Asking for Trouble
Beth and Ilya haven’t even met. They’re neighbours and have flirted in a slightly scary way from windows across the street. Ilya somehow got Beth’s home phone number and called her. Here, he’s encouraging her to tell him about the time she had sex on a rural train station platform. It’s starting to get heated.
The entire chapter, by the way, is written as a phone conversation.
‘Go on, Beth,’ he challenged gently. ‘Just unzip. That’s all. You’re on the platform at Ford, pressed up against a wall, at the back of this waiting room. You’re so horny, so hot. The sun’s beating down, probably making the concrete white, hurting your eyes. Behind Ben – his body’s up close to yours – you can see trees and bits of fields. The sky’s blue, blue, blue. No-one’s around, so Ben unzips you. How did he do it, Beth? Was it slow and teasing? Or was he hungry for you? Was he desperate to slide his fingers inside your knickers?’
I swallowed hard.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It was like this. Listen.’ I moved the receiver into position, holding it across my belly. Making sure the mouthpiece was close enough, I fumbled for the zip-tag with my left hand. The metal gave a light, tinny clink. Then I unzipped. As my fingers eased downwards, the teeth unlocked with a low steady purr.
Congratulating myself, I released a gentle sigh. Then I cradled the receiver into my neck, hunching one shoulder to keep it wedged there. Eager for his response, I let my fingers stroked mindlessly along the grinning lips of my fly.
‘That was nice,’ he said. ‘Not too fast, not too slow. What happened next? Did he slip his hand into the gap? Did his fingers slide into your knickers? Did he touch you?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
There was silence. Then he said: ‘How? What sort of knickers were you wearing?’
‘I … I don’t know. Can’t remember. I just remember – oh God, I was so horny – I remember his fingers running along the leg of my knickers, just a fraction inside. Then he kind of moved the gusset and he began … he began touching me, fingering me. “God, you’re wet,” he said. His voice was all whispery and groggy, and his body was still close to mine, shielding me. I had to hold onto his shoulders. I felt weak. I was about to come.’
‘Did you come then? Did you come with his fingers? Or was it later, when you fucked? Or both? Twice?’
‘No, when we fucked,’ I said. ‘I came when we fucked. I really, really came. I was so –’
‘And now? Are you horny now?’
‘Yes.’ I could scarcely hear my own words. My voice was like a breath catching in my throat.
‘Where are your hands?’
‘One’s kind of here, re-adjusting the phone every now and then. And the other … it’s near my fly.’
‘Are you masturbating?’
Oh, his voice. It was hypnotist-soft. ‘No,’ I said throatily. As I spoke one of my fingers stole past my open zip and into my knickers. I skimmed across my swollen vulva then withdrew. I felt as if he were watching me.
‘Do you want to?’ he asked. ‘Are you ready to?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said weakly. ‘But I need to –’
‘Touch yourself, Beth.’
It was what I craved. I ached to caress myself, and I don’t know why, but I wanted his permission. Feeling freer, I edged into my knickers once again, via the zip of my skirt. With my index finger, I sawed along my cleft – it was so slippery and open – and my moist flesh pulsed in gratitude.
‘Is it good?’ he asked.
I dipped my fingertip into my entrance and stirred a lingering circle there, resisting the urge to penetrate myself fully. ‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘It’s very good.’
‘Keep doing whatever you’re doing, Beth,’ he said, ‘and tell me about you and Ben. The train station, behind the red brick thing, and his hand is in your skirt, past your knickers. His fingers are all over you, inside you. Is that right?’
‘Yes, yes. His fingers were so good. I was … my cunt … it was just melting onto his fingers. I could hardly stand. He kept me pushed against the wall, holding me upright with his body. And his fingers worked. There was no-one around. I was ready to come. I was groaning, trying to be quiet, just in case.’
‘Did you tell him you were ready to come?’
‘What did Ben do?’
‘He unzipped. He checked over his shoulders and he unzipped.’
I held my breath, my fingers teasing. My clit was fat and tender like a fruit about to burst with ripeness. I heard the sound of flies being unzipped. His flies. I could picture a crotch, bulging, and the zip unteething over it, gaping to expose underwear. I imagined an erect cock springing out: the erect cock of my faceless man whose name was Ilya. Ilya Travis.