The Last Year Of Being Married. Sarah Tucker
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and left him naked and penniless in the Charleston Hotel, just round the corner from the office. And how the maid had to call the police. And his boss. And then we talk books, and where you can buy the best range of self-help guides and works on erotic bondage and self-flagellation.
After the tuna, which I didn’t touch but was getting really rather good at playing with, Pierce takes me home.
Tina’s watching A Room with a View.
Tina—‘This film is lovely.’
Sarah—‘I know. It’s my favourite.’
Tina—‘Very romantic.’
Sarah—‘I know. I’m not watching it at the moment.’
Tina—‘Oops. Sorry.’
Sarah—‘No worries.’
I pay Tina, say goodbye to her at the door, and go upstairs to check on Ben. He’s asleep. Curled in a foetal position sucking his thumb. Giggling quietly. Hopefully dreaming about Buzz or Woody or perhaps even his daddy.
Coffee in hand, I return to the sitting room and to Pierce, who is now sitting on my sofa. Shirt off. Firm, muscular and tanned torso on display. No signs of flagellation.
Pierce—‘Hope you don’t mind. Bit hot.’
Sarah—‘I’ll turn the heating up, then.’
Pierce—‘I do a mean massage.’
I think, Do I let Pierce massage me? What’s the harm? I’m in control. Hey, go for it, girl. Perhaps I’ll release some tension without getting hurt.
Sarah says—‘Okay. Give me a massage, then.’
Pierce looks surprised.
Pierce—‘Okay.’
Sarah—‘I’m keeping my clothes on.’
Pierce—‘That’s fine. And probably wise, in the circumstances.’
Sarah—‘And no being tied up.’
Pierce—‘No being tied up.’
I lie down in the middle of the sitting room floor. Make sure door is closed. Ben is upstairs asleep. I don’t want him to open the sitting room door to see Mummy on the floor with a tall, dark handsome stranger straddling her between his rather well-toned and probably—though I can’t see them—bronzed thighs. Stroking her back. Can imagine his conversation with Paul next time he sees his daddy.
Ben—Hello, Daddy. Mummy was with this man on the floor downstairs and he was tickling her back. And he wasn’t wearing any clothes.
Yeah, right. So, door firmly closed. I lie on the carpet in the centre of the room. Lights are dimmed. I feel Pierce leaning over me and starting to massage my shoulders. Then running his fingers over my shoulderblades. Then down the middle of my spine, right to the base of my back, and then swirling motions with his palms all the way up to the top of my shoulders. He starts on the legs, then the arms, and finally runs his fingers through my hair, pulling gently. It’s very good. Genuinely very relaxing. And ever so slightly sexual, and somehow, with clothes on, even more sexy.
After what I think is about fifteen minutes, he stops.
Sarah—‘Ah. Thank you, Pierce.’
Pierce—‘Now I’m feeling stressed.’
Sarah—‘Can I massage you?’
Pierce—‘That may stress me out even more.’
Sarah—‘I will be gentle with you. Keep your trousers on. You’ve got your shirt off already. So leave it at that.’
Pierce—‘Okay. But can I take my shoes and socks off?’
Sarah—‘Fine.’
Pierce takes off shoes and socks. He lies on the floor exactly where I’ve just been lying.
Pierce—‘I can smell you.’
Sarah—‘Can you?’
Pierce—‘I can smell your perfume.’
Sarah—‘Oh, yes. Right.’
Pierce—‘What is it?’
Sarah—‘Sure antiperspirant. Won’t let you down.’
Pierce—‘Ah. Right.’
I straddle him and start massaging in a similar way to theway he massaged me, but with longer, harder, firmer strokes—across the back—up and down—side to side. I’d learnt how to massage on a gulet holiday in Turkey, where one of the girls in the crew was a sexual masseuse. I watched her like a hawk to learn the art. It’s served me well ever since. It was always wonderful pre-coitus.
The muscles in his back are more relaxed than those in his legs, and I need to be firm and push deeply, which Pierce seems to like. He lets out the occasional sigh, but we don’t speak. There is no music in the background, so I’m able to hear him breathing quite clearly. I move down his legs slowly and start to massage his feet. And then, for some reason, start to blow between his toes.
I think I’m teasing him. Or am I teasing myself? Toying with the idea of having sex with him? Shall I? Shan’t I? Shall I? Shan’t I? Imagining the what ifs. What would the harm be if I did suddenly start to kiss or lick or stroke? I haven’t had sex for years. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how to do it. How to feel again. Feel sexual again. Give and receive pleasure. Feel lust. That lust I last felt with Stephen. With John. And a long time ago—a very long time ago—with Paul. Feel that energy. That release. Feel like a woman. Behave like a woman. Use that bloody box splits position and really give Pierce something to talk about in the office the next day. And make everyone jealous. Even Paul.
Perhaps I should move my hands more provocatively. I know he wouldn’t resist. I know he would take the opportunity. But this is not the right man. I realise this now. On the verge, I realise this. At this moment. This is not the right man. Not the right time. Not the right place. Too soon. Someone not suitable. And Ben is in bed upstairs. Three strikes, and he doesn’t know it but he’s out.
Pierce—‘Ohh. That’s different. That’s nice, Sarah. Blowing between the toes. That’s really feels good.’
Sarah—‘Sort of refreshes the parts other strokes can’t reach. It should give you quite a good sensation.’
Pierce—‘It does. This is almost better than sex.’
Sarah—‘I don’t think so, somehow. But it’s safer. Better to blow than suck or whip or beat. That’s what I say.’
Pierce laughs.
Pierce—‘Mmm, well…’
I move from the feet to the hands and massage his palms and each finger. Sucking the fingers will be a bit too suggestive. So I stop there.
As I finish I lift my legs over his body and he coils round, smiling broadly.
Pierce—‘Thank you, Sarah. That was lovely. Unexpected and lovely.’
Then:
Pierce—‘I understand how you feel. But I know how I feel, too. And, well, I find you very sexy—that’s all I can say. You will be fine. You’re a babe, and you’ll find another man who will love you. And will treat you the way you want and deserve to be treated.’
Sarah—‘Yes, I know. But at this moment in time I just want Paul back. Funny, that. Wish I could be cold-blooded about it. But I can’t. And while I still have this love for him I want to try to make it work. Because I realise once the love has disappeared—that’s it. That’s it with me. I don’t look back. I’m not that sort of person.’
Pierce—‘I feel sorry for you both, Sarah. But he’s so stubborn.’
Sarah—‘I