He carefully put down his knife and fork, dabbing his mouth with the napkin, then setting it beside the finished plate. He looked at her evenly. "So," he said, "tell me about your first experience with another woman."
* * * *
She had come to London full of expectation. A new job- well, same company, but a different role- and best of all, lots of travelling and no bloody staff. She would be visiting branches of the firm around the country, checking work and processes, and for a reason she couldn't quite fathom Sarah felt free. She had worked in the same building for 15 years. She knew every stain in the carpet, every crack in the wall, and sometimes it drove her crazy.
* * * *
"What kind of question is that?" Sarah stared, taken aback. "You have known me what, less than two hours, you think you know all about me. You should not presume so much." He said nothing. Still looking her in the eye, he sipped slowly from his wineglass.
Despite herself, Sarah was intrigued by this man. More than intrigued, to tell the truth.
"What makes you think I have had an experience, as you put it, with another woman? Not all women are secret lesbians."
His face was impassive. "I think maybe you are no stranger to a little daring, a little risk. Not every woman would have agreed to dinner with a man she did not know."
He was right, the bastard, but she wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. An idea came to her. "I tell you what," she said. "You tell me about your first experience with a man, and maybe I'll see if there's anything to tell."
He gazed at her curiously, she thought, as a spider might regard a fly twitching in its web.
"Very well," he said.
* * * *
Two days earlier, the train had slowed as a disembodied voice announced the imminent arrival at Paddington. Sarah had closed her magazine, uncrossed her legs and prepared to retrieve her little suitcase. As she had stepped down to the platform, she became just another of thousands of commuters, ants in the contorted travel systems of the city, and she could not have been happier. She straightened her jacket, smoothed her skirt, and descended the short flight of steps into the Underground.
Two weeks' training in London, staying in a hotel, expenses, the works- she had been ecstatic. Sarah loved London. She had actually been born there, back in the dim and distant past, although they had moved with her dad's job when she was three. She often wondered what would have happened to her if they had stayed. Anyway, what was there to keep her away? It was two years since she and Chris had- well, two years since it had ended- and there had been no-one to keep her bed warm at night. Yes, there had been men, and she had enjoyed the taste of their lips, the touch of their bodies, their weight on hers, but none of them had made her feel, not where it counted. This was a new start and she hoped, maybe, she might find what she was looking for, whatever it was.
* * * *
"I was at boarding school," he began. "A cliché, but there you are. Hundreds of boys, becoming men, all together. It happens." Although he exuded his usual air of confidence, Sarah thought she could detect a hint of uncertainty behind his eyes. This was out of his comfort zone.
"I was sixteen. Yes, my father had money, but I was still young and did not know what that meant yet." He hesitated. "His name was Carlos. This was in England, but most of us were from overseas. Carlos was, I think, from Latin America, although I do not know the provenance of his family." He said this in a way that made it clear what he thought of Carlos' background.
"He was two years older and about to leave. It was clear he had been keeping an eye on me for some time. He picked his moment carefully, trapping me in an empty classroom when no-one else was around." He stopped abruptly. "The details are unimportant." He looked at Sarah. She looked right back, amused at his discomfort. "All right. I am not ashamed. I was unused to such attention, and I cannot say I did not find it pleasurable at the time, although it haunted me for a long time afterwards." He took another mouthful of wine, then continued, more confidently.
"He made no pretence of seduction, roughly shoving his hand down my pants and grabbing my penis. It was the first time anyone else had touched me sexually, and I was soon aroused. Before long, he was not satisfied. He pulled down my trousers and pants, then his own. I knew what he expected, and I handled his cock- it was much larger than mine- just as I would my own. You will not be surprised to hear that he also forced me to fellate him, or that once I had brought him to orgasm with my hands, his semen covering my clothes, he was no longer interested in me. It was the first and last time he bothered me."
It may have been long in the past, but she could tell he was glad to finish the story. When she looked at him again, though, all his confidence had returned- indeed there was a new hardness in his eyes. When he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice she had not heard before.
"After school, I gather Carlos went to work in Paris. I heard a few years later that he had been killed in an unfortunate accident. His car ran off the road and burst into flames. The cause was never found. Very sad."
Sarah looked at him wide-eyed. He met her stare, his eyes daring her to challenge him. "I think I have said enough. Suffice to say, I knew from that second that I would never be with another man. That summer, as I had passed my sixteenth birthday, my father arranged for me to visit a whore in Egypt." He smiled at her surprise. "It is something of a tradition in our culture. In our family, at least. This encounter opened my eyes. She was so gentle with me. I will never forget the softness of her skin, the curve of her breasts, the connection of the most intimate kind. I will not lie to you- I have spent much of the intervening years seeking to enjoy as many women as possible."
