Note: After taking a hiatus from writing erotica, I decided to attempt a short multi-part series. I wasn't sure whether to categorize this as Horror or Fantasy, but I decided it was closer to supernatural horror.
Although this first part doesn't really have any horror elements, it sets the scene for the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy it.
Pt. 1: Juliette
Juliette sauntered into Tom's life when he was checking tickets at the local cinema. An older woman, pushing fifty, although she would consider herself in her prime. Not many people would have argued with her on that.
Tom first noticed her figure as she strolled into the cinema from the entrance corridor. He stopped talking mid-sentence with another usher when he saw her huge bust and her thin waist -- a combination he found hard to resist. And judging by the wide smile she flashed at him as he took her ticket, she knew it.
Her dark shoulder-length dark hair partially covered one of her equally dark eyes, lined with mascara. Her light skin was clear, with only a few laughter lines.
A red blouse, tucked into a pair of dark trousers, just about contained her bust. Everything about her stood out, from her clothes to her voice.
"I am sorry," she had a French accent, "I thought you were security."
Tom got this a lot. He was no bodybuilder, but his square shoulders and arms showed that he was the only guy working here with a gym membership. The older women who came in seemed to openly appreciate this. Occasionally they would say something flirty as he checked their ticket, brushing his bicep with their fingers as they walked into the cinema.
Tom smiled as he handed back Juliette"s ticket.
"We can't afford security here I'm afraid."
He wished he knew how to flirt.
"I don't think they need to with you on the door."
Juliette winked and walked into the cinema. Tom felt his pants tighten. He hoped Madeline, his fellow usher stood only a few metres away, didn't notice.
Madeline raised an eyebrow, giving him a look through her glasses. She didn't need to see the semi-erection in his jeans to know what was going on.
"Looks like you've got an admirer," said Madeline.
She peered up at him through her glasses. She was about half his height, her dark hair tied up in a bun, wearing a thick jumper. Although in her mid-forties, Tom thought she was younger than him when they first met.
"I love how forward French women are."
"Be careful who you say that around," Madeline smirked. "We have French colleagues here, remember?"
Which was true. But the French, Spanish and Italian women who came in as customers were all like this, even when accompanied by their silent, unsmiling husbands.
Eventually, customers stopped coming in and they closed the doors, before heading into the dark of the cinema to watch the film -- some Icelandic film that had won at Cannes. The sort of film that many a chin-stroking Guardian columnist would gush about. Tom sat right at the back, in a place where he could doze off without anyone noticing.
Tom was just a volunteer in this small, local cinema, housed in the local arts college. He worked here on Saturday evenings as a reason to get out of the house, escape the dull reality of his day job, and watch films for free. As much as he loved film and the arts, he would sometimes privately lament his inability to choose the films he had to sit through.
Tonight, all he could think about during the film was Juliette: tying her up, her hands behind her back, and ripping that blouse open. He tried picturing what those breasts would look like, jutting up towards his face as he kissed every inch of her skin.
When the lights came back on, that was his cue to wake up. He stood at the back of the cinema, waiting for the audience to get up and leave.
This time however, instead of checking the seats for litter, he was looking out for Juliette. She stood out in her red top, sat with her two friends. They were both women of around the same age, dark haired, also French.
When the French women got up to leave, he noticed Juliette look right at him and smile. He strode purposefully in her direction towards the doors, trying to look as though he had something important to do.
Juliette was in the lobby, waiting by the reception area.
"Enjoy the film?" he asked.
"Yes, it was wonderful. Listen," she said, clutching his arm, "do you know a good place to drink nearby? I do not know the city very well."
"Well, this area is a bit...studenty."
"I don't care."
"Okay, well there is a pub just next door that might suit you fine."
"Show me. I'll buy you a drink."
Her heavy mascara may have been hiding lines of age, but the lust in her eyes was more intense than any he had seen in women his own age or younger. He felt his pants tighten again.
"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse. Okay, I have a few things to do here first, but I can meet you outside in ten minutes?"
'Good, I will meet you outside darling.'
She pecked him on the cheek and entered the throng outside in the lobby. Tom turned around and saw Madeline, looking at him, that knowing look on her face.
"I think you'll get more than just a drink," she said, folding her arms.
"We need the repeat business," he smiled. "Just doing my bit."
Tom met Juliette outside, near the foyer of the college. Her friends were gone.
They walked, arm-in-arm, to the pub adjacent to the college.
The pub was quiet, only a handful of other customers. Tom knew it would get packed later. Juliette bought him a beer, and they talked.
He found out that Juliette was an artist -- an accomplished one too. She exhibited in Paris, London and St. Ives, doing well enough to own a property in one of the nicer areas of Plymouth. Tom felt embarrassed to tell her that he lives with his parents in his thirties. She didn't seem to care.
"Can you speak French?" Juliette asked.
"I tried learning," Tom replied. "but I changed to Spanish. I used to work with some Spanish ex-pats who convinced me to switch."
"Je peux t'apprendre des choses que tu n'apprendrais jamais au travail."
"Que?" Tom replied.
"Come back to my place," she grabbed his forearm over the table, "It will be
quieter."
Tom downed the rest of his beer and they headed to the nearest taxi rank.
Juliette's place, as expected, was no bohemian garret. The semi-detached house looked nice from the outside, but inside it was almost like a showroom.
She took him into a spacious kitchen that opened onto the most striking dining room he had ever seen. Everything was black and white -- six high-backed black chairs at a black dining table, under a black lampshade that looked more expensive than home. The walls, floor and ceiling were white, except for a monochrome mural of Marilyn Monroe attached to a wall behind the table.
"Tea?" She glanced back at Tom as she led him towards the kitchen.
"Yes, please."
Juliette put the kettle on. She noticed Tom staring at the mural.
