One Thing Leads to Another. Jamie Holland

Her hair was bunched up out of the way, but almost everything else was immersed in a mountain of bubbles. Her feet and ankles were resting on the taps and two nipples, very erect, were also making a point of their existence. ‘Mark’s working late tonight and won’t be coming over, so you’ve got me all to yourself. Give me a kiss.’ So that was clear: Mark was not out of her life yet. But seeing her reclining in the bath Flin thought it fairly apparent what her immediate intentions were.

      Once out of the bath she put on nothing more than a silk dressing gown which periodically revealed tantalizing amounts of bare flesh – a breast emerging as she bent over, or a full stretch of thigh when she sat down – perhaps deliberately, but more than anything proving she was a woman at ease with her body and comfortable with having it admired. From the bathroom Flin followed her into the kitchen where she handed him a very chilled bottle of white wine to open. Producing two glasses, she then proceeded to knock up a bowl of pasta, chatting all the while.

      There was so much to talk about, and every story seemed fresh and new. She made him laugh and, equally importantly, she laughed at all his jokes too. Having finished the pasta, they moved from table to sofa, and then seamlessly to the floor, where she was lying against him and he was at last doing interesting things with her breasts with one hand and stroking her head with the other. Flin was vaguely aware of a clock striking at least ten when the dressing gown finally slipped away and all the teasing glimpses merged into a whole. He was lying back against the sofa, still dressed, looking up at an incredibly beautiful, slender and totally naked body, her tousled hair hanging forward as her hands were tugging determinedly at his belt buckle. He wanted to savour the moment, so that when he was old and grizzled and had not been with a woman in years, he would be able to think back and remember this completely. Unlike under the gazebo, where their love-making had necessarily been urgent, they now had time to explore each other’s bodies and make every stroke, lick and thrust long and meaningful. As Flin finally shuddered and stiffened, Poppy also tightened with pleasure and then, hugging him tighter in her arms, covered him in kisses. Bliss.

      Later, Flin was to realize that the next couple of weeks were among the most exciting of his life. He saw few of his friends and spent as much time as he could with Poppy. At the house, his bed remained largely unslept in and at work Tiffany and Martina both commented on his sudden tardiness in the mornings. He knew Jessica would only ask him awkward questions about Mark and that Geordie would expect him to paint the house, so he tried to avoid them as much as possible. He was vaguely aware of a new-found selfishness, but then again, everyone was a bit one-track-minded at the beginning of a relationship and he felt sure his friends would understand. Mark, he knew, was away on business, but Poppy never mentioned him, and so it seemed a pity to spoil things by bringing him into the equation. Anyway, after all the time they had spent together, it seemed impossible to believe Mark was a serious threat. They picnicked in the park, strolled arm in arm along the river, spent long nights of making love … and she always looked so lovely and sexy, her long slender limbs a healthy golden brown from days spent in the summer sun. It seemed as though they lived in a world where no one else could play a part and Flin honestly wondered if his time with this gorgeous woman could possibly be more romantic.

      The bubble burst rather suddenly. One evening, Flin eagerly bounced up the stairs to Poppy’s flat only to find Mark there. Impossibly good-looking, he had a chiselled chin squarer than a brick-end, making him seem healthy, confident and mature; self-confidence and success oozed out of every pore. Flin was taken aback. He had been convinced Mark must be out of her life. Still in his suit, Flin’s rival extended an arm for a predictably firm handshake, his cuff-linked shirt retreating to reveal an impressively solid and genuine-looking Rolex.

      ‘Good to meet you, Flin. What can I get you? Beer? Glass of wine?’ Suddenly Flin’s position as man of the house had been drastically reversed. It was more than disconcerting. Mark seemed so manly Flin felt he should opt for the beer. ‘Good man,’ Mark said, smiling, and disappeared into the kitchen.

      ‘Hi, Flin,’ said Poppy, coming out of the kitchen as Mark went in. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and said in a lowered tone, ‘Sorry, darling, I wasn’t expecting him tonight. But you don’t mind too much, do you?’

      Course he bloody did, he minded a lot. Mark had just ruined his evening, possibly even his life.

      Returning with the beer, Mark said, ‘So I gather you’re coming to the concert too?’

      What was this? What concert? It was the first Flin knew about it. Momentarily caught off-guard, he assured Mark he was; then immediately regretted his split-second decision. Why was he being so nice to them both? Why not snarl at Mark and stake his claim to Poppy right there and then? But he knew he’d missed his opportunity and anyway, acquiescence was easier than confrontation. But even more galling, there seemed to be no dampening Poppy’s enthusiasm. If she had been worried about having her two lovers spending the evening together, she never showed it.

       ‘Flin, you’ve been promming before, haven’t you?’ she asked.

      ‘Um, no, I haven’t actually,’ he replied truthfully. He had only ever been to one classical concert and that was at school when he was going through his Brideshead phase.

      ‘Well you’ll love it. You just turn up, hand over your three quid and stand anywhere you want.’ Flin was hugely relieved to discover this was not going to set him back a fortune, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Poppy.

      ‘My poor darling, were you thinking it would cost twenty pounds?’ she laughed, adding for the benefit of Mark, ‘Poor Flin’s been worrying that this would be horribly expensive!’ Mark laughed too and assured Flin that he would never have come if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was so cheap. Patronizing bastard, thought Flin, laughing too.

      ‘It wasn’t the money,’ Flin lied, ‘but don’t we need flags to wave? I don’t want to make a promming faux pas.’

      ‘Flags are only for the last night,’ Poppy laughed. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

      Afterwards, Flin left them to it. His self-esteem, which had been riding at an all-time high, had plummeted spectacularly. People like Mark made him sick, although he knew this was essentially envy. Standing briefly outside the Albert Hall, Mark gave Flin his leave, saying, ‘Good to see you, mate,’ as though saying ‘mate’ meant he was in touch with all rank of man. Poppy smiled charmingly, as if everything was perfectly as it should be. In a moment, they were hopping into a taxi. Flin despondently trundled off to the nearest underground at High Street Kensington wondering how Mark had been able to hail a taxi that quickly outside the Albert Hall on a concert night. The situation had to change – and soon – but Flin was bleakly aware that he was leagues behind his rival in terms of wealth and stature.

      Jessica and Geordie could not resist the ‘told you so’s’.

      ‘I’m sorry, darling, but it’s so obvious she’s using you. This boyfriend of hers – whilst being good-looking, rich and successful, is clearly treating her like shit and so she’s latched on to you to boost her self-esteem.’

      ‘It’s not like that at all,’ Flin told Jessica weakly.

      ‘All right, if you say so.’ She kissed him affectionately. ‘But just don’t trust her an inch. Take on board my woman’s instinct.’

      ‘Yeah, give her a wide berth,’ added Geordie. ‘You know what you’re like, you get all caught up in the romance and fling yourself headlong into completely unsuitable relationships. Anyway, what about your share of the decorating?’

      A few days later, though, just as Flin was beginning to despair of ever seeing her again, Poppy suggested they go out for supper. He had very lamely offered to take her, but capitulated quickly on her insistence that it was ‘her shout’. She had suggested it, she said, he could take her to dinner next time. Sitting at an outside table, Flin smiled at her as she popped an olive neatly into her mouth and smacked her lips. She took his hand and rubbed it and then looked down at the table slightly anxiously, before meeting his gaze again.

      ‘I’m not being very fair to you, am I?’ She had suddenly grown serious. ‘I mean,