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It's been a very sultry summer, the past few weeks have positively sizzled; August was a wicked month for me. I put down the sort of time that housewives don't encounter in True Romance. But then I was no longer a housewife, or a wife in any sense of the word since my separation came through. It got to the stage where l was drawn to vast numbers of males, all sizes and shapes. Who was complaining about the weather? Simply delirious! but I fancied an hour, slow and easy, fast and furious between cool sheets. The question was, who would open my box of tricks? What sort of man would wake me from my long erotic sleep? The landlord was elusive, the publican fastidious, the hairdresser didn't comply with my taste. Lately even my neighbour from across the hall was showing his panther side; he stalked past my window one morning then swung around fast, maybe expecting to catch me 'in flagrante delicto'- some hope! I wanted to be taken that minute; for two pins I would have gone in there and propositioned him myself. Then I met Danny Stone and I have to say that I'd done a good summer's shopping to come up with him. We collided in a disco of all places; to be honest I asked him to dance, that's what a few drinks does to me, makes me reckless; otherwise he would have sat there forever; on his stool, I know the sort, shy but willing. Anyway we hit it off. What a dish! Although he was publicly reserved he was a firebrand on the rug, his gravelly accent nuzzled my ear in a tantalising fashion as he issued suggestions to guide our pleasure. "Oh yesss" he whispered huskily, "yess". His eyes, hazel according to himself but almost black with passion now, penetrated the half-dark like coals. He used his shapely body in an experimental but solicitous manner that was wonderfully relaxing. He wanted to make me happy, believe me he didn't rest until I was satisfied. Afterwards I made tea, tucked him up in the duvet and admired his sleek features in the shadow of the curtained room. Danny was an excellent house guest in spite of being so addicted to chain- smoking that a veneer of tobacco stained his teeth. For weeks we lived under a blue cloud on a diet of sex and nicotine; sometimes we switched to hash. Every so often he leaned over me to reach his cigarette pack on the floor and our damp flesh welded briefly; even when my throat hurt from inhaling I was oblivious. I spoiled him rotten, It was impossible to refuse him the slightest thing." I've stayed with my mother since the wife changed the locks." he explained as he held out his cup for a second helping; I rushed to fill it. A smile of appreciation played around his lips as he sipped. When he spoke, the tone of his voice reminded me of a mantra, I sat absently rubbing the moles on his back while I listened. Our first row was over money. Danny resented the fact that I was well provided for, complaining that his ex took him to the cleaners. "you're tied to the old man with pound notes" he sneered. I told him to go to hell, hissing: "You're only a dosser yourself anyway. We stayed in bed most of the following day trying new positions. While he dozed I reverently traced the eddy of down that spread over his belly. It struck me that he was quality in a rough and smooth way, a simple design like my raw silk smock. Inevitably, Danny's behaviour became erratic. He took to arriving at all hours which turned my sleep pattern inside out. I lay in a state of morbid alertness, dreading the intrusive buzz of the intercom in the early morning. I usually ignored the first onslaught for dignity's sake, then cursed myself until it was repeated. I was getting careless with work, ready to drop everything when my mate desired my presence; sheets of paper littered the apartment. Worse, the fear that I was losing my powers of seduction plagued me. Danny now told lies straight to my face; I suspected he was cheating but my attempts to catch him out were less than useless. I began to steal random trophies from our moments together; a smear of perspiration perhaps; a stray eye-lash; sometimes the contents of his navel. Inaccessibility revived the vague cannibalism of childhood when I indulged the odd compulsion to bite babies in prams on the legs. During hot-house conversations from the depths of his steamy arm-pit my tongue came up tasting of sweat.These antics a;mused him, but they stemmed from a deep, primitive urge. The first occasion that I locked Danny in my flat was fairly innocent; bearing in mind a solicitor's advice: "Keep control of the key" I omitted to tell him about the spare set. Why complicate matters? I had an article to deliver and that was the end of it. Besides I didn't delay. Danny was still sitting where I left him in the wicker chair, reading a thriller. He glanced up; his pupils can be outspoken, I was glad to note the lack of alarm in them. Inventing reasons to go out when Danny was around became a habit based on power. I discovered that keeping a prisoner gave me a particular buzz. Whole afternoons were spent in Tea Rooms trying to imagine what he would get up to in my absence. Would he read books, or root in the bathroom? Had I left any clues by accident? I thought I was getting away with the game because Danny kept silent, I should have known he was onto my little scheme. One evening when I slipped my key into place I heard the dull clunk of dislodged metal dropping; my heart stopped. Feeling at a complete loss, I opened the door slowly. My eyes chased his hold-all (which was usually on the chair in the hall), to the centre of the lounge carpet. Danny was bending over it in his leather jacket, checking the contents. I tried not to panic. As I crossed unsteadily to the couch I had to pass him, and he siezed the opportunity to enfold me in one of his calculated seductive kisses. It was obvious he didn't want a scene. When he released me I slumped down, nearly missing the suite. "Something's come up" he said, "I've got to visit a sick relative, I'll be back as soon as I can." He was holding a note out. "l wrote this... I didn't know what to say." A couple of sentences skimmed over the surface of the lined paper like a flight path. After he absconded I devoured some leftover hash and slept solidly for twelve hours. I woke in great spirits, which should have made me suspicious; needless to say the crash came later. He was AWOL for weeks, it's obscene how the skin crawls with uncertainty; I wanted to punch walls. Without an address I was helpless, he was roaming free and I had no rope to haul him in and secure him with. I hoped he had an uneasy conscience; if he possessed a conscience at all. I wouldn't place any bets. Danny, Danny, always Danny; maybe that's because he has a habit of amazing me. He is back, who would have believed it. On the other hand, why do I doubt myself so? He looked refreshed, more beautiful than ever in his jazzy black and white shirt. Elated is the only word I can think of to describe my mood. "You've changed for the better" was his verdict, adding "I think I can take the credit." He settled himself and suggested we share a joint. I watched him fetch his skins and roll the tobacco and hash deftly; then he stuck a plug in the thick end and lit up. He took a couple of hefty pulls before handing it to me: "Do you fancy a hit?" I nodded. As I brushed past after switching off the light, Danny lazily gathered me onto his lap and shoved his tongue firmly down my gullet. Something told me this was the nearest thing to a commitment he was capable of. He buried his face in the small of my back which set off a hacking cough that turned it as red as a turkey cock; was he heading for a self-induced by-pass? The incident didn't stop him peeling off my clothes and leading me by the hand into the bedroom. I opened his belt and helped him unzip his Levi's; his breathing was laboured with anticipation, like on our first night together. There was a pause while he loosened his shoe- laces; I lay on the divan, waiting, I was tense, tense,tense. Too much opening and shutting of emotions for comfort recently. Danny didn't bother with foreplay, he just lifted my legs over his shoulders and pushed, as if I was some sort of inflatable doll- for what I guessed was less than a minute. His apology consisted of a pat on the bottom when I went to wash. By the time I got back he was snoring. I couldn't relax because my heart was tight. It reacted to the drug with an unpleasant sense of pressure. I got up and did exercises to unwind, then I stood staring at Danny, thinking how lean he looked and picturing him with some luscious bimbo. When he pitched forward, almost waking, his fat eyelids at sensual half-mast, I felt like slapping him; instead I climbed onto my side of the mattress. An excessive dose of hugging failed to bring me close enough to the white flesh I was pressed against; psychos who dissect their victims filled me with a sudden, shameful sympathy. I placed my head on his stomach, it was as springy as a cushion; "am I too heavy?" I asked. There was no stir for what seemed like eternity, then he let out a loud, contented sigh. Danny was the casual type, that was his trouble. The trophy in my bag weighed remarkably little, I caressed its soft texture surreptitiously as I walked the streets with my Mona Lisa smile. Nobody would ever guess the secret that I nursed today. There are those who might call me perverted of course, but who are they to criticise? I had my cutting, that's all that mattered; when Danny woke up it would be too late. I wished I could be a fly on the wall when his hand shot down to his groin so I could register the shock. It was all mine, still glistening with the sheen of aliveness; my future pendant: a bouquet of pubic hair beyond comparison. I didn't hide the spare key. Somehow, I was sure Danny wouldn't abuse it...
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