‘What the hell are you doing? You some kind of fucking pervert?’

If I’d ever suspected that Adam might have been involved in this weirdness, my fears were dispelled by the rage that rumbled in his voice as he screamed at the shrinking figure who gazed, eyes dilated, as if in total bewilderment. One hand cupped his now flaccid penis and he glanced at it as if it were totally alien. All the while, Adam was enclosing me in his embrace, sheltering, protecting me from view but I could feel his muscles tensing as his anger grew.

‘Get the fuck out of here, Piers,’ he screamed, (so it was Piers!) ready to spring at him. I held him back.

‘Shhh. It’s not worth it, Adam. Look.’

Piers’ eyelids were drooping as his head slumped forward onto his chest.

‘He’s completely out of it. I doubt he’ll remember any of this when he comes round.’

‘All the same—’

‘Let it go.’ I seemed to have recovered from the shock much faster than Adam. I quieted him with a soft, grateful kiss and we both shrugged into our clothes, headed off down the corridor and out the front door. I breathed deeply. It was as if we’d escaped from some putrid prison and I needed fresh sunrise air in my lungs.

Over the next months, Adam and I eased into a relaxed, comfortable relationship. Lectures, library sessions, debates and long lunches with my friends during the day and then round to Adam’s place or staying in mine most evenings. Weekends together going to parties, hanging out in pubs, holed up in one of our rooms, reading or catching up on essays together, watching the rain outside the windows. Occasionally, when finances allowed, we’d return to London to catch one of the many unmissable plays that Adam needed to see. I quite casually introduced Adam to my family, trying to make it clear that this was nothing at all serious but I could tell that my parents both very much approved and that Mum would be keeping her fingers crossed. Dad’s sigh of relief was almost audible.

Back at Uni I stayed clear of working on any of the productions that Adam directed - for the sake of our relationship - and he definitely kept us both away from all of the parties organised by his group of ‘friends’.

We were definitely a recognised couple around town, considered to be two of the ‘beautiful people’ that it was fashionable to be around. I look now at the photographs of how we looked then and there’s no denying that we went together well, Adam’s light olive complexion complementing my own mocha tones, his lightly slanted eyes unfathomably dark as they stared into mine, the fullness of his lips hinting at a shared ancestry somewhere way back. I no longer even minded that he spent so long before the mirror. It seemed his due. And there was a definite neon spark between us that makes me smile with a touch of regret even now.

On warm Sunday afternoons we’d drift into making love, a shared joke, a newspaper article read together, me sipping his coffee, him leaning over my shoulder to correct a spelling mistake, the merest of touches, a glance that flickered away, something new and very simple might arouse a fluttering of passion and we’d find ourselves, limbs entwined, skin against skin, fumbling out of clothes and into each other’s dreams, igniting emotions that ascended to the heights of smouldering passion and descended into something akin to deep friendship. It wasn’t love – not on my part, I’m sure – but I truly believe that it was a knowledge of each other that, given the chance, might have flowered into something close. But at times, on the rarest of occasions, I found myself thinking reluctantly, fleetingly, but in a way that inspired the most powerful sensations, of anonymous eyes that watched us in a darkened room…

Even now, after all these years, I feel that I almost need professional help to decipher any reason behind the decision I made next. Certainly, I was taken by surprise. Undoubtedly, I was manipulated. But I still can’t fathom the impetus, the hollow core, the unsatiated longing that drove me away from Adam. But back then, when I had to make a choice, it seemed to me that though Adam wanted me, he didn’t need me, not like...

We’d been out late and returned to my flat in the early morning giggling hysterically and drunkenly, stumbling up the steps. We shushed each other loudly in a forlorn attempt to avoid waking my flatmates as I fumbled to get the key into the lock. Like naughty schoolchildren we stifled laughter as we stumbled together through the front door. A light was on in the living room and we could hear voices. Adam and I tried to tiptoe past but the living room door opened and we froze like startled rabbits caught in headlights. I sobered instantly as my befuddled brain registered the impossibility of who it was, standing there, backlit, looking dishevelled, unshaven, cheeks sunken with what might have been despair.

‘Jade. I hope you don’t mind. Your friends said that I could wait. I needed to talk to you.’

‘Ollie!’

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul


13 August 2008

A thousand thoughts rushed through my brain almost simultaneously. Adam had been gone for a while now. He must have noticed the kind of attention that Alexander was paying me, his hands mauling my flesh, groping my thighs in a kind of distracted, lord-of-the-manor way. Was this what the evening was about – Adam bringing his sacrificial offering (me) to the feast? Was I supposed to be passed around all the gathered Hooray Henrys? A flush of rage rose to my cheek. And where was Adam anyway? Maybe partaking of the various fruits on offer for dessert!

Was it something about me? Why did all these guys think I’d share my body around with whomsoever they chose? The memory of Ollie’s wife, the warm caress of her fingers along the receptive, willing concavity of inner thigh… Another flush of heat, this one shame and confusion. I stood, pushing Alexander’s hand away with a measure of exasperation. I could have just left, abandoning Adam just as he’d abandoned me but, instead, I tried door after door, retreating from a heaving octopus tangle of limbs here, subdued moans of expectation and need there. None of them belonging to Adam.

The flat was a warren and took on nightmarish qualities as I lost any sense of direction and found myself returning again and again to the one room, or perhaps different rooms that all seemed the same. Light-headed and despairing, I turned one final doorknob and entered a room that in contrast to the others seemed sleek, barren, lit only by moonlight from the open window, curtains fluttering in a cool summer breeze. I headed for the fresh night air, breathing deeply as if in need of the cleansing freshness. I waited for a moment until my head cleared and looked around me. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out rough patches of black against the grey of the night; a chair, small table, a dull glint that must be a mirror, no bed. And a snail-shell of human being coiled into a heap in one corner. I tiptoed towards it and knelt down just able to discern the rise and fall of its chest as the figure slept. As the clouds skidded away from the moon, a slant of silver light illuminated the dark sweep of Adam’s hair across his cheek.

I sighed a huge sigh of relief, unknown pent-up tension finally allowing my shoulders to sag. I lay down beside Adam, snuggling into the bend, moulding myself to him as he eased against me in sleep. He muttered something unintelligible and I smiled to m yself as his arm surrounded me bringing warmth and security. Within moments, I slept.

-o-

My eyelids struggled against bright sunlight and I fought against wakefulness until I became dimly aware of Adam’s warm lips against the sweep of my neckline, trailing an effervescent tingling as his tongue nuzzled an earlobe and sharp teeth nibbled and he laughingly forced me into wakefulness. I giggled sleepily, playfully pushing him away.

‘Adam! It’s like the middle of the night. I’m tired.’

‘It’s morning, babe. A very good morning.’ As he held my waist, allowing his little finger to edge towards the underside of my breast, still encased in the rigid constraint of the basque, Adam eased closer to me, allowing his half-erection to nestle against my buttocks.

‘I need to sleep, Adam. I really am exhausted.’ I was only half serious.

‘Sleep if you want, Jade. I promise, you don’t have to do a thing. Just like back and think of… think of… this!’ His hot palm cupped the curve of my bottom and he eased the cheeks apart, breathing deeply as he slid is now hard penis between my thighs, rocking back and forth, the slick wetness making me clench as sweet syrup began to flow.

‘Sleep or this?’ Adam whispered, ‘Sleep or this?’ Lulling me into heady intoxication with the rhythm of his movement, soft repetitive caressing of the rise of my breast. Then suddenly he stopped, frozen. ‘No answer? I guess you really need your beauty sleep!’

‘Adam! No, you can’t do this to me,’ I giggled, reaching down for him, manoeuvring my hips so that my now wet opening hovered above the swollen maroon bulb of his cock. And then I stopped. Just there, teasing. As he nudged forward, so I resisted, moving away, again and again in a sensual chess game.

‘So that’s how you’re going to play it.’

We both laughed for a while until the game suddenly became more serious and Adam’s arms encircled my waist, firm grip holding me still and I acceded to him, relaxing in the muscles in my thighs, letting him slide effortlessly inside me like a hot knife into golden butter.

‘That’s it, honey. Go with the flow. Just relax.’

Dreamily, enveloped in a balmy, sultry mist, I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations building in the core of my body, the ebb and flow of effervescent desire that threatened and beckoned, back and forth with each langourous thrust that moment by moment deepened and quickened. And Adam’s breathing now sharp and ragged in my ears. ‘Uh, uh, uh… so deep … that’s it… that’s it… open wider, babe… ooh, yes, yes, yes…’

His words goading, challenging as the soft and hard tip of his cock grazed against the spot, the region of concentrated emotion, the dam that threatened to break. And he knew that he had me now, once more and again probing, assaulting, battering until he found the crack in my defences.

I turned my head and looked into the dark unreadable pool of Adam’s eyes. A warm tingling sensation flooded every pore, each nerve and without warning, the dam broke and a soft fluttering began as crimson petals unfolded, opening to him, inviting him further towards the sweet nectar. And Adam dived in.

‘Eeeeee…’ I screamed loud, half in fear as the unfamiliar flood rolled near, thunder in my ears as he cruelly thrust, pain and pleasure mingling, choking off my cries, silencing me with the sudden onrush of hot, livid lava as the volcano erupted and we came, clutching each other tight, in a firework shower of bright golden beams.

And then, from a distance, an echoing squeal of ultimate pleasure that came not from Adam, not from me. Alarmed, I searched the room. There, under the window, unnoticed, eyes locked on the reflection of our bodies in the mirror, Giles – or was it Piers (how could one tell?) – long, slender, white cock still gripped tightly in his clenched fist, chest rising and falling rapidly as the aftershocks of his orgasm began to subside…

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul


6 August 2008

The flat was just as I’d expected and exactly what I hadn’t expected. In a modern high-rise overlooking the Docks area, all neutral concrete, steel, glass and blond wood, no doubt bought from a trust fund. Expensive. Outrageously so.

My grip tightened on Adam’s hand as his arm circled my waist. The gesture seemed somehow proprietorial. He rapped gently on the front door, but it swayed open and we were engulfed in a wave of noise: shouts, screeches of laughter, music and before I could take in my surroundings, I was faced with a swarm of Nigel, Giles, Monty, Piers and Henry. I kid you not. Our host, Alexander (not ‘Alex’, I noticed) grabbed my hand, all showy in his welcome and tugged me to the seat next to him at the dinner table.

‘At last. Finally, we get to meet the sultry, sumptuous, scintillating Jade that has so captivated our Adam.’ Alexander was looking at me with something that approached a leer. The skin around his cheeks was slack, skin tone a little too purple, a weariness too old for his years in his eyes. I shifted imperceptibly away from him and glanced at Adam, seated at the distant reaches of the table, sandwiched between two young women but he was helping himself to a glass of wine and didn’t meet my gaze. None of the women around the table had been introduced. I only peripherally noted that as Alexander continued to fill in the gaps in my knowledge of Adam’s closest friends while his arm was draped across my shoulders and his fingers gently caressed the bare skin of my inner arm.

We’d clearly arrived when the dinner party was well into its swing. And this was what was so unexpected for me. The conspicuous waste, the decadence of slabs of poached salmon desecrated by stubbed out cigarettes, silver dishes of caviar receptacles for burned matches, slabs of beef smeared with the detritus from discarded joints, chocolate mousse defiled with dregs from the copious bottles that already littered the floor.

As Alexander filled my glass with bubbling wine, I already began to feel a little nauseous, uncomfortable with a lifestyle I’d never experienced before. As a new joint began to circulate, I excused myself, suddenly all prudish and annoyed with myself for that, and navigated my way to the loo. I stayed there as long as I could, trying to decide how to behave, how to act – I’d have to pretend something.

I don’t think anyone had really noticed that I’d gone. Lights had been dimmed and candles lit. An acrid scent hovered in the air and the laughter was more intense, more deliberate and, at the same time, more subdued. The scene was now like something from a Hogarth engraving. Most of the women had shed at least one item of clothing, a blouse here, a dress there, stockings, shoes, bras, while the guys remained fully clothed, almost uptight in their clothedness. Manicured and polished fingers groped languidly, almost disinterestedly at a heavy breast here, a plump thigh there. A curved, sinuous body straddled a lanky figure who continued a conversation over her shoulder, sucking the hot air from his lit cigarette deep into his lungs. A blonde head above naked shoulders bobbed up and down, from side to side in the lap of another guy as he sniffed deeply from a wad of cotton held in front of him. Split capsules littered the table as I took my seat again and Alexander’s hand immediately captured my knee, rising upwards along my unwelcoming thigh. Glancing to my left, I could see that a slightly plump redhead with small, jutting breasts had taken Henry – or was it Giles or Monty? – between long, milky fingers as was tugging, rubbing, stroking ever more frantically while he, almost unaware, sipped his port and glanced around the room, finally settling on the movement of Alexander’s fingers that now dug into my flesh. I pushed his hand away, a little dismayed by his deceptive strength.

This was not happening, I told myself. Adam wouldn’t let it happen. Surely he wouldn’t have subjected me to this if he’d known? A sudden rage flared as Alexander’s fingers returned to their exploration. If he didn’t stop, I knew that I’d hit him very soon. I felt a sudden doubt as I wondered what was behind Adam bringing me here. Was I meant to be at one with these other nameless women whose only purpose seemed to be at the disposal of these men? I tried to push back memory of Oliver and that evening in his flat… with his wife. Bitter tears of rage and despair sprang to my eyes and I searched the room for Adam, needing him to prove me wrong and come to my rescue. I looked around, but Adam was nowhere to be seen…

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul

Read Jade's previous blogs:

May 2008

June 2008

July 2008