Chapter 60

Sinners, Poor and Wretched

Karen

2064

This wasn't Karen's first time, but she wasn't sure the same could be said for Olga. The young woman seemed rather nervous however obviously she was someone whose sexual experiences already extended well beyond the vanilla. Karen also had doubts about the nature of Olga's relationship with Oscar. Karen and Kevin had been an item for well over a year now, but it was hard to imagine Olga being the kind of woman Oscar would normally associate with.

Karen disposed of her clothes almost as soon as she'd arrived at Oscar's West London apartment. So while Olga was still struggling out of her cheap tacky outfit in the living room, she sidled up to her host who was fussing around with a crate of whiskey bottles in the kitchen. He was still wearing his boxer shorts.

"She's a bit young, isn't she?" said Karen.

Oscar leaned to one side and kissed her on the lips. Karen was gratified to see that lecherous anticipation had already stiffened his cock. "You don't have to fuck her, you know," he said. "I know you're not the type to munch the rug even when, as in Olga's case, there's no hair between her legs."

"That's even worse, Oscar," said Karen good-humouredly. "I don't want to be known as a cradle-snatcher. She isn't your girlfriend, is she? I can't see a company director like you going arm-in-arm with a girl like Olga..."

"And what's a girl like Olga like then?"

Karen struggled to find the right words to describe the woman, but decided that since she was with a good friend and one who'd fucked her many times before she could safely use the word that was at the tip of her tongue. "She's a bit common, don't you think? I don't think she's been to university or any kind of further education. Is she a prostitute?"

"Is that what you think she is?" said Oscar with a teasing smile. "Have you got anything against prostitution?"

"Not per se," Karen replied. "But if we're having sex together, the four of us, I'm not sure I was expecting to have to share you with a prostitute."

"Relax," said Oscar. "Olga's not a prostitute."

"So, is she your girlfriend?"

"Sort of," said Oscar. "But she's not the only one. And I suspect that she's not after me for my looks alone..."

Karen nodded. Oscar had a bit of a paunch. It wasn't enormous but it was slightly off-putting. And, like Kevin, it was a long time since he'd sported a full head of hair. Just a glance around the apartment revealed enough reason for why Olga might be attracted to him. The Vietnamese biotech company for which he was London director made sure he was well remunerated.

"Kevin will like his pussy to be a bit fresher for a change," Karen admitted.

"It'll do him no end of good," said Oscar. He nodded towards a series of chopped-up lines of white powder on the kitchen table by a freshly uncorked bottle of red wine. "Fancy a hit?"

"Not quite my scene, Oscar."

"Well, it most certainly is Olga's," said Oscar. "I don't think she even comes to life until her nose is well and truly stuffed with chalk." He poked his head round the corner of the door to the living room. "I've got some choice Columbian, sweetheart."

"I was wondering when you'd offer any," said Olga ungraciously. She leapt out of her seat and scampered into the kitchen. She was a thin woman, although not exactly malnourished. She bowed her head over the kitchen table and used the crisp fifty dollar bill that was rolled up like a straw to hoover up a line. The almost worthless US currency was typical of Oscar's ironic sense of humour.

Karen noticed the tell-tale signs of recent motherhood on Olga's hips and bosom. "Do you have any children, dear?" she asked sympathetically.

"So fucking what if I have," said Olga aggressively. "What business is it of yours?"

Karen was rather put out by Olga's response. Most mothers loved to talk about their children. All she'd wanted to do was find an area of mutual interest. How should she respond? "I'm a teacher," she said at last. "I'm always interested in children."

"Well you won't have seen Olive much at school," said Olga. "She can't be fucked to go and I can't be fucked to make her. She's a lazy cunt."

"So your daughter's called Olive," said Karen who was already regretting the turn this conversation was taking. "How old is she?"

"I'll be fucked if I know," said Olga. "Guess she must be four or five or something. She's already a fucking tearaway. It's all I can do to keep her out of my hair."

Karen reflected that at such a young age the child was also too young to make rational or informed decisions about the need for education. She took an immediate dislike to a mother with such an irresponsible attitude, but charitable as always, she guessed she should also make allowances for Olga's consumption of coke and whatever else she might use.

At the same pace as Oscar strolled towards Olga and grasped her bare buttock in his large palm and tenderly peppered her face with cheeks, Karen withdrew from the kitchen with the bottle of red wine. She returned to the living room where Kevin was sitting on the sofa, also in his boxer shorts, while watching a television news story about failed cities in the southern United States. Karen poured Kevin a glass of red wine and handed it to him.