David E Balaam - Nothing Is Sacrosanct

Barbara smiled, remembering that evening as if it were yesterday. Ms Simone gently caressed Barbara's arm, then reaching across her, took her hand and placed it on her own arm. “Copy me,” she instructed. Barbara stroked and caressed as instructed, and when Ms Simone did, cupped her breasts gently at first, but then firmer, feeling her nipples harden under the soft fabric. Ms Simone unfastened her robe to reveal her totally naked body, and perfectly shaved pubic area.

Then, cupping her face she kissed Barbara, at first playing with her lips, teasing them open, then licking her mouth and finding her tongue. Barbara responded without hesitation, and Ms Simone knew she had chosen well.

Barbara’s body tensed and her back arched. Although warm and damp all over, she trembled at her teacher's touch. “That's the feeling you want, my dear. Let it wash over you, from head to toe; that's the new experience you have found today, one that you will never forget.”

“I not only learnt how to make love to a woman, in later meetings she introduced me to different 'play toys', and how to massage, which is very erotic.”

Marcus was intrigued and slightly taken-aback by these revelations. Barbara may have been agreeable, but he could not help comparing the similarity of an adult taking advantage of a young child, and what her teacher did to her.

“Marcus . . . did you hear me . . . do you want a massage?”

The log fire gave out a pleasurable sense of warmth and security while a Mozart serenade drifted across the room from the Hi-Fi. Marcus sensed Barbara's Chanel No.5 as she entered the lounge and stood behind the sofa where he was sitting, eyes closed, absorbing the atmosphere of the room and feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment.

He reached for Barbara's hand and guided her around to sit beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her damp hair. “I love the smell of wet hair,” he said, lazily, kissing her again. He stroked her cheek with his right hand and let it fall onto her lap where he slowly untied her dressing gown. She touched his hand. “Not yet,” she whispered, “let's just cuddle.”

Barbara cuddled up, still holding his hand, but now firmly. “Will we be together forever, Marcus?” she whispered. Marcus opened his eyes and stared ahead contemplating the question. “Why are you asking now, my love, we've only just begun?” He said, lifting her hand and kissing it.

“I'm afraid you will leave me one day, and I will be alone,” she said, feeling a lump in her throat, and then crying into Marcus's chest. “I am sorry. I just want it to last forever. You and me forever.”

Marcus lifted her head and smiled gently. “I love you like no other, and if and when our paths take a different direction, I will still be there for you. We are tied not just by our love, but by our deeds. I promised I would care for you and look after you, and I shall, my love.”

Barbara closed her eyes and felt the warmth of his body wrap around her. For now, she was safe. For now, she could dream of how she would one day marry her lover, her protector, her brother.

They held each other in silence for a while, each contemplating the future. Barbara wanted to start an art collection, although Marcus was not sure how much she knew about art. “You are a philistine when it comes to modern art, Marcus!” She yelled at him not so long ago when she brought home a painting by Patrick Hughes, purchased with the money Marcus had given her on leaving University. Marcus stared at it for five minutes and just shrugged. “Sorry, Barbara I don't get it.” She was furious but vowed to educate him in time. 'He will believe in me when I am a success,' she promised herself.

It was true, Marcus's taste in art, music and literature were more conservative than Barbara's. While he favoured Mozart, Hayden and Tchaikovsky, she preferred Fleetwood Mac, Nina Simone and The Byrds. But when it came to art he realised he knew very little. He made a promise to himself to encourage her in this new venture if that is what she wanted, and maybe see if this 'contemporary art' phenomenon rubs off on him.

He was well aware they made an odd couple. He, quiet and reserved, conservative by nature; mostly a by-product of his past, he reflected. His past had taught him to be guarded and mistrusting. Keeping a low profile was the way to survive his past, and it had served him well for the most part.

The last few months, however, had been a revelation and a change of pace was what he now needed. Being around Barbara had given him a new perceptive on life. He was doing well at the Stock Exchange and his other 'activities' for MI5 were not over-taxing him. Time, he thought, to indulge himself in some more earthly pleasures now he had shaken off the guilt of his mother’s unhealthy influences. After the initial shock of being 'taught' how to make love, he felt fulfilled for the first time in his life. His past anxieties were becoming a distant memory, and he was convinced he could lead a new and more gratifying life if he took the lead.

She, on the other hand, was young and twelve years his junior - but a woman of the age. A sixty's girl for sure. Clever, opinionated, irrational, fun-loving and not a care in the world. Old beyond her years in many ways - Rosemary and Nathan would be proud of her, he reminisced silently, his eyes smarting at the thought of his adopted parents. He quickly wiped away the embarrassment and kissed his lover on the cheek.

“What was that for?” she asked lazily.

“Do I need a reason?” Barbara returned his kiss, working her way across his face to his neck and shoulders.

“So,” he asked, “have we finished cuddling?” Barbara's hand reached under his bathrobe. “Does that answer your question, my love?” she said, smiling.

Hoping for a long and pleasurable love-making session, Barbara, now fully aroused, pulled on Marcus's robe, but he suddenly held her hand over the tie. “What?” she asked confused.

Marcus still had some unresolved concerns about how Barbara was instructed in love-making by her former teacher, Ms Simone, at her boarding school. “Did Ms Simone have a last name?” He asked casually. “Of course. Why do you ask?” she sighed, looking even more perplexed, and with more than a hint of frustration.

“You told me you were one of three girls she educated. I was wondering if a reunion was possible - would you like that?”

“Marcus!” Barbara was shocked. “What have I unleashed? A 'Love Machine'. I am jealous already . . . but it is a marvellous idea. I'll give one of my old girlfriends a call to see if they have any idea where she is now, assuming she is not still at Chaucer's.” Marcus smiled to himself and decided that love-making instruction with consenting adults could be a very pleasurable pastime.

*

Later that night Marcus woke suddenly, startled by a noise he thought he heard downstairs. Barbara was sound asleep and he did not attempt to wake her. Reaching into the bedside drawer he felt for Nathan Star's old service revolver and crept out of the bedroom into the semi-darkness of the hall landing. Was he being paranoid?

His nightmares did not usually involve the present - just the opposite, so what did wake him? Downstairs he stealthy made his way through the lounge to the kitchen.

The backdoor was secure and there were no signs of a break-in. He checked the latches on the two front bay-windows, but all looked in order.

Feeling annoyed with himself he started to return to bed when he heard a car pull away sharply. Three thirty-five was an unusual time for any of his neighbours to take a drive, even for the golf-crazy insomniac next door. Paranoia or simple caution? Either way, he felt uncomfortable with the prospect of an intruder, especially with Barbara in the house. He made a mental note to see what kind of burglar alarm he could get installed - after all, Barbara was starting to bring home some valuable pieces of art, albeit overnight, before taking them to the gallery. Satisfied he had covered all his options he crept back to bed, but sleep eluded him for the rest of the night.