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Brent was becoming ever more aware that Maxine was no ordinary band member. She was a woman and he was warming to her inexorably. He’d always considered her beautiful in a demure way. And that virginal demureness attracted him, especially now she was going to buy a slinky, revealing dress for their stage shows. He was really looking forward to it; to seeing her dressed to kill. The transformation from demureness to out and out glamour promised to be stimulating, and he was reminded of how it had been with Eleanor; a blossoming, innocent schoolgirl suddenly transformed into a bewitching young woman. If Maxine’s complexion was anything to go by, her skin beneath her clothes would be sensational.
At each rehearsal nowadays, whether it was with the band or the CBO, Brent found his eyes always seeking hers, fishing for her warm smile. Undoubtedly she was attracted to him too, but she was evidently uncertain about him, because of Eleanor. Maxine was so talented, too; so talented that she could do wonders for his own career, and for his bank balance, which was permanently in a precarious state these days.
It was not good sense to park his car directly outside the house of the woman with whom he had commenced an affair, so he pulled up in a side street about fifty yards away. It was not normally good sense to conduct such extra-curricular activities in her marital home either, but he knew that tonight it was safe enough so long as they left no trace. As he walked furtively from his motor car, his heart was pounding at the prospect of what he knew was to come. This adventure had given him a new lease of life, had put the world in a much brighter light. His hard-tolerated celibacy was at an end, for the foreseeable future at any rate. This woman was so strikingly beautiful and so anxious to let him partake of it, that even thinking about her aroused him beyond his wildest fantasies.
He tapped on the door. Almost immediately she opened it and his heart leapt with joy at the sight he beheld. The hall was in darkness, to avoid light spilling onto him outside, which neighbours might see. Yet, sufficient light enabled him to see she wore merely a glistening, diaphanous, white nightdress that buttoned down the front. She closed the door quietly behind him.
At once they were in each other’s arms, seeking eagerly each other’s lips before any words passed between them. As he held her, his hands roamed over the thin film of silky material that was between him and her smooth skin. He detected no underwear beneath. Urgently, he undid the buttons at the front and treated himself to a handful of breast, firm, warm and luxurious. As he kneaded one, her nipple hardened and he was excited even more by this response. She, in turn, unfastened his belt and the buttons of his fly with expertise and he felt his trousers fall and lie around his ankles.
He opened the flimsy nightdress fully, dived inside and cupped her firm small buttocks in his hands as he pressed her hard against the newel post. While their mouths were hungry for each other, tasting, tongues exploring, she thrust her hands inside his underpants and he sighed with pleasure as she withdrew him and held him as if she were fondling a priceless treasure. Then, without further ado, she parted her legs and gasped with delight as he slid easily into her.
She threw her head back, sighing, savouring the wonderful sensations, while his mouth explored her, his teeth scratching the tight, smooth skin of her neck. They slumped onto the stairs in their passion and found only minor comfort, she in the support the hard staircase afforded, he in the purchase it provided. They rocked erratically, frequently lying still to try and prolong the ecstasy. But all too soon he had to withdraw, unable to contain himself any longer, and he pumped his semen over her belly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he breathed. ‘I’m a bit out of practice.’
She hugged him, but with bitter disappointment. ‘It’s hardly surprising, I suppose.’
‘Give me half an hour.’
‘What do you expect me to do in the meantime? Read?’
It troubled him that she sounded impatient. ‘I’ll do better next time…but not here. Can’t we go to your bed?’
She shook her head slowly, deliberately. ‘The sitting room. The sofa’s fine.’
He rolled off her and tried to stand but his trousers, still around his ankles, ensured that he lost his balance when he moved, so he stumbled, falling back onto the stairs.
‘Oh, Stephen,’ she chuckled. ‘You are funny. Why didn’t you take them off first?’
He laughed with her, acknowledging how silly he must seem, and sat beside her on the stairs. ‘I forgot I still had them on,’ he muttered, untying his shoelaces. ‘I’m not used to all these shenanigans.’
‘Are you suggesting that I am?’
‘No, Eleanor, certainly not.’ He kicked off his shoes and reached down to remove his trousers from around his ankles. ‘It’s just that I’ve never found myself in a situation like this before. Not in a hallway as soon as I walk in.’
‘Then maybe you’ll have to get used to the idea,’ she said with a gleam in her eye. ‘Come on, let’s go into the sitting room. I’ve opened a bottle of whisky.’
She stood up and held her hand out to him. He gathered his trousers and his shoes in one hand and took her hand with the other, allowing himself to be led into the sitting room. It was not particularly tidy and the furniture, he knew from previous visits, was past its best and shabby, though comfortable enough. The only light was from a small table lamp standing on a whatnot in the curtained bay window that lent an ambience of intimacy. Eleanor poured him a measure of whisky and leaned over to hand it to him. As she did so, her nightdress fell open, exposing herself.
‘Thanks, Eleanor,’ Stephen mumbled, his eyes first catching a tantalising glimpse of the dark triangle of hair between her legs, then her long smooth flanks. He gulped with disbelief. God above, was this real? Was he really so privileged as to be bedding this beautiful girl so soon after they’d been introduced; this girl who had fascinated him from the first moment he saw her? Was he really to be so privileged after all this time of celibacy trying to wheedle the knickers off Maxine Kite? The effort of all that, compared to the lack of effort required to achieve the same result with Eleanor, was unbelievable. That two girls should be so different, should take such different attitudes to sexual contact, was thoroughly confusing. But thank God for it.
Eleanor sat beside him, leaned against him and he put his arm around her. ‘Why don’t you take the rest of your clothes off and kiss me?’ she suggested.
He felt like a god. It could never get better than this, surely?
‘All right,’ he breathed and nonchalantly took a sip of whisky before removing his jacket, tie, and shirt.
‘Don’t forget your underpants,’ she said. ‘And your socks…By the way, I hope you brought some French letters with you this time.’
He fished an unopened packet from his jacket pocket and showed her proudly, amused that she had given him no chance to use one when he first arrived, that she found him so utterly irresistible that she couldn’t keep her hands off him. As he divested himself of what remained of his clothes, she shifted so that she was lying down on the sofa, then squashed up to its backrest to make room for him. He lay beside her, opened her nightdress and entertained himself with her breasts while he kissed her.
‘I wonder what Maxine would say if she could see you now?’ she remarked, trying to stir some life again into his nether regions with delicate fondling.
‘I wonder what Brent would say if he could see his dearly beloved spread-eagled almost naked across his own sofa?’
‘It’s not his sofa,’ Eleanor replied. ‘It’s mine. Such as it is…’
Stephen had a mental picture of Eleanor in the stunning dress she wore the first time he’d noticed her at the jazz club. Who would believe she had such a fine dress while her furniture was so threadbare? Such incongruity. Brent’s fabulous Mercedes Benz, too, belied the impoverished state of their home.
‘Surely you don’t have to put up with it,’ he suggested. ‘Buy some new stuff.’
‘What with? Brent doesn’t earn enough to keep us in fine furniture.’
‘But look at that car he’s got. It must have cost a fortune. And those beautiful dresses you wear.’
‘We had money once…and you have to keep up appearances…That’s why I hope he’ll do well with this rejuvenated jazz outfit and make some more money at last. At least we’ll have your prissy Miss Maxine to thank for that.’
He kissed her on the lips briefly and ran his hand over her buttocks as she lay on her side. ‘I hope so as well. At least while they’re out playing and practising we can get on with the serious business of making love.’
‘If you ever get this thing hard enough again,’ she said cruelly, and felt between his legs again to check on its current state.
‘Oh, it’ll soon be there,’ Stephen promised self-consciously. ‘Why don’t you tell me about Brent, Eleanor?’
‘Why, will that do the trick, d’you think?’
He chuckled at her sarcasm. ‘Hardly. I just wonder about him…about you. I don’t know anything about you.’
‘Why do you want to know about Brent? He’s not very interesting.’
‘Do you think he’s interested in Maxine?’
‘Romantically?’
‘Well…yes.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said, dismissing the notion. ‘He’s only interested in her because of what she can do for the band and consequently his bank balance.’
‘Ah! So you think he’s using her?’
‘He says she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to music. She’ll improve the band, he believes. So in that sense, yes, I suppose he’s using her.’
‘Where do you come from, Eleanor? You’re not Brummies, are you?’
‘God! Do we sound like Brummies? We come from the Cotswolds.’
‘The Cotswolds? Fancy. Did you live there when you were first married?’
She sighed impatiently. ‘Oh, Stephen, do shut up and kiss me.’
He was about to ask Eleanor why they had moved to Birmingham, but, slightly miffed, he did as she bid and kissed her. She responded eagerly, parting her legs to accommodate his thigh as he pressed it against her. While his hands explored her body once more he felt the stirring in his loins that had seemed to be eluding him, and yet which was actually recurring after a commendably short time. He reached for his jacket, acquired the packet of French letters, but knocked over the glass of whisky.
‘Damn!’ he cursed, unable to believe his ill luck and stood with the intention of mopping it up with something.
‘Oh, never mind that,’ Eleanor said impatiently, and held her arms open for him. ‘Sod the whisky. Put the damned thing on before he goes limp again.’
He looked down at her, at her naked body so smooth, firm and inviting, at her outstretched arms entreating him to enjoy her. He knelt at the side of the sofa and commenced by briefly kissing her toes. Then, he licked his way up her long legs with tantalising slowness, lingering deliciously at her dark triangle of hair. Her navel he left wet with kisses, and her breasts he bit gently before teasing a nipple with his tongue; and she let out a little cry of pleasure as he entered her again at last, like a salmon wriggling up a stream.
From the moment Stephen collected her from the jazz club that warm Friday night Maxine could tell something was amiss. Strangely, his indifference seemed greater than before he delivered her there. She’d never known such a cold arrogance about him before, and she did not like it.
‘You’re quiet, Stephen,’ she said, half chastising, but trying to strike up a conversation; they were already nearing Daisy Road. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No more than usual,’ he responded off-handedly.
‘Have you had a busy night then?’
‘Very.’
‘Obviously too busy to stay and listen to us,’ she said.
He sighed impatiently, looking directly at the road ahead. ‘But not too busy to come and fetch you to take you home. I made time for that, didn’t I?’
‘Well, please don’t think I don’t appreciate it. But you needn’t have bothered if you had something that needed doing. Brent will always give me a lift. He won’t let me wait on my own for long.’
‘Oh, Brent, Brent, Brent! Brent will always do this, Brent will always do that.’
‘He’s already offered. It would save you the trouble. I think it’s decent of him.’
‘You would. What d’you think he’s after?’
‘Oh, don’t be so childish, Stephen. I was thinking about how busy you are. So was he, if only you could bring yourself to acknowledge it. Far be it from me to interrupt your work by you having to come and fetch me. Don’t think I can’t imagine what it’s like setting up a new business.’
They pulled up outside the house, but unusually Stephen left the engine running. ‘Maxine, I…I, er…I don’t really know how to say this…’
‘Say what?’ She sighed with exasperation. ‘Just say it – whatever it is.’
‘It’s just that…I don’t think I’m going to see you anymore. I think it’s for the best. I don’t see any point in us carrying on, frankly. So, I’ve decided to…to stop seeing you.’ He shrugged for lack of more appropriate words.
‘Oh.’ She sounded genuinely disappointed.
‘Actually, I thought you might be pleased,’ he said, self-deprecatingly.
‘Pleased? Why should I be pleased, Stephen?’
He shrugged again. ‘Well, you never show me any great affection. There’s never any passion between us. In fact, you’ve never yet let me near you.’
‘That sort of thing doesn’t interest me, Stephen. You know that. We’ve talked about it often enough.’
‘Well it interests me, Maxine. It interests me a great deal. Frankly…if you want to know the truth…you’re too much of a cold fish for me.’
‘So you want to be free to find someone who isn’t. Is that it?’
He shrugged again, avoiding her eyes. ‘If I meet somebody, all well and good. As you say – you’re not interested.’
‘If that’s what you want, Stephen…If I’m such a cold fish…If it’s that important to you I can’t do much about it, can I?’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’
‘If you meet somebody you like better than me, fine. I don’t mind awfully, I suppose…So, thank you for telling me. I wish you the best of luck.’
‘Thank you. So you’re not upset?’
‘I’m surprised, Stephen. And maybe a bit disappointed, yes. But I’ll get over it.’
‘Well…there you are then. I must say I’ve enjoyed our…our times together. It has been nice. It’s been very nice.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a hypocrite, Stephen. And don’t patronise me.’ She sighed for want of something else to say. She felt sad that it was over. It was the end of an era, an important part of her life. ‘I’d better go,’ she said flatly. ‘We’re moving house tomorrow, remember, and there’s still stacks to do.’ She had her hand on the door handle ready to leave him, but she hesitated. ‘Er…Do you want the ring back…to give to your next lady friend? You can have it back if you want it.’
‘No, Maxine, it’s yours,’ he said impatiently. ‘It was meant for you. I want you to keep it.’
‘I think you should have it back. I really do.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘No, Stephen, you must have it back. I can’t keep it now. The more I think about it…’ Especially since I’m such a cold fish. She wrenched it off her finger, leaned over and slipped it into the top pocket of his jacket. ‘Goodnight, Stephen. Thank you for the lift. Thank you for everything.’ She felt a tear tremble on her eyelash then trickle down her cheek. So that he shouldn’t see she turned away and opened the car door.
‘I hope we can still be friends, Maxine,’ he said.
Her automatic reaction was to turn to him. ‘Were we ever not friends?’
‘We were always good friends. I hope we always shall be. I’d like that.’
The glow from the street light glimmered off her tears, and when he saw he knew that she was hurt.
‘Maxine! . . I…’
‘Oh, I won’t hold it against you, Stephen, if that’s what’s worrying you,’ she said and stepped out of the car. ‘I’ll always be your friend.’ She closed the door and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster, not looking back.
She was sad, but not filled with sorrow. Another side of her emotions told her she was greatly relieved but, truly, she had never expected this. If anybody was going to finish the relationship, it should have been her. She was the one in control of it, not Stephen. What a nerve! What had come over him?
She opened the front door and went in. Henzey and Will were still packing tea chests ready for the move as they had been most of the day. Will was methodically writing down the contents of each one as they filled it.
‘You’re up late,’ Maxine commented. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Ooh, please,’ Henzey answered. ‘I’m parched.’.
Having put the kettle to boil Maxine returned to the sitting room, the hub of the action. She sat down, still in a state of shock.
‘You’ll never guess what.’
