What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (19 page)

I don’t see anything of Greg at all; he is like a man
possessed with his painting now.  In turn I am spending all my time writing
whenever I am not at work or the gym.  The book is nearly finished, which
indicates just how many nights I have worked through in order to avoid sex with
Greg.  I know this burning the candle at both ends will lead to me crashing and
burning soon, but I need to finish the book, and I want to do it before my
world crashes down.  It’s going to happen soon… I can feel it. 

The only break in my writing is for a trip to the pub to
meet Annie and Emma.  They are both already there when I walk in, and as I make
my way over to them I’m reminded of how I felt when I went to my first job
interview, desperate for approval and acceptance. After the usual drink-collecting
courtesies from the typically unhelpful Brian, I am finally at the table
opposite the pair of them.

“So what’s happening with James, then, Lil?” Annie asks in
her usual direct style.

“What makes you think anything is?” I ask, more because I’m
intrigued to hear what they think they know than because I’m trying to be
deliberately evasive.

“Lily, he practically grabbed Greg’s hand off you at the
gallery the other night in between the pair of you eye-fucking each other the
rest of the time.  How long has it been going on?  Since the Peaks?”  I nod,
and Emma gasps.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, wide-eyed.  “Does Greg
know?”  I decide honesty is as ever the best policy, something I seem to have
forgotten over recent months.

“What I am going to do is leave Greg,” I say with
certainty. 

Emma gasps again.  “But you’ve hardly had a chance to get to
know him!  Are you sure he’s worth walking out of an eighteen-year relationship
for?”   

I have to say I’m surprised Emma is defending my marriage to
Greg, considering how down on him she’s been over the years. Annie is just
listening now and watching my face. 

I sigh and lay my cards on the table.  “I’m leaving Greg
because my marriage to him is empty in every sense of the word.  I have
fulfilled my responsibilities as a parent, and now the kids are off, doing
their own thing, I just want to have a chance to do my own thing too.  I’m not
planning to move in with James, although I do care about him, and I really want
to see what happens with us.  I’m going to find somewhere to rent and be on my
own for a bit and just see what life brings.”  Emma’s mouth is now fully open
as I continue. “You may well think I’m mad, but I think madness would be living
some sort of half-life until I die because I don’t have the courage to do
something different.  The only thing that has held me there for so long has
been the fact Greg needed me to look after him, but you’ve changed that,” I say,
looking at Annie.

“I’ve been waiting until I could leave knowing that he would
be okay, and now he is – okay, I mean, better than okay.  I’ve never seen
him so happy.  He may be upset about me for a while, but I know he will be
alright in the longer term.”  I pause, waiting for their judgement.

“I’m proud of you, honey,” Annie says, squeezing my arm.  “I
think you’re doing the right thing, and I’m here if you need me.” I lean over
and hug her, my cheeks wet with tears. 

Emma joins the hug, whispering: “I love you, Lil.  I just
want you to be happy.”

“Me too,” I say with a little sob, which just starts Emma
off big time.  “We need to stop this,” I eventually say, “Brian must definitely
have a hard-on over there behind the bar, watching this girl-on-girl action.” I
nod over to where he’s standing, not taking his eyes off us.  That makes them
both laugh, in between making fake retching sounds at the thought of Brian with
an erection.  

“So, when are you going to tell him?” Annie asks, the mood
sobering again.

“I’m not sure.  After Christmas sometime, I think, I need to
find a room to rent. Money’s going to be tight for a bit because I’ll still
need to help with the mortgage, but hopefully now Greg’s got some money coming
in, things will be a bit easier.”

“You’re a good person, Lily,” Emma says.  “He’s lucky to
have had you.”

“Is he?” I wonder. “I cheated on him, Em, and I’m not proud
of it.  Whatever his faults, he didn’t deserve that.  It’s bad karma.”

“So what about this James, then?  What’s he like, apart from
the obvious?”

“The obvious?” I ask.

“Drop-dead gorgeous, of course,” she laughs. I can’t deny he
is.

“He’s wonderful,” I say simply.  “He’s generous and kind and
passionate, and he’s shown me a whole new side to the world that I didn’t
believe existed.  I still can’t believe he wants me too,” I whisper.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” they say in unison and laugh.

“Have you seen yourself recently?  You’re stunning.  At the
gallery there wasn’t a man in the room that wasn’t looking at you, Lil,” Annie
adds.  “Greg didn’t like it, though.  Don’t assume he’s going to take this
breakup well, sweetie.”  I know she’s right.  “To be fair, Lily, you didn’t
stand a chance with James.  He wanted you bad, woman, all those panty-combusting
looks he was giving you all the time.  I did try to warn you.”

“You did,” I agree, “but I can’t regret it.  I feel alive
again.”

“But is he a good person?” Emma demands of Annie. “Is he
good enough for Lil?” 

I don’t think I could love my friend more if I tried.  She
always looks out for me, and I thank God every day she is my friend.  Annie’s
still thinking about the question, and I’m intrigued to hear what she has to
say.

“I don’t know him well enough to judge, Em.  What I’ve seen
of him round Lily makes me think he genuinely cares about her, and judging by
what Stuart tells me he’s picked her up off the gym floor enough times when she’s
damaged herself to make you think he must be a good person, but I can’t say I
really know him yet.  I guess the jury’s still out.”

“I have a favour to ask,” I say to Emma, and she narrows her
eyes at me, but I plough on.  “He wants to take me away for the weekend while
Greg is in Harrogate.  Can I tell Ethan I’m coming to you in case the baby
comes early while Phil is on his course?”  I hate dragging her into my world of
lies, and I can tell she doesn’t really want to do it, but she’s my friend to
the end and of course agrees.  I thank her and apologise again for involving
her.

We definitely need a change of subject, so I announce I have
practically finished my book and intend to get it sent off by the end of the
week to various publishers.  Emma squeals with excitement, which has Brian
running over convinced she has gone into early labour.  It takes a few minutes
to reassure him that is not the case and that he should return to the bar, but
eventually we achieve it by telling him Annie and Emma both need new drinks,
which has him scurrying.

“You have to give me a synopsis of the story,” Emma
declares, and I promise her that once I have sent it off she can have a copy to
read and give me feedback on.  I have low expectations, I assure her.  She
makes me promise to finish it by Friday and drop her a copy by for the weekend
to read while Phil’s away, since I won’t be there and she’s got to tell lies
for me.  It seems fair enough.  With that in mind I tell them I have some
writing to get back to do, so I say my goodbyes and leave them in the pub to
talk about me.  I know they will – I would if one of them had announced
what I had this evening.  As I drive home I feel as if the pressure has
released a little by telling them.  It matters to me that my friends understand
why I’ve made the decisions I have and can still love me.  It gives me hope I’ll
be okay if I can just get through the next few weeks.

By Friday I am virtually dead on my feet, mostly because I
have nearly killed myself to finish my book in order to fulfil my promise to
Emma while still going to work and making sure Greg and Ethan are fed.  But I’ve
done it, and I’m thrilled.  I’ve researched the publishers who might have any
interest in my story and written the summary they request, but everything I
read around the subject of getting published makes me feel it’s probably hopeless
to believe my book will be picked up – I’m more likely to win the lottery,
I suspect, and I don’t even buy a ticket.  I have Emma’s copy all printed off,
thanks to the printers at work, and I’m going to drop it in to her on my way to
work after I post my chapters. 

First, though, I help Greg get the hire van he’s got for the
weekend loaded with all his stuff.  He’s worked similar hours to me all week,
but I think it’s paid off, and he seems pleased with his output.  The canvasses
I catch sight of when he’s packing them for the journey look stunning – it’s
not only the stuff he’s producing at the moment; there’s some of his older
stuff too that people now seem to be interested in. 

The gallery event got a good write-up in both the local and national
press, and Greg got the most mentions, all of it favourable, so it certainly
seems like his time really is now.  When the van is all packed, we stand and
look at each other for a moment.  It feels awkward, like there’s a distance now
that he senses and is less willing to cross.  We’ve barely seen each other with
his painting and my writing, but I’m unwilling to broach the subject yet, and
so it seems is he.  He gives me a stiff hug and a peck on the lips before
climbing in, seemingly keen to be away.  I can understand it; it’s like we both
need to move on from what we were stuck in during our life together.

With Greg gone, my chapters posted and my stuff packed for
the weekend and in the boot of my car, it’s like all the energy has seeped out
of my body.  I’ve been running on adrenaline for so long now I think it’s all
finally caught up with me.  I sit at work in a daze, wondering how it is that
my life could change so much in a few short months.  I wonder briefly what
would have happened if I had never joined the gym, never gone to the Peaks,
never met James, what my life would be like now.  Would Greg and I be happy now
he is achieving success?  But then I realise I would never have met Annie, she
would never have asked to see his work, and Greg wouldn’t have achieved the
recognition he now has; so we would have been stuck in the same unhappy rut I
was so desperate to break out of in the first place.  It’s a catch-22.  James
has texted me the address of the hotel we are staying at, the Buxted Park
Hotel, about half an hour from Brighton.  He’s excited and keeps sending me
texts telling me how much he’s looking forward to seeing me.  I’m excited too,
but I can’t shake the little worm of anxiety that keeps gnawing away in my
stomach.  I guess it’s true the guilty never sleep; I remember reading
something that said: “When you are guilty, it is not your sins you hate, but
yourself.”  I think there is some truth in that.  At least it explains how I’m
feeling at the moment.

The workday crawls to a close, and I have been as much use
as a chocolate teapot all day. I make my way slowly to the car.  I’m not
hurrying like I normally do when I’m going to see James, and I don’t really
know what the matter is.  I think it’s because I’m getting an increasing sense
that I need to finish things with Greg before I can truly move forward happily
with James.  I have made some progress with my plans and circled some potential
bedsits to see on Monday, so now I’m determined that as soon as I have one, I
will sit Greg down and tell him.  I think I will wait until after Christmas now,
though, as Adam is coming home, and I selfishly want a last chance for us all
to be together.  I know it’s not going to be easy to tell them, but it needs to
be done. 

I drive along the country roads, noticing the twinkling of
Christmas lights in the houses I go past.  I really haven’t given it a thought,
and yet it’s only a couple of weeks away now.  When I pull in to the hotel it’s
delightful.  Set within beautiful parkland it’s the quintessential British
hotel, lit up with twinkling fairy lights.  James is already waiting in the car
park for me, talking on his phone.  He looks stressed, but when he catches
sight of me he smiles and all the stress vanishes.  I like it I can do that for
him.  He ends his call and moves towards me, taking my bag from me with one
hand and taking hold of my hand with his other before leaning in to brush my
lips with his own.  The hotel is just as lovely inside too, and not too
ostentatious.  I like that.  Our room is not quite as immense as last time, but
it is very comfortable.  James pulls me into his arms and holds me there tightly
for some time, and I relish the chance to just lean in against him and be held
and comforted.  When he finally pulls away he looks at me and frowns.  “Lily,
you look exhausted.”

“I am a bit,” I admit.  He waits for me to explain.  “I’ve
been staying up late writing,” I say by way of explanation.  “It’s finished,” I
add with a smile.

“My God, Lily, that’s extraordinary, you’ve done it so fast.”

“It just sort of flowed out of me once I started,” I say, “and
I didn’t really have much else to do with myself.  I loved doing it, though,
whatever the outcome,” I sigh.

“Well, that calls for some champagne,” he announces, moving
to the phone and calling down to reception.  “You need to run yourself a bath and
relax,” he tells me.  “I’ll bring you a glass in when it gets here.”  So I do,
and it’s bliss.  As I lie there soaking, feeling some of the anxiety seep away,
I hear the knock at the door as the champagne is delivered, and he comes in
with two glasses in his hands.  He hands me one and then clinks his own glass
against it.

“To you, Lily, and your future.”

“My future,” I agree with a smile.  He puts his own glass
down, as I slide down the bath sipping my champagne, and takes hold of one of
my legs.  He picks up the soap and the flannel, and then begins to wash me from
my toes all the way up to the apex of my thighs before he repeats the whole
exercise on my other leg.  When he has finished there he begins on my arms,
carefully taking my now empty glass from me and placing it on the side.  It is
blissful and oddly touching to have him taking care of me like this.  When he
reaches my chest the mood changes and my breathing becomes faster.  He dwells
on each breast, running his fingers around and over the ample flesh before
lowering his head to take my nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue
and teeth until I am moaning, before moving to the other breast.  Finally his
hand moves to my clitoris, and he brushes it lightly with his fingertips before
pressing first one finger and then another up inside me.  We stay there like
that, with him teasing my body to the brink and then calming, before doing the
same again until I don’t think I can cope with any more.

“Please, James,” I say.  When I open my eyes and look at him,
his eyes are heavy with desire.

“Come, Lily,” he says, holding
out a hand for me and helping me to my feet.  He wraps a large white bath towel
around me and lifts me into his arms before carrying me through and placing me
gently on the crisp white cotton sheets.  His eyes never leave mine as he moves
over me.  I spread my legs wide for him, still damp from the bath, inviting
him, needing him.  I feel him at my entrance, and he presses into me so slowly,
a centimetre at a time with his eyes still locked to my own.  There is none of
the lust-filled coupling of previous occasions.  It’s intimate, loving and
exquisitely sensual.  A connection of both our minds and our bodies, and I can
see the emotions blazing in his eyes as he reaches the deepest part of me.  I
feel stripped bare, emotionally and physically as I offer everything I am to
him.  We are making love, I realise, and it reminds me of our first time
together.  As we slowly begin to move it feels so beautiful and gentle.  He
kisses me, and even his kiss conveys feeling.  We move together until we both finally
cry out our climax within moments of each other, and afterwards in post-coital
drowsiness he holds me close until I fall asleep with my head on his chest, the
sound of his heartbeat lulling me into the most restful sleep I have had in
months.

I wake early entangled in James, with his arm still wrapped
tight around me, and for a few moments I just lie there enjoying the
closeness.  He looks so beautiful in his sleep.  I feel much better, more
rested and content.  The anxiety that has resided within me for so long now has
lessened slightly.  One blue eye opens sleepily, followed by the other, and he blinks
at me.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says with a smile. “Do you know how
lucky I feel to get to wake up with you?  How long I’ve wanted to do this?”  He
pulls me close to him.

“I wouldn’t come too close to my breath,” I warn him, “I don’t
think I cleaned my teeth last night.”  He smiles, rolling on top of me.  “Even
your breath can’t force me away,” he assures me, and then he shows me just what
he means.

When we wake again for the second time, we order some
breakfast to be sent up to the room and spend a happy hour feeding each other
fresh fruit and croissants.  It’s a heavenly start to the day.  The morning is
bright and the grounds inviting, so we wrap up warm, put on our walking boots
and follow the directions the receptionist has given us through the grounds to
a local pub, about six miles away, where we have a drink and a light lunch
before making our way back to the hotel.  It is so nice to do such normal
activities for couples, and I realise how much difference it makes to be able
to spend this sort of time with him.  James and I talk so easily about anything
and everything; it all feels so comfortable and natural for us to be together. 
Even when we are quiet it is the comfortable silence of two people content just
to be in the other’s company.  We get back to the hotel and order coffee in the
lounge.  There’s a wedding at the hotel, and we admire the happy couple through
the windows as they pose for photos in the grounds while we sit by the
fireplace sipping our coffee.  They can’t take their hands off each other, and
it’s sweet to watch.  They look young and happy and in love. I feel old and
jaded by comparison and tell James so.

“Rubbish, Lily,” he snorts.  “You really don’t see yourself as
other people do, do you?” he says, bemused.  “Let me tell you what I see.”  He
begins, effectively silencing me with a finger over my lips when I start to
protest.  “I see a petite, perfectly proportioned woman who is in danger of
losing her beautiful curves if she loses any more weight; with the most
enticing big brown eyes that make me want to lose myself in their sweet depths
when I look at them, and lips which are full and make me think of kissing all
the time.  When you walk into a room I see all the men check you out, but what’s
amazing is you never even notice, and that just makes you even more attractive
in my eyes.  Add to that you’re intelligent, funny, insightful, caring and…”

“Stop,” I say, embarrassed, pushing his chest with both
hands.

“I was going to say bossy and a bit of a bully.” 

I laugh, and I see his gaze fall to my lips again.  I can
tell he doesn’t want to talk any more.  I take his hand, and we make our way
back to our room where we lie down together on the bed.

“The thing is, Lily,” he says, “a man is very transactional
when it comes to what is attractive.  You only have to look at the type of porn
a man goes for.  Crappy videos with no real story featuring women with big tits
doing sexy stuff to men.  It’s all very superficial.  With women it’s
different; they like books where they can visualise the sex themselves, not
pictures.  It’s more cerebral.  A woman needs to feel beautiful to allow
herself to behave erotically; I think that’s why so many women don’t have
orgasms with men, because the men are too transactional; they don’t help the
woman to feel beautiful,” he says, stroking my thigh all the while. 

He reaches for the sash from my robe and wraps it around my
eyes so that I can’t see anything, only feel the sensations as he touches me.  “You
have to give yourself to the moment, Lily, to the sensation,” he says,
caressing me.  The lack of sight means every new touch startles and thrills me,
and I respond with little gasps because each touch is amplified. 

“Do you trust me, Lily?” he asks.  I don’t have to think to
answer:

“Yes.” 

As soon as I say it I feel him securing one of my wrists
with some sort of tie, and then the other one, before moving to my ankles.  The
fastenings are soft on my skin, but when he finishes I can’t move and am
spread-eagled on the bed.  I feel vulnerable but aroused at the same time.  He
resumes his touching, all the while whispering to me how beautiful I am and how
much he wants me. I feel him move between my legs, and my heart rate
accelerates.  When his tongue touches me, my body jerks but the ties hold me in
place.  My natural instinct is to want to close my legs or reach down to touch
him, but I can do neither.  I am entirely in his control, with my body at his
command.  His tongue is teasing my swollen bud, and the sensation is intense;
when he pushes his tongue up inside me, I groan.  His tongue resumes its work
on my most sensitive place while his fingers take over probing inside, seeking
more response from me.  I am writhing now, wanting to pull him to me, to
satisfy the ache inside me.  I would do anything to have him enter me now; my
body is aroused, arching to thrust my breasts towards him, trying to tempt him
higher so I can ensnare him within me. 

“No, Lily,” he says, “this is just about you first of all,”
and he continues to tease until I am moaning in a place between despair and
desire. I feel beautiful and desired as he worships my body with his hands,
lips and tongue, until my body can take no more and I spiral into a climax made
all the more intense because I cannot close my legs.  For a few seconds I
cannot think; I don’t even know my own name until I feel James, as he releases
the ties on my hands and feet before he enters me.  I am still sensitive at
first, and he moves gently as if knowing what I am feeling.  Eventually the
pace builds and I feel myself rising again with him this time, my body craving
the feel of him moving inside me, until we both cry out, his name on my lips. 
It is the most intense orgasm I have ever experienced, almost exquisitely
painful.