XLV
The ideal career
The next morning for some inexplicable reason I felt quite sleepy and I stayed in bed (entertained by visitors, of course) until nearly eleven. Then I showered and asked Wendy to come and see me. This could, I thought, be a difficult discussion.
Not a bit of it: never underestimate the power of FUCK. It turns the world upside down. Things that used to be easy, like taking a tube ride without seducing some gorgeous girl, get very tricky; and things that one would expect to be difficult, like telling your wife of twenty years that you love another woman, become strangely straightforward.
I stressed that I still loved my wife, that I had no intention of divorcing her, that she was still indescribably precious to me. But I confessed my feelings for Fran; that she was equally special in a different way.
Wendy was initially perturbed by the portentous way I told her we had something very important to discuss, and maybe I did not help matters by rather beating about the bush, but once she realised where I was heading she took the whole thing in the easiest and most relaxed way imaginable, as if it were nothing at all remarkable or unusual: a natural development, perfectly understandable, even inevitable, and certainly nothing to get upset about. "Don't keep apologising for it, darling," she said eventually. "You can't help how you feel. And don't forget Fran's a favourite of mine, too. She's lovely, she's clever, and she loves you very deeply. And she kept her head in that Nina incident, which I didn't; that must count for something, too."
"I didn't either," I reminded her. "Yes, that was what made me realise how I felt, but I have to be honest and say this has been coming on for a little while."
"I know. I'm not blind. I can see it's what you want. So I want it, too. Go and tell her, darling. She's a lovely person and it will make her so happy."
With this generous blessing I hurried downstairs to invite Fran to walk with me outside.
It was deeply affecting. Fran wept tears of utter joy. She told me how she had hoped for this and dreamt of it but thought it could never be.
She was, bless her, desperately concerned about Wendy. She insisted on taking me back to the house so that she could assure herself in my presence that Wendy was as supportive as I claimed. Before long the two women were embracing and crying and saying how much they loved one another and each was telling the other how lovely she was ("lovely" was definitely the key word that morning), and things got so thoroughly girly that I was, I ought to be ashamed to say, glad to slip away and leave them to it while I went downstairs for a fuck.
Several fucks, as it turned out. I was conscious that time was passing and soon I should have to give up my temporary occupation of George's house. The thought of leaving these idyllic surroundings and beautiful girls was almost too much to bear, and the idea of going to work next day seemed almost absurd. But it had to be done, so I told everyone that they must assemble in the sitting room at four o'clock. I needed to talk to them all together.
So I slowly wound down. The newer girls would take longer to recuperate so I worked my way through as many of them as I could, then after about one o'clock I turned to my longer-established girls. Of course I left Wendy and Fran to last, then the three of us showered together and made our way to the sitting room.
As we entered we were met by a thunder of applause from the roomful of happy girls. There was not much space to spare but a corner had been kept clear for me and I took my position flanked by Wendy and Fran. As the ovation died down I motioned the girls to sit. The higher-ranking girls had staked their claim to chairs but the majority sat cross-legged on the floor. This is a posture more commonly associated with small schoolchildren; adopted by naked young women, it meant that throughout the ensuing discussion I had to struggle to maintain my concentration in the face of dozens of gaping cunts, all of them directed uncompromisingly straight at me.
Wendy, Fran and I alone remained standing. Wendy was in her frock, I in my dressing gown; Fran, like everyone else, was still butt naked.
For a few moments I could do nothing but gaze at the sea of lovely faces and glistening fannies looking back at me. The girls were so young, so beautiful, so available, so utterly mine. I felt ashamed that there were still eight or ten to whom I could not confidently put a name.
I pulled myself together and began to speak. After thanking them all for coming (big laugh) and hoping they had all enjoyed the weekend (I gathered they had), I turned to the practical considerations that were the true reason for this assembly. First, I stressed that there must be no trace of our presence at the house. We must leave it as we found it, and take away everything we brought with us, "especially Connie's DVDs." Then travel: the majority were going by train (this included Fran and Connie, whom I had not the heart to order into Gabby's car again). They would be ferried to the station in small batches and they were to stagger their journeys and avoid drawing attention to themselves; I did not want anyone to wonder why this obscure branch line was suddenly flooded with gorgeous women.
