Francis Meyrick

Ch.25

“Come into my parlour,
said the Spider to the Fly;
the place is very comfy,
the ceiling nice and high.
Your wings could do with leisure,
they look quite beat to me
come in and fill your measure
of jam and toast for tea. “

“Thank you kindly, Spider,
the simple Fly replied,
(the empty tum inside ‘er,
helping her decide)
“I’d love some jammy munchies
it’s been a long hard day
and have you any crunchies,
to go with my entree?

The Spider smiled all nectarine,
and promised goo galore
“As much as you have ever seen,
you’ll never wish for more. ”

The Spider kept his promise,
the Fly could only wail
“Oh why did I so misconstrue
the meaning of your tale?
I should have guessed quite easily,
the menu of the day;
but here I land so queesily,
smack in the old puree.

Which only goes to show anew
that smiles are mostly thin
and if a Spider welcomes you
you should never trust his grin…

The journey back to France was almost a bitter affair.

Jeremy reflected on what had transpired, and knew he had humiliated his father. His mother had been hurt and shocked, but had not uttered a word of criticism. His father had made up for that…
His conversations with Emmy had been totally superficial. Gone was that easy closeness and familiarity they had always enjoyed. He guessed it was because he had changed. And Robert. Her alleged boyfriend.

He was glad to be gone from home.
He was not glad to be going back to France. However, there was not much sadness either. Indifference seemed to be the dominant emotion, and a weary resignation to whatever lay ahead.
On the way down, he was billeted at a friendly squadron, where he bumped into his old ukulele playing acquaintance from his first journey to France.
This worthy was now basking in the unimaginative nickname of ‘Uke’, and appeared to be immensely popular and a good flier. Jeremy was invited for drinks in the Officers’ Mess, and accepted for a ‘quick one’, rather than be rude.
‘Uke’ pretty soon had the whole room singing, cheering, clapping and dancing, with his virtuoso performance.
His fingers appeared to move quicker and quicker the drunker he became, until in the end it seemed to Jeremy they were little more than a blur.
As soon as he decently could, with all eyes and ears on ‘Uke’, Jeremy slipped away to his room for the night.
There he lay awake for hours, wondering and brooding, and listening to the wild clapping and cheering that accompanied ‘Uke’ and his stunning music. It was a source of mystery to him how it seemed that ordinary people could be so happy and gregarious, whereas he seemed to feel crushed, and anxious for solitude. Vicious thoughts accused him of being a misfit, and mocked him.
Without realizing it fully, he was on a dangerous slide downhill, on the way to losing his self esteem…

* * *

“There’s some guys from the Lafayette squadron having drinks upstairs. You fancy meeting them? ”
Bernard Mann smiled ingratiatingly.
Jeremy, greatly relieved at any chance of escaping the heaving crowd, was glad to agree.

It had not been his idea. For two weeks he had resisted all invitations from his new squadron mates to have a ‘night on the town’. Eventually, in a moment of weakness, he had agreed. He had hated it from the start. The dingy cafe was packed to capacity, and the air was foul with tobacco smoke, and stale air. The music played loudly and discordantly, and it was impossible to drink a pint without having part of it spilled by careless, drunken, passers by. Ordering drinks was a nightmare. Moving anywhere meant running a gauntlet of elbows, knees, and shoulders. Normal conversation was, frankly, impossible, but this did not prevent everybody from trying. The result was a cacophony of sound, which Jeremy hated. He also hated the attention of the ladies of the establishment, who were attracted by his good looks and air of good breeding. He simply was not even remotely interested in them.
Now, glad of an excuse to get out, he followed Bernard out the front door, and around to the side of the building. An ornate wrought iron staircase wound its way up to the first floor, and Jeremy vaguely puzzled at the architectural lay out. He presumed that there were private drinking rooms upstairs. In that case, why were the stairs not internal? The attraction of a more private function, meeting some interesting fellow pilots, away from the muddle of the drunken plebs, was uppermost in his thoughts however. He was grateful to Bernard for thinking of him. It wasn’t like the man to be considerate. Maybe he had misjudged him.
They reached the top of the stairs, and Jeremy shivered in the cold. If it had been daylight, he would have had a reasonable view across town here. All he could really make out now was a long series of shadowy low roofs, running towards a row of lighted buildings in the distance. The roofs near him appeared very run down, with broken tiles and smashed sky lights. Looked like old warehouses. Stables, maybe.
The landing ran all along the side of the building, with half a dozen doors leading off. On one of these, Bernard proceeded to knock loudly in a familiar way. One long tap, followed by four quick half ones, terminated by two emphatic final ones. He didn’t wait for an answer, but opened the door, and, standing aside, politely motioned Jeremy in. Very politely. Jeremy stepped past him into a large brightly lit room, elaborately and expensively furnished. His eyes took a second to adjust, and fixed on the huge crystal chandelier. He was standing on a soft, deep carpet. For a second it seemed there was nobody there, and then a figure moved to his left. He turned to look, when suddenly several things happened simultaneously. The lights dimmed down to about one quarter of their previous intensity – he noted this in astonishment – and this was followed by a sharp push between the shoulder blades, that propelled him unceremoniously forward. The door slammed shut, somebody outside was whooping it up in triumph, and several platoons worth of footsteps were thundering along the landing. More shouts joined in with the initial cheering.
Jeremy’s senses reeled with it all. The figure gliding towards him resolved itself first into a female shape.
Then Jeremy became aware that she was very elegantly dressed, with bare shoulders, a diamond necklace, and a figure hugging black satin dress. His mind worked painfully slowly. Then he recognized Mimi, one of the leading ladies of the tavern. His heart sank. Her expression said it all, even without the howling, baying mob outside.
It was a trap. He had walked right into it…

* * *

The question, Genevieve was slowly beginning to ask herself, was really if she would ever trust a man again.
She had come more to terms with what had happened, but deep mental scars still remained. Was she going to let that animal ruin the rest of her life? There came a point when one had to… move on. Write off the past. Dwelling on it only kept the ordeal alive. She had played it over in her mind enough times. It was time to… try and trust.

And yet… she felt a loathing for men.
If that was what happened… did she want a lover?
What if she relived the experience with a man she thought loved her?
Was it worth the risk?
“All men are bastards! “, she had commented more than once to Aunt Agnes.
“I don’t EVER want to get involved with another man. ”
Aunt Agnes, with the wisdom of age, wisely said nothing.
* * *

Shrinking away from the approaching femme fatale, Jeremy sprang back to the door. Half clutching for the handle, half measuring Mimi’s rapid approach, his movements were speeding up rapidly. He found the handle, and tried to turn it. To his further amazement he discovered that it was held firmly from the outside…
A simultaneous sniggering from the other side of the door told its own story. “Hey! “, Jeremy shouted, panic rising in his voice as he saw Mimi reaching towards him, a strange look in her eye.
“Not until you screw her, Jeremy honey… “, sang a disharmonious chorus of male voices.
Angry now, he hammered on the door.
“Let me OUT! ”
In answer, the same chorus line was repeated, in slightly better harmony. It was too late anyway.
Mimi was on him, tugging manfully at his trousers. He was amazed at her strength. Trying to fend her off took up all his energy, and he had to release the door handle.
He tried to reason with her.
“No! ”
He held his hands up.
“Je ne veux pas! ”
A burst of hysterics from outside…
She wasn’t even listening. Taking advantage of his foolishness, she loosened his belt, and unbuttoned most of his fly in one smooth, well practiced movement. He gasped, and renewed the struggle. Suddenly she relaxed her grip, and moved fluidly to one side. A colossal kick behind the knees brought tears to Jeremy’s eyes, and his legs folded momentarily. She grabbed his flailing arm, turned her back to him, and – all in one supple movement – he was sailing through the air. He landed on his back with a crash that knocked all the breath out of him. In an instant she was upon him, grabbing an arm and trying to pin it back. Something cold and metallic touched his wrist. It terrified him, and he wriggled away. Struggling to his feet, his breath coming heavily, he faced Mimi. She seemed quite unconcerned, definitely not out of breath, and regarded him with undisguised amusement, mixed with something that could have been contempt.
When she spoke, it was with precision, and there was steel in her voice. Although it was pitched low, even seductive, there was no mistaking the strength that underpinned the words.
“You are going to be a good boy, yes? ”
He felt like punching her hard in the face, but knew that such a move – although it would relieve his feelings – was out of the question. She wagged a finger at him in a school teacher’s manner.
“You take your clothes off now, my fine British friend… ”
She raised her voice deliberately.
“…or I will take them off for you! ”
Wild cheering from outside. She smiled faintly, as an actress acknowledging the applause of the audience.
Jeremy could only shake his head. What else could he do?
He cast around for escape. There was only one door. One window, which would have led out onto the landing anyway. They would never let him out that way…
Slowly, as if on a stage, she removed her long black gloves, dropping them carelessly on the Louis Quatorze table. Her black satin dress followed, with much rustling. She now stood before him in a clinging pale blue leotard. She posed for him, sideways, tucking her flat stomach in, and then twirling around like a ballet dancer. It was performance that might have aroused many a frigid male.
In Jeremy it only aroused loathing.

His legs seemed to be wobbling infuriatingly, and he desperately tried to communicate some rigidity and strength to his wayward limbs. He cursed the amount of drink he had consumed. She eyed him thoughtfully, and then, with a final ballet flourish, she went straight for him. He backed off as far as he could. This time she charged him head first, ducked at the last minute, and butted him painfully in the stomach. They rolled over into a heap. Her strength again amazed him, and his drunkenness only served to weaken his resistance further.
She got on top of him with relative ease, and was grabbing at his left wrist. Jeremy was flailing desperately with his right arm, but getting nowhere.
The light caught something, and he saw a metal chain appear miraculously across his left arm. She threw herself across his chest, and with both hands fumbled at his wrist. Exerting all his strength, he heaved up, and managed to half roll onto his side. She rolled away, and sprang – catlike, he thought – to her feet. Cold metal enveloped his wrist, and he realized with horror that she had partly manacled him. A length of chain swung free, with another manacle dangling ominously. Jeremy swore, and tried to free himself. It was no use. He was getting angry now. He glared at her, and saw her cool eyes studying him intently. Once more she sprang at him, and again they rolled together. This time though he swung wildly with his right fist. It contacted the side of her head with a glancing blow. She grunted in pain, and immediately smacked him as hard as she could across the face. He saw only stars, and his eyes filled with tears.
When his vision cleared, she was standing before him, a vicious looking whip in her hands. He shrank back into a corner, his eyes wide in horror. She smiled in silent acknowledgment of his fear, and spoke again, quietly, unhurried, the mistress of the situation.
“Little boy, you will undress yourself NOW! You are NOT leaving here until we make love… ”
Wild cheers from outside.
“You cannot undo the chain yourself… ”
She indicated the piece of iron with the whip.
“…and you will have difficulty in explaining it to your officer… ”
More wild cheers from outside, quickly subsiding into a breathless silence, with a million ears straining themselves as never before.
“…if you want to be a naughty boy… ”
She waved the whip again.
“…if you DARE to hit me… ”
Her ferocious look struck terror in Jeremy’s innocent heart.
“…I will whip you so hard you will NEVER strike a woman again! ”
This last statement was delivered with such a murderous look of revenge, and such a devastatingly loud crack as the end of the whip sailed past Jeremy’s head, that he flinched, a sob rising at the back of his throat.
The whip lashed forth again, like a serpent whipping out its forked tongue, and a vicious sting on his left cheek made his eyes water again. It hurt unbelievably. He was unaware of the nasty red welt, and the tiny drops of blood. At the same moment, his spirit caved in.
Somewhere, somebody was giggling delightedly.
Whatever it was that made him acquiesce, it was not lust. It was more pure fear. The woman had an extraordinary power about her, and her words were not to be taken lightly. He wanted to get away from that room, free himself from the cold chain dangling from his wrist, and disappear across the horizon, as fast as he could.
Any price was worth paying to effect his escape. Anything. Even his virginity.
His voice, when it came, was a mixture of a groan, a sob and a whine. It spoke of a crushed spirit, to which the proud and indomitable Mimi was gloriously, totally, utterly insensitive.
“Oh all right, all right… ” He couldn’t believe he was saying the words. They belonged to a stranger.
His pride, shattered, dismal, nonetheless tried to salvage some battered remnant of his self esteem.
He forced some aggression into his voice:
“Just keep that bloody whip to yourself! ”
He realized he was shaking like a leaf.
Mimi smiled ruthlessly, and chucked the whip into the far corner.
“Take your clothes off! “, she commanded, and raised her arms above her head, fingers together.
Then she started snaking her hips again, and moving her stomach in and out. He watched her in horrible fascination, and she watched him. When she turned sideways, she turned her head, and watched him still.
It was a nightmare. He felt sick. If only he’d never come! What a disgusting, depraved, stinking mess to have got into…
He had no choice. He eyed the whip in the corner out of his right eye, and tried to blink away the tears in his left. If only…
There was that damn giggle again. It sounded loud and sniggering. It sounded female…
He removed his jacket, sliding it with difficulty over the length of chain. Then he fumbled at his shirt buttons, and slowly, oh so reluctantly, removed that garment in the same way.

Mimi’s roving eye took in his white skin and reasonably hairy chest with a connoisseur’s eye, wishing he would hurry up. She had customers waiting… The noise from the band downstairs echoed around the room, and she thought of the fat Legionnaire. She had left him dead drunk, and if she didn’t get down soon, he would be unconscious. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Fat men were really boring when they were impotent with drink into the bargain.

His boots. He had to take his boots off. He reached down, and the back of his knees – where Mimi had kicked him – hurt badly. Where on earth had that woman learned her wrestling tricks? She was lethal! He thought of Emmy, and wished she was there to protect him. Emmy! If only she was there. What would she say if she saw him in his present situation?
He pulled the boots off with difficulty, aware he was trembling again. His trousers next. He fingered the buttons on his fly, and realized they were already undone. Mimi’s work. He groaned, and slowly lowered his trousers, revealing his white underpants. Somewhere, somebody giggled again. It wasn’t Mimi.

She performed her erotic routine without any conscious effort, and although she watched him like a hawk, and amused herself with betting on the size of his cock, her main thoughts were elsewhere. There was the fat Legionnaire, the red headed English pilot – what was his name? Maurice? Yes, that was it – and the funny little sergeant. They were definite. The absent looking moody one near the piano was a probable, and so was the one with the big moustache. A profitable evening already, and lots more money to come. If only this stupid little baby would hurry up!
She looked at his little white underpants appearing slowly, inch by inch, and tried to keep the contempt out of her face. As long as the little bastard had a hard on!
Then she could get a move on. The money was good – his comrades had had a whip round – and the orders were clear. He was to lose his virginity. She had promised, and it was a matter of professional pride to see it through. Even if it was getting really boring. Pathetic little creature! She wondered who was going to be best in bed of her waiting customers. Probably the funny little sergeant. The little men somehow all had inferiority complexes. Every single one of them, she had found, needed to prove something all the time. He would probably bonk himself into a state of near apoplexy, and then want a professional judgment on his prowess. The art then would be to strike the balance just right in her response. Too glowing, and he would regard himself as having surpassed her sexual level. Maybe then he would feel he could go on to new conquests, leaving her behind. Too cool, and his male ego would be upset, and he might end up in a huff. The art was to hit just the right balance, and make boring blighters like the little sergeant want to come back to prove more…

Jeremy, feeling humiliated beyond belief, stepped out of his trousers in an agony of reluctance. He looked at her miserably, standing in his white underpants. He was quite oblivious of his socks.

She had to force herself to keep the contempt out of her face and voice. God save us from virgins!
Not only did the little bastard not have a hard on – the undisturbed outline of his white underpants revealed that sad fact clearly enough, he was still wearing his socks! At least they weren’t white…

How old are you, you English baby!? Early twenties? Unbelievable. Where have you been all your life? In a monastery? Ooh-la-lah-la-lah! Still, here goes…

She smoothed her face into a smile, and, still snaking her hips, she brought her elbows together in front of her face, until only one eye was peeping out at her client.
In her most seductive voice – damn that little wimp – she prompted him as sweetly as she could.
“You ARE going to take your socks off, aren’t you, my dah-ling? ”

PLEASE take your socks off, you silly little man! I’ll burst out laughing in a minute, and then you’ll never get it up… Your sort are next to damn useless! Do you know what age I started sex? Ten! That would shock you, wouldn’t it, you well brought up little boy? You’d be even more shocked if you knew it was my father, wouldn’t you? Oh, hurry up for goodness sake… Roll on the little sergeant!

The luxurious rug on the floor felt soft and warm under his feet, but the warmth could not reach his soul.
A cold hand clutched his very heart, and he wished again that he could flee a thousand miles away.
Now what? He couldn’t possibly remove his underpants.
Now what? Now what?

She wrenched her mind back from the funny little sergeant, and wondered how best to handle the present situation. Blow job, probably. The trouble was, there was no way he was going to submit kindly to THAT. She pondered her next move, unhurriedly, and without concern.
She knew things would progress of their own accord.
She was right, as usual.

What to do? What to do? Panic almost engulfed him to the point of wanting to scream.

I don’t want this. I don’t want this. Emmy, if you could see me now… And who the hell is doing all the giggling?

Again, he thought he could hear it. He was about to dismiss it as before, and put it down to his imagination and intoxication, when something in Mimi’s eyes made him alert. Something crafty, that slid her gaze – just for a moment – to a curtain at the end of the room.

What the hell…!?

In a second he was crossing the chamber. She made no move to stop him. He made it in four quick strides, and ripped the heavy curtain aside.
The sight that met his eyes staggered him…

* * *

Emmy tried to concentrate on the book, but it was no use. Jeremy. Always Jeremy. She missed him more than she cared to admit. Was she in love with him? Or was it more a maternal caring? She shook her head. They had often agreed that they were more like brother and sister than a couple. Was that the truth? Or was it a convenient cover up to
hide the awkward truth? The truth that she actually fancied him too, and was ashamed of her emotions?
What would it be like to make love with Jeremy Armstrong?
Probably very powerful, she thought. All that inner tension… if that found an outlet in sex… he would probably be insatiable. Did that frighten her?
Was the real reason for the long standing brother/sister act nothing more than that she was frightened of his passionate
make-up? Or…
The unpleasant little thought refused to go away.
Was she more frightened of her own, deep, innermost desires?

The thought was squashed away, deep down, and brushed over quickly with the dust and leaves of a thousand comfortable defensive strategies…
* * *

Behind the curtain, a low bed could be seen, with all sorts of soft dolls and animals. Chains and manacles hung from the wall, as well as other instruments, which Jeremy could not recognize. What really took his breath away however, was the sight of two naked girls, one black, one white.
They had been standing there, bent over, as if they had been peeping through holes in the curtain. Upon their discovery, they now straightened up, quite unalarmed, smiling, almost triumphant. The black girl had huge breasts, bright red lips, and blew a kiss at him. The white girl, smaller, with multiple shades of bright paint daubed liberally all over herself, was evidently the giggler, as she now produced a sample. Then she writhed her hips, and licked her tongue expressively around her lips.
Jeremy, stunned and horrified, backed away as she advanced towards him, stroking her writhing hips. Enjoying his discomfort, both peeping mamas now advanced towards him. Jeremy, utterly dismayed, could only stare at the pink and white breasted female giggling incessantly, and the big black girl, blowing kisses, whilst he retreated. So mesmerized was he by the enemy he faced, that he quite forgot the redoubtable Mimi. That was a mistake. A rope descended past his face, and a split second later he felt a terrific tug. At the same moment, his arms were pinned painfully against his sides.
Struggling in terror now, he gasped as the little pink and white breasted girl unceremoniously punched him hard in the solar plexus. He doubled over, gasping for breath.
His three tormentors swarmed over him with ropes and chains. Within seconds he was trussed helpless, gasping still for breath. The room was swimming. The door creaked open, and a grinning face poked itself through the gap.
It belonged to Bernard.
“Having a good time, Jeremy dah-ling? ”
He sang the question in a curiously high pitched voice.
Jeremy, in between gasps, managed a reasonably infuriated snarl:
“Help me, you fool! ”
The grinning face disappeared, and was replaced by another.
This time Mimi took charge. “Eh, vous! ” The finger wagged authoritatively at the voyeurs. “Sortez! We have work to do! You! Go! Maintenant! ” The hyenas disappeared obediently. She walked across and locked the door. Then she removed the key. Jeremy’s heart sank even lower. His mouth was hanging open, but he wasn’t aware of it.
Mimi walked around to face him, looking down in mock disgust.
“You call yourself a man? ” Her look was withering. The pink and white breasted one giggled.
Mimi placed her face close up to Jeremy’s.
He recoiled, trembling.
She stood up again, and slowly, very slowly, started to remove her leotard…

* * *
The Hunter regarded the lady he was with close attention, and decided she was probably the very devil in bed. Was it worth finding out?
He yawned. Everything in due course, he reckoned.
They would win the war first. Then he would settle down and start a family. He still believed they would win the war.
It was going to be harder and tougher than he would have liked, but…
‘War was the father of nations’.
It was an unavoidable process. He wondered what it would be like to have children. Probably a lot of fun.
That he would be a good father, of that he had not the slightest doubt. The process of fathering them, of conquest and victory over the slender figure beside him, filled him with a reasonable amount of curiosity, but no more than that.
When the time came, he would be very good at it, like everything else.

To her, he was not unkind. A trifle arrogant perhaps,
but surprisingly gentle. Considering.

* * *

Mimi naked was an impressive sight. Her torpedo shaped breasts jutted forward voluptuously, the nipples hard and erect. Jeremy had never seen a naked woman before, and he could not stop himself staring at her in awe. His feelings were partly influenced by the position he was in, lying flat on his back, naked, manacled, and the object of the tender attentions of Mimi’s two assistants. The giggler was on her knees beside him, alternating bouts of passionate kissing with fits of hysterical high pitched giggling. The black Amazonian was busying herself around his nether parts, and rubbing him in a manner that was both horrifying and laden with extraordinary sensation. He was torn in different directions; on the one hand, fear and loathing. On the other, a grudging admission that he was fascinated with Mimi’s naked body. He could not remove his eyes from her, and she towered above him as the mistress of ceremonies, supervising the work of her assistants. Jeremy’s horribly fascinated attention was dragged back to the Amazonian, who had now fastened her red lips firmly over his manhood.

NO! For crying out loud! NO! Let me go! LET ME GO!

He realized he was groaning; he couldn’t help it. It was a mixture of horror, fear, breathlessness, and ecstasy.
The Giggler and the Amazonian were doing things to him he was utterly astonished by. Horrified. Disgusted. The whole thing was depraved. The animalish noises from outside only served to intensify his loathing, and he tried desperately to maintain some kind of silence. The two girls kneeling beside him merely laughed, and redoubled their attentions. It was no use… and he found himself groaning and gasping again, even louder this time. When the Amazonian, in one supple, fluid movement, disengaged her mouth and rolled on top of him, he was powerless to resist. He felt the fingers that guided the missile to its target, felt the entry, and shivered in strange spasms as his body surrendered to age old urges and instincts. It went on and on, the writhing, the groaning, the ecstasy, the shivering, the pleading…
He hardly registered the fact that the Giggler had swopped positions with the Amazonian, and was now delightedly bobbing up and down in a kneeling position.
He was gazing only at the ceiling, at a knot in the wood above his head, and trying desperately to suck enough oxygen into his bursting lungs. Mimi, meanwhile, like a sentry overseeing a prisoner, maintained a watchful guard, calculating, measuring, plotting, thinking…
remembering…

You really were a nice boy, weren’t you? You really were as white as the wind blown snow, weren’t you?
I used to be like that. Once, a very long time ago. How many men have I had since? Hundreds. Maybe close on a thousand… All because I met up with men bastards who didn’t see me as anything else but as a plaything.
I was like you, once. What right have you to condemn me? And you do condemn me, don’t you? You think I’m worse than dirt, don’t you? Just because you lived somewhere nice, in a big house probably, surrounded by a caring, loving, protective family. That makes you clean, does it? How would you have coped if you had been in my shoes? With a weak mother, who lived in terror of a bullying, drunken husband? No money, and the rent overdue two weeks?

She stopped herself. It didn’t do to get personal. She snapped at the Giggler, who obediently slid off. Mimi settled down unhurriedly, lying full stretch on Jeremy, her face only inches from his. She established the right rhythm, and listened to his groaning with satisfaction.
Then she kissed him full on the lips.
Was that a kiss of love? Or do I just want to
prove my power over this nice little boy? Am I capable of loving any more? Has the loving part of me long since died and gone away?

In a strange way, she was attracted to this man. She could sense his kindness, his compassion. He was not like the others…
Jeremy turned his face away, surprised. She noticed he was covered in perspiration. His eyes were staring. She continued to try and drive him wilder and wilder, and kissed his neck and throat. He struggled, but quite weakly. Drink and exhaustion were taking its toll. She discovered to her slight surprise that she wanted him to kiss her full on the lips.

Well, hello there… What’s gotten into me? I really WANT you, you big baby! I WANT you to kiss me. NOW. Kiss me, kiss me, NOW!

Jeremy struggled, his eyes shut now, squirming his lips this way and that, trying to avoid her kissing. She felt a long forgotten pang, and grabbed his face in both hands. Then she forced their lips together, and smothered him with kisses. No response. Only a mouth, grimly shut, eyes, shut tight, blocking out the horror.

Damn! I want you, you bastard!

She pinched both his nostrils shut, until he ran out of air. The instant his mouth gasped open, she was in with her long tongue, probing around inside his mouth.

Kiss me back! Kiss me back now! The hell I know why I should want you!
But I do! The first man I’ve really wanted for years! So kiss me! Now!

She redoubled her efforts, watched coldly and indifferently by the Giggler. The Amazonian was more observant, and watched with increasing interest…
It was no use. Jeremy could not help responding to the sexual stimuli, but something in his lips betrayed the lack of human warmth. Mimi felt it, and the hurt of rejection burnt unexpectedly hot and deep. She withdrew slowly, staring intently at the deep blue eyes that looked fearfully up at her.

So that’s the way you feel. Have it your way then…

She composed herself quickly for the benefit of her two assistants, and raised herself to her full height. Staring down at him, with a show of proud disdain, she addressed him and the hidden audience in almost regal tones:
” The English gentleman is no longer a virgin. ”
There were loud cheers from outside, dying down quickly, as everybody strained to hear the next words spoken.
The Giggler emitted her trademark, and the Amazonian put an arm around her shoulders.
Mimi continued:
” Do you approve of us women? ”
She placed an odd emphasis on the word approve. Already her mind was planning ahead to the rest of the evenings clientele. It was a throw away line, a final comment. The show was nearly over, and in another second she would have been getting dressed, half way towards forgetting him. Her momentary gentleness and higher longing was being brushed under the carpet. Ignored. Put down as just one of those odd moments of weakness. The Amazonian gently nibbled the Giggler’s earlobe, who responded by absently massaging her partner’s left breast. If Jeremy had kept quiet, or said nothing untoward, he would have savored the relief of his clothes and his freedom within minutes. Just another client…
He blew it. Unknowingly, unwittingly, he blew it in grand style. He watched the two assistants beginning to warm to each other’s embraces – the Amazonian was beginning to purr delightedly as the Giggler’s fingers explored further – and cold fury came into his eyes. His expression even arrested the black girl’s attention, and, at his words, she whistled, whilst the Giggler stopped what she was doing.
It was only partly what Jeremy said. It was more the way he said it.
“You DISGUST me! Call yourselves women! You’re cheap, nasty, filthy… ”
His words died away. Too late. Mimi, furious, sprang forward and smacked him hard across the face. Her face was white. Jeremy shrank before the expression.
With an anger that surprised even herself, and stunned her assistants, Mimi held him by the throat.
“Don’t you DARE talk to me like that… I’ll show YOU, my fine English friend! ”

The fat Legionnaire was never destined to get his oats that night. Dead drunk, he slid slowly down the wall, quietly singing the words of a sad little song that nobody else could hear. The red headed pilot went off with another Madam, and the funny little sergeant was so busy laughing his socks off at the Englishman who had lost his virginity, that he quite lost his passion. He was too busy gloating in the misery that was written in large letters all over Jeremy’s face. To Jeremy, the rest of his ordeal was pure hell. Round and round the drinking rooms they went, the three girls, scantily clad, dragging the bound, helpless spectacle of Jeremy, naked as a newborn babe, save his socks which Mimi had insisted he wore. In triumphant procession, the ex-virgin was paraded out onto the street, much to the amusement of drunken bystanders, and the misery of the victim. All the while Mimi, brandishing the whip, conducted the spectacle with the passion of a conductor directing his own work for the first time. All revelers were encouraged to ‘baptize’ the ex-virgin in his ‘new life’, which they did, with gay abandon. Beer, wine, cognac, whiskey, cheap schnapps and expensive Port, all were poured freely over Jeremy’s head. His private parts were equally thoroughly ‘baptised’, and there was nothing, but nothing, that a distraught Jeremy Armstrong could do about it. He tried shouting, but no one voice could possibly raise itself above the inferno of noise that erupted at the procession’s approach. Every man, so it seemed to Jeremy, was shouting and cheering at the top of his voice, every woman was screaming, tables were being knocked over in the rush, and legions of unseen feet were stamping on the floorboards. It was a nightmare. He soon was reduced to stumbling through it, reduced to the level of a zombie, a passive spectator to his own humiliation. His mess mates didn’t lift a finger to help, and blurred in with the mass of bodies shouting, screaming, cheering, chanting, pointing, laughing, choking, and gesticulating.
He wished he were dead.

When, eventually, he was deposited unceremoniously back upstairs in the room where his ordeal had began, he was too stunned to appreciate the help extended to him by the one figure who stayed behind to help him find his clothes, and get dressed. The same figure tried to wash and clean some nasty cuts and grazes he had incurred whilst being half dragged past walls and furniture. He however shrugged her off, and staggered, like a debilitated old drunk, out the door and down the staircase. He fell the last ten steps, and picked himself up only slowly, painfully. Then he slowly disappeared into the merciful night. Away. Away from that place.

He was quite unaware of the same figure watching him disappear. The Amazonian, who was above all else lesbian with no real sexual or romantic interest at all in men, watched him go with pity in her heart. Compassion stirred, and she felt that Mimi had gone way over the top.
It was strange. She had never seen Mimi react so violently to a mere insult like that.

Why had the airman’s angry remark pierced her emotions so deeply? The Amazonian, in a gentle mood, felt sorry for Mimi. And the English pilot.

Life, she decided, was strange…

F.M.
(c)