"Put me on a highway.
Show me a sign.
And take it to the limit one more time."
"You could take me home and fuck me", she said.
And Dominic wanted to. There was no doubting that. The girl was an absolute doll. Five four, long and straight black hair, big green eyes. Lips with gloss so pink and luminous that they seemed liquid. Pert, elfin nose. Slim, equine neck. A babe.
The words had been delivered directly into his ear on a wisp of warm breath. She was on tiptoe, her fingers touching the back of his hand as though to provide herself with an illusion of support. At the points of contact, his flesh tingled. He remembered Linda, and leaned back, half hoping that he'd discourage interest with his body language. Half hoping that he wouldn't.
And he didn't. Despite the increased distance, the girl's fingers stayed in place.
"Wish I could", he told her, his voice catching a little. "Really wish I could." He let his eyes wander down her body for perhaps the fiftieth time, noting again her slender waist and broad hips, the way that the crotch of her tight black cotton pants undulated over her pubic bone, dipping into a tantalising hint of a vee between her legs. The trousers matched black, low heeled, patent leather shoes and contrasted with a bright pink blouse, open to two buttons, revealing a broad expanse of creamy flesh. He didn't get the impression that her breasts were large, but they were high and proud. Which, unfortunately, was the way he preferred them. Unfortunately, because she was arousing him, and he couldn't afford to be aroused. He'd only just got back with Linda after a difficult period, and he believed that he needed to work at the relationship rather than undermine it.
The girl raised an eyebrow, a wonderfully teasing gesture. "And you can't because?", she wondered, sing song.
"Because, miss, I'm a married man", he told her sternly.
"Martine", she corrected, raising her shoulders a little, subconsciously presenting herself to him. "Although I do like miss. You're very polite. And I like married men. More experience."
"Added to which", he strove on bravely, "you're a little too young for me."
That wasn't necessarily true. She looked about nineteen, and he was only eight years older than that. But it served to place a barrier between them, and he felt that he needed all the barriers he could get.
He tried to remember how he'd got into this position. It was difficult.
Linda had come back only two weeks ago after a long affair. Well, a series of affairs actually, but he'd only found out about the others because of the last one. He'd confronted her with it after being told by a friend. She'd responded by shrugging her shoulders, admitting that she'd been shagging around for years and announcing her intention to leave on the spot. To go and live with the wonderful Bill. But the wonderful Bill had not been quite as wonderful as she'd expected. He was, she soon discovered, a morbid drunk. And he was only a few short steps from bankruptcy. Nonetheless she'd stuck it out, obstinately, for six months. Dominic had continued to plead and beg, to abase himself. Eventually, he'd won. She'd returned to him.
But there were to be ground rules. She'd continue to go out, on her own, with the girls, on Friday nights, and he would neither complain nor follow her. In return, she'd promise to behave herself. She'd learned her lesson, and he'd simply have to trust her. She had friends, he must understand. She wouldn't be shamed in front of them. He, for his part, would be freed on Saturday nights. It would be good for their relationship that he should meet new people. It might stop him being so stuck in a rut. So unimaginative. So, although she didn't use the word, boring.
Today was the first of those Saturdays, and Linda had told him quite firmly that she didn't expect him back until two AM. Which, at least after the pubs had closed, had limited his options to nightclubs, because none of his few friends could invite him back. All of them had loving partners.
The club he'd chosen, the Sundial, was the nearest to home, but it was still a twenty minute taxi ride from it. He'd entered unhappily, had bought a high priced pint, and had made his way to the edge of the dance floor. Only then had he taken his bearings.
The other men here varied widely in age. Some were younger than he was, some older, fifty per cent around the same age. But the girls were all in their late teens or early twenties, showing more flesh in most cases than a red blooded man could be expected to have to look at for too long without taking a cold shower. Dominic had given the observation about five minutes, watching the dance floor, then, sensing his blood pressure rising, had turned to cast an eye over the darker part of the club.
Martine was standing two feet away, leaning against a post. She seemed to be staring directly at him. He looked away, embarrassed, but was soon conscious that her own gaze continued remorselessly. So he'd turned back to her.
"Hi", he'd said, unsure of how to approach a very unusual situation. "I'm Dominic." She'd grinned, making him think of her momentarily as a pixie.
"Hi, Dominic", she'd replied, her voice clear and light over the pounding disco rhythm. Just that. Nothing else. After which, she'd simply carried on staring at him. Frankly. He wasn't good at reading invitations from girls to show a little interest, but this was pretty direct. It really seemed that she was attracted to him.
He waited a little longer, disorientated. Then, after a few seconds, he'd become a little irritated at the discomfort she was causing him.
"Can I do something for you?", he had asked.
And that was when she'd made her brazen offer. Now, she was pressing it. "Why am I too young?", she wanted to know. "I'm quite some years over the age of consent, that much I can assure you about."
Again, he was amazed at the clarity of her voice over the loud background of music and talk. "I haven't got a place to take you to, Martine", he argued weakly. "Married men have those sorts of problems."
Again, she demolished the obstruction easily. "That's alright", she said. "I've got somewhere I can take you."
He knew that he was beginning to weaken. The heat of her sweet breath on his cheek was an aphrodisiac. Already, he was uncomfortable below stairs. And her limpid eyes were intoxicating, holding him, and imprisoning him.
He started to rationalise, to clear a way through his morals. Linda had indulged herself, hadn't she? That was what the whole crisis had been about. So. Didn't she owe him this? Didn't he need, in some way, to balance out her sin? Wouldn't this make things better, give them a greater chance? Because he would have been there. He would be able to share her guilt. Rather than resenting the things she had done.
Perhaps Martine read his change of mood, and was giving him a final push. Or perhaps she really was getting impatient with him. Whatever her reason, she was suddenly clear. "Last chance. Train's leaving."
He grinned. "Where's it leaving to, Martine?", he asked cagily.
She studied him. Cocked her head to one side, again reminding him of a pixie or an elf. Then she said, "Come and make me happy." And she turned and walked away. No handbag, he noted incongruously. And found that odd.
He followed her of course. He tried to tell himself that he did so because he was curious, not for sex. But he knew that he hadn't decided yet how far he would allow that curiosity to take him. He realised that for the first time in a number of years, his immediate future was intriguing and unpredictable.
Martine moved quickly, but prettily, her shapely rear sashaying a path between the bar and the dance floor, then through the foyer. She didn't pause to collect a coat, but unlike the absence of the handbag, this omission didn't surprise him, because it was a very warm night. She looked back briefly to make sure that he too had nothing to collect, then breezed through the main doorway.
When he arrived on the pavement, breathless, she was waiting for him, cool, serene and smiling. Instantly, she slipped her fingers into his and steered him left, in the opposite direction to his home. Her grip was dry, but warm and strong.
They had only walked for a couple of hundred yards when she attracted the attention of a cab driver. He held the car door for her, and she slid in gracefully, but didn't move over, forcing him to walk around the vehicle and get in the other side. He had an illogical suspicion that the cab would drive away, that the last thing he would see of her would be her laughing face in the rear window.
But that didn't happen. In fact, by the time he joined her in the car, matters had progressed. She'd apparently already given the man a destination, because he pulled away from the kerb without a word.
Sliding across the seat, she snuggled close, her breath raising the hairs on his neck. He wondered if she wanted him to kiss her, and decided to find out.
She most certainly did want that. As soon as he turned and lifted her chin, she responded eagerly, her lips gluing to his. Her tongue snaked into his mouth, sweet and thick like some exotic fruit. He embraced her gently, lost in her musky, intoxicating scent.
The kiss, and the journey, seemed to last forever. At some point, he brought a hand up from her waist to cup her left breast, loosening one button of her blouse and snaking his fingers past it. She wore no bra, and he felt the heat and weight and firmness with joy. It was a young girl's breast, haughty and full; the nipple was big and already stiffening and throbbing against his palm.
.... There is more of this story ...