Chapter 3

The phone by Jonathon's bedside beeped urgently. Jonathon's brain willed it to go away but it's shrill sound persisted. Eventually he reached for the handset.

"Yeah?" he said

"Jonathon is that you? You sound drunk. Have you been into that horrible sherry again?"

"Um Joanne," he replied, "no it's early, I was asleep..." He looked at the clock. "It's 5.00 in the morning."

"Is it? It's 8.00 at night here. I'm in my hotel overlooking Lake Geneva. It's still light... the lake looks beautiful, Jonathon. I wish you were here."

"Good Joanne," Jonathon mumbled.

"Oh come on! Show some enthusiasm. It really is a picture."

"Sorry... um."

"Jonathon, I meant what I said. I do wish you were here. I... I miss you."

"I miss you too, Joanne."

"What do you miss about me, Jonathon?"

"Huh?" Jonathon asked.

"What do you miss about me? It's not a hard question. Or is it? Have you gone off me already?"

"No, no. It's just... I'm not really awake yet... it's early," Jonathon stumbled.

"Will wake up then."

"Ok."

"You can go back to sleep later."

"Ok."

"So what do you miss about me?"

"Um... let me think..."

"Don't take all day. My credit card has a limit you know."

"It does?"

"I didn't ring you to discuss my credit, Jonathon. Answer my fucking question," Joanne continued.

"Ok... sure..."

"You're bloody hopeless..." Her voice dropped a little, "how's your cock?"

"How's my what?"

"Your cock, Jonathon. That thing between your legs, how is it?"

"Ok, I guess," he said.

"Is it hard?" she asked.

"A little... always is in the morning..."

"Good. Put your hand on it."

"Eh?"

"Shut up and just do it."

"Ok."

"Now! Think of me, Jonathon," Joanne commanded.

"Ok."

"Imagine my mouth... my tongue... imagine I'm going to suck you."

"Yes," Jonathon said, thickly.

"Think of me going down on you... sliding you into my mouth... would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Are you harder now, Jonathon?"

"Very."

"Then rub it for me.

"I am, Joanne."

"What would you like me to do? Do you know what I'm doing to myself now?"

"Are you touching yourself?" asked Jonathon.

"Oh yes, sugar... I have my hand between my legs... squeezing my thighs together... I'm so horny, Jonathon... I miss your... cock... your hard cock."

"I'm horny too... now, Joanne. I want to suck your tits... finger your pussy," Jonathon's mouth was dry.

"Yes... I have to sit down... my legs are rubbery... that's better... I'm lying on the bed, now. I'm wearing a bath robe, Jonathon, my green one."

"Really!"

"Yes and I'm naked underneath... I'm stroking myself now, babe. Are you stroking your hard cock, Jonathon?" Joanne panted.

"Yes... keep talking..."

"Put it in me... slide it in... it's juicy and ready for you... Would you like to fuck me, Jonathon?"

"Yes... god yes... keep going..."

"Hold on... I need to put the phone down..." she said desperately.

"Joanne... Joanne... are you there?" Jonathon called into the phone.

A few minutes later, Joanne comes back on the phone,

"That's better!" she said, blowing.

"It is?"

"Yes... thanks babe... I needed that... nothing like a good orgasm after a hard day of meetings," she said breezily.

"What about me? I haven't finished," Jonathon whined.

"Oh you'll manage. You've had lots of practice... I'd better get dressed for dinner... Bye."

"Joanne!" he said but the phone was dead.

Jonathon was angry. It lasted all day, surprisingly for a man so easy-going. He put in a day's work at the radio station composing a series of biscuit ads. Even the banality of the exercise didn't make the anger dissipate.

It angered him that she took him for granted. It angered him that she trod all over his feelings. It angered him when she bossed him about and it enraged him when she wakes him at 5 o'clock in the morning.

After work he caught the bus around to Joanne's house. For years he'd watched the over-rich banker's sons circulating around town in their Alfas and Beemers, impressing the giggly teenage girls and sneering out of the window. He'd a mind to play out a little fantasy. Like those 'wish for a day' shows.

In his pocket the keys felt like they were burning a hole. He pushed the little remote attached to the key ring and the garage door creaked and groaned as it responded. The inside light flicked on and Jonathon found himself staring at the shiny white sports car with a gun-sight on the grill.

Jonathon headed into town down the coast road. The big Mercedes turbo whispered and hummed along with a sound and look that spoke of wealth and extravagance. At least that's what Jonathon hoped.

He'd driven around the town for a half-hour or so before he'd realised he'd hadn't eaten. Pulling over by a takeaway he noticed a group of teenagers nearby. They were all in various stages of intoxication and playing the usual games of 'watch me watching you.'

While waiting for his order, Jonathon caught snippets of a nearby hushed conversation.

"... Half a million bucks at least... latest model... V8 turbo... goes like stink... cool!"

Jonathon peered across at the whisperers. A young guy with two girls.

The guy was dressed in a pair of 'baggies' two sizes too large. The girls, tight tops with bare midriffs, bottle-blond hair and 'spray-on' jeans. The girls looked to be sisters, a pair of teenage foxes, Jonathon concluded. The older sister had a hand draped around the guy.

"Cool car," the guy tells Jonathon, slurring a little.

"Thanks," replied Jonathon.

"Take us for a ride?" the older girl asked.

"Ok, sure," Jonathon found himself saying.

The older sister and the guy were squeezed into the back, the younger one was playing with the CD player.

"Got anything ragey?" the girl, asked.

"Motorhead?"

"Alright!" the guy responded.

'The ace of spades, the ace of spades, ' Lemmy's croaking voice blasted out from the speakers as they headed on down the coast. The teenagers were thrashing their heads around to the music, in between taking swigs out of a soft-drink bottle clearly spiked with vodka.

Under such circumstances conversation was difficult. Jonathon did manage to find out the guy's name was Toby, 19, the older girl Charli, the younger Trisha. Charli, Jonathon found out was 18, her younger sister 16. Toby and Charli lived together, Trisha was staying with them for the weekend. Toby and Charli had been going out, 'like forever' and had moved in together after Charli left school.

Both the girls were, 'very well packaged, ' Jonathon thought, that emphasised there trim little teenage bodies.

Jonathon bought them some 'alcopop' from a liquor store. They suggested he take them back to their apartment and 'have a party' with them. Jonathon didn't mind, they were better company than Roxy the cat and the girls were way more picturesque.

The apartment was messier than his. A pair of huge PA speakers dominated the lounge and the posters on the wall were of motorbikes and heavy rock groups. The seating consisted of a pair of 'Salvation Army' sofas that had frankly seen better days. Toby and Charli took one sofa, Jonathon and Trisha, the other.