Sex, Lies & Crazy People. John Hickman

I’m extremely sorry,” I replied, and then almost as an afterthought, “please be warned ma’am, these plates are—umm—are certainly not—cold.”

      Grand Duchess reached forward. She placed her finger tips on the edge of her plate, as if to test she’d been told the truth.

      I was surprised how long they rested there.

      When she withdrew her fingers, I heard a short gasp synonymous with a slight, if not ominous, hissing sound.

      From the plate or her mouth, I wasn’t sure.

      Her face became a gargoyle mask of malevolent distaste.

      Justin and I hightailed it back to safety.

      Back in the kitchen we giggled silently, until we burst. I lit a cigarette and another for Justin and Chef Peter.

      “When you get older,” Gramps said, looking down at his hands, “signals of pain take longer to register from our bent fucked fingers to our tired old brains.”

      “Or longer because they have more information in their brains,” Gran said.

      The trio finished their meal without as much as a single obnoxious remark. They then paid their bill in full.

      Chapter 22

      Kathy

      I met Kathy who worked at the post office. She assisted me with a registered parcel delivery and became interested in my sender’s address being the hotel. I was attracted by her

      grooming, perfume and bubbly personality, although she was a little vertically

      disadvantaged.

      Kathy readily agreed to see a picture with me at the cinema. We kissed and I fumbled some groping. In desperation I continued to push the boundaries.

      She fixed me with a steely glare. “No sex on our first date!”

      Back at the hotel for a nightcap she went into raptures over our miniature bar bottles. She seemed keen to see me again. I thought, what the hell. I was no longer with Eliza.

      On our second date she became more confident, and slightly aggressive. After she knocked back three aperitifs she announced. “I don’t want any more miniatures. I’m not a bloody Barbie Doll. Give me a big bottle, like I’m a real alcoholic.”

      I tried. “Might we adjourn to a bedroom?”

      Kathy melted. “Why not?”

      In private she took a long swig of Smirnoff Vodka, and another, and another until the bottle was half-empty. Soon she was on the drunk side of giggly. Kathy headed into that tempest of slurred speech that precedes inelegance before feeling decidedly unwell.

      We had sex, or more accurately, I did.

      Kathy was like a rag doll on the bed. She giggled every now and then as I fumbled to unbutton her blouse. In between she moaned and faded.

      After I removed my jacket, she grasped my tie and returned with. “Is that all I get?”

      When her skirt rode up around her waist I saw she had fine legs.

      She panted. Probably with impatience at my ineptness. Then arched up helpfully.

      I took that as an indication that I should continue.

      “This would have been easier before you lay down,” I muttered.

      Unsure what to do next, I lay beside her and held her hand.

      In an effort to get a reaction I gently stroked her tummy. As I approached her treasure chest, she said, “I don’t mind having sex but don’t want to get pregnant.”

      Our kisses when we managed to connect were listless and wet. I tried not to hurry things along. Timing’s everything. Too soon and I’d be remembered as a horny, selfish bastard

      interested in only one thing. Too late and “Whoops! Sorry about that.”

      A salacious smile on my face I rolled on a condom. “I hope you’re ready for this, Kathy?”

      Her response was a half hearted groan as she flung her arm in my direction.

      Self to Conscience. “Boy Scout I’m not.”

      My breathing became urgent. Kathy appeared as ready as she was ever likely to be.

      I kissed her, again. Placed her hand around the base of my giggle stick. Maybe, if she felt the condom. Knew it was on, her disposition might improve.

      “Brace yourself, Kathy,” I whispered.

      Naked and spreadeagled beneath me, I attempted to locate my target but was all over the place. I knew I was getting close when she giggled and brought up her knees.

      “Is it in yet?” she asked.

      I picked up the pace, faster, harder. There’s me going for the record. My toes

      buttressed against the bed footboard for extra leverage, trying to gain that extra half-inch the bed creaking under the strain.

      If I’d had a pin maybe I should have stuck it in her arse.

      No pin. But getting down to business, I removed my tie. There’s me deep growling. Her laying motionless. Admittedly, the top of her head hard up against the headboard may have broken her mood.

      She never did spiral into orgasm but had definitely waltzed with the pixies.

      She smiled, maybe more a contented smirk, but that was only after I’d put a pillow

      behind her head. Perhaps she was relieved I hadn’t smothered her with it?

      Afterwards while I enjoyed that euphoric feeling and lit up a lonely after sex

      cigarette, she snored like a trooper.

      When she awoke, she was apologetic. “Sorry, I always crash after—you know.”

      I was relieved she hadn’t complained. She may have felt short changed.

      “Sleep seems to agree with you,” I said. And then remembering her proximity to the headboard. “How’s the headache?”

      She chased me once but I never returned her call. She wasn’t someone I wanted to be with. I needed to feel connection.