Enceinte

Sexual content

The hardest part was finding a fancy-dress hire shop and purchasing a mask. Dianne went during her morning tea break and sourced one. Thus, she knew it was a Tannhäuser assignation. She reported back.

‘Diary clear for the afternoon. Two customers, well pissed with me and the short notice. Mask in your bag. When are you going to tell me what it is all about?’

‘A fair question, Dianne. It’s probably best you don’t know. Then you can tell the truth. We are meeting Saturday. I promise I’ll spill the beans. I assume he thinks Kew Gardens will provide the ambiance of the Venusberg. Not an easy task in November London. In case I’m never seen again, send the forensic team to the Marianne North Gallery.’

I’m on the train from Waterloo by 2.30, in Kew Gardens by 3.15 and wandering the picture galleries by 3.30. My mask is perfect. It is mounted on a stick for quick application and has elastic for the hands-free option.

I wonder at his choice. I know the gallery so well. My mother is an amateur botanist. She has done some important research in her time and written papers, but up until the time I could be left on my own on a Sunday afternoon, I would accompany her to the Marianne North Gallery so she could admire the amazing paintings of foreign plants. While other girls were snogging lads or pretending they liked football, I was sketching weird plants.

The gardens are deserted. I would have preferred the Palm House. I’ll tell him for next time. Perhaps he knows that security is a problem in the popular locations.

As soon as I am through the door of the gallery, I sing in my soft mezzo voice,

‘Tannhäuser.’

I hear an echo from him in his finest baritone, ‘Venus!’

I turn and remove a wedge from my bag, which I insert under the door, and deliver a sound kick to jam it shut. I hope I haven’t locked anyone in, but the building feels deserted.

I find my way into a narrow passageway and hear the voice calling from far away. It is a gentle call, but it echoes nicely through the galleries.

‘Masks, please.’

I slide my mask on and turn toward a row of pictures. My back is to the room. There is a desk in front of me. Handy. I don’t want to lean on the pictures for support. They are surely alarmed. I wonder about CCTV or security personnel. I hear steps behind me and a firm hand guides to a more remote corner. I am so excited and then shocked as a huge cape envelops us. I feel Velcro fasteners latch. I’m inside a tent. His hands are everywhere. He lets out a satisfied sound as he finds no knickers to struggle with.

 I feel round the back for his flesh. He pulls back slightly and gives me room to grasp, large and hard, and I begin stroking as he begins lifting my skirt. I feel myself bent forward and I guide him. He does the rest. We forget ourselves and are soon humping with abandon. Clever boy. The cape masks our most obvious movements. There is probably CCTV somewhere, but one could think we are getting excited about the Dracophyllum my nose is nearly touching. If he pushes too hard, we’ll set the alarms off. Dracophyllum looks suitably phallic, like a dick enveloped by a hairy sheath. There are crashing noises going through my brain. His hand covers my mouth. It must be to quieten me. Am I in danger of activating a burglar alarm? 

I feel his breath quickening and he whispers, ‘And now for the fouteur.’

Within seconds I am awash – a profusion of combined lusts running down the inside of my legs.

I encourage him.

‘Oh Tanny. That was some jeter!’ I sigh, draw breath and quote from the black book.

‘How the old lady’s eye glistened as Tannhäuser removed his panting blade? Page 143!’

‘Glad you approve, Venus. Down you go and clean up your knight.’

I feel the cape slip over my head and I’m in darkness as he closes the tie again. I fall to my knees and feel damp meat against my face. I rub it over my cheek and clean it in my mouth. Once the beast is under control and shrinking, I dry him on my scarf. I hadn’t forgotten it!

I hear the Velcro tearing open and now stand and arrange my skirt. I look down at my skirt band and wonder if it is worth rearranging. Perhaps he has let me up for air before going for round two.

While I wonder, the cape disappears and so does he. I look round for him, but the room is empty. How did he manage that?

I removed my mask and found a seat to rest on.

Wow. What a feeling? I ran through to the front door.

He hadn’t removed my wedge, so was hiding somewhere in the gallery. I wanted more, but one shouldn’t be greedy. Get out before someone alerts security that the door was jammed.

13. Sophie

It's the next day. Another day for another dime, but I don’t earn dimes and I mustn’t risk the wrath of upstairs. Nevertheless, work was difficult again. Despite resolutions that I’d improve, I spent the morning on an easy task and got nowhere. Dianne noticed and tackled me at lunchtime.

‘You had another assignation with your ... what’s he called?’

‘Tannhäuser, although last night he played Florizel or was it De La Pine?’ I added dreamily.

‘Explain.’

‘Can’t. Not yet anyway. Maybe one day I’ll be able.’

‘You have the letter in your filing cabinet. You know I can’t blab.’

‘That isn’t it,’ I confessed. ‘I’m not ready to describe what he did, and worse still, admit it was a total turn-on.’

‘I see. I understand, too. I just wish we didn’t have such inhibitions. I know my reluctance to let go is affecting my love life. At least you do the things you want to do, even if you haven’t yet learned to talk about them.’

We both kept quiet for a moment, masticating our substandard sandwiches.

‘Where can I get a bottle of Krug champagne?’

‘Never heard of it. Internet?

‘I need to have it by Friday.’

‘If it’s real pricey, try Fortnum and Mason. I’m going out in a minute. I’ll look in the wine shop.’

‘It’s probably one hundred pounds a bottle.’

‘Wow! We get decent enough stuff in Waitrose for twenty. Does it have to be Krug?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Shape of the bottle,’ I whispered.

She sat at the computer and sought out an image of a bottle of Krug.

‘Jesus, Connie. You’re not!!!’

‘Hope to.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s in the book. You know, by Beardsley. He did De La Pine last night and Florizel the night before and sent me a video. He wants me to be Sophie on Friday and get to drink some very expensive champagne, after it has been in some unexpected places. I can video myself or send him despoiled bits and pieces, or invite him round to help. I haven’t made up my mind yet.’

‘Florizel. Who is he? Sophie? I don’t get it. Some detail, please.’

‘As I said, I can’t provide graphic detail. It’s not me. Not me yet. I’m not Beardsley – not as uninhibited as he. Was he uninhibited or did he hide behind written smut? I’ll get you a copy from the second-hand book shop in St. John’s Street.’

‘Copy of what?’

‘Beardsley. Venus and Tannhäuser. He plays Tannhäuser and we are letting ourselves be inspired by what they got up to. I think that’s the plan. I haven’t checked it out with him.’

‘What’s his proper name?’

‘No idea.’

‘What’s he look like?’

‘Not sure. I’ve always had my back to him, or it’s been dark.’

‘Where did you meet?’

‘Northern Line, southbound.’

‘So, you haven’t been ... you know ... intimate yet?’

‘He came over my butt somewhere around Bank.’

I did it. I talked about a happening so important in my life, but so taboo in society I could go to prison for it.

She gasped, went red, held her chest, forced herself to begin breathing again and said, ‘How does that work?’

‘Okay, if the train is jammed.’

She left my office. I saw her pick up her coat and shopping bag and head for the exit. I thought I’d gone too far. She was bound to blab. How wrong I was. Twenty minutes later I received a text.

<Found the book so don’t go out especially and some Krug. It’s on offer. Only 85. Shall I get a bottle?>

I wrote back.

<Get two, if your plastic will stand it. I’ll give you cash when you get back.>

Two bottles of Krug were safely stored in my cabinet, in the same compartment as Dianne’s letter of confession. As the drawer shut and I locked it, she pulled the slim volume from her bag and said, ‘Which page for Florriewotsit?’

I checked she had the same edition as I.

‘Page seventy-five.’

She read. She looked up, but said nothing.

‘I’ll show you the slipper and video on Saturday. You look confused.’

‘Is this okay?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Doing lewd things with a stranger, whom you wouldn’t recognise, whose name you don’t know, and with whom you have committed an illegal act on a tube train.’

She cracked into a huge smile and continued.

‘What about the champagne trick? What is it and where should it happen?’

I thumbed through her copy and gave it back at page seventy-three.

She read a long time. I didn’t tell her to jump to the bottom of the page where the action was.

‘Is this the bit?’ She read in a hushed and stilted voice.

‘Clitor and Sodon had a violent struggle over the beautiful Pella, and nearly upset a chandelier. Sophie became very intimate with an empty champagne bottle, swore it made her enciente, and ended by having a mock accouchment on the top of the table.’

I nodded assent.

‘What do you think “enciente” means?’

‘I’m not sure. I think Beardsley put a spelling mistake in, or he knew a meaning that doesn’t make it into dictionaries, or it’s a play on words. My French can’t solve that one. I think it means old or chatty. Chatty makes most sense.’