Part Twelve:
June
‘Just Five Words. The five words that changed his life. The handful of words that turned him from a husband, father and successful businessman into something else entirely.’
He scanned carefully through the lines on the screen again.
“Hey, love. Listen to this.”
He read the opening synopsis out aloud for her approval.
“Sounds a bit dramatic doesn’t it ?” she replied.
“Yeah, a bit. But you’ve got to grab the readers by the balls, so to speak.”
She laughed, stirring the pan of soup she was heating up for them.
“Into something else entirely … whooo … spooky. A werewolf !”
He grinned back. He was sat in front of the laptop at the kitchen table.
“Listen to the rest. This is the true story of a man who really did live the dream that many male submissives think they would like to turn into reality. Ignore that baloney about it all being fiction in the disclaimer above.”
“Dream ?” she said. “Or nightmare ?”
“I think ‘dream’ is better in the opening context. Let the readers decide for themselves later if it’s a wet dream or a horrible nightmare.”
“Okay. You’re the writer not me.” She tasted the soup off her wooden spoon. “What about names ? Have you made a final decision ?”
He smiled, touching his fingertips to his chest. “Meet Mart.”
“Mart ? As in Martin ?”
“I guess. Or Walmart ! I just like the abbreviated name. Short and suggestively … wimpish.”
“And ?” she pointed her finger to her bosom.
“I’ve got several ideas. But … I prefer Kelly. Sort of in tribute to Mrs. Emma Kelly and her legendary blog.”
She pouted, nodding her head from side to side, weighing it up.
“Kelly … mmm, I like it. Kelly and Mart. Suits us.”
He turned back to the screen, reading aloud again.
“Kelly and Mart are actual people and the events certainly happened, pretty much exactly as laid out here.”
She smiled, pouring their soup into two bowls.
“I think that ‘based on actual events’ would be more accurate.”
“Nah !” he chuckled. “I’m going to write it exactly as I see it.”
And so it began.
On the last day of June 2007, he finished the first Chapter of their story. The words achieved precisely what he had hoped for. They triggered the process of catharsis that he needed to complete the cycle.
He had written the beginning.
He knew the middle.
But he still didn’t know quite which way it would end.
July
Kelly arrived home late afternoon from spending a day out with Naomi and another girlfriend. She shook the umbrella on the doorstep. England was suffering its wettest, most miserable summer during her lifetime.
“Hi.” She called out. “I’m home !”
There was no answer.
Mart was sat at the PC. He was unshaven, still in his dressing gown, staring at the screen. He turned slowly to look up at her in a daze.
“Hi.” She repeated, shaking her head at his gaunt, dishevelled appearance.
“Umm … hi.” He responded robotically.
“Good day ?” she asked.
“Huh ?”
She walked up and patted him on the head. “Earth to Mart.”
“… I’ve finished.”
“What ? No ! Already ?”
He sighed. “Yep. All 70,000 words of it.”
“Wow.”
She fingered the sheets of paper stacked high in the laser printer.
“Can I read it ?”
He put his arms round her waist and nestled his head against her tummy.
“I think you’d better wait until you’ve got a drink in your hand.”
Later, much later, around midnight, she reached the ending.
The final words that revealed the truth.
She’d drunk two vodka slimlines and a bottle of white wine in the process. Yet her brain was totally clear, as if the alcohol had been absorbed by the emotion, filtered out through her kidneys and bladder.
So that’s how it was.
Five words.
August
The email looked just like any other. They both enjoyed receiving the regular feedback, reactions and comments from readers. ‘Wake up and smell the coffee, Mart’, was the most common reaction, although ‘treat him mean to keep him keen’ came a close second.
That morning there were 7 new emails and it was the last one he opened.
He read it through once, then a second time. Then a third. He called Kelly over.
“What do you reckon ?” he asked.
“Sounds like it might be genuine but … wow !”
“No rush. Let’s go make some coffee.”
In fact, the man was totally genuine and so was his email.
Mart and he exchanged correspondence for three days. Gradually Mart began feeling more comfortable with the idea of taking it to the next stage.
‘Give me a phone number and I’ll call you at a pre-arranged time.’
The number arrived by return. It had a 1-prefix for USA, and a 323-city code, plus 7 more digits.
At exactly 6 p.m. - 10 a.m in California - Mart dialled the number on a cash pre-paid phone so that it couldn’t be traced to his real identity.
“Hi.”
“Mart.” Said the honey-smooth voice. “Shall I call you Mart ?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“It’s good to put a voice to your words, Mart. Your Five Words.”
“It’s good to speak to you too.”
“I enjoyed your story a lot, Mart. And so did a couple of my associates. As I mentioned in my email, we’d like to discuss making your story come alive. We think it could make a great movie.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about. You see, Kelly and I have discussed it and we really don’t want our love life made … you know … sordid. Of course the idea is flattering but … well, wouldn’t this be a porn movie ?”
Kelly was sat on the sofa listening. She stuck a thumb up in support.
“No. Heck no, Mart. I haven’t been using my real name either Mart. I don’t know how much you know about the film industry …”
“Not much.”
“ … well, put it like this, my name is known. So are my associates. No, Mart, we’re talking about a mainstream movie, the full romantic Hollywood treatment. Sure, it will be spicy, probably rated ‘18’. But not pornography. No way.”
His heart missed a beat. “So, you mean like a proper grown up film.”
The American laughed nicely. “Yep. A proper grown-up, box-office-record-breaking, Oscar-winning, honest to goodness epic !”
“You’re serious ?”
“Serious as I’m standing here looking over at the Hollywood sign, Mart.”
“And ?”
“And we think that you and that lovely wife of yours should climb aboard a plane, First Class British Air, at our expense, and come on out to spend a week with your lovely daughter Chantal. I assume she’s real. And while you’re over here, we’d like you to take some time to visit with us and maybe talk about how we can put that story of yours into production.”
The suite at Shutters was smallish, but perfect. The boulevard, beach and Pacific Ocean were on the doorstep. Chantal and Greg’s tiny apartment was only a 30 minutes drive away, pretty close by Los Angeles standards.
For their first night they ordered room service.
“I’ll get it.” Mart called out, as the bell sounded.
The waiter was standard issue California-dude, presumably some student working his Summer job to make some cash. He flashed them his perfect smile, laying out the tray on the table.
Kelly was lying on the bed in her hotel robe.
She felt the boy’s blue eyes checking her out, taking in her legs, neck and face. She met his gaze full on, enjoying his sudden blink of embarrassment.
“Sign here, please Sir.” He said to Mart.
She watched Mart initial the check, wondering if the boy used lemon juice in his hair, how many hours he worked out at the gym daily.
“Shall I open the champagne Sir ?”
“I’ll do it, thanks.” Mart replied.
She chuckled as soon as the door was closed.
“You wanted to fuck him.” Mart said, twisting the cork until it popped.
“Just looking.” She replied good-naturedly. She had done over two months now. Like an addict in rehab, there had been moments of cold turkey.
“Here.” He said, passing her a glass.
They chinked them together.
“You … want to ?”
She sighed. “No, Mart. You know I don’t.”
It was like being married to a pusher.
He pushed the robe off her shoulder and kissed her neck. “Anything I can do ?”
Sex wasn’t bad. It was better than she’d feared. Better than it used to be before this all began. But there was no point lying to herself. Or to Mart. Once you have gorged on forbidden fruit salad, then an apple is an apple, is an apple.
“Let’s eat.” She said, pulling her robe back over her shoulder.
She’d imagined a short, fat, bald man, in a suit, smoking a big cigar.
In fact, ‘V’ was tall, slim, greying, handsome and super-fit, wearing an open necked shirt.
He didn’t even have a cigar.
He kissed her hand and it felt right, not slimy at all.
But what she liked even more was that he gave her husband a firm handshake and treated him with proper manly respect.
“Take a seat.”
The view was breathtaking, except for the smoggy haze. They admired it, made small talk about the flight, broke the ice a while.
“So, I guess my email kinda came as a bit of a shock ?”
“It did.” Mart replied.
Kelly smiled, keeping her powder dry.
“Well, as you can tell, we’re serious. We really want to make this film.”
Mart breathed in. “Where do we go from here ?”
“Well, we have to reach agreement on an option. That’s a sum of money we pay you to buy the right to make the film under certain terms.”
“Okay.”
“Then we do all the usual stuff. Find the stars, the cast, write a script, choose locations, set a budget, obtain the money, you know !”
“Stars ?”
‘V’ beamed at them. “Stars. To play the main parts. And believe it or not, I have them lined up already. You see, they’re associates of mine. I thought immediately of them when I was reading your story.”
“Who ?”
When he said the names, she gasped.
“Fuck.” Mart said, letting out a whistle.
“But you have to keep that quiet until things are tied up.” He grinned at the ‘tying up’ innuendo. “So to speak.”
“Sure.”
There was a pause.
“There’s just one small problem.”
“The money, I guess ?” Mart replied.
He waved his hands dismissively at Mart, then Kelly, as if money was irrelevant.
“No. The ending.”
“The ending ?”
“Yep. You see I’m afraid that we think it would make a much better story if it had a different ending.”
The house in Malibu was set right on the sandy beach.
Kelly sat on the sand and felt like a scraggly duckling alongside the swan-like poise of one of the most beautiful women in the world. Even dressed in cut off jeans and a white T, the famous actress looked like a billion dollars.
“I’m really going to need your help.”
MY help. Oh right. Kelly smiled. “Anything, if I can.”
“The most difficult part for me is going to be getting inside your head. I’ve played all sorts of roles before, but this will be my greatest challenge. I could never sleep around on my husband. I need to understand how anybody could.”
Kelly snorted slightly protectively. “It’s not that unusual.”
“No. I guess. Tell me what it’s like.”
“To me, it’s the opposite of that line attributed to Paul Newman about his wife Joanne Woodward. He apparently said, why go out for a burger, when he could have steak at home ?”
Kelly paused to make full contact with the warm, chestnut eyes.
“But … some of us … we don’t want steak every night. Or caviar, lobster, whatever gourmet dish you like. I like the fun of just going out for a good time, a couple of beers and a ‘burger’. With relish.”
The face stared towards her; behind the gorgeous features, the lightly tanned and faultless skin, the luscious lips, perfect hair, she was just another female, battling with a woman’s conflicting thoughts.
“I saw what those people wrote about you.” The actress said, casting a pebble towards the sea. “You came out pretty badly.”
“Like a pretty woman, huh ?” Kelly replied.
The actress smiled ruefully. “Several emails called you a whore.”
Kelly shrugged. “Men can’t make up their minds. We behave like women and they label us boring soccer moms. We behave like men, they call us whores.”
“Your husband Mart, he’s cute.”
“Uh-huh.” Kelly nodded in agreement. “And ?” Her voice rose. “I was faithful to him for two decades. I love him to this day. He would have been the only man I ever had sex with, were it not for … those five words. I didn’t go with other guys because Mart’s not cute. I did it because he said I could. Because he said I should. It seems a load of men want it. But the few wives and girlfriends who will actually do it are then criticised for doing so. That is your challenge. Don’t portray me as the villain in this, I’m not.”
“So is Mart the villain ?”
“You know what, this isn’t a neat script, where the characters are goodies and baddies. This actually happened and the people are real flesh and blood, warts and all.”
She was getting angry now. She understood the actress was just probing, doing her research. But …
She stood up and brushed the sand from her legs.
“I’ll just go and see how Mart’s doing.”
They had lunch with Chantal and Greg the following day.
“It’s so good to have you guys here.” Chantal enthused. “You look fabulous mom. And dad, you look so happy. But still so fit !”
They spent a wonderful two hours at The Ivy, enjoying hearing about Chantal’s job, Greg’s career, and talking about the house in Portugal, American and British politics, the usual newsworthy topics.
Over coffee, the name of a famous American actress came up in conversation. Chantal became very animated.
“Mom, she is so stunning. We saw her the other day on Rodeo Drive, climbing into a stretch. You can’t imagine how gorgeous she is close up.”
Kelly smiled. “Actually my dear, I think I probably can.”
September
EXTERIOR. CHURCH. – DAY
A typical English village church. It is a bright, typical September day. Various shots of the exterior during a service; long shot, view of car park, close up of entrance doors. We hear vague strains of the service through doors.
INTERIOR. CHURCH. AISLE. – DAY
Organ music. Widor’s ‘Toccata’ plays. Dylan and Kelly recede up the aisle at the end of their wedding service, both dressed traditionally. The church is full of smiling faces, some we recognise, others we don’t. We see Alain, Jack, Naomi, other friends, even Ingrid. We do not see James, Nick or Chantal. Finally, we see Mart. He is standing in the Best Man’s spot.
EXTERIOR. CHURCH. – DAY
Congregation spilling out of church. Bride and groom’s car driving away.
INTERIOR. MOVING CAR. – DAY
DYLAN
Phewsh ! I’m glad that part’s over.
He GRABS Kelly sitting next to him on the back seat and kisses her.
KELLY
(laughing)
Careful, you impatient man !
She straightens her dress and hair/veil.
We see chauffeur’s eyes revealed in driver mirror. It is Mart.
DYLAN
The reception doesn’t start for twenty minutes.
Exaggerated look at watch.
INTERIOR. HOTEL BEDROOM. DOUBLE BED. – DAY
SUDDEN CUT. Straight to frantic sex scene in hotel bed. Loud GRUNTS and MOANS. Headboard of double bed THUDS wall rhythmically. Dylan is on top of Kelly, both nearing orgasms. Both are still clothed but for their lowered trousers/pants and rucked up wedding dress. Through the window we see wedding guests outside arriving for reception. Dylan and Kelly reach mutual climax. Mart is seen helping to guide guests into the hotel.
INTERIOR. HOTEL. RECEPTION. – DAY
Receiving Line. Dylan and Kelly are now nonchalantly greeting guests. We see Alain, Jack and Ingrid all kissing Kelly. Finally we see Naomi. She is unaccompanied.
NAOMI
(in Kelly’s ear)
I’m sooo happy for you. Jealous … but happy.
KELLY
You feeling okay ?
Camera angle reveals that Naomi is pregnant.
Naomi and Kelly glance over at Jack. He is talking to a young, pretty female.
NAOMI
Didn’t think I’d end up a single mum, did we ?
Kelly takes a breath and starts to speak, as if to apologise. Naomi gives her a rueful smile and places a finger over Kelly’s lips.
NAOMI (cont)
No speeches, my love. Save them for another time.
INTERIOR. HOTEL. RECEPTION. DAY – LATER
Speeches. Dylan is speaking. Audience are stood around LAUGHING, holding champagne glasses, listening. Kelly is stood beside Dylan.
DYLAN
… and so everybody, I’d like to end by thanking you all for coming today. And thanks for the presents as well. I’m sure my … wife (CHEERS from audience) will be writing to thank you for them, after we return from our … honeymoon (raucous JEERS). Now, pray silence please, for our dear friend Mart, the Best Man ! (loud cheers, jeers and APPLAUSE).
MART
Ladies, gentlemen, bride and groom, obviously this is a strange and … difficult moment for me.
As he speaks, the camera recedes from a close up of Mart’s face filling the screen, to a medium shot, to a long shot, then starts to fade out.
MART (cont)
Most of you already know how Kelly, Dylan and I got ourselves into this … situation. And now I guess you all want me to tell you how it will end.
FADE OUT
EXTERIOR. TROPICAL BEACH. DESERTED – DAY
FADE IN. We quickly gather it is a honeymoon scene. Kelly and Dylan are splashing in the sea. Their large towels lie side by side on the empty white sand. The idyllic boutique hotel on an island comprises individual thatched bungalows with their own plunge pools and private beach coves. There is nobody else in sight. We watch Kelly and Dylan during Mart’s voice over.
MART
(voice over)
This is not the end, of course. There is no end. For me anyway. One day it will all be over, one way or another, but that will be years, probably decades away. Until then …
INTERIOR. HOTEL ROOM. – DAY
Cut to Mart. He is standing, spread eagled. His arms are stretched up to cuffs round his wrists suspended from the thick wooden beam supporting the bungalow roof. The ceiling fan is switched off despite the stifling air. His feet are stretched apart by a spreader bar. Behind him, through the open doors, we can see the beach, and Kelly and Dylan embracing in the sea.
MART (cont, talking to camera)
… our lives will continue as the fates ordained. I always wanted a happy ending. Now I’ve learned the hard way that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about ‘not knowing’; about having to change course, taking each moment and making the best of it.
He winces as a mosquito bites him. He is naked but for a steel chastity device round his penis. His skin is pale, shining with sweat. The camera pans around him telling its own story while he speaks; insect bites, bruised and scarlet buttocks, shaved body, nipple rings, finally a tattoo of a heart with the legend ‘Kelly and Dylan’ engraved within it.
MART (cont)
It’s about not knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity. So, don’t feel sorry for me. This is what I wanted, what I asked for. I am lucky that Kelly and Dylan are prepared to have me along for the ride.
INTERIOR. HOTEL ROOM. – LATER
SUDDEN CUT. Close up from Mart’s p.o.v. at the word “ride”. Dylan is riding Kelly from behind in the doggy position, his bouncing balls and her sloshing pussy are in Mart’s face, inches from the screen. We HEAR the juicy noises and them enjoying it enthusiastically during Mart’s continued voice over.
MART
(voice over)
(his voice is muffled and affected by them bouncing in his face)
You know my story now. Can you honestly say that this is not what I deserve ? And can you honestly say that this is not what Kelly deserves (we hear her squeal in pleasure) ?
INTERIOR. HOTEL BATHROOM – LATER
Cut to Kelly sat on the toilet. At first we see just her naked breasts and torso. Gradually the camera pans downwards (this scene is as explicit as the censors will allow). Her knees are splayed. Mart is kneeling at her feet, his face between her thighs. The angle shifts to reveal Dylan stood at the double basin. He is bronzed and naked but for a white towel round his waist. There is soap on his face and he’s shaving, looking in the mirror.
MART
(voice over continued)
I am treated like shit and it may not be what I deserve in the strict sense of justice. But it is my destiny. Is it really so sad ? There are much sadder things than a man kneeling at his wife’s toilet. War, cancer, mental illness, starving children. Those things are truly sad.
INTERIOR/EXTERIOR. RAPID SCENES. DAY/NIGHT
The cuts accelerate, almost to a montage: we see Mart bent over at the waist being caned; we see him on the floor eating scraps from a bowl; we glimpse him kneeling, face upturned, as Dylan apparently pisses into his mouth; we see him lying on the floor burying his tongue into Kelly’s bottom.
MART
(voice over continued)
I am grateful to you all for caring about me. I am flattered my words moved you. But I do not want you to be sad. I lived my life as I wanted to. Could I have lived it differently ? Only, I think, by never starting down this road. If I had never made the offer to Kelly, then yes, I suspect we would still be a normal husband and wife to this day. But there would have been no story either, no five words.
Now we realise the flickering images are of the future, after the honeymoon. We glimpse scenes from England and Portugal and elsewhere. The characters start to age, the years pass. We see Mart polishing a gleaming red Ferrari. We see him doing household chores, washing, cooking, cleaning, ironing, scrubbing toilets, dressed as a maid and in other female clothes. We see him serving trays of drinks and canapés at parties attended by Dylan and Kelly’s friends who have also gotten older. Finally, we see Kelly at a birth, kissing a baby, with Chantal in a hospital bed, Greg and Dylan smiling in the background. Mart is nowhere to be seen. The final shot is of Kelly, now in her seventies, maybe even eighties. She is still pretty, with a lined face and wisps of greying hair poking out from under her headscarf, cutting red roses in a garden. Slowly the camera recedes to reveal her alone, contrasted against a pink sunset.
FINAL FADE OUT
THE END
Epilogue
October 2007
Nick picked up his orange juice and went to table 12.
At the same time, a woman walked towards the seat opposite his. She was skinny, bespectacled, trying too hard. She might as well have had the double-D sign stencilled on her forehead; ‘divorced and desperate’.
He put on a brave smile and stuck out his hand.
“Hi. I’m Nick.”
“Hi.” Her eyes dropped to the floor nervously.
Speed dating. He sat down and prepared to spend another 5 minutes with another woman who wasn’t Naomi and never would be.
While she rambled on about her bijou flat, Burmese cat and part-time job in Sotheby’s Art department, he thought of his empty fridge at home, his empty weekend coming up, and the empty box of tissues by his computer.
“Nice meeting you.” He said, as their five minutes session ended.
The Clerk to the Court read out the charge sheet.
James stood silent in the dock as the three counts of tax evasion, two counts of accounting fraud and one of theft were announced to the Judge, Barristers, the Jury, and the small gallery behind him.
He sat impassive but his guts were churning. His legal team had told him that he was facing ruin and a likely prison term.
Plan A hadn’t worked.
There hadn’t really been much of a Plan B.
A vision of that rich married woman, what’s-her-name, flitted across his mind momentarily. Nice tits, shame she had a brain. He imagined her glancing through the newspapers in a few days time and reading of his conviction.
Somebody was looking at him over half-moon spectacles.
“How do you plead Mr. Pettigrew ?”
Kelly tapped the page with her finger and smiled at Mart.
“There’s not enough sex in this final chapter.”
He shrugged at her. “But that’s the reality.”
“Exactly. And that’s the sad part.”
She watched the wheels turning in his brain. His green eyes glinted.
It was now over four months. In that time, their sex life had faded from happy vanilla, during the ‘second honeymoon’ weeks after Portugal, to the typical ‘once or twice a week’ of a couple with 21 years of marriage behind them. They still lived by a few unspoken rules; Kelly’s pleasure came first, Mart gave her oral but she never took him in her mouth. He had given her his word that he would never masturbate but he wore no device to guarantee his chastity. He massaged and used vibrators on her whenever she asked. Many wives would consider her lifestyle ideal. No demands on her, sex when she wanted it, on her terms, and a faithful husband.
And yet.
“What … do you want ?” he croaked.
“Is this it, darling ? Is this what you want ?”
He exhaled. “You cured me. Dylan cured me. I don’t ever want that again.”
She ran her fingernail along his lower lip.
“Have you jacked off, Mart ? These past few months ? Once ? Twice ?”
He blushed. He looked down at the pages she was holding.
“Sometimes.”
“You can’t control yourself without help, can you ?”
He shook his head, looking up into her eyes.
“Did you enjoy it ? Masturbating in the bathroom or wherever.”
He shook his head again.
“Felt guilty ?”
He nodded this time, his expression like a scolded schoolboy.
“Shall we put you back in your Gerecke ?” she asked, breathless with tension.
“… yes.” He whispered.
“And get you doing all the chores again ? Shall I take control ?”
He looked at her, tears in his eyes.
“Please. Yes.”
She smiled.
“And, think long and hard about this one Mart … Any limits ?”
The bank transfer arrived with the requisite amount of dollars.
“Hi.” V’s voice said down the phone. “You get the money ?”
“We did.” Mart replied.
“And what do you think of the latest draft of the script ?”
“We still don’t like your ending but … what the heck. For the money, you can have whatever ending you like in your movie. But ours will be the truth.”
A chuckle came down the line. “Maybe you should write a sequel, Mart ? In a year or so. That’s what we do in Hollywood. Sequels. Trilogies even. Yep, I’m looking forward to reading Five More Words. Then we’ll know what really happened.”
Mart looked at the clock. He was behind schedule. Kelly had left him with a strict list of chores to be done to a timetable.
“Gotta dash. Thanks for the call.”
“Bye Mart. Keep in touch.”
Kelly arrived home with a venomous gleam in her eyes. She pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves and began walking round the house, checking every ledge and corner for specks of dust.
She found five tiny marks during a full 20 minutes tour of the house.
“That will be fifteen strokes.”
He groaned; one plus two plus three plus four plus five accumulated to fifteen.
“I’ll give them to you when Nao comes round tomorrow for lunch.” She threw herself down in an armchair, shopping bags around her. “Bring me a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit, I’ve had nothing since an omelette and coffee at breakfast.”
He made tea and returned to find her sorting through her purchases.
“Massage my feet.”
He pulled off her boots, one by one, and then her socks. Her feet were damp and squashed by the leather. Her gently kneaded them into shape.
She lay back in the chair, munching her biscuit, relaxing. “Kiss them.”
He brought her toes up to his lips and sucked each one in turn. She was wearing tight jeans, a shirt and a taut sweater that accentuated her cleavage.
“Undress me.”
He helped lift her and pulled off her jeans and underwear. She was damp, excited. There was a distinctive, heady scent of femininity. He moved to pull off her sweater.
“No. That’s enough.” She said, quietly. “Massage my legs.”
He knelt beside her and started rubbing her feet again, ankles, calves, knees. Her legs were out straight and she sighed in happiness.
“I bought you a present, Mart. Stick it on.”
She handed him a CD. He walked to the system and put it in the drive, bringing the remote back to her. He watched her press play.
I've paid my dues
time after time.
The unmistakeable sound of Freddy Mercury’s voice filled the room.
I've done my sentence
but committed no crime.
And bad mistakes
I've made a few.
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face
but I've come through.
She was smirking at him while he continued massaging her legs.
The previous September she had given away his CD collection and replaced them with the jazz and contemporary female stuff she liked.
He gave in, and laughed, smiling back. The words were highly suitable.
We are the champions, my friends
and we'll keep on fighting, till the end.
We are the champions
we are the champions,
no time for losers
'cause we are the champions of the world.
Her legs were open now, thighs parted. He ran his fingertips lightly up between them.
“Here.” She gestured for him to squat between her legs until his face was an inch from her mound. Her wet pubic hair was trimmed into a thin brazilian stripe alongside her labia and atop her mound. She liked some hair to contrast with his own shaved genitals.
“Tongue my butt.”
Her hips edged forward so that her bottom slid off the edge of the chair.
He used his fingers to gently pry her anus open, snaking his tongue into her. She smelt musky, salty and tasted coppery.
“Yessss …” she hissed, her knees twitching. “Ummm … I love you Mart. Just remember that, whatever happens. Nobody can lick my asshole like you can !” she let out a small fit of giggles.
His soul somersaulted at her words of love and humiliation.
“Open my pussy now.”
He manoeuvred his thumbs and slowly separated her oozing, gummy labia.
“Make me cum, darling. Hurry !”
He slurped his tongue upwards. She was overflowing. He lapped her ripe, pink petals, sucking up her excitement. Her clitoris was hard and urgent against his nose.
And he wondered. Yes, she might have. She was certainly soaking enough. She’d been out all day without a word of explanation. Those were the rules again. There was a tang of soap and eau de toilette and the syrupy flow was more copious than she’d ever produced on her own before. And yet, there were no obvious streaks of creamy semen, the like of which he’d seen and tasted many times. Maybe she had washed herself to keep him guessing ? Or she might not have had sex with anybody at all and it was just raw excitement. Maybe that’s how it would be from now ? Not knowing. Unsure. Just accepting her as She was, however She was. Forever.
“Aaahhhsss …”
She mashed his face, not waiting for him to bring her off, but seizing her climax from him instead. His wife. His magnificent, lustful wild animal.
The beast he had created.
A life in five words.
For better or for worse.
In sickness and in health.
Till death do us part.
Let’s let ‘Kelly’ have the last word, she thought to herself, leaning over to kiss him. They were side by side in bed together, her on the left and him on the right.
She teased her hand down his ribs, his thigh, to cup his Gerecke. He had put on a few pounds since June but, a few more weeks of exercise and diet, and he’d be back to the “25 year old’s body” she preferred him with.
The last word ? It was only fitting that she should have the final say, figuratively and literally. It had been a long journey, too often viewed through the distorting prism of his words. She had let ‘Mart’ tell it in his own way, even though he had got some things wrong.
But he had been right about one thing in particular. She really had learned a lot along the road. She cringed sometimes, thinking about a few of the mistakes she’d made. Now she knew what she believed in. She really did believe that a Female-led marriage could be a happy and lasting one. She really did believe that ‘Mart’ would be better off having his routine, diet, exercise and, yes, orgasms strictly controlled. To some people it would be just a kinky game. But she knew it worked best as a whole way of life. Maybe the past twelve months could act as some kind of manifesto ?
But enough of that for tonight. She was tired.
“Did Chantal have any other news ?” she asked, removing her teasing hand from him for the night, to suppress a yawn.
“No.” he shook his head distractedly. “We only talked about the fires.”
They had phoned ‘Chantal’ and ‘Greg’ several times to check they were okay. More than a million people had been evacuated from their Southern California homes due to terrible bushfires. Fortunately the winds had lessened and in the past few days the situation had improved.
Samantha nodded, reaching up to switch off the lights.
“Goodnight Joe.” She whispered. “Have you set your alarm ?”
“Yes. What time do you want me to bring you coffee ?”
“Not until ten thirty. I need a lie in.”
Joe would have four hours after waking at dawn to carry out a whole list of chores. Now that he had finished writing their story, he’d have time to do everything else for her again.
Sure, Five Words had been life changing for both of them but the events had happened pretty much as he’d written. And they were still happening, tonight, tomorrow, somewhere, at this very moment.
“Goodnight … Sam. I love you.” He murmured her real name.
‘And I love you too’. She mouthed back, silently in the dark.
Then Samantha smiled to herself. He was lying there distracted, puzzling, and she knew why. He was wondering about what she had got up to today. Or hadn’t got up to. She suspected he thought he knew the answer.
Happily, he’d be wrong.
And Samantha also imagined those readers out there who had followed their story. Her ‘Kelly Diary’ as she liked to think of it. All of them puzzling, wondering … well, had She ? Or hadn’t She ?
Egg white ! It was a little trick she’d read about. She had cracked a couple of eggs that morning. She’d used the yolks to rustle up a quick omelette for her breakfast. But the whites went in a plastic container with a pinch of salt and, before arriving home, she’d used a cake-decorating syringe to inject the glutinous, saline fluid deep inside her. Then a wipe with a soapy cloth and a spray of Chanel and the trap was set for her return.
“Joe ?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Do you know which five words should really finish our story ?”
There was a long silence.
“Tell me.”
“ … they lived happily ever after.”