Chapter 1

Jonathon Wetherall gradually became aware of the errant ray of light insinuating itself through a little gap in the curtain. He felt it tickling his eyelid and he knew if he prised his eye open it would dazzle him. It took the shrill beep of the phone by his bedside to jerk him fully aware.

Jonathon tried to grab it while still keeping his eyes shut. First his glass of water, then the ashtray tumbled to the floor. Eventually he had to open his eyes and grab the phone.

"Yeah? Um, Jonathon here, aw shit."

"Shit who, Jonathon? You make a woman feel wanted?

"Oh, hi Joanne," he said, "I, I just dropped my ashtray and a glass of water and now there's a hell of a mess to clean up."

"Good exercise for you," replied Joanne, "it's time you kept normal hours anyway."

"Are you sure you've never been a musician"? Joanne went on.

"Why?"

"Late nights, sleeping through the morning..."

"I learnt the banjo once," Jonathon said.

"Banjo? Why?"

"Well, there was this bit of music I heard once. I wanted to learn it so I bought a fly-string."

"And did you learn it?"

"Nah, the strings were too rough on my fingers. So I took up the drums."

"And?"

"No co-ordination between hands and feet."

"I know I'm going to regret this, but, what next?"

"Electric Guitar. I lost my apartment because of the noise."

"Jonathon," Joanne sighed, " you crack me up!"

"Now, honey," Joanne continued, "I'd better hurry because I have a meeting in a few minutes. I think we need to start looking around for a proper job for you."

"Proper job? I have a job..."

"Writing copy? Give me a break! How much does it pay?"

"Depends on my hours. Sometimes I can get a week's work in one go."

"So! Does that mean they have you as a private contractor?"

"Um, Yes. They call me in when they need me."

"Good lord! Do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Don't try to make a living as a contracts lawyer, you'll starve, ok?"

"I'll be late tonight, around 10ish. I'll pick you up, ok?" Joanne said.

"I may be busy," Jonathon replied.

"How long does it take to feed the cat? See you tonight."

Jonathon dabbed at the mixture that had now turned to a black slime, with a cloth. Roxy the cat had long given up her curiosity and had re-occupied Jonathon's place in the bed.

"I shouldn't let her do it," he told the uninterested cat, "she treats me like a cross between a servant and a third-world relief project."

Roxy adjusted herself to catch the last vestige of Jonathon's body-heat.

After the first night, the post-coital glow had lasted fully three days. She'd gone when he'd woken up and there was a note on the nightstand with $50 pinned to it. It said,

'Jonathon,

I need a shower and a change of clothes.

Take the 50 and buy a new Duvet, you can almost see through it.

I'll call you.

Joanne'.

'So utterly Joanne' he thought when he read the note. It didn't stifle the silly grin, though. It remained with him for the rest of the week. There was definitely something in his character that enjoyed being bossed about.

Then there was the sex. She'd been like a dam bursting, releasing a flood of sexual feelings. Despite telling him that'

'It never did much for me, ' and, 'don't expect the Karma Sutra, ' as soon as Jonathon's tongue found her clitoris, she couldn't get enough of it.

Jonathon didn't consider himself a sexual athlete, far from it. But he figured half the pleasure in sex was in the giving. So he'd always taken care of his partners. Not that there'd been that many. But because he'd had few lovers, he'd treated each one as special.

The doorbell rang about 10.40pm. Joanne looked a little breathless.

"I'm sorry, I'm running late, got your toothbrush?" she said.

"Um, yes, I mean no, er just a minute."

Jonathon scrambled for his overnight bag.

"Damned Minister!" Joanne grumbled in the car, " I'm sure he only wanted to keep me there so he could peer up my skirt."

"Close your legs."

"Huh! I never thought I'd hear YOU say that."

"Now Jonathon," Joanne continued, "have you any University qualifications or Trade Certificates, even."

"Um, Ph.D.?" Jonathon answered.

"Ph.D.? What! You're kidding me, what in?"

"History, Pre-European."

"You've a Doctorate in History and you're writing copy for a Radio Station?"

"Um, yeah."

Jonathon explained that he'd liked University and hadn't wanted to leave. So he'd kept on accumulating degrees and supporting himself through teaching. The day came, however, when there wasn't anything left to do except become a Professor and he couldn't stand the repetition of teaching the same old stuff, year in year out.

"Do you realise you could have spent the last 15 years heading some Government Research Unit earning three hundred grand for getting drunk with Senior Ministers?" Joanne explained.

"Um, I guess."

"We just need to train you to lie."

"Is that what you do?"

"Oh yes, honey, all the time."

"With your legs open?"

She was laughing when she dug him in the ribs.

"Bakhmi gorang?"

"I wondered what the aroma was," replied Jonathon as they entered number 12.

"I picked some up on the way home. That Indonesian Restaurant downtown makes up some for me when I work late."

"You have to have it with Singapore Tiger beer," Jonathon explained.

"Of course," replied Joanne, "right here, and lakhsi for afterwards."

Jonathon thought he had died and gone to heaven.

Joanne's lounge looked like a display in one of those big department stores. Everything had been neatly arranged to create an impression. Jonathon sat down carefully on the pristine sofa lest he disturb the dust. He needn't have bothered as even the dust did what it was told.

Joanne's idea of eating takeaways was to lay the punnet carefully on the glass top of the coffee table and spread a white napkin over her knees. The beer was on a coaster, a cloth was handy for those unexpected spills. To Jonathon, it was an alien world.

The food, though, was divine and Jonathon savoured each morsel. He didn't mind when Joanne reached across to wipe a speck from the corner of his mouth.

"That was excellent," said Jonathon sipping on his lakhsi. The fizzy yogurt shake taking the edge off the chili.

"I've never seen anyone bolt chili down that quickly before. Have you got any taste buds left?" Joanne asked him.

"It's a technique. I have a few quick mouthfuls until the burning becomes too much, then I have a swallow of the lager. The lakhsi then restores the palette afterwards. How do you handle it?"

"Simple! I told the restaurant to hold the chili for me. I ordered extra for you to see if you'd flinch."

"And did I?"

"No, I might have known."

Joanne stretched herself in an exaggerated gesture.

"Right, get your buns upstairs. I have a couple of calls to make," she said.

"What! At this time?"

"Time zones. The Yanks are finishing work and the Poms are having their morning tea."

"Oh right!"

"Git!"

Jonathon made his way up the stairs to the Joanne's bedroom. Like the lounge, it looked like a display window. Everything was carefully in its place with not even a ruffled doily. He looked around wondering where he should drop his clothes. He decided eventually to fold them neatly over the chair by the dresser.

As Jonathon lay in bed waiting for Joanne he absently checked the cover to see if he'd ruffled it too much. He left the bedside lamp on dim. He wanted to watch the show when Joanne came up.

A half an hour later Joanne appears.

"You awake?" she asked.

"Of course," Jonathon answered.

"Don't get you hopes up tonight, Jonathon, I'm too tired, it's been a long day."

"Ok," he mumbled.

"Oh! Put away that bottom lip."

Jonathon didn't get much of a show. Joanne picked his clothes up from the chair and put them away in the wardrobe, he noted that for future reference. She then took some pajamas and went into the en-suite to change. He listened to her brushing her teeth and washing.

When she re-appeared he watched her walk towards the bed in her green PJs. He liked the way her full breasts wobbled under the fabric, the way the material clung between her legs. He was instantly erect and he wanted her.

Joanne eased herself into bed and bent to kiss Jonathon. Jonathon tried to hold her lips to his, to get her to accept his tongue. She pulled back with difficulty.

"Easy big boy," she said, " maybe tomorrow morning, I'm going in late."

"I want you," whispered Jonathon.

"Yes, I know. The mind might be willing but the body isn't. C'mon, put your arms around me, you can spoon me."

Jonathon put his arms around her, his hands agonisingly close to her breasts.

"Jonathon! Put that thing away will you, it's bruising me."

"It's got a mind of it's own," he replied.

"I doubt 'mind' is the word."

Jonathon eventually got his erection under control. He listened to Joanne's breathing for a while, took in the smell of her shampoo. After a while he whispered,

"Joanne?"

When there was no answer he began to slide his hand down towards Joanne's breasts. Just before he reached the 'Holy Grail', her hand intercepted his and pushed it away.