Sex with a Sting: Six Erotic Fantasies with a Kink in the Tail (17 page)

“Yes, I
did
say that didn’t I? I believed it, too. But I’ve never seen him like this. I
think you
have
changed him. I’m not saying don’t be wary, I’m not saying
don’t assume he’ll always be 100% faithful, but I honestly think he’s changed.
I’ve never, ever seen him be with anyone longer than a couple of months. And
he’s been with some amazing girls – some beautiful but dumb, of course
– but some were genuinely smart and funny and gorgeous and they adored
him, but he just pushed them away. But with you he’s different. He used to be
so self-centred, bless him, but now it’s like he’s Liz-centred.”

“So, shall I say
yes?”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be
with him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust
him?”

“… Yes. I do. He’s
given me no reason not to.”

“I think you have
your answer, sweetie.”

His flat, near
Hampstead in north London, was a step or ten up from hers. Plenty of space,
huge widescreen TV and surround sound system, fabulous bathroom, enormous king
size bed – and everything was tastefully decorated. She felt at home
right away – possibly because she’d been spending so much time there
anyway.

It was around the
11-month mark in the relationship, in the spring of 2008, when Liz first felt
just a touch uneasy. First of all, Maxine, who only lived three or four streets
along from them, happened to see Ethan having a coffee with an attractive older
lady late one afternoon. When Max mentioned she’d seen him to Liz, she thought
nothing of it at first. But the more she considered it, the more she was sure something
didn’t add up. She was positive that he’d said he was taking a male client for
a running session on the Heath at that time. Maybe Max had just been wrong
about when she saw him.

A couple of weeks
later she took Ethan to a Kylie Minogue concert at the O2 Arena. All the girls
from the office went and one or two brought their boyfriends. Ethan seemed to
enjoy the evening, even though he was not much of a Kylie fan, and Liz was once
again pleased with how much of an effort he made with her friends and how well
he fitted into the group.

The next day at
work, however, Arlene called Liz into one of their small meeting rooms. She
talked about a few things she needed Liz to do on the website, but then said,
“Listen, Lizzie, this is probably nothing, but I wouldn’t be a mate if I didn’t
tell you about it. Last night when you went to the lav, Ethan was a little bit…
well,
handsy
with me.”

“Handsy?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t
anything major, we were dancing a bit and his hands found their way to my ass.
I moved them pretty quick you understand, but they were there and he wasn’t
bashful about it neither. It’s probably nothing, sweetheart, but I thought I
should mention it. Does he do that a lot?”

“N-no, I mean,
well… yeah, it’s just his way. He was probably a bit pissed. I’ll have words!”

“Are we all right?
I promise I didn’t do anything to lead him on, well not beyond being as fit as
fuck, right?”

“Course we are,
and who could blame him anyway you little Aussie stunner!”

Liz never did
mention it to Ethan, but she did begin to keep a closer eye on him. Over the
next couple of weeks, he was home late a few times. At first just by an hour or
two and then a couple of times he didn’t make it until well after midnight. The
late evenings grew more regular. Ethan blamed it on a client, but something
didn’t sit right. Finally, suspicion turned to alarm bells when he arrived home
after three in the morning and conspicuously headed straight for the shower.

She caught him
eventually, of course. Ethan may have had more than his fair share of women in
his time, but he was not an experienced cheater – mainly because he was
rarely with a woman long enough to two-time her. Consequently, he was probably
too unaware of the dangers to properly cover his tracks. Leaving his BlackBerry
unattended, with his calendar just a click away, became his undoing. Liz
resisted several opportunities before finally sneaking a peak – she was
so sure he was seeing someone else that she managed to justify her snooping to
herself. One thing stood out – a booking at a restaurant later that week.
They weren’t due to go out together, so it seemed pretty suspicious.

On the night in
question, she sat at the window of a bar opposite the restaurant and waited.
Arlene was with her for moral support. “This is ace, mate,” she said. “Like a
real stakeout!” Then she realised she probably shouldn’t have been quite so
happy about what was actually a sad evening. “Sorry, Lizzie – no offence,
mate.”

“None taken! It is
like a stakeout. Another G&T?”

“Don’t mind if I
do. What are you gonna say to him if you catch him?”

“Hadn’t thought
about it.”

“Actions speak
louder than words, sweetheart.”

“Kick in the
nuts?”

“Bingo. Hey
– at least one person will be pleased about this.”

“Who?”

“Andy!”

“Has he not moved
on yet?”

“Nope, he is
obsessed with you, girl. Obsessed. In a nice way. Not in a stalker way… as far
as I know.”

The pair of them
had sunk a few gin and tonics by the time Ethan finally emerged, just after
ten, with his arm around a blonde woman, all legs and jewellery, both of them
giggling. He began scanning the street for a taxi. “Right, I’m off, see you in
a sec, wish me luck!”

“Good luck! Use
your knee – it’s a bit more ladylike.” Liz nodded, gulped down the rest
of her drink and then stalked out and across the street. He didn’t see her
until she was next to them.

“Hi baby, what
time do you think you’ll be home tonight? Are you bringing your friend along?”

“Who’s this?”
asked the blonde woman.

“Ah, hi, Liz…
Fuck.” There was a fairly long, awkward pause. “Fuck.” A cab mercifully pulled
up. “You better get in there, Candy.”

“Candy? Really?
Fuck me, that is priceless,” squealed Liz. Candy looked a bit shocked, but
before she could say anything Ethan had pushed her inside and was grabbing £40
from his wallet.

“Wherever she
needs to go,” he told the driver, and closed the door. Liz and Ethan looked at
each other while the cab drove off.

“How long?”

“Baby…”

“How long?”

“Coupla weeks.”
Liz slapped his cheek viciously and returned to the bar.

“Oh, that was an
awesome slap, girl!” They high-fived.

“Her name was
Candy
!”

“Candy! Fucking
perfect!”

“Can I stay at
yours for a bit.”

“Course you can.
Long as you want.”

“I need another
drink.”

“Shall I call Andy
for you?”

Liz was sure that
was the end of it. It was inevitable, of course. It had just happened much
later than she had expected and the worst thing was that she had got hurt.

And yet, he was
sorry. He was contrite. He begged forgiveness. He said he had felt scared,
trapped, but he now realised that he couldn’t bear to lose her. Gifts arrived
at the office on a daily basis. Flowers. Chocolates. Doughnuts for everyone
(trying to curry favour with her mates: smart). Wine. Even a £300 bracelet from
Tiffany. After a week of this she began to break. Finally, she agreed to move
back in. She had given him a shock – hopefully he had learned his lesson.
And the make-up sex was awesome. He spent a lot of time with his head between
her legs for the first week she was back.

Soon, the incident
was pretty much forgotten. Their relationship, if anything, became even
stronger. Their sex life was certainly better. Role-play, sex toys, dressing
up, sending each other rude photos during the day – they explored all
kinds of areas. Ethan was constantly inventive and Liz loved to push the
boundaries. She was seen as a fun but probably reasonably sensible girl amongst
friends, and she loved the idea that she could secretly turn into something
much naughtier in the bedroom. Plus, she reasoned, if Ethan was fully satisfied
sexually, perhaps he was less likely to go looking for extra-curricular fun
elsewhere.

On Christmas
morning in 2008, Ethan proposed. No one saw that coming, not even Liz. He
walked into their bedroom with a thick woollen sock, commenting that it didn’t
look like Santa had brought her very much. Inside was a small box. She expected
earrings, but before she could flip it open he took it from her, sank to one
knee, still completely naked it must be said, and opened it for her. She
screamed. She said yes. They made love, quickly, madly.

They married that
summer. It was not a huge wedding, more of a wedding with friends rather than a
big family do. Ethan danced with just about every woman in the place, from the
four-year-old bridesmaid to Liz’s 90-year-old grandmother. He charmed every
single one of them and was on his very best behaviour throughout, never too far
from her side, never more than a few moments away from whispering to her that
she looked beautiful, that he loved her, that he could not believe how happy
she made him.

“You’ve done the
impossible, sweetie,” said Maxine, her Maid of Honour. “You’ve turned an utter
hound into some kind of…
Lassie
… does that even make sense?”

“Er, I think so.”

That is where the
story, such as it is, should have ended. In fairy tales and romance stories
this is where the lovely couple live happily ever after. And, deep into 2009,
it looked as if that was exactly how the story would end. Ethan even began
talking about the possibility of kids – although she was keen to wait a
little longer, being a number of years younger than him and still building her
career at the magazine.

Who knows what
happened? Maybe they just became too comfortable. Or perhaps Ethan hadn’t
really changed. But in late autumn of that year he became involved with a
client. She was a successful, married, finance executive. The fling lasted
around a month and this time Ethan covered his tracks more carefully. The
problem was that when guilt did get to him and he broke it off, the woman was
so angry that she hand-delivered a letter to their home, addressed to Liz and
revealing everything: how they fucked in the morning at her place after her
husband had left for work and even how they had made love several times in Liz
and Ethan’s bed.

It was a harsh
letter, graceless, scathing of Ethan, and apparently absolving herself of any
blame despite the fact that she had regularly been committing adultery too.
Unlike last time, this made Liz angrier with the woman than with Ethan,
although the letter made her physically vomit in pain.

Ethan broke down
in front of her that evening, crying, begging her to once more forgive him and
work at their marriage. It was a long night of discussion. Liz wanted out. She
felt like she could possibly forgive him and keep the union alive, but the
thought of going through it all again the next time his dick decided it was
bored of her made her want to scratch his eyes out. And her own. She stayed
with Maxine and Jack this time, for two weeks. She would have stayed longer,
but their loud lovemaking began to grate, so she moved back.

She didn’t tell
him she was returning, she was just there one evening when he got home. It was
over a week later that he finally asked where his beloved baseball, signed by
New York Yankees legend Derek Jeter, had gone. It usually had pride of place,
in a pristine glass case, on the mantelpiece. “E-Bay,” she replied. He bit his
lip. She had a nice trip to Tiffany.

Gradually, the ice
melted and the discussion about kids was occasionally raised as they began to
feel like a family again. Yet something had broken that second time. Maybe
Ethan felt he had been unlucky to get caught. Or maybe he just couldn’t help
himself. But the signs of his restlessness were soon easy to spot.

It was the tiniest
details at first. The way he looked at an attractive waitress, when before his
gaze would rarely stray from Liz. The way he would occasionally go too far in
his praise for one of her friends, particularly Maxine, who Liz knew he loved
to fantasise about. And then there was the dinner party at Max’s, just before
Christmas 2010. It brought back memories of how they first met.

Couples were not
allowed to sit next to each other in a bid to encourage proper mingling, so Liz
and Ethan perched at different ends of the table. During dessert, Liz rose to
reach for the wine and happened to catch a glance of her husband’s arm at a
strange angle under the table. He was sitting next to Kirsten, a woman in her
mid-30s with a more-than-ample cleavage and a breathy voice. She couldn’t know
for sure, of course, but she had seen that move before. Even when Ethan pulled
the trick of going to the bathroom before Kirsten had returned from her trip,
Liz said nothing. She had no proof. It could all be completely innocent.