Blue Tango

Chapter Fifteen

I was a member of a dreary club. One wet afternoon I sought refuge in a chair at my club, a chair beneath a lion's head. The lion, it was said, had been shot in East Africa. I sat with a glass of claret and imagined myself stalking a large beast across the bush country. Around me the men of the club talked of shares of West Indian plantations. I preferred Africa; I have always preferred Africa.

Then I heard them talking of something else. They talked of European nationalities. One fellow, a stranger to me, talked about the French. He said he would rather have a French wife than any other.

Perhaps some of the men in the group glanced at me. They may have been aware I had a French wife. I learned the man who had spoken was John Dallow, a balloonist well known in certain circles.

Later I introduced myself to Dallow. I reminded him of his comment concerning French wives. I said I had a French wife myself. He seemed pleased to make my acquaintance. I ordered another bottle of wine. I sat with Dallow in a corner. I talked of the Fontans and mentioned the availability of Julie. Dallow showed a degree of interest. We amused ourselves discussing the various capacities of women. “You might visit us in Paris. My wife and I will be there in a fortnight, and you might come by to pay the family a call.”

Dallow smiled. “Oh yes. Marvelous idea. Yes, I think I'll do that. That's very good of you.”

And so the next time Claire and I were in Paris, John Dallow came to call at the Fontan house. He met Julie. Two days later he came again, this time to sit with us at dinner. Hector was soon eager to have Dallow as a son-in-law. The three of us, Hector and Dallow and myself, spent long hours smoking cigars. I remembered the journey with Hector from Madrid to Paris. I remember Hector's enthusiasm. Now Dallow received the entire effusion of Hector's passion for the English.

Dallow did not return to London; he remained in Paris. I suppose if Claire and I hadn't occupied the guest room in the Fontan house, Dallow might have been cajoled into occupying the room himself. And would the interlude with Odette repeat itself? The question pulled at me for days. I wanted Odette's comforts again, but this time she refused. The Fontans were too preoccupied with the prospect of having John Dallow as Julie's husband.

Julie was modest, unwilling to say much, but one could tell she found Dallow appealing. Before long John visited the Fontans nearly every day. One afternoon he told he approved of Julie. He told me he would proceed with matters. That evening, after Fontan had returned to his hotel, I announced the positive result to the family. They were all quite pleased. I felt a sense of accomplishment.

Dallow's courtship of Julie began soon after that. The pattern of my own courtship of Claire seemed to repeat itself in all the essentials.

After Claire and I returned to London, I did not see Dallow again for some time. We heard from the Fontans that Dallow had gone off to a meeting of balloonists in Budapest. He'd given Julie his promise to return to her in the spring. In February I found myself in Paris without Claire, on an errand for an acquaintance in Whitehall. As usual, I stayed at the Fontan house. With malice, I suppose, I decided to amuse myself with Julie, to seduce her if possible. I wanted revenge against Odette, against Claire, against Hector, against all of them. I felt a sudden wave of hatred for Dallow and his stupid ballooning. I told myself I would have Julie. I would have her sweetness, her ebullience. I made plans to remain in Paris until I succeeded.

The Fontans seemed pleased when Julie and I began to spend much time together. We visited museums, occupied tables at the popular cafes, strolled along the boulevards. I found her not at all like Claire. I became more and more intrigued. She would smile at me when I complimented her appearance. She seemed receptive to my advances. I kissed her in the Luxembourg Gardens. The kiss was returned. She pressed against me. When I suggested a hotel, she nodded. We hurried to a place in Rue de Vaugirard. A bright little room with a window overlooking the park. As soon as I closed the door, I took Julie into my arms again and kissed her. She pulled back a bit and smiled. “We mustn't, you know. You won't force me, will you?”

I answered with another kiss. My fingers worked at the buttons of her gown. “I must look at you.”

She was amused at my frenzy. She remained passive as I undressed her. At last her breasts were revealed. Full gourds, a full ripeness, the nipples already swollen with excitement. She had Odette's skin, Odette's breasts. Her buttocks were superb. Full thighs tapering to graceful legs. Beneath her belly a dark bush of hair, the fur thick and prominent.

I fondled her breasts. They were so different from Claire's. Julie reminded me so much of Odette. I bent my head to suck her nipples. She adored it. She moaned at the feel of my lips at her breasts.

Then at last I made her lie at the edge of the bed. I opened her thighs, kissed her knees, her thighs, her nest, and finally her sex. She moaned softly as I probed with my tongue. She was still a virgin. Her liquor flowed in abundance. I nibbled at the plump lips of her sex. I sucked at the open flesh, at the bud of her clitoris. Her fur tickled my nose. I worked my tongue in her trench, reveling in the flood of thick syrup. Finally she spent. A groan, a shudder, her thighs pressing against my head.

“Edward, darling…”

“I won't hear any regrets.”

She laughed, a soft, bubbling laugh. “I don't have any. But I do want the same. I want you in my mouth.”

I quickly stripped my clothes away. She rose to sit at the edge of the bed. She smiled at my swollen state. She fondled my testicles, then my root. Yes, a demi-vierge. Like her sister. There was knowledge in the fondling. Clever fingers lifting my balls. Then her fruity lips opening to engulf my knob. A moment of unbelief. I had my root in the mouth of my wife's sister. First the mother, then Claire, and now Julie. Three Fontan women sucking at my penis. Julie's mouth was the most divine. Ardent but still fresh. Her eyes closed as she slid the ring of her lips back and forth along the length of my tool. Her fingers continued to squeeze my stones. I wondered what Dallow was doing at that moment. Sailing in one of his silly balloons? Before long I shuddered and spent in Julie's mouth.

We left the hotel after that. She would go to John Dallow a virgin. A month later Dallow and Julie were betrothed. Two months after that they were married in Vincennes in the same church in which Claire and I had taken our vows.

After the ceremony, Julie smiled at me. I gazed at her smiling mouth. I amused myself with the memory of that hotel in Rue Vaugirard.

A few months later the four of us were at my ancestral manor house in Surrey. John and Julie had taken up residence in London. We invited them to stay with us in Surrey during the month of September. The weather was mild, the days clear, the afternoons almost balmy. I thought Claire was sometimes unkind to Julie. Claire seemed pleased that John's income was not as large as my own. On occasion she belittled Julie's attempts to give an affluent impression. Julie would blush and remain silent. Did they hate each other? I thought they did. But then at other times a true sisterly affection between them was quite obvious. I did not know what to make of it. One never knows what to make of such things.

Then one afternoon, as we sat alone on the lawn, Claire told me I might watch John and Julie if I liked. “If you want to, darling. It can be done if you want to.”

“Watch them? Watch them at what?”

Claire laughed. “Watch them together, of course. Watch him cover my sister.”

“Where?”

“In the wood near the Jerrold farm. They go riding there. They have a spot in the wood where they do it and I've seen them at it twice. It's fun, really.”

“Good Lord.”

“Don't you want to?”

She coaxed me into joining her. Yes, I did want to see it. We had the horses saddled and we rode off. When we passed the Jerrold farm, Claire insisted we dismount and leave the horses. We crept through the tall grass towards the wood like a pair of poachers. I was amused, sweating in the heat. I'd finished an entire bottle of wine at lunch and now the sun made me dizzy. We soon passed their horses where they'd been left at a post. Claire led me along, cautioning me to step carefully inside the wood. Then finally we saw them in a small clearing. Julie was bent over a stump with her gown raised and John had already mounted her from the rear. He had his riding breeches down at his boots, his white rump moving as he slowly poked her.

Claire's excitement was intense. She trembled against me. I moved behind her and covered her breasts with my hands. She leaned against me as we watched them. She whispered at me. “He always takes her like that.”

I raised Claire's dress to expose her bottom. She murmured a protest as I fondled her globes. But then she yielded. She bent forward. She used the trunk of the tree beside us to support herself. I found her grotto drenched. I penetrated quickly. A sound of pleasure came out of Claire's throat. The other's were too far to hear it. I pushed Claire's gown and chemise to her waist to completely expose her buttocks. I gazed down at the sliding of my tool in and out of her hairy cleft. My pleasure was keen. I was amused at my victory over John: first having Julie in Paris and now watching them together in Surrey. Claire squirmed as I poked her. She rolled her hips and whispered: “Hurry, darling.”

I spent lavishly. It was glorious. And there in the clearing I could see John was also at the end of it. Almost a brotherly touch. How amusing it was to have the sisters at the same time and in the same way.

Ah yes, the amusement of it. And John's amusement? About a year later I saw them together in Tottenham Court Road. Claire and John. I remember the shock of it. She held his arm as they walked. I followed them. I watched them enter a small hotel. One of those places that make rooms available for an hour or two. My wife and my brother-in-law. Was I truly surprised? I hadn't thought Claire would be so daring with her sister's husband. Poor Edward. I have the misfortune of always being surprised by people. I walked down towards Oxford Street. Claire had long ceased to be an obsession. Now that I'd seen her with John, my hatred was fervent. The next day I visited the office of a private detective, a Mr. Cutter. I issued instructions to obtain evidence concerning Claire's doings in London. After a few weeks, Mr. Cutter provided a thorough report to me in person. Mrs. Ransom was certainly seeing Mr. Dallow surreptitiously and in circumstances leading one to believe the obvious. Tawdry little hotels in Bloomsbury. Mr. Cutter also reported that Mrs. Ransom was frequently in the home of an actress named Lily Graham. “A bit of a reputation, sir.”

“Reputation?”

“She's one of those that likes the ladies.”

Was there mockery in his eyes? I paid Mr. Cutter's bill and dismissed him. I went directly to my club and drank myself into a stupor. Around me in the club they were still talking of shares and plantations. Well, I couldn't blame John Dallow for Lily Graham, could I? The red wine soaked into my brain.

A few days later I found myself alone with Claire in the house and I cajoled her into bed. It was late afternoon, hardly the time when she appreciated my advances. But I persisted. I amused myself by thinking I'd upset a rendezvous somewhere. Claire seemed pliant as I fondled her thighs. I felt a mixture of desire and hatred. She granted my wish to look at her bottom. She posed on her bed with her gown at her waist and her buttocks naked. “Is that what you want?”

I kissed and fondled her bottom-cheeks. She purred with approval as I licked in the furrow. I tickled her rose-hole with my tongue. I sucked at it. I bathed in it a flood of saliva. Claire made sounds of pleasure as she moved her bottom against my face. She did not suspect my intention. Then I rose to mount her. The target beckoned to me. I first touched the lips of her sex to deflect her attention. I rubbed her clitoris and probed her sex with my fingers. Then I pushed my knob at the smaller hole. She was caught by surprise. She uttered a cry. She froze as I pushed in. “Edward, no!”

I pushed further. This was the first time, my first entry into a place I was certain had been breached by others. In the past she'd never allowed it to me. Now I ignored her pleading. She cried out but I showed no mercy. I thought of her with John. I imagined his tool stretching her bottom-hole. At last her cries ceased when she realized they were useless. She held still as I moved my root in and out of her fundament. I told her I had the impression she liked it. “You ought to be truthful.”

“It's awful.”

“I don't believe that.”

“Go on, then. Please finish it.”

I wondered what she did with Lily Graham. I squeezed her globes as I spent in her bottom. I drained myself in her rear portal.

I told Claire nothing of my knowledge of things. Now when I found her absent in the afternoon, I savored my secret awareness. I imagined her with John. Or with the actress Lily Graham. I made a point to accompany Claire to the theater one evening to see the Graham woman perform. I found Lily Graham charming enough. I thought she had a thin voice. Claire seemed quite taken with the performance, and on more than one occasion I thought the actress looked up at our box in a meaningful way. During the intermission Claire said she thought Lily Graham's performance was superb. “She's not well known, is she?”

I said I had no idea. “I certainly haven't seen her before.”

“Well, she ought to be well known, shouldn't she? She's quite marvelous.”

Our lives continued. We go on, don't we? The days pass and we go on.

The four of us, Claire and myself, Julie and John, saw each other in a group only occasionally. Claire remained unkind to Julie, snobbish in that way she was. Julie never blushed any more. She chose to ignore her sister's jibes.

John continued to pursue his obsession with balloons. He was well known at the club now. John Dallow, the balloonist. I avoided the club as always. I hated the place. I hated all the dull talk. Let them have their plantations and lion heads. I took to walking up and down the Strand when I wanted company. I suppose there were people in the road who thought me odd.

One afternoon I drove to Arkley Heath to watch John ascend in one of his balloons. He waved to me from the gondola. At that moment I had a premonition that John would soon be killed in one of his silly balloons. I realized I would feel no sorrow. I would feel nothing. He would go down in one of his silly balloons and I would feel nothing. It was true I'd never liked him. But one ought to feel something. I think now I hated him as much as I hated Claire.

In the meantime Claire had become more and more distant from me. I was fully aware of it. We hardly ever talked. We sat in silence through dinner, and then afterward I could seek the protection of the library. We had our evenings out, an occasional Mayfair party, a few dull hours in a box at a theater. She was away somewhere nearly every afternoon. I suspected she saw a great deal of John. Or that lesbian actress. We did connect with some regularity, usually Sunday evenings and Wednesday evenings. She grew accustomed to having me in her bedroom. She always yielded. She was unable to hide her pleasure in it. There was now a small jar of unguent kept within reach of the bed. Did she use the same with John? One always wonders about such things. I told myself I oughtn't to be bitter. I had my pleasure with her. She was more beautiful than ever now. Exquisitely beautiful. To see her bent upon her bed was incredibly exciting. I was vanquished by the marble smoothness of her buttocks, the pouting fig of her sex, the tiny brown eye of her bottom-hole. She always murmured when I applied the unguent with my fingers. I had the impression in those moments she imagined I was someone else. During the act itself she was quite silent. Except at the end. At the end she would begin a series of moaning sounds. This was always the pattern. The sounds increased in volume until the crisis occurred. When I had my root in her sex there were no sounds at all, only the shuddering at the finish. The differences between the two apertures were always predictable. I was certain that her bottom had been poked by others before my first entrance. One has an intuition about such things. I remembered the Baron von Broda. And I thought of course John must do it also. Sometimes I felt an intense jealousy. I was always very potent when I took her bottom and on occasion she complained of it. She said my thrusting was too strong. I suppose I did it in order to punish her. But I also suspected she favored the more vigorous exercises. The more I hated her, the more she seemed to enjoy the way I poked her.

Then one day John's long awaited voyage across the Channel began. We all went out to Arkley Heath to witness the ascent. John wore a bright red scarf around his neck. He tossed flowers at the crowd as the balloon rose. He waved at us, at Julie and Claire and myself. We waved back, Julie and Claire seemed happy. The balloon continued rising and slowly moved south until it became a speck in the distance. We talked about the weather as we motored back to London. Julie was certain John would have fair weather until he landed in France. Claire seemed lost in thought. Then Julie talked of a new play she'd seen and Claire visibly brightened when she heard Lily Graham was in the cast. I passed the time musing how these two French sisters had altered my life. Two days later we received the news that John had drowned in the Channel near Calais.