ribbed concrete slipway that
appears to lead towards the road that runs parallel to the beach, about a
hundred metres back, and behind a line of trees and orchard-like gardens. 
They soon have their bearings and trace their way homewards, meeting a cluster
of shops around a small square.  In a compact brightly illuminated
supermarket they find the scented oil and perfumed candles.  Self
consciously, Adam pays – the items and his intent combining to make him
feel like a pimply teenager buying his first condoms.  He proffers a
preposterously over-denominated note with a look of apology.  The shop
assistant, yet another tall and attractive Latvian female, returns his change
with a lingering smile and wishes him goodbye in English.

‘Do you reckon there
is
some kind of racket going on?’

Monique, walking beside him,
tightens her grip on his hand.  ‘You mean a sex racket?’

‘No a squash racquet.’

She laughs, in a way that sounds pleased
he’s lightening up.  She ponders for a few moments, pursing her lips.

‘I don’t see how there can
be.  As I said – it is a respectable hotel – imagine if
somebody made a complaint about a sexual advance.  Surely they must have
to be very careful.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if the guy
was exactly careful with you.’

‘But he was.  Everything I
have told you could either be completely normal – the way they do it in
these Russian saunas – or just put down to freak events, coincidence… my
imagination running wild.’

‘Well I hated the atmosphere from
the start.  There was something predatory about the whole thing. 
Being separated.  The way they make you strip.  Kind of soften you up
with those shocking treatments.  Then the massage in half-darkness. 
I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got a thing going between them – take
it in turns to try out the women they fancy.  Or men, maybe.’

‘Well, you did get the hunky
man.’

‘Monique!’

‘Now it is
your
imagination running wild, my darling.’

‘Would you go back?’

‘Adam… I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘If you had been already, if you
knew what to expect… you would have to… want it.’

‘Christ – I think you’re
proving my point here.’

‘Oh – I don’t know.  I
did not mean to go for sex… just that…’

‘What?’

‘Well – the whole thing of
being naked and massaged by a stranger – a man.  Why might a woman
choose that?’

Again Adam is troubled by the
conflicting signals.  She liked it – that’s plain.  She felt
guilty when she returned to the cold reality of their marital suite.  But
also she’s told him a lot of small details that would have been difficult to
invent.  It sounds like a complete account, and she’d apparently ignored
the subtle invitations to engage further.

‘Could you do it?  The other
way around.’

‘You mean be a masseuse?’

‘Well – kind of.  I
was thinking bad stuff.’

‘How can you ask me that?’

‘It doesn’t mean I want you to do
it.  I’m just curious about how you feel right now.  I feel a bit
strange about this whole thing.  I think you do.’

‘I could do it maybe if I got to
decide things.’

‘Like what happens?’

‘Yes – and who.’

‘I don’t think you get those
luxuries.’

Monique shrugs.  ‘Maybe not
the girls on the street, nor in massage parlours.  But I would be a
high-class call girl.  Wealthy gentlemen only.’

‘Bad girl.’  Adam pulls her
to him, arm around her neck, in a friendly headlock.  ‘But I’m not sure I
want to imagine you being bedded by rich strangers.’

She giggles.  ‘I am only
joking you, my darling.  I could not do that.  Blow jobs only!’

He gives her a second
reprimanding tug.  Then he says:

‘Seriously though – if you
had to – imagine for some reason – you’re a prisoner or whatever
– to save your life – you’d rather give a blow job than be
screwed?’

‘What would you rather I did?’

Adam can’t answer this
immediately.  He pictures her in each act.  On the face of it,
someone having intercourse with his wife is more of an invasion – but if
she were passive, maybe not so?  Oral sex requires a complicity that to
him feels worse.  But then he sees her soft form, soaped, fucked by the
Russian… no, that wouldn’t be passive.  At length he answers:

‘Fucking… but with a girl.’

‘That’s cheating!’

‘But you’ve not answered.’

‘A flavoured condom.’

‘I must get some, then.’

‘You don’t need them – you
know that, my darling.’

‘Like to remind me?’

‘Mais oui.’

By now they’ve reached the
turning circle in front of the hotel.  Their pace has been quickening, and
by the time they reach the foot of the dozen broad steps they’re breaking into
a run.

***

‘That was very nice earlier, my
darling.  I love you very much.’

‘I love
you
very much.’

They’re at dinner, on coffee and
mellow conversation, stretched fingertips threaded through spilled candlewax
and scattered condiments, facing one another in the window seats of a table
overlooking the now-invisible Baltic sea; outside is total blackness, the
embers of the short but spectacular burning orange sunset long extinguished.

‘I am glad you care about
me.’  Her tone hints of an appeal for leniency.

‘I think you don’t appreciate the
effect you have on people.  You’re… too nice… too… oh, I don’t know how to
phrase it – it’s not flirty but it’s sometimes… you give people the
impression they’ve got a chance.’

‘There is no chance.  I only
want you.’

‘I know… but… in Mykonos, you
were being…
warmer
towards people than I think they would expect. 
I mean – that Austrian woman, the one who was always wearing the
sunglasses, she’s …
striking
, isn’t she?  But she was always quite
aloof, and businesslike… towards me, certainly – and I’m not even a
colleague likely to hit on her once a month.’

‘My poor darling.’  Monique
squeezes his hand with mock sympathy.  ‘Do not be offended – I think
she is like that with everyone.’