Five Penny Piece

I didn't go home that weekend. A change of clothes was not required since we spent the entire time either sitting watching the view, eating or making love.

The love making was by turns gentle and soft and fast and furious. The food was good and the sitting together was (find the right word, Debs) intimate. I occasionally asked her where this was going and she would only tell me to be patient, to, in her words, "contain my soul in patience." This was not, I admit, easy. I was intrigued by her. I knew little about her except that she was obviously wealthy, did not work, had no pets and did not reveal much of herself to me, emotionally at any rate.

On the Sunday afternoon she called me a cab and with enormous reluctance I left and went home to all the things I had really had to do on Friday evening. As I left she said, "I will call you, I promise. Don't call me. I have a few things to resolve and then, well, we'll see."

Was that enough for me? No, of course it bloody wasn't. Did I remonstrate? Don't be silly.

*

Monday came as a bright, warm Indian summer day. I dressed for work and, eventually, persuaded my ancient Ford to start. I drove into town and faced another day trying to persuade people to use the advertising agency that I work for, trying to have them believe that my hugely witty and penetrating straps would sell their bubble bath or can openers better than anyone else. Trivial it may be to some, but, to be honest, I love it and the people I work with are brilliant. My colleague, Teri, was in the throes of divorcing her husband and we spent far too much time discussing her strategy and her feelings. Greg, the boss, has long held a candle for Teri and she feared that her "freedom" might encourage him, as she put it, "to wiggle his candle where it's not wanted!"

The cry, "Candle alert" became our equivalent of "cave canem."

Teri's preoccupation with her own troubles did not dull her perception.

"OK, dyke," she always called me that and we both knew I didn't mind." So, who is she?" So I told her about the enigma that is Julie. I didn't share some aspects of her. Submission is not a subject with which Teri is acquainted. But I did tell her that I was interested, as in very interested and that I was loving this new relationship. Over lunch she questioned me more fully and I, for my part, took a genuine interest in her divorce and her musings about the man who lived two floors below her in her block of flats.

After work I drove home. I got there around 8, another long day.

There was an unstamped envelope lying on my doormat. I couldn't read the writing because there was also a cat sitting on it looking extremely cross and hungry. I closed the door, hung my coat and fed the cats. I'd almost forgotten the note until I had poured myself a stiff G+T and settled to read the paper. I saw it, still on the mat and picked it up. The addressee was, simply, "Debs."

I opened it and there was a piece of card. It had a scalloped edge, bordered in silver and said, "Julie would like you to join her for a country weekend beginning this Friday through until Sunday afternoon. No reply is necessary. If you can make it, there are more details to follow. If it is not possible, Julie will understand."

Did I tell Teri that Julie was enigmatic?

Tuesday followed my usual working pattern. There was no further information. I did try calling Julie but there was no answer.

On Wednesday there was another envelope and this time the cats had to wait while I read it. It gave the address of a country house not too far away, a time for Friday evening and some instructions as to dress.

"Friday evening will be informal. There will be a formal dinner on Saturday. Weather permitting there may be some walking but appropriate clothing and footwear will be available. There is a swimming pool if that interests you." Again, no reply was necessary.

I dropped in on Frankie and Sally on the pretext of seeing if they would like to come to supper in a couple of weeks time.. I didn't say anything about the invitation and nor did they, but I guessed that they would if they knew anything about it. So, no help there.

An obvious question was, "Is this a wind up?" How could I know? I tried ringing Julie again, still no answer. What was I to do? Answer: go and take a chance of course.

I took Friday off. Actually, I called in sick and the artifice nearly worked until Teri asked, "Dyke weekend?" We laughed, sharing my wicked secret and when we rang off I started to prepare.

A formal dinner? That required my digging out an evening dress I guessed. Now I have three evening dresses, a black velvet, a dark blue silk and a crimson sheath. I hung them all out and looked at them as I packed the rest of my things. The black looked tired so no to that. The blue I like but it's a bit tarty somehow. Fuck it, the crimson it is! At least that gave me clarity as to shoes etc.

How infuriating not to be able to discuss it with her.

For the informal evening I decided on smart casual, which meant in my case a long, black wrap over skirt and a steel grey, silk blouse. Do I arrive dressed like that? I guessed so.

Travelling light is not in my lexicon so I filled my two bags and after a shower, shave (well, you never know) and a lot of attention to hair (loose and brushed) and makeup (not too much) I threw the bags into the boot of the car, hung the dress in the back and dared the car not to start.

I got lost twice when I had thought I was nearly there but eventually, and thirty minutes later than would be considered appropriately late I drove up the impressive, tree-lined drive which must have been half a mile long and, in the fading light saw a huge Georgian style country house with lit windows and two huge lamps standing each side of an oak portal. Yes, portal, that was no door! My car was the only one on the gravelled space in front of the house and there was no indication where to park. I grabbed my handbag and got out of the car. My stomach was churning.

The door opened as I approached. An elderly woman, dressed in simple, pleasant clothes smiled.

"Miss Deborah," she said, "welcome. I'm Margaret. Please leave your bags in the car and I'll arrange for them to be brought in. If you will follow me to the drawing room, Miss Julie will be with you shortly."

The drawing room was a large, beautifully lit room with a stunning fireplace which was surmounted with a vast, oak Bessemer. There was a fire and, at the far end of the room, a grand piano.

I wandered around the room and turned when I heard the door open. It was Margaret. She said again that "Miss Julie" would be here soon and asked if I'd care for a drink. I asked for a gin and tonic and she went to a table dressed with bottles and ice buckets and glasses and made my drink. She handed it to me from a silver salver, for God's sake. I asked whose house this was and she looked at me quizzically. "Miss Julie's of course." Of course it was!

I waited for another twenty minutes, surreptitiously re-filling my glass, before Julie arrived, wearing a huge smile and a delicious pair of black leather trousers and a silk black camisole with a white silk blouse open over it. Her hair was down and she looked gorgeous.

"Debs," she said and walked quickly to me, taking me in her arms and kissing me full on the lips. "I'm so sorry to have kept you hanging around, but at the last minute there were things I had to sort out. I see Mags has sorted you out with a drink. Be a love and pour me one, will you? Whatever you're on will do me. I'm so glad you could make it."

Her torrent of words did not stop. I barely said a word as her whirlwind engulfed me.

It transpired there were no other guests. That supper was a buffer which was produced by Mags about an hour later and in the interim I learned more about Julie and the house.

"Daddy is simply stinking rich but, as you know, infirm. He lives in London now so he can be near the medics and I look after this place for him. I deal with the estate and a lot of that involves being in town so I can see the agents and the lawyers etc."

A small army of staff looked after the "pile" as Julie called it and it was occasionally let for functions and country weekends for corporate customers and the like. This weekend was, however, ours. Her enthusiasm was infectious and I felt like I was with someone entirely new but familiar. I'd had no idea she was so rich and Sally had never even suggested it. My enigma was becoming even more of a mystery.

I ate canapés, small, Mediterranean-type snacks and salads. There was coffee and cheese and we talked about everything under the sun except us. I told her about my work, about Teri, about my former lovers and my family. Suddenly I began to know about her too. I felt as though I was being drawn into her life at last. She played the piano for me, beautifully. We drank, ate, talked and laughed. It was simply a wonderful evening.

Julie poured brandy for herself and a calvados for me, large measures in huge balloon glasses. I sensed a subtle shift in her demeanour, as though we had reached some pre-determined point in the evening. Evening? It was midnight and I had not noticed the time passing.

Is it possible to explain why I did not feel silly when she tied that bloody stocking around my wrist? Why did I hold my hand out willingly to her? Why did I allow her to do it? She wanted me to allow her to and, perhaps even more strangely, I wanted her to do it. It had become a talisman for me. When she did it, it felt like the fulfilment of my hopes. Get a grip, Debs.

She led me, holding the end of the tied stocking rather than my hand, out of the room and up a huge staircase to a bedroom on the first floor. OK, bedroom doesn't quite convey the impression of a room at least forty feet square and with a huge brass bed against one wall. A fire burned in another large hearth and the thick carpet engulfed my now shoeless feet. We kissed in the subdued lighting, she holding me close to her. She pushed her face into the hair around my ears and said, "So, it begins."

She undressed me slowly, item by item. She kissed the bits of me she exposed. It was gentle with lots of pauses for kissing and touching and caressing. My hands were not allowed to roam.

Naked but for a stocking tied to my wrist, I stood in front of her. She placed her hand over my naked, shaved pussy, her palm up, her fingers curving to cup me. Her other hand cupped my chin.

"What did you mean, it begins?"

"Shh."

"Julie?"

"Shh. It begins. That's all you need to know for now." She was fully dressed still. She held me like that and I felt that flood that comes over my in my pussy sometimes. It's like a warm sensation that suddenly liquefies and she smiled and took her hand away and licked her fingers. She smeared my lips then kissed me.

"Stay there."