1.
James Thomas had always lived in the close. He had always walked past the big house on the corner, set back further than its neighbours, with high fences and dark blinds. He had always wondered who could live in such a fearsome place. The occupant was said to have an aristocratic heritage, to keep her husband in service, to only leave her property under the light of the moon. Those insomniacs and voyeurs who had made out a silhouette in the early, quiet hours of a suburban nightscape, described a tall woman with long dark hair and a generous figure.
James Thomas was 18. He was a virgin and more than anything else this played on his mind. He had spent his formative sexual years spying on his older sister and her friends at sleepovers, spying on neighbours through half curtains. The internet did not excite him, real life did, but he was petrified of revealing his small manhood to anyone who might want to touch it. He had fooled around with girls but never had the confidence to pull down his last layer. He ached with desire and longing, but the only relief was his imagination and the bathroom sink, where he could watch his hand envelop his little penis and then wash his thick semen down the sink.
He was a quiet and compliant boy, diligent and hard-working, a loyal friend but always somehow average. He was handsome. Just shy of 6 feet, athletically built by hours of solitary weight training, and wearing a shock of light brown, some said blonde, hair. He was impeccably clean to the point of obsession.
On Saturday mornings he worked in the local newsagent. Although he lived comfortably with his parents, his father insisted he pay for his 'social extravagances' which did not normally stretch beyond drinks on a Friday. James Thomas was not a clubber or a drug taker, but he was more than happy to lose control with his mates at the weekend. Running slightly late, slightly flustered, just before 9, he was cantering past the house on the corner when he heard a scream emitted from its upstairs window. He paused and slowed to look. Nothing. He cantered on and heard a man screaming 'Nooooo' and then a muffled noise and nothing. He looked around as if for confirmation but affirmation was not coming. Conscientious as always, James Thomas felt obliged to do something. He opened the heavy rusting iron gate that he had stopped by. And taking a deep breath strode in mock confidence up to the front door. It was ajar.
James Thomas searched for a bell. Nothing came to hand except a heavy whale-shaped knocker. He lifted the beast and brought it down against the heavy oak door. A flat bang and the door opened with a creak. Looking around again, James Thomas entered.
'Hello, anyone there? Can I help?' James Thomas passed through the large open-plan entrance hall, turning to his left into what seemed to be a large dining room. But in place of the dining room table and chairs, stood a solitary metal high stool and a small wooden cupboard in the corner. The room was lit overhead by a large chandelier-like apparatus; dark blinds shut out the close and the world. James Thomas moved to the far end of the 15 foot room towards a far door, calling all the time in not-quite-confident intonations. Suddenly he heard the heavy front door slam behind him.
'What on earth do you think you are doing?' Came the question before he could turn round. It was a woman's voice but full and velvety, and distinctly public school.
James Thomas turned to face an apparition. Maybe 10 feet in front of him stood a tall woman in her late 30s in black thigh-high boots with extraordinarily tall, thin heels. Black lace garters and suspenders bulged slightly over shapely but still slender thighs. An impossible small skirt brought his gaze to an impossibly tight corset and spilling out of these two pale milky mounds, two firm full breasts that heaved slightly with apparent recent exertion. Her face was fixed, not exactly beautiful but entirely beguiling, angular and with a full nose. Her hair was thick, sheen and cascaded around her bare shoulders and arms. She held a riding crop in her right hand across her impressive chest. James Thomas took several sharp intakes of breath and felt his eyebrows come clean off his forehead.
'Nothing. I errr.. Heard something.' He mumbled out and made his way, head down, towards his point of entry.
'Not so fast, boy!' She spat out boy with venom and spittle flew towards James Thomas's feet. 'You realise you are trespassing on my property?'
There was a pause. James Thomas, head down, half-shrugged.
'I have a good mind to call the police.' The woman spat out again, rising slightly in her heels.
James Thomas lifted his head but didn't make eye contact. 'I'm sorry. I'm late for work, I was only...'
He was interrupted. 'You were only what? You were only going to steal my belongings and rape me. I know your sort and where you live! You're in for serious reprisals! I'm phoning the police.' She made as if to go and fetch a phone.
