Fifty Days of Sin (5 page)

And then Michael comes, pushing
inside me one last time with desperate force that makes me cry out
again. I feel him pull out of me, and then I collapse forward on
the bed, shutting my eyes.

I stay like that for a minute on
my own, and then Michael is lying next to me, stroking my hair.
“Are you okay, Justine?”

“Yes,” I laugh, turning my head
to look round at him. “You took me at my word, didn’t you? That
really was hard! Are you sure you don’t have a hidden dominant
streak?”

He just smiles and plants a
little kiss on my lips, still stroking my hair. I shut my eyes and
enjoy the sensation.

But I’m still imagining that the
hand caressing me is Adam’s. And I can’t wait to be alone, so I can
return his missed call.

I know the sex I have with
Michael is good, but if I’m thinking of another man when I’m with
him perhaps it’s time I ended it. I can’t help feeling guilty.

Tuesday, 27 March

I SHUT THE DOOR ON MICHAEL with
a certain sense of relief. I never let him stay the night. I have
to be up early for lectures and the last thing I need is a hot
student, all rumpled hair and tempting hard muscles, persuading me
to get back into bed.

As soon as I can, I run up the
stairs to grab my phone. Adam’s there in my missed calls, but he’s
left no voicemail and hasn’t sent me a message. For a moment I
consider playing it cool, leaving it for a day or two and calling
him back.

But I really, really want to
speak to him. So I hit the “call” button.

“Hi,” comes his voice down the
phone. Oh, how I love that deep, sensual voice.

“Hi, it’s
Justine. I got a missed call from you? Sorry, I couldn’t get to the
phone.” I decide not to add,
because I was
beating the crap out of a final year student before getting him to
go down on me and then fuck me like an animal.

“Hi, yeah, I just wondered how
you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine. Really good
now.”

“All healed?”

“Yes, hardly an ache left. It’s
lovely to be walking around and not be in any pain at all. It’s not
the sort of thing I normally appreciate, but I will try hard to
remember the relief and learn to value my good health in the
future.”

“Yes, I suppose we all take it
for granted until something goes wrong. Well, I’m glad you’re
okay.”

“Thank you.” There is a pause, a
silence. Not an awkward silence. I can almost hear him smiling.

“So, it would be nice to see you
again soon. If you’d like that,” he adds.

I don’t have to think twice
about this. “I’d like that.”

“How about dinner one evening
soon?”

“Okay... when were you
thinking?” He asks if I’m free on Friday, but I’m not: I’m seeing
Edward, so we agree on Saturday. Instantly I regret telling Adam
that I wasn’t free: I wish I had agreed on Friday and then
cancelled my existing date. It’s against my principles, though, to
mess men around and I don’t want to hurt Edward. So, Saturday it
is. It’s Tuesday today. Five days to wait.

Adam says he’ll pick me up from
my place. We agree to head to The Old Bank for dinner. His
suggestion, but I approve wholeheartedly – I love the food there.
We chat a little more, and when the call ends I know I have a very
goofy smile on my face. I’m surprised how much I’m affected by this
man.

So – a date. Well, it did seem
that he was interested in me, as he kept visiting me all throughout
my stay in hospital, and he’s been over to my house several times.
Sweetly, he brought a home-cooked casserole the first time, as if I
couldn’t look after myself – which was partly true, I was in a bad
way for the first week or so that I was home from hospital. But I
have such an efficient mother that my freezer was already full of
hearty, nutritious fare to help me recover. When he left, he kissed
me on the cheek, leaving me with the kind of silly smile I’ve got
plastered on my face right now.

The second time, he came laden
with a bag of absolutely delicious cookies – bought though, not
cooked by his own hand, black mark! - and a DVD. When it was time
for him to go, he gave me another kiss on the cheek. I felt less
like a modern woman in control of her life and more like a teenager
with a bad crush. My daydreams in between his visits became even
more frequent; Adam was fast becoming my favourite thing to think
about.

Then the last time he brought
flowers and wine, and we chatted. The time flew – I found him
sensitive, funny and interesting – but when he left I found we’d
been talking for nearly three hours. When he left, I was expecting
my usual peck on the cheek. Instead he lightly grasped my chin, and
lifted my face to gently kiss my lips. I swayed on suddenly
unsteady legs as I looked up into his eyes; he looked down, looking
slightly amused, and moved his hand to stroke my hair. “Goodbye,
Justine,” he said, and then he was gone. I remember feeling like my
legs would give way beneath me.

So what will dinner bring? He
must have been taking things slowly because of my injuries, but
will this pace carry on, or is he going to make more of a move this
time? Or did that kiss not really mean anything? Surely a kiss on
the lips is a sure sign that he wants to be more than friends. And
the way he touched my hair – so tender and gentle. My tummy turns
over in anticipation. But what will he make of my lifestyle?

Ordinarily, I am completely
upfront about my sex life when I take on a new partner. They need
to know that I won’t promise that they’ll be my one and only, and I
don’t expect, or even want, exclusivity from them. But I haven’t
broached the subject with Adam – as I wasn’t sure where I stood
with him. If something develops, I will have to tell him. It’s not
in my nature to be dishonest about it. But what will he make of it?
Normally I just feel that a new man can take me as I am or leave
me. There’s plenty more fish in the sea. Somehow, though, I’m more
anxious than usual about Adam’s reaction. I really don’t want to
put him off.

But I don’t want to make a fool
of myself. I don’t know how strong his interest is; and a guy like
him must have women dropping at his feet every hour of the day.
Normally I make my position clear with a new partner before
anything physical happens – I can usually tell if sex is on the
cards. But I’m not sure I’ll have the confidence to broach the
subject. I’m more hung up on Adam than I can remember being about
anyone. It’s making me less sure of myself. How will I tell if he’s
really interested?

And almost as importantly, I’ve
gained a bit of weight since the accident. All Mum’s (and Adam’s)
home cooking, plus my inactivity, have piled on the pounds. Should
I launch into a severe period of short-term weight loss? Or is the
poor nutrition that goes hand in hand with a crash diet a sure-fire
way to make myself look haggard and trigger a spot on my chin? And
what am I going to wear?

My brain is buzzing with
activity when I get into bed. So, despite the wine and my tiredness
from the session with Michael, I cannot drift off. I do a lot of
outfit planning, a lot of conjecturing about dinner on Saturday –
and what will follow after – and a lot of thinking about a certain
delicious, tender kiss, before I eventually fall asleep.

Saturday, 31 March

I ALREADY KNEW THAT ADAM WAS
sensitive, funny and attentive. And our dinner date on Saturday
doesn’t disappoint. He starts by holding my chair out to help me
seat myself at the table: very chivalrous. I may be a feminist of a
sort, but I’ve no objection to good manners.

We get on like a house on fire.
We have so much to talk about – family, friends, our taste in films
and music. We don’t agree on everything but even arguing is fun
with Adam.

He sticks to fizzy water as he’s
driving, explaining that he would until recently have had one glass
of wine. After all, he would still be under the drink-drive limit.
But seeing me being hit by a car has made him resolve never again
to risk compromising his reaction speed with alcohol when he
drives. Of course, I can drink as much as I like, so he keeps
refilling my glass – and the welcome warm glow of alcohol is soon
spreading over me, making me even more receptive to Adam’s
particular brand of charm.

I am still surprised at myself.
For one thing, he is older than the men I normally go for. Still
younger than me, but late twenties. He’s probably only two or three
years my junior. And the degree of attraction I feel for Adam is
unusually strong. When I catch myself staring a little too hard at
his mouth, thinking of his soft kiss the last time we parted, I
feel an ache of desire spread through my tummy.

Part way through the evening, as
I pause over my delicious goat’s cheese, pear and beetroot tart and
toy with the stem of my wine glass, he puts his hand on mine,
briefly, enveloping mine in its warmth; and I catch my breath,
unable to speak for a moment as my head reels with the shock of my
electric reaction to his touch.

I’m glad I made an effort with
my outfit. After a huge amount of deliberation, I opted for a black
pencil skirt, not too short, but not too long either, and a sheer
black blouse. I carefully selected a black bra with lace cups to
wear underneath, so that Adam would get a glimpse of pretty
underwear through my top. To match the bra, I’m wearing my
favourite black knickers. I seem to remember an ex fondly
nicknaming them my ‘sexy pants’. Lastly, my sexy-but-classy heels
from L K Bennett. Sexy but classy is, in fact, the look I’ve aimed
for tonight, so I finished it off with careful, but not too
obvious, makeup. I focussed on my eyes with gel eyeliner, mascara,
smoky grey eye shadow, and then I used an old favourite lipstick
that’s close to the real colour of my lips. A brush of glow on my
cheekbones finished the look. I hadn’t spent so long getting ready
for a date in years.

In the days before our date, I
cut down my portion sizes and made sure I went easy on my salt
intake, but in the interests of my wellbeing I resisted the
temptation to crash diet. I seem to have lost a couple of pounds
anyway, probably because the lower sodium diet has reduced my fluid
retention, so that’s good enough for me.

Adam is looking gorgeous,
dressed in dark jeans and a pale blue shirt. I want to reach out
and touch him. I want to run my hands through his unruly light
brown hair, trace my fingers down to his collarbone, unbutton that
crisply ironed shirt. But instead I sit opposite him, making
conversation, and yearning for some physical contact.

I made sure I didn’t break my
own code of conduct last night, telling myself it would not be fair
to cancel seeing Edward, so we had our long-postponed date at last.
But the attraction I felt for him previously had dissipated. For
the first time in a long while, I went home alone after a brief
kiss and nothing more. I think Edward assumed that I still hadn’t
recovered completely from my accident, and wasn’t well enough for
the physical side of things yet. It was, perhaps, convenient to let
him believe that – I had no wish to hurt him.

But of course, the reason is
Adam.

We order dessert and I cannot
resist the chocolate pot with salted caramel. Adam chooses the
treacle tart and tells me about his mother’s world-beating recipe
for the same dish, painting a picture of his family life in
childhood with a fondness that makes me think how nice it would be
to meet his parents. He is the baby of the family with two older
brothers, George, the eldest, and Clive, the middle child; the
sibling rivalry he describes sounds friendly enough to me – they
seem to be on good terms. George was married recently, and a few
weeks before the wedding Adam went to Barcelona for the stag
night.

His description
of the outfit they made George wear has me in stitches. Poor guy –
they dressed him as a woman, and he even had a long blonde wig. I
can just imagine the leg hairs poking out of the holes in his
fishnet stockings. Honestly, the things men do to each other on
their stag nights. Hen nights make me cringe too - the way women
get dressed up with L-plates and necklaces with penis pendants. Not
my kind of look at all.
Good thing I’m
never intending to get married
, I think to
myself.

Adam finishes
his dessert and admits that it’s almost –
almost
– as good as his
Mum’s.

“High praise,” I grin at
him.

“And how was your chocolate
thing?”

“Lovely. As you can probably see
by the fact that I’ve eaten every single tiny trace of it.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ve
wanted to treat you to something nice ever since I got you run
over.”

“You don’t still feel bad about
that, do you?” I ask with a rising blush. By discussing this, we’re
acknowledging to each other that I was so mesmerised by the sight
of Adam that I completely lost my head. It’s a little embarrassing.
“You know it wasn’t your fault really. I should have been paying
attention.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re better
and we can do this.”

“Do you think we’d have spoken
to each other if I hadn’t walked into the path of a car?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

“Really?” My curiosity is piqued
by his emphatic answer.

“Of course. I’d have invented
some other reason to strike up a conversation and ask you out to
dinner.”

“What, just in the middle of the
street?”

“I don’t see why not. I might
have come over and tripped you up instead, and then told you I felt
so guilty I’d have to take you out for the evening to make up for
it. Or just whacked you over the head with a frying pan and dragged
you back to my place.”

“Hmm,” I muse with raised
eyebrows and an incredulous smile. “I don’t recall you carrying a
frying pan as you were walking down the road.”