Blue Tango

Chapter Seven

“You cant avoid me,” Edward says. “You've been avoiding me for days.”

“It's not true.”

“Yes it is.”

“You're being preposterous.”

“Julie, you mustn't…”

His face is flushed. It's true, of course. I have been avoiding him, refusing his whispers, refusing his touches whenever Claire's attention is elsewhere, whenever Claire is out of the house. Now he puffs at me. I tease him. I smile. I pull away when he touches my arm. I tell him it's too dangerous. I warn him of the eyes of the servants. The maids glide silently back and forth as we stand in the drawing-room. The new girl has ash blonde hair and blue eyes. Her name is Selby. She stares at us. Edward orders her out and the girl blushes as she leaves. He puts his hand upon my arm again. I have the memories of him. The frenzied moments as he poked me in my room. Is Claire suspicious? A breeze arrives through the open window to cool my throat. Then Perkin brings the tea. Edward tells her he will serve it himself. When the maid leaves, he pleads again. I mustn't avoid him. He can't bear it. He thinks of me constantly. He goes on and on.

One thrills to the adventure of it. This new aspect of Claire's house. Does Edward see the humor in it? Is he curious about the outcome? He looks unhappy. He looks to be in the midst of enormous suffering. He wants to be at me again. At least a display. The way I showed myself to him. Darling, you ought to blush for it. But I don't blush. His eyes were so lustful as he looked at my sex. One always wants that. I am not to be reproached for it. Now he lifts teacup in a trembling hand. Then he puts cup and saucer down and he makes me do the same. He takes me in his arms. A kiss. His lips upon mine. His arms about my waist. I can't refuse him. Claire is out and he will not be refused. His mouth is warm. His appetite suffuses his face with a pink glow. Well, how far can it go? Shall we have an idyll under Claire's nose? He whispers at me, tells me how often he thinks of me. His hands constantly move, constantly searching out my body beneath my clothes. Surely one of the maids will see us. Our illicit pleasures. He kisses me again and says he adores me. Yes, the parlormaids will see us. He doesn't care. He's a man favored by fate. Yesterday at dinner he looked at me with such lechery in his eyes, but Claire was oblivious. Now my attention wanders as he kisses my throat. I hear the slow ticking of the small gilt clock on the mantel. The sun falls, the shadows lengthen. I think Claire ought to have that immense sideboard put elsewhere. It looks so ugly here in the drawing-room. It ought to be in the dining-room. Behind Edward. How pompous he is when he advances a toast at the head of the table.

The new girl is completely docile. She kneels as she bathes my feet. Her blonde curls tremble. A girl with ivory skin and blonde curls and empty blue eyes. She blushes at my nakedness. She washes each foot as she blushes. Then I push at her, my foot pushing at her bosom. I amuse myself with a maid. Her eyes are upon my nest. When the wash is finished, she looks at my nest again.

“I want you undressed.”

“Miss?”

“Undressed. Stand up and undress.”

She quivers as she stands. Her maid's clothes fall away, her cotton underclothes. Her body is as white as her face, a pale white with here and there a slight flush of pink. I lie upon the bed. I order her to lick me. “On the bed, silly. You can't do it standing there.”

Silence now as she moves to the doing of it. As she bends. I pull my knees back. How delicious it is. The pleasing. How delicious to be pleased. And they do like it. The girls are born to it. One must keep the order of things. I feel the heat of her mouth. I shall languish under the heat of a sucking mouth. Pity she isn't a man with bush whiskers to tickle me. She washes me now. Her tongue washing my garden. Her tongue fluttering in the groove. There is truth in the fluttering. Now she thinks of nothing but the pleasure of it. She will talk to the other girls about me. The girls will giggle as they talk of me. As they whisper how nice it is. This one with English blue eyes. Her girlish breasts. I wonder if Edward has had her yet. What an immense pleasure it must be to put the cock to such a girl, to hold her waist as she bends. Does she wail when he does it? How extravagant he is. The way he dotes upon his expensive collections. I would see him poke this girl. I would watch the mystery of it, the taking, the stretching of her pink flesh. How sweet she is. How silent she is in her devotions. Does she do the same to Claire? Yes, of course, the maids are Claire's possessions. I should like to see this girl licking my sister's jewel. I should like to see the familiarity of it. Perhaps the maid does it while Edward is watching. I ought to pay more attention to the sounds. I ought to catch them at it through the grate. If only Ellen Terry might warn me. But of course Miss Terry has been struck dumb by the sight of the heavens. One of our finest actresses, the clerk said. Her face and clothes. I would like to touch her. I would like to see her naked. And Edward. Where is Edward now? If he had any sense, he'd be here in this room to amuse me. Claire doesn't know how Edward amuses me. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know me at all. Her eyes see nothing. Sometimes she looks so foreign, so completely un-English. She ought to wear gold earrings. And this maid. She's clever, this one. A palpable difference exists between them. Dobbin is boring, Perkin is stupid, Selby is clever. Edward is clever also. I do hope they refuse that pompous party in Belgravia. I don't want to go. I don't want to go with Walter Bramsby to that pompous party. Does Edward understand that? He looks at me with such lust in his eyes. It's very bad for him. Sooner or later Claire will see it and we'll have a great row in the house. I don't want a row. Lord, what a tongue she has. Here we are. Well, darling, here it is. I can hear it now. The sounds of her lips. Barely perceptible. The licking. What a grand tragedy if Claire discovers me with Edward. Is this a pastoral grouping? Lady and her maid upon a bed of grass in Surrey. No, it's not Surrey, it's Kensington. In Claire's house in Kensington. How cozy it is. I don't think Claire cares for me. She says she does, but I don't think she does. Not as much as Selby does. The girl's tongue is truly marvelous. The zest. One feels on the verge of a new truth. She has me languishing. What can it mean? Perhaps it means I want Edward more than I think. He's not in a good temper these days. Lord, the girl is greedy. She wants me to die. She will take the life from me. All the servants want us to die. She feeds upon me. Now I'm nothing but a ripe fruit for a servant girl. One is as bad as the other. What does it matter when one is as bad as the other. Now, darling, now. The tongue at my bud. Her lips. Dear God, the sweetness of a sucking kiss.

Edward has me in a corridor.

“You must come with me.”

“Where?”

“To the library. Quickly, Julie.”

He whispers at me. Once inside the library, he closes the door and whispers again. Claire is in the house. He's completely mad. He whispers about a place in Bloomsbury. A rendezvous. How silly he is. He insists. His eyes devour me. We shall be alone in Bloomsbury. He talks of love. It's madness to talk of love. I must make an effort to bring him to his senses. He pines at me.

“I slept very little last night.”

“You have a wife.”

“That's absurd and you know it.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I'll give you address. I'll be there at two in the afternoon tomorrow.”

“It's impossible.”

“Darling, it's the only way.”

How ridiculous he is. Claire will discover us soon enough. Perhaps she knows it now. I think Edward has been drinking too much. Am I too cruel to him? Claire seems so high-spirited now.

“It's naughty of you.”

He smiles. “I can't bear another day without you.”

It's quite new to me. This eruption of fervor when the danger is so clear. I thought he'd be more discreet. I thought he was someone else. I tell him he's behaving like a silly schoolboy. “You know what I mean.”

He looks pitiful. His eyes are so pitiful when they look at me. I smile to make him happy again. Flirtation to make him happy again. A long glance at the front of his trousers that sets him muttering. The real point is the pleasure of it. I knew the danger in the very beginning. Shall I wear drawers to our rendezvous. One makes an attempt at sincere decorum. Nearby on the wall is a photograph of a man in uniform.

“Who's that?”

“My father,” Edward says. 'My father in the Crimea.”

He has something in Bedford Way, a bed-sitting room furnished in the dullest brown. How amusing to be at a trysting place. But of course it's more sensible than the house. He already has the fever in his eyes. He imagines me naked in his arms. Has he had other women here? “I've brought champagne,” he says.

Poor Edward is so predictable. All these schoolboys who grow up to be predictable in their pleasures. The male heirs. He's a male heir.

“I don't know why.”

“What?”

“I don't know why you've brought champagne.”

“To celebrate, of course.”

Am I menacing? I suppose not a soul knows about this place. Edward's room in Bloomsbury. Now he pours the wine and talks again. Some silly friend who wants to sit in Parliament. Edward is too young to have this room. He's too young at forty. A room like this belongs to a man of sixty, a man with full whiskers and a penchant for small girls in pink. Then Edward talks of going abroad again. To Italy. He talks of Florence with such distinction.

“Do stop.'

“Stop?”

“Do stop talking.”

I tell him I shall be busy all day tomorrow. And the day after that. Perhaps for another week. He holds his glass aloft. “Then we must have today.”

“Are you an agnostic?”

“Julie, please…”

I'm sure it's more than I deserve. I don't deserve Claire's husband. “We're expected at home.”

“You promised…”

I should adore it. I want to be civil to him. I suffer from total boredom, but I want to be civil. We sip our champagne. There will be so much to remember. A lifetime of remembrances.

He smiles again. “Darling, don't be so mysterious.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Is who pretty?”

“The woman who was here last. I think that's a stocking half under the bed.”

He curses the maid as he kicks at the stocking. Then he's upon me. He forces me upon the bed. I laugh as he pushes me down. His lips press against mine. My laughing as he kisses me. His tickling touches. His hand pushes beneath my dress. He touches my thighs. His fingers tickling along the insides of my thighs. Pulling at my garters. Then his lips are away and his head moves down. His head beneath my dress. The fortress besieged. Now the dress pushed up. His face between my thighs. I groan as I yield. Yes, that. I always want that. The hot kiss in my secret place. A sound of discovery now as he finds I have no drawers. How naughty I am. All the way in a cab from the house. Claire wanted me to have the carriage, but I insisted I wouldn't. How hungry he is. He delights in it. He's completely starved for it. I don't know why. She has him do it often enough. The tickling of his tongue. The way he forages in my nest. Oh yes, there. Sucking at my clitoris. I shall spend if he keeps on with that. He does know how. One must trust a lover to know how. He murmurs against my thighs. So much for the fidelity of marriage. He's had other women here. On this bed. His mouth feeding at others. Jealous, darling? Festivities in full swing now. Claire's Edward sucking at my copse with such devotion. I try to look. Nothing but a glimpse of his tongue. Pity I can't see all of it. Pity his face must be hidden. The hairs tickling his nose. Oh, get on with it. I feel I could swoon. Lying here under him, under his mouth, his lips. How charming he is when he twitches his mouth. One always thinks of the connection. His eagerness. He's better than a maid. His tongue flitting. He must find me copious. I can tell by the noise that I must be copious.

Then he wants me undressed. He pulls at my clothes.

“Don't be rude.”

“Darling, please…”

“I'll do it myself. And you too.”

We face each other across the bed as our clothes fall away. His fingers fumble. I ought to have a maid. Soon I stand in my chemise and Edward shows his appendages. His cock and balls. His penis rampant. He please with me to regain the bed. He wants me kneeling. He wants my rump in his hands. He fondles me. His mumbled admiration. I like the hot words. I like exposing things. How shocking it is to be exposed to his eyes. His penis is so stiff. He's a pompous man with a stiff pego. Generously endowed. Exquisite coloring. I want to see it, but he remains behind me with his hands on my bottom. These antics. I would like to be in a room full of gilt chairs. Bending to be examined by a collection of ambassadors. I hide nothing. Let them see the full measure of it.

Edward's fingers now. His knob pushing in. The stretching. He fills me. A slow thrusting. Thank God the bed doesn't creak. How appalling it would be if the bed creaked. I want to please him. I want to please that agitated limb he has. I find his balls. I hold his cods as I look at the room. At the dressing table. Perhaps there's another stocking beneath the dressing table. I will make him tell me. I shall make him tell everything.

Now his finger is at my rose-hole. He wants something more serious. I protest. “I won't allow it.”

“Why not?”

“You're much too large.”

“That's nonsense.”

“Edward, I don't want it.”

“I have some oil.”

He insists. His root remains inside me as he reaches for the oil upon the night-table. My rose-hole fingered. Oiled. Then his root withdrawn. He's in a frenzy now and I must allow it. Then pushing again. This time at my bottom-hole. The entrance. Pushing, Stretching. His urgency. I'm like a maid before her master. Oh, the pleasure of it. His twitching root in my bottom. Always with John. The sliding. Edward is so firm. A slow stroking. He's quite perfect. One blesses perfection. My body sways. He mutters. He seems dazzled. One must have courage. I remain still. Bent like an animal. I pretend insouciance. Pretend, pretend. This is not Kensington, this is Bloomsbury, darling. In Edward's room. His belly slapping against the flesh of my bottom. His sharp cut nose. He's well-made. Considerable girth. One always feels it more in the back. His cods. My fingers at his cods. How perfect it is. Always moving. This extraordinary delight. And then his cry of pleasure. The final thrusting. The groaning. One takes them in the groaning.

“I had an awful time getting away.”

He looks at me. The second time is more sedate. “But you did.”

“Edward, we can't go on endlessly like this. Claire will see it.”

I stand off from him. He wants me to undress. His passion is always at a boil. I demand some wine. I mount my courage. I rue the day I moved into that house in Kensington. Now I'm here again, once again in this room, once again in a dither of anticipation. He talks again. A rise in his voice. All our lives we shall remember this room. His bearing. I put him off.

“I wasn't fond of what you did last time.”

He stands back. “I don't believe it.”

“It's true.”

“You did enjoy it.”

“Oh Edward.”

His illusions. His triumph. How do I manage his triumph. This false victory they have. He's English, after all. Not French. What an abomination it is to see him triumphant. I will keep my composure.

His vague stare. “You did like it.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes, why not?”

I tease him. “It's not dignified.”

“Good Lord.”

I feel genuine affection for him. He's like a helpless boy. His temper on occasion. The memories of him with Claire. I kiss him again and he puts his hand on my bottom.

“You like my bottom too much.”

“Let me see it.”

I touch his mouth. “Will you kiss it?”

The fire in his eyes. He lies on his back on the rug. My dress lifted. Without drawers again. I show myself first. I feel his eyes burning. Then I descend. I descend upon his face.

One deals with a certain solicitude, traditions, mutterings on the Embankment. Nothing compares to certain supreme pleasures. His mouth wet. The feel of his mouth at the shrine. The feel of him breathing under me. How silent he is. No more silly talk of his collections. It's a well-ordered room. I move. I carry out my searching. His tongue. His doings in my bottom. How lively he is. Yes, I'm pleased. Rolling now. He does adore it. Luring him there. It's a wonder he can breathe. His nose in the quick as I settle down. He does like it. Oh yes, he does. I shall have more wine afterward. I shall have more wine.