This Charming Man

  All senses leapt to full alert, like animal in danger. Didn’t matter that he had been named after cream cracker –fingertips tingled, nipples jumped to attention, suddenly aware of my cotton knickers.

  ‘What you doing?’ he asked. His voice… so affecting.

  ‘Going home.’

  ‘Not any more. Come here.’

  Considered it. What would happen if did?

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ he said, reading my mind.

  Took three steps towards him and when was close enough he unwrapped his legs and used them to quickly pull me to him. Suddenly close enough to smell the salt, the sweat. Mildly shocked at his nearness. Hadn’t been prepared for it. Our faces on a level, his silvery eyes locked on to mine, his legendary mouth six inches away.

  He squeezed his legs even tighter so my feet had to shuffle closer to him. Went with it. His hands resting on my shoulders, pulling me nearer still. Slight smile twitching his lips up at corners. Challenge? Admiration?

  Didn’t know what to do with my arms. Then decided, What the hell? Am grown woman. Slid them around his neck.

  ‘That’s more like it.’ Staring at his mouth. ‘Listen to the sea,’ he whispered. ‘Close your eyes and listen.’

  Shut eyes. Suck and hiss of sea instantly louder. Sound of Jake’s breathing. Then, shock! Shock of his touch, as felt tip of his tongue on my mouth. Slowly, achingly slowly, he ran it along my bottom lip. God, was nice. God, was really nice. With agonizing pleasure, tip of his tongue eventually reached corner of my mouth and along top lip in dizzying circle of swollen nerve endings. Then proper hot-monkey kissing.

  ‘Come inside,’ he said, low and warm, into my ear.

  Thought of the magic bedroom. Thought of all that could happen if I stepped over the threshold.

  A rush of panic. He was too near. Too much man-ness that wasn’t Paddy.

  Tore self from embrace, like attention-seeking type in melodrama. ‘No, cannot.’

  ‘Oh Lola!’ Sounded annoyed, but as I hurried up road, he didn’t follow.

  Was glad. Shouldn’t have gone there. Shouldn’t have kissed him. Distressed. Love-God offering me sex. On a plate! And lost nerve at final hurdle. Is all fault of Paddy de Courcy. Has ruined me for normal sex with other men!

  Unpleasant thought. In addition to being racist and trannie-disliker, am now also prick-tease.

  Trip down memory lane

  Paddy so different from all others. Large man. Naked, he looked even larger. Hairy chest. When it came to sex, very focused. Eyes gleaming. Game-player. Inventive imagination. Liked props.

  After first date, wanted another. Had gone from being doubtful about his cheesiness to being utterly in thrall. All wanted to do was sleep with him again. Every time closed eyes, saw him leaning over me, slick with sweat, just the way had imagined in graveyard.

  Tried to ask Mum about it, but got no answering voice in my head. So called for summit meeting in restaurant with Bridie, Treese and Jem. Told them the whole story: the car, the shop, the underwear, the further underwear, the lust and the rush to my flat to have frenzied sex. At start of story, they oohed and aahed in surprise and appreciation, but as story unfolded, they became quieter. By time finished narration, table silent. Three pairs of eyes slid from my gaze. No one spoke. Sudden regret at having told them.

  ‘… Um…’ I spread fingers and studied butter knife.

  Bridie spoke out. ‘I have lived too sheltered a life!’ she declared with unexpected bitterness. ‘Am jealous of you, Lola, yes, admit it, jealous.’

  ‘God,’ Jem muttered. ‘Am really horny. Think I might have to go home. Sorry.’

  ‘If that’s what happens on a first date with Paddy de Courcy,’ Treese said, ‘what will the rest be like?’

  Jem’s eyes lit up. ‘Be sure to tell us, Lola.’

  Treese wasn’t amused. ‘Lola, don’t do anything you don’t want to.’

  (And did I ever? Well, maybe hadn’t wanted to in the first instance, but sooner or later always changed mind.)

  Second date with Paddy began mundanely enough: Spanish John collected me from flat and after time spent in Dublin gridlock, drew up outside some unremarkable Georgian house. He made quiet call saying we were outside, then nondescript door opened and murmury gent escorted me to inner sanctum. Many red-plush booths. Realized was in private club, not ordinary restaurant. Suspected game would feature heavily on menu.

  Staff – all men – dropped their eyes carpetward in elaborate show of discretion as I approached.

  Paddy already waiting in high-backed booth, marking up some document with red pen. Felt teeniest wobble at his bouffy hair, then skewered by his blue, blue eyes, like human kebab, and was lost.

  ‘This place! What a production!’ I was laughing as sat down. ‘Bet if waiters saw something they shouldn’t, they would happily gouge their eyes out if you asked them.’

  ‘Is somewhat over the top,’ Paddy admitted.

  ‘Aged demographic,’ I said, looking around.

  ‘Yes. Fear might get gout if spend too long here, but at least can relax. No danger of getting photo in paper.’

  Personally would have no problem getting photo in paper, but refrained from saying so. Didn’t want him to think was with him for fame and fortune.

  Menu much as expected. ‘Venison! Roast woodcock! Look at these things! Gammon and pineapple! Blast from the past! My mother used to make this when was little girl. Think will have it for old times’ sake.’

  Paddy ordered for me – how objectionable! But he said the waiters couldn’t hear women, they were like aural eunuchs.

  ‘Tell me about your day,’ he said.

  Began account of magazine shoot, feeling – ever so slightly – like child recounting day’s activities at school.

  ‘Is that what you always wanted to do? Styling?’

  ‘Cripes, no. Had far loftier ambitions to be designer but didn’t work out.’

  He fell silent, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly he refocused, fixing me once more with those blue headlamps. ‘You think it changed direction of your life, your mother dying so young?’

  ‘Don’t know. Suppose can never know. Don’t know if I ever had talent to be designer. Maybe with her encouragement, could have done better… Who knows? Perhaps I might be better at being happy. How about you?’

  Stared into middle distance. Spoke slowly. ‘Yes, might be better, like you say, at being happy. When parent dies when you’re still young, you know the worst can happen. You lose that innocence, that faith in happy endings. See world in far bleaker way than others. You know what really gets me?’ he said. ‘The way people always complaining about their mothers!’

  ‘Yes! People going on that mother is naggy nag, forever asking why you’re not married yet to nice man with good pension plan.’

  ‘Or laughing at her for cooking old-fashioned dinners like stew and chops. They would want to do without mother for a while, then they would be damn glad of chop!’

  Also discovered we had absent fathers. In way, we were both orphans!

  ‘Mine lives in Birmingham,’ I said.

  ‘Mine might as well live in Birmingham.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He is waste of space!’ Said dismissively. Then slight edge of bitterness. ‘Never see him.’ Paddy, sensitive man. You would never guess he was such perv.

  Meal lengthy. A never-ending saga of cheese trolleys and port and Armagnac. Kept being offered more and more things. Getting slightly desperate by time bill finally appeared in fat, red, leather folder. Man who delivered it so obsequious, almost crawling on his stomach.

  ‘I will get this,’ I said.

  Paddy indicated no. Whispered into ear, ‘If woman tried pay here, shock would kill them. They still think women not allowed rent telly in own name. Will you come back to mine?’

  Startled by sudden change of subject and mood. Rallied gamely. ‘My place nearer.’ But was curious to get a look at where he lived.

  Not that got much of
chance. As soon as arrived, I went to bathroom and when emerged, heard Paddy calling from another room, ‘Lola. In here.’

  Followed his voice. Pushed open door. Not living room, as expected, but bedroom.

  Paddy lying across his bed, entirely naked, reading something. A magazine. Photographs. I got closer. Suddenly stopped. Aghast. It was porn. Then saw his erection, enormous and purple, springing up from dense, dark pubic hair.

  Recoiled. Insulted. Immediately wanted to leave.

  ‘Don’t go.’ He laughed. Actually laughed. ‘You’ll enjoy this.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ I said.

  But although wounded, was curious. Even a little… aroused.

  He patted the bed. ‘Come and look.’

  I didn’t move. My legs couldn’t decide what to do.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘You’ll love this.’

  Some part of me couldn’t help but believe him. Gingerly approached the bed and sat primly on the edge.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look at her.’

  The pages were open on picture of Asian girl with long black hair and large breasts. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’

  I hesitated. Then, ‘Yes.’

  He was lying on his side, his hand on himself. Realized he was masturbating slowly. Aghast again.

  Asked me, ‘Would you like to fuck her?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘No? I would.’

  His hand moving faster. Faster and faster. He was sweating now, his eyes open, watching me.

  ‘I’d love to see you and her in bed together,’ he said.

  I felt jealous and sullied and queasy and, against better judgement, oh-so-turned-on.

  ‘I’m going to come,’ he told me, his voice thick. ‘I’m going to come.’

  ‘Don’t!’ I said sharply.

  I slapped his hand away from himself, picked up the magazine and tossed it across the room.

  ‘Don’t come until I say so! Where are the condoms?’

  ‘In there,’ he said, with wild eyes.

  Wrenched open drawer, found condom, got it on, fastest had ever got one on anyone, grabbed his erection like gear lever and slid down onto him, the first waves of pleasure already starting to break.

  Saturday, 25 October 13.25

  Rang Bridie. Told her to tell Uncle Tom that trannies in his home had doubled in number.

  ‘Will inform him. Doubt if he’ll mind. You sleep with surf boy yet?’

  14.01

  Knockavoy graveyard

  ‘Mum, what should I do about the surf boy?’

  Damn Bridie for putting thoughts into my head!

  Sometimes when I asked Mum a question didn’t get an answer right away but this time heard her voice immediately, ‘Have bit of fun, Lola. Don’t take it too seriously.’

  ‘Why I not take it too seriously? You another one who thinks he too good-looking for me?’

  ‘I do not!’ Spluttering. ‘You beautiful-looking girl. Can take your pick of the men.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, but you are my mum, you not exactly impartial.’

  ‘Have bit of fun, Lola,’ her voice repeated.

  ‘Can ask you something, Mum?’ The worry that sometimes plagued me. ‘This isn’t just me sitting in graveyard talking to self like a nutter? You are there?’

  ‘Of course am here! Am your mum. Always here, watching out for you.’

  15.30

  Supermarket

  ‘Challenge for you, Brandon. I need a revenge film featuring very nice clothes.’

  15.33

  Call from Bridie.

  ‘Uncle Tom says so long as no one breaks the toaster again, he doesn’t care what you do.’

  So be it.

  15.39

  Internet café

  Located wonderful site which does cosmetics specially formulated for men. Placed generous order. Can afford to because of acute overpayment by Blanche. They promised forty-eight-hour delivery, even to Knockavoy! Exhilarated at thought of turning Blanche from sow’s ear into silk purse, if truth be known!

  Monday, 27 October 9.45

  Arrival of SarahJane Hutchinson from Dublin.

  ‘You are now bi-coastal,’ she exclaimed, jumping from car (enormously long Jaguar).

  Challenging day trying on gowns, shoes, accessories, trying to assemble four outfits that worked for her. Eventually, despite obstacles (e.g. SarahJane’s bloodhound knees; SarahJane’s unhealthy attachment to the colour coral), fulfilled brief. Suggested hairstyles and make-up colours to accompany each outfit. Wrote it all down and assured her of phone consultations on the night.

  Enjoyed self hugely. Miss work very much.

  She gave me massive cheque – to cover costs of outfits – then massive bundle of cash for me. ‘Our little secret. What tax man doesn’t know needn’t worry him.’

  Am riddled with cash!

  19.07

  Mrs Butterly’s

  Rossa Considine and Ferret-Face sitting at counter enjoying libation. They are ‘back on’ according to Boss, Moss and the Master. Wished they would leave.

  Considine said, ‘That song still in my head, Lola.’

  ‘What song?’ Then remembered. ‘Don’t say it!’

  Too late. ‘ “Achy Breaky Heart”.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said gloomily. ‘Will now be in myhead for next week.’

  Tuesday, 28 October 11.39

  Niall from DHL arrives to return leftover garments to lovely Marilyn Holt in Dublin.

  Wednesday, 29 October 11.15

  Male cosmetics arrive by DHL!

  Thursday, 30 October 11.22

  Blanche’s lady-clothing arrives by DHL!

  13.15

  Noel’s new negligees arrive by DHL! Niall the DHL man forgot them on first visit today. Had to make second trip. No longer engaging me in lengthy chats. Quite grumpy, in fact. Excellent!

  22.35

  Lying on couch, reading damp thriller, when heard strange rattles. Clattering, like very short fall of hailstones. But not hailing outside.

  When noise happened again, got off couch, opened front door and peered out into the gloom. There was person out there! A man. Jake. Eyes adjusted to darkness just in time to see him pick up handful of gravel and throw it against upstairs window.

  ‘Why you throwing stones against my window?’

  Startled him. ‘So you’d let me in.’ Said in his characteristic low murmur, couldn’t hear actual words, but gathered from rhythm of sentence that was what he said.

  ‘You could simply knock on door.’

  He lounged over into the light. Grinned at me. ‘More romantic this way.’

  Type like him who has affairs with married women must be used to proceeding with subterfuge. Nipping out back windows, hiding in wardrobes, dispensing with doorbells, etc.

  Walked towards me in careless sort of way. Stood too close, our bodies almost touching. ‘Can I come in?’

  Moved aside to let him in. I stood in middle of room and, again, he placed himself right up against me, as though we were trapped together in iron maiden. Smiling, he said, ‘I waited lots of nights. You didn’t come back to see me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Not being coy. Didn’t, in fact, know.

  ‘Are you glad I’m here?’

  Thought about it. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can we take up where we left off?’

  Thought about it again. ‘Yes.’

  The kissing, the kissing, the giddying kissing. Slow ascent to bedroom, removing clothing in disorganized tangle, on floor, on stairs, finally in bed.

  Couldn’t help but compare. Very different body to Paddy’s. More tanned, more lithe, less hairy. Unlike Paddy, who always smelt crisp and fresh, Jake slightly smelly. Not unpleasant. Musky in a way that actually smelt of sex.

  Great man for different positions; doing it with me lying on my stomach, lying on my side, sitting on top of him, facing towards him, sitting on top of him, facing away from him. With his arm clamped a
round my waist, me still sitting on him, he cautiously sat up, taking care to ensure he didn’t slip out. Both of us sitting on edge of bed, him staring over my shoulder, watching us in the mirror. His hands tight on my hips, he slowly moved up and down in me.

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he muttered to my reflection.

  I twisted away. Sick of that sort of stuff. Mirrors and kinkiness. How hard is it to just get a normal shag?

  Off we went again, this way, that way, and when he somehow ended up on top of me in missionary position, he seemed surprised. In a big hurry to hoist me up and rearrange me into other pose, but I refused. ‘Stay where you are.’

  Wanted the weight of a man on me. Grabbed his buttocks so he couldn’t go away. Said, ‘I like it like this.’

  0.12

  Lying in each other’s arms in the afterglow, Jake asked, ‘D’you ever think about the universe?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘About all the people in it and all the things that must have happened before our paths crossed?’

  ‘No.’ I yawned.

  How sweet. He was trying to do afterplay.

  ‘Is okay,’ I said. ‘Full marks for not rolling over and going straight to sleep. You are excellent. But no need to talk to me.’

  Friday, 31 October 7.38

  Another afterglow.

  ‘Golly,’ I said. ‘Talk about six impossible positions before breakfast.’

  Jake hopped out of bed. ‘Rampant sex and it’s not even eight o’clock.’ He gazed out low little bedroom window. ‘Tide’s in. Gotta go.’

  ‘Bye,’ I said sleepily.

  He left. Lay in bed and considered. So, had had my first post-Paddy shag. Tip-top mood? No, deep sorrow – if I was having sex with surf boys it really was over. Shed a storm of tears into my pillow.