London Broil (12 page)

Her salad was
composed of arugula (identified in the menu as "rocket"),
fennel, and pine nuts with parmesan cheese shavings. His was
radicchio, which she usually found too bitter, and gorgonzola
cheese, with toasted walnuts and a honeyed dressing. He scooped
up a reddish leaf loaded with cheese for her to try. It was like
a little cup, so she lifted it from his fork with her fingers
and popped it into her mouth.

"Not bad. In
college we used to make a canapé called Sweet Georgia Browns. It
was a cracker with blue cheese, gorgonzola if we could get it
(which we usually couldn't), toasted Georgia pecans, and orange
blossom honey. Back then, it was the height of sophistication.
Most people I knew wouldn't eat blue cheese at all, and the idea
of putting something sweet on cheese was bizarre. But I can
still remember what an epiphany that taste was."

"If you like to
drink Guinness, you should try some goat cheese with it. Brings
out the flavors."

"James," she said
slowly, "are you handy around the house? Do you ever do repairs
in your flat?"

He nodded. "I had
it renovated before I moved in, but I did quite a bit of the
work meself. The tiles in the bath, and the kitchen cabinets.
Used to work in that line, before I went to college."

"Do you have an
electric drill?"

"As a matter of
fact, I do. There's a utility room next to the kitchen in my
flat--you didn't see it--but I keep a few odds and ends there."

"I think you
should bring it when you come to my place." She glanced at the
two women eating to their right, who were engaged in an animated
conversation. "I need to hang a picture and it's heavy. I
couldn't get the screw deep enough, and I want it... really
deep. Do you think you could help with that?"

He'd looked
puzzled for a moment, but the penny seemed to drop now. "Yes, I
might have what you need." A smile began to play about his lips
as the server set down their pizzas: buffalo mozzarella, tomato
and basil for her, and for him, San Daniele prosciutto with
tomato, ricotta and pesto sauce.

Cutting her pizza
with a knife and fork, and taking a tentative taste, she said,
"Oh, this is good. The wood-fired oven gave it lots of charred
spots."

"I think I can
feel the heat from here," he said.

"Since you're so
handy," she continued, "I want you to check the showerhead in my
bath too. The... passage inside it seems partly blocked. It
needs to be thoroughly reamed out. I'm sure you'll have the
right tool."

He shook his head
at her, but then added, as though he couldn't help himself, "Any
other jobs around the flat in urgent need of attention?" He took
a long pull off his Bethnal ale, without removing his eyes from
her.

"Just one more.
There's a little nail sticking out of the wall, only a little
one, you understand, but it's been bothering me night and day.
It needs to be pounded hard, and I know you have a big hammer."
She took another bite of pizza margherita and looked across at
him, smiling as she chewed. Was he actually blushing?

"Laura," he began
in an ominous voice, but she got up suddenly and excused
herself. In the restroom she checked her makeup, combed her
fingers through her hair, and going into a stall, removed her
panties. She folded them into a small square and palmed them. As
she squeezed back past him, she slipped her hand into his jacket
pocket and left them there. Settling herself on the banquette,
she watched as he pulled them out of his pocket and then hastily
shoved them back in, looking up at her with a priceless
expression. And then, he sat up straighter and pretended to be
eating while he fingered the panties. She noted the exact moment
when he felt how damp they were.

He caught the
server's eye and mimed writing out a check, and pointed down
with his index finger toward the table as if to say, "Now."
Their pizzas were only half finished. She worked on what was
left of her Guinness as the server came with a box and a check.
"No messing about with two checks," he said quietly. "I'm paying
this in cash." She didn't object, demurely packing the remains
of the two pizzas into the box and picking it up as he ushered
her toward the door and out of Olivera.

"This way," he
said, and led her toward the tube station. "It's not far.
Christ, Laura, when you gave me those knickers, I wanted to
climb across the table and swive you right on the banquette."
His guiding hand at the small of her back descended briefly to
cup her panty-free rear end.

"But what about
the food?" she asked sweetly. "I haven't satisfied my appetite
yet."

"None of that,"
he growled. "I'm more concerned about
my
appetite at the
moment." In her heeled espadrilles, she had trouble keeping up
with his long strides. The walk back to his flat took longer
than the tube ride, and meanwhile he seemed to grow calmer,
pointing out various spots in the neighborhood. He'd lived
nearby, it seemed, many years ago, before Bethnal Green became
gentrified. But as soon as they stepped inside the flat, he shut
the door behind them, took the pizza box from her and tossed it
on the kitchen counter, then whirled her up against the wall as
she was pulling off her sandals. Holding her by both wrists, he
looked down into her eyes and pressed a rapidly growing erection
against her belly. He manhandled her over to the kitchen
counter, and then pulled her dress up around her hips, lifting
her so she sat on the countertop while he stood between her
spread legs. Now he seemed more sure of himself and his
breathing slowed while hers quickened, as he ran his fingers in
and out of her, rubbing her up and down with the slick moisture.
She began to feel lightheaded with desire.

"So you need a
really deep screw? That's what I'm going to give you. Upstairs."
As they ascended the stairs, he unzipped the back of her dress.
"Take it off." She obeyed, slipping the dress off while he faced
her, removing his jacket and loosening his tie. His eyes fell to
her modest cleavage, made more prominent by the push-up bra, and
he ran his hands over her breasts. "This too. Off." She remained
silent, enjoying the way he was taking charge and bossing her
around, very evidently turned on by her teasing in the
restaurant.

He pointed to the
end of the bed. "Kneel there with your feet over the edge." As
she sat back on her calves and looked around at him, James came
to stand behind her, straddling her feet. He took her elbows in
his hands and used his upper body to bend her at the waist until
she was resting her forearms on the bed. He ran his fingers back
along her upper arms to cup each breast, palming her nipples.
Still fully clothed, and grasping her hips, he pressed his
erection hard against her behind, and then she felt him rubbing
his warm hand in a circular motion on her right buttock.
Suddenly he slapped it, causing her to jump with surprise, and
before she could react, he slapped again, harder.

"Ow! James,
that's not sexy!" she complained. "Isn't it? I think it is," he
said, his voice sounding low and rough. She heard him unzipping
his pants and in a moment, she felt the head of his penis as he
circled it against her wetness, stopping short of entering her.
She groaned, arching her back as he continued the teasing
motion. Finally he laid hold of both her hips again and plunged
deeply into her, causing her to gasp. He leaned forward,
reaching around to touch her as he slowly moved within her. She
spread her thighs a little wider. Now he began to slam against
her, burying himself as deep as he could, and making her breasts
bounce forward rhythmically. Each thrust wrung a tiny yelp from
her as she felt him bumping up against her cervix. It was almost
painful, but exquisitely so. He was no longer fingering her, but
attending to his own sensations. He grunted and with a last
sharp thrust, emptied himself into her. They stayed united for
several seconds, and then he pulled out, collapsing on the bed
and gathering her into his arms. She was momentarily surprised,
and then amused, to see that he was still wearing his shirt and
tie, and that his trousers and underwear were down around his
ankles. He even had his shoes on.

"Christ, that
felt good, Laura," he said after a moment. "But I didn't bring
you off, did I? I'm sorry, that was selfish of me."

"It's fine," she
said. "I don't always need that. Sometimes I just like a good
reaming out," she added playfully.

"We'll see about
that," he said. For a while they lay there without moving or
speaking, and then he said, "Why don't you go downstairs and
bring up the pizza box while I get myself sorted? My robe is in
the bath. You can wear it if you like. And there are a couple of
Duvels in the fridge."

She padded over
to the bathroom and found a light terrycloth robe that was far
too large, but soft and inviting. Belting it on, she went
downstairs and used the toilet in the tiny WC by the kitchen.
She could hear him running water upstairs and opening a closet
door. By the time she returned with the pizza and two open
bottles of Duvel, he was lying against the pillows, wearing just
a pair of boxer briefs. She paused to enjoy the sight of
him--the scattering of hair on his chest, his broad shoulders,
even the slight paunch that had a trail of dark hair leading
down to his undershorts. His legs, which she'd not been able to
observe closely before, were shapely, with muscular thighs and
calves. Nicer than she'd imagined. His other clothes had been
put away, and her dress was arranged on a wooden hanger that
dangled from a hook on the closet door.

She sat down on
the bed and said, "My behind is still smarting a little. You're
not into caning or anything, are you? I don't think I'd like
that." He laughed softly. "No, your buttocks are safe with me,
at least when it comes to caning. I prefer to use my hand.
Remember in Le Loup when I said I'd take you over my knee if you
were naughty? Well, tonight, so you were. My palm was itching to
connect with your bum the whole way home."

16.
Sweeney-Pie
and the Temple Crew Team

They sat on the
bed eating the pizza from their hands and drinking the chilled
beer.

"You were about
to tell me your fantasies," he said, biting into a slice. "I
want to hear more about that. What you think about in the
shower."

"Only if you tell
me about your librarian," she replied. He paused to consider
this for a moment, and then nodded. "Miss Sweeney. She was the
librarian in our grammar school," he said. "She must have been
in her mid twenties then, with black hair and glasses hiding her
green eyes. I thought she was lovely. She used to wear shirts
with round collars, cardigans, and skirts that were tight enough
to show her wee curvy bum. She had this schoolmistress quality
about her, just as you do, and sometimes the same pert
expression. When I was fifteen, she took an interest in me, I
suppose because I spent my free time in the library." So he'd
been bookish as a boy. Laura mentally hugged to herself this
nugget of information.

"I suppose I used
to moon about and stare at her. I must have seemed a clumsy
great oaf. I was already taller than she, though I hadn't
finished growing yet. One day she called me into her office. She
said something about giving her a hand with moving the
furniture, and shut the door. Then she asked if I liked her and
said that if I did, I could give her a kiss." He paused, a
faraway look in his eyes. "She was so sexy, I could feel I was
getting a woody as soon as she spoke. So I kissed her, very
chastely, and she dismissed me. The next time it happened, she
asked if I'd like to touch her breasts. That time when I kissed
her, she touched her tongue with mine. I can still feel how soft
her tits were. The third time, she asked if I'd like to touch
between her legs. She didn't have any knickers on, and before I
knew it I was swiving her. Later I discovered that she picked
out a lad every so often. There was a tiny fraternity of us, the
chosen ones, and they watched and noticed when she'd picked
someone new. Her name was Margaret, I think, but we called her
Sweeney Pie."

"You didn't feel
violated or abused?"

"Are you mad? Of
course not. I felt like the luckiest lad in the world. I would
have crossed oceans or climbed mountains for her. We were very
loyal to Sweeney Pie. Oh, there were plenty of lads being
abused. We all knew which priests were diddling them. A terrible
business, that, but nobody ever spoke of it to adults, and if
they had, I've no doubt they would have been punished."

"What happened
to Miss Sweeney?"

"She left about a
year after that. Probably got caught with one of us, or perhaps
she was pregnant, but nobody ever told me what happened. I
missed her terribly for a few months, and then transferred my
interest to lasses me own age."

"Mmm. I bet you
were adorable. I'd like to see a picture of you back then."

"Have you ever
taken an interest in one of your students?" he asked, eyeing her
speculatively. "Surely some of them are quite smitten with you."

"Have I ever
debauched a strapping but virginal college boy? Gods, no," she
said. "It's not that I don't notice the good-looking ones or
sometimes think about them. But I don't go there. It's
unethical, and besides, in the States they burn women at the
stake for having sex with boys."