Dirty Minds

Chapter Six

Nine thirty. All three kids were finally in bed. Tiffany could relax.

‘What’re you reading?’

She passed the letter over to him. ‘It came this morning. You remember that funny advert I replied to?’

He took it from her. It was addressed to Mrs Tiffany Rossi. Luca read it with interest.

‘So, are you going to send him a thousand words?’

‘I thought I’d give it a go. All I’ve got to do is to decide what period of history, what place and what sort of sex to write about. What do you think?’

He looked across at her. She was a fine looking woman. He reached across the back of the sofa and encircled her shoulders with his arm. She snuggled up against him.

‘Sex? Not sure if I can remember what that is.’ He was only half-joking.

‘Mmm. It has been a while, hasn’t it?’ She reached up and kissed his cheek.

‘I think you could have a lot of fun with this, Tiff. In fact, we could both have a lot of fun doing this.’ He kissed her ear and scratched his fingernail against the side of her breast. ‘You’ll need to do lots of research, you know.’

She laid her hand on his thigh and started a gentle stroking movement. ‘Do you think the kids are asleep?’

‘After swimming, a fifth birthday party and football practice, I should bloody well hope so.’ He pulled himself to his feet. ‘Of course, just to be on the safe side, I could stick a chair under the door handle.’

As he came back to her, he peeled off his jumper and shirt. She loved the way his black hair grew in a line down the middle of his chest, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. He had put on a few pounds but he was still the very handsome man she had married. She reached out to him.

‘So what kind of sex have you got in mind, signora?’ His hands were undoing the buttons of her blouse.

‘For the book or for now?’ She undid his belt and reached for his zip.

‘Why not both?’ He stripped the blouse off her. Her nipples were pressing hard against the white lace of her bra.

‘It’s really supposed to be kinky sex for the book. We haven’t done a lot of that.’ She stretched an arm around his neck and pulled his face down so she could kiss him.

‘I’m not averse to a bit of kinky.’

She felt his hands on her body. ‘How kinky is kinky?’ She was purring now.

‘How about this?’ His free hand slapped her hard on the buttocks, twice.

‘Ouch.’ She felt the sharp impact. It snapped her out of her delicious sense of dreamy pleasure. Annoyed, she pulled herself away from him, but he tightened his grip, holding her to him. He swung his hand again and again, the pain increasing each time. After six blows he stopped, and released his hold on her. She stumbled and would have fallen. He took her hand and sat her down on the sofa. Pushing her backwards, he stood up, tore off his remaining clothes, then stepped towards her. She clenched her teeth to stop herself from screaming with pleasure. This was definitely not the time to wake the kids.

He thrust at her powerfully, pushing her back against the cushions until she could hold on no longer. Reaching up, she caught his chest hair in her fingers. She tugged him down towards her until her mouth reached his. Spearing him with her tongue, she climaxed more violently than she had for months, years, maybe ever.

Seconds later she felt him shudder. Her hands slid round to his buttocks, gripping him firmly, his muscles tensing against her fingers. She held him as he climaxed in his turn. They remained like that for some minutes. Then, slowly, he leant forward and pressed a soft kiss onto her lips. He slumped down onto the sofa beside her, one hand cupping her breast.

‘Wow.’ She could barely speak.

‘Wow, indeed.’ His voice was little more than a whisper.

They lay together for quite some time, before she roused herself, sat up and took stock. Her neck was aching from the pressure against the back of the sofa. Her nipples were stinging, and her buttocks hurt. But it didn’t matter one jot. What they had just experienced had been amazing.

‘Did I hurt you?’ He sounded subdued, apologetic even. She looked over at him, flopped on his back, still bathed in sweat. He looked unexpectedly vulnerable.

‘Of course you did. I feel as if I’ve just been run over.’ Seeing the concern on his face, she slid across towards him. ‘But I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

He hugged her to him.

‘Well, I think that maybe answers the “encounter” question. Now all you need is a historic period of time and a place.’

She returned her mind to the question in hand. She felt sure that if she could reproduce in words what had just happened between them, she would be chosen to write the book. But what about the where and when?

Any further discussion of the writing project was interrupted by a plaintive little voice from the hall.

‘Mummy, Ben’s taken Mr Ted and he won’t give him back.’ There was a muffled sniff. ‘And the lounge door won’t open. Mummy, are you there?’

Luca caught her eye as she dropped onto her knees and started to collect her clothes from the floor. He gave her a broad wink.

‘It’s all right, Milly. Mummy’s coming right out.’

Chapter Seven

‘Post! There’s a big envelope for a Ms Penelope Grainger. It doesn’t look like a bill.’

It was Scott. The clock on her desk said almost four o’clock. He must have ducked out of his three o’clock lecture. She folded the corner of page 342 of Germinal and clicked off the reading lamp. She had been at it for a good four hours. No wonder she was feeling a bit stiff. And hungry. She stepped over the laundry basket and made her way out onto the landing.

‘You making tea, Pen?’ Jamie’s hearing was phenomenal. He had heard the creaky top step even with headphones on.

‘I am now. I’ll bring one up.’

‘You’ll make somebody a wonderful wife one day.’

‘Bugger off, Jamie.’

She picked up her letters at the bottom of the staircase. Scott had got as far as shouting about them but he hadn’t avoided them with his wet feet. Nottingham, like the rest of the UK, was enjoying its longest spell of uninterrupted rain for a century. Everywhere was soaked. The weekly letter from her mother looked decidedly soggy. Under it was a big white envelope. She turned it over in her hands. Her name and address had been handwritten. She took it into the kitchen to open it. Scott was in there, drying out.

‘Hi, Pen. Kettle’s just boiled. Want tea?’

‘Thanks, Scotty, that’ll be great. And make one for the doctor, will you?’

She took the envelope over to the window. The wind had got up. The rain was being blown against the glass. Although it was only mid-afternoon it would be dark before long. She shivered and stamped her feet to restore some circulation. With all the increases in energy costs, they were trying to economise on heating. Even with tights under her jeans and two jumpers, she was still cold.

‘How was it today, Scott? I see you skived off your three o’clock. Who was that? Professor Tate?’

‘The very same. I couldn’t face another dose of Professor Twat murdering contract and tort. Some people can be boring some of the time. Some can be boring most of the time, but only Twatters can be boring all the bloody time.’ He shared one tea bag between the three cups. After squeezing the very life out of it he dropped it in the bin. He passed the darkest-looking infusion across to her. She gave him a smile.

‘Jamie’s is looking a bit weak.’

‘Next time he can come down and make it himself. I’ll take it up to him.’ As he squeezed past, she smelt his deodorant. Not an unpleasant smell and very familiar. After two years sharing the house with the boys, she would know them both with her eyes closed. She found a knife and slit the envelope open. She took out the letter and read it. She was just starting on the second sheet when Scott came back down.

‘Good news?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is. You remember I told you I had applied for a writing job? Well, I’ve been shortlisted.’

‘Well done, Pen. Mind you, with a dissertation to finish, you aren’t going to have too much free time, are you?’

The same thought had occurred to her. Still, the dissertation was pretty much written, apart from the last chapter and all the footnotes. If she got the job she would manage somehow. She read to the bottom of the page and sat back, deep in thought.

‘Something wrong?’ There was concern in his voice.

‘No, Scott, not really. It’s just this book thing.’ She paused, uncertain whether to let him in on the secret. Her supervisor had told her she was confident there would be a lecturing position in the French department after she got her PhD. The last thing she wanted was for the whole student body to know that she wrote dirty books. She made up her mind.

‘In for a penny, in for a pound. Here, read this. But promise me you won’t tell a soul.’ He sketched a cross-my-heart with his finger as he took it from her.

She watched the expression on his face as he read through the contents of the envelope. Every now and then he glanced up, his eyes wide. Finally he handed the sheets back to her and sat down in his turn.

‘Wow. Émile Zola not steamy enough for you, Pen. You’re going to write your own.’ There was awe in his voice.

‘Zola, steamy? I’ve already told you about that. There’s nothing in his books that you couldn’t find in Women’s Own. In fact, Women’s Own would probably have scandalised him. Anyway, what do you think of the project? Am I crazy?’

‘Excuse me one moment. Mind if I put this out to arbitration?’ She gave a resigned shrug. He stood up and went to the kitchen door. He raised his voice. ‘Jamie, Jamie. Get your arse down here now. Something mega is about to happen.’

There was a sound of moving furniture, running feet and a loud thud, as Jamie jumped the last half dozen steps of the stairs. Although the boys were only six or seven years younger than her, they were still little children at heart.

‘What’s up? Woman across the road forgotten to close the curtains again?’

‘I told you before. She doesn’t forget. She deliberately leaves them open. She likes to be watched.’

‘For all you know, she might be hoping it’s Penny doing the watching. So, if it’s not the desperate housewife, what’s the big deal?’

‘First you have to swear, on whatever you hold dear, not to reveal a word of this to a living soul.’ They watched as he clutched his genitals and promised.

Scott handed him the letter without further comment. Both of them waited until he had read it through. His breath whistled through his teeth.

‘So who says writing doesn’t pay? Apart from ransom notes, of course. 65 million quid? That would pay off a few student loans, wouldn’t it?’ He looked across at Penny, a broad smile on his face. ‘Well, you can count us both in. We’ll help you. What period appeals? Don’t forget you have a historian alongside you.’

‘I have?’ She looked across at Scott in surprise.

‘I originally got in to do history. I just did it for a year, then managed to change over to law. Funny I never told you that.’ She shook her head. She hadn’t known Scott in his first year. ‘Mind you, apart from the Romans, the Tudors and Stuarts and the two world wars, I hardly know a thing.’

‘So that’s it, Pen. Scotty’s your history guru and I’ll provide all the practical help you need.’ Jamie puffed up his chest and threw a Mr Universe pose, followed up by a few pelvic thrusts for good measure.

‘Thanks, Jamie. If I get stuck, I’ll know who to ask for help. But in the meantime what I want to know is, should I go ahead with this?’ There was a serious note in her voice now. They both heard it.

‘And why the hell not?’ Jamie had no doubts. ‘You might need to get yourself a nom de plume, just in case you start getting begging letters once you are a millionaire. But go for it, I say.’

She looked across at Scott. He was studying the remains of his tea.

‘I can see why you are a bit hesitant.’ He sounded really solemn. She had rarely heard him like this. ‘Who is this guy anyway? You realise, he could be some sort of perv. In fact he’s almost bound to be. Maybe he gets his rocks off thinking about you writing dirty stuff. Maybe he’s grooming you like a paedophile.’ His voice tailed off.

‘A paedophile?’ Jamie was scoffing. ‘Auntie Penny is too old for that sort of thing, Scotty. No, she’s more of a MILF.’

She was used to only understanding a proportion of their conversation but this acronym was a new one to her. He read the incomprehension in her eyes.

‘Mum-I’d-like-to-fuck. It’s all the rage. Older woman, younger man. Or men –’ He put just enough emphasis on the last word to redden her cheeks. She made an attempt to get a grip. Could she possibly go ahead with this project? Apart from anything else, there was clearly a lot of new vocabulary to be learned. And as for the grooming thing, could Scott be right? She took a deep breath.

‘Well, that solves the question of the “encounter”, as he puts it. I’ll go for an encounter between a MILF and the boy across the road. I’ll call it Gap in the Curtains. How does that sound?’

‘Pull yourself together.’ Jamie was firing on all cylinders. ‘That’s what you say to a pair of curtains, isn’t it? But I like the basic premise. But the when and the where have still to be addressed. He says a period of history with which you are familiar. Have you got one of those, Pen?’

‘Do you know, I think I have.’ She was warming to the task. She would give it a try. If the man were a pervert she would find out soon enough. And it wasn’t as if she was about to meet him in some secluded lane, after all. ‘For the last five years of my life, I have been immersed in Émile Zola’s Rougon-Macquart series. That’s twenty books set in nineteenth-century France, mainly in Paris and Provence. I’ll set it in, say, 1875, somewhere down in the South of France. Excellent.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Scott was impressed.

‘So, Penelope, when it comes to the old rumpy-pumpy, just what experience do you have to draw upon?’ The future doctor employed his most formal tones while mocking her. She refused to be phased by him. Attack is the best form of defence. She looked him straight in the eye.

‘You’re right, Jamie. I haven’t seen a cock for ages. Would you pull yours out for me to take a look at? It might remind me what it’s all about.’

Both boys goggled. Scott blushed red. Even Jamie was reduced to silence. This was a side to Auntie Pen they hadn’t experienced before. She collected the contents of the envelope and left while the going was good.

Chapter Eight

Janet met Melissa in the corner café. They had met like this almost every Thursday lunchtime for over four years, ever since Janet had moved her business to London. She took her herbal tea over to the corner table they had adopted. Melissa looked up from her magazine.

‘What’s new, Jan? Did the leopard skin shoes recover from the soaking?’

‘Sort of. They’re about two shades darker now. Talking of shades, I got a reply from my dirty book man.’

Melissa looked up in surprise.

Janet had already decided to tell her everything. They had known each other since school and had few secrets. Melissa had been a guest at Janet’s wedding. Janet had been to both of Melissa’s. She sat down and went through the story. She started with the advert and finished with Tuesday’s letter. As she outlined the new project, she saw her friend’s eyes widen.

‘Well, that’s a bit different, I must say.’

‘I still can’t tell you why I went for it. I think it was just such a strange advert I needed to know what it was all about.’

‘By the sounds of it you’ll need to know lots of things to write this kind of stuff. Are you sure you know enough about it?

‘Enough about what?’ Of course she knew what Melissa meant, really.

‘Sex, Jan, kinky sex. Fifty Shades of Grey is all about bondage, submission and sadomasochism. I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.’

‘Firstly, I’m not, and second, it’s not all about that sort of thing. Have you read it?’

‘Well, no, but the girls at work have been talking about it for weeks, months.’

‘Well, I have. I got it off the internet last week. It’s not the greatest book in the world, but there’s a story to it. It’s not just non-stop spanking. In fact there’s little or no sex for ages. And anyway the man said I could choose the time, place and “encounter” I liked. It doesn’t have to be chains and whips.’

‘Well, that’s a relief. Mind you, that’s just for your trial piece. What if he comes back with some outrageous plot involving really horrid stuff?’

‘Then I won’t be part of it.’ She had been debating this very point for the last two days. ‘Anyway, he said it would be a joint effort, involving give and take.’

Melissa wasn’t convinced but she could see that Janet had made up her mind. The one good thing in all this was that her friend was looking more animated than she had seen her for months.

‘At least you’re sounding full of beans. Maybe this will be the breakthrough you have been waiting for. So, what time, place and, erm, “encounter” are you going to choose? Time means historical time, presumably?’

‘That’s right. He says our book has to be historical. I quite like that. After all, my degree was history, you know.’

Melissa had forgotten. History? How a history degree had prepared Janet for her post at the head of a big recruitment agency was a mystery. It always astonished her that she found the time to do her writing at all. The company was still expanding.

‘So if it’s history, what period appeals?’

‘I’ve been wondering about that. The only periods I know reasonably well are the Romans, the Tudors and Stuarts, and the twentieth century. My Masters was on the rise of fascism in Europe.’

‘Hmm, I don’t like the sound of Nazis and death camps. Anything involving the SS or the Gestapo could be very, very nasty.’

‘I know. I’ve already ruled that out. The Romans, of course, were pretty promiscuous. Lots of weird stuff going on back then.’

‘You’re right. I was watching Carry on Cleo over Christmas. Lots of hanky-panky.’

‘I think we need to go a good bit further than “hanky-panky”.’

‘Slave girls violated, naked Christians thrown to the lions, drunken orgies – that the kind of stuff you mean?’ Melissa was beginning to get her creative juices running.

‘Yes, I suppose so, but it all depends on our target audience.’

‘And that is?’

‘I’ve been wondering about that. He didn’t mention it in the letter, at least not directly. Fifty Shades of Grey is a women’s book: by a woman, for women. And women read more books than men, don’t they. I must look up the statistics.’

‘Way ahead of you.’ Melissa was never without her smartphone. ‘Hang on,’ her fingers flashed over the keys. ‘And the answer is … wow, I am amazed. It says here that 65 percent of books are read by women. Presumably because men are too busy getting drunk and watching football.’

‘That reminds me, how is Graham? What’s he doing these days?’ Janet’s tone was sweet.

‘Apart from drinking beer and watching football, you mean?’ Melissa sounded less sweet. ‘Still making an absolute fortune playing with other people’s money. I tell people he owns a tattoo parlour. It’s less embarrassing than saying he’s a banker.’

Janet laughed. ‘So, you see, we have to aim the book at women. So what do women want?’

‘What do you want?’

‘You mean, what sort of book would I like to read? To be totally honest, I don’t really think I would go for an erotic book. At least not just sex, sex and more sex.’

‘While on that subject, Jan, dare I ask you a personal question?’

‘Well, we’re on a pretty personal subject as it is. Fire away.’

‘When’s the last time you had sex, anyway?’

That stopped her in her tracks. What with the business and her writing, she hadn’t had much time for socialising, let alone dating. And, if she were totally honest, she hadn’t really been bothered.

‘I’m going to need a fairly thick skin if I get involved in this project, aren’t I? Just imagine how it might be if the book is a success. Would journalists ask me that sort of question?’

‘Well, if they did there would be no obligation to answer. Come to think of it, there’s no need for you to tell me either. I was just curious to know if you had been doing any research recently.’

‘Well, the answer is not for a longish time. Not since I split up with Stephen. And that is nearly five years ago now. Come to think of it, we hadn’t had sex for ages before that.’

Melissa was staring at her. ‘What about our wedding? I set you up with one of Graham’s friends. I thought you said you and he hit it off. That’s only three years ago. We’ve just celebrated three years of married bliss.’ Her tone was dry.

‘That’s right, the Aussie. I called him Bruce all evening, and he seemed to answer to it. But seeing as he was going back to Oz the next day, there wasn’t much chance of the relationship developing.’

‘So no sex with Bruce?’

‘At my age, Mel? A one night stand with a man who spent all evening telling me about his various skin complaints?’

‘So you haven’t had sex for five, maybe ten, years. I am beginning to see why you might be interested in a book about historical sex. Can you at least remember anything about it?’ She gave Janet a searching look.

‘Yes, of course. You flail around in a darkened room and get very sticky, as I remember. Then you step out of bed next morning onto a used condom. Great start to the day.’ As she replied, her mind was reaching back across the years. ‘No, seriously, I can remember lots of things we did. And quite a few things he wanted to do that we didn’t do. Anyway, it’s like riding a bike, surely. You never forget it.’