Too Exciting Ch 03

Chapter 3

In which Nick helps me with my homework – and I plot his downfall

After the initial jolt, Lily seemed to be a relatively unobtrusive lodger, although I always felt that 'lodger' was the wrong word, conjuring up an image of seedy, down-at-heel men. She led a relatively self-contained existence, and rather surprised me with how conscientious she was with her studies.

I'm conscientious with lots of things apart from studying – teasing, seduction, sexual conquest ...

In fact it was her studies that led to our first real contact. I had just got home after an afternoon stroll in the park seeking inspiration, stuck on my current novel, and had noticed Lily pacing up and down in the living room, looking unusually pensive. As I stood in the doorway observing her, she did not seem aware of me. She was barefoot and so I noticed how her toenails were varnished scarlet, just like her fingernails, and she carried herself lightly on her feet, carelessly graceful, even when obviously pre-occupied and not aware of an audience.

Dumb or what? Of course I noticed you. It's the oldest trick in the book.

'What's up?' I asked, and she jumped slightly.

A loss to the acting profession – that's me!

She hesitated, as if weighing up whether to actually answer me or just to say something non-committal. She then obviously decided to plump for the second as her explanation came out in a rush.

But this bit was real. I didn't want to use my tricks there, I wanted to succeed and uni is a lot harder than I'd expected.

"I'm supposed to write an essay and I don't really know how to write essays. Everyone thinks I'm clever because I got into this uni and on this course but they all know how to do these things and no-one ever really taught me, and that snobby bastard of a lecturer will just patronise me like he did last time but won't tell me what I have to do to get better and all those public school bitches will look down their noses at me even more and give each other knowing looks and ..."

"And I think you need to catch a breath – you've gone really red in the face" I said, which was true, even if it wasn't exactly gentlemanly. She took a theatrical deep breath and we both started to laugh.

And this was when I started to fall for him a bit – I hadn't realised that he could do 'funny'.

"I know", she continued ruefully, but now calmer. "It's really down to me, I've got to sort it out for myself – it's just I am a bit sort of stuck".

I looked at her for a moment, and realised that I genuinely wanted to help. I also reflected on how, while she was talking, I was mostly watching her lips, which were the same scarlet as her nails, and suddenly remembered a really dumb 'How to Seduce a Woman' guide that I had been asked to review, in which it said that watching a woman's lips while she talked was a way to show her that you were interested in her sexually, and that it would get her thinking the same way; and now maybe that bit had something to it after all ...

I already knew that you fancied me, my sweetheart, and I am almost always thinking sexually.

I snapped back to the here and now.

"You know what? I completely get what you are talking about. I felt just the same when I started at Cambridge. And even now I'm a successful writer they probably still see me the same way. I probably sell too many books for them to take me seriously. So let's see what we can do."

Lily led me into her bedroom and to the computer perched on the desk. She sat down and I leant over her to look at the screen, acutely aware of her warmth and her scent. I would have been content to just stand there, breathing her in, but realised I should actually say something before starting to come across the wrong way.

What do you mean the 'wrong way'? I like the 'wrong way'.

"So, Lily, what is it that you are supposed to write?" I began, sounding rather serious and self-important even in my own ears. I hoped that was not how she heard it.

No such luck.

So self-conscious. It really isn't a good thing with a girl like me.

"Oh, Mr Carver, it is so good of you to help me like this' she said, turning and looking up at me with her face angled down, her gorgeous brown eyes making me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Or should I call you 'sir'?"

I'm good at this aren't I? But it's is fun to see it through the 'victim's' eyes.

I began to go red in the face. This was ridiculous. I began to get angry with myself. Even when I was a teenager I had not been this awkward around girls, and I certainly was not a teenager any more. Not of course that I was looking at her in that light.

'Pull the other one' as they say. I know exactly how you were looking at me Nick Carver. Exactly how I wanted you to be looking at me.

I pulled myself together.

"Come on, I think you can call me Nick", and with a surprising dash of honesty I added, "at least if you want me to concentrate on helping you".

Lily laughed, a lovely deep chuckle, and apparently decided to take mercy on me and get down to business.

The next bit he wrote is not that interesting so I just deleted it.

I must admit that I was surprised, thinking about it, how helpful Nick was. I learned more about how to write in that hour than from all my previous English teachers put together. I had also forgotten to keep up my little naughty flirtatious tricks, the touches of my lips with the pen, the playing with my pendant, and I had no idea whether I had done those things or not. But then I was obviously getting to him even without them.

Later that evening, in my bed, I listened to the faint sounds of sex filtering through the floor from the room above. In fact almost all the sounds came from Sandra, and only occasionally could I hear the murmur of his confident voice, so in control, contrasting with her orgasmic cries.

Although of course it turned me on, and I was very aware of wanting him, at the same time I did not at all want to be Sandra, helpless in her ecstasy, utterly controlled. No. I had other plans for Nick.

I remembered how I had stolen a glimpse of his naked body, unobserved, after he had taken a shower and gone back to his room leaving the door open, not realising that I was in the spare room on the same landing, nosing around, and I had a chance to see his surprisingly fit figure. He must be a secret exerciser; a writer who's into chess and culture and as far as I knew no sports, unless you count vigorous sex.

I pictured him as I had seen him, his manhood casually hanging there. Only now, as I hovered on the fringes of sleep, I had a vision of it dangling like a trophy from my belt, like some old-time big game hunter proud of having taken down a particularly magnificent specimen. I would bag Nick. He did not stand a chance.

I can still recall, almost word for word, how Sarah explained the process, the technique for conquering successful confident men, one that I have tried out more than once in the year or so since then.

"First you must introduce the idea of failure; the possibility of failure."

"But why call it 'failure?'" I asked, puzzled.

"Because that is how it must feel to him, to your 'victim'. That is what will make it so exciting. The poor dears don't get to hunt tigers any more, or fight duels, so we have to 'help' them out", was Sarah's reply.

"OK, so how do I do that? Introduce the idea of failure? I mean isn't he going to smell a rat?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"Oh that's not so difficult really. The first thing is to make sure that when you bed him it is not some spur of the moment thing. You must set a date, at least a couple of weeks in advance, so he will be thinking about it, probably most of the time.

"Then you can introduce the idea of failure. For example you can say how you were reading in a magazine about how many men come too quickly the first time they go to bed with a new woman because they are so excited, and that way he will probably suggest that it will not be his case, and you can then say something like 'oh, sweetheart, don't you find me exciting then?' and perhaps even follow up with 'you know it would be kind of cute if you found me so exciting that you came too quickly'.

"The important thing, even then, is to suggest that you would not be angry with him if it happened, or dump him, and so on."

At this point I was beginning to plan out scenarios in my head. My acting skills could come in handy here.

"So now you are already moving into the second phase, anticipating failure. The point here is to make sure that when he thinks of making love to you, he can't help but worry about 'what if?' And you have to just give him little prods."

"What do you mean, 'little prods'?" I Asked.

"Oh, stories of your friends and how some, I guess you would say 'hunk', preferably someone your boyfriend doesn't like, lasted for so long and gave her orgasm after orgasm. Or go for the opposite of how some girl shared the story of her boyfriend's failure in her bed; of course with you voicing disapproval of her ...

"Of course you can also accidentally drop in some term like 'hair trigger'", Sarah added.

I had begun to think seriously about it. It excited me; I have to admit, playing into my fantasies of being a bad girl, a femme fatale.

"Now once you have the actual moment of failure, which is pretty much inevitable if you've done your work properly, then you have to remember the next part, which is to reward failure.

"He has just come, after only a stroke or two in your pussy, and at the same time as saying some truly wicked things into his ear, disguised as reassurance, to reinforce his sense of failure and humiliation, you must hold him and show your love, smile and calm him". There Sarah had come to a halt, her voice even sounding a little hoarse as it did when she was explaining something she thought important.

But I wasn't finished.

"What about Marty? He's still a virgin." Marty was my boyfriend at the time.

Sarah had smiled then, one of her wonderful approving smiles that I so much loved to earn.

"Eager to get started, hmm?"

"I don't know but how would I do things?" I hedged, not wanting to commit myself.

"Don't you think it would be easier? After all he will be nervous about the whole business anyway..." Sarah paused, thinking on her feet,

"Actually you could probably work him up to such a state that he would come without even managing to penetrate you." There was now that naughty gleam in her eye that I had come to know so well. She was getting into her stride.

"I've even got a prop that would help. It slides into you and would feel just like it was part of you to him, but it would block the way and make it impossible for him to enter you."

In fact I did not use this on Marty. He was off to university in a few weeks and I did not plan to try and keep the relationship going, and it just did not seem the right thing for him.

But with Nick? It would be doing him a kindness really.

As I drifted off to sleep to the sound of creaking bedsprings, still plotting, there was probably a faint smile on my face; a cat contemplating the theft of the cream.