Lust Call by Ray Gordon Page A

stupidly, seeing him to the front door.
    â€˜Thank
you
, Sarah. I might see you tomorrow, if that’s OK?’
    â€˜Er . . . Yes, I think so. Will you send me an email?’
    â€˜I will if you want me to. Write the address down for me.’
    â€˜You know the address.’
    â€˜No, I don’t.’
    â€˜But . . . Derek, you’ve sent me several emails. You must have the address.’
    â€˜I’ve never sent you an email, Sarah. As I said, give me the address and I’ll . . .’
    â€˜But, you’re Brian,’ I breathed.
    â€˜Brian?’ He chuckled and kissed my cheek. ‘You’re confusing me with someone else.’
    â€˜No, I . . .’
    â€˜Sarah, I’ve never sent you an email. Look, I’d better get back before the wife gets home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
    Staring at him as he walked along the path to the front gate, I thought that he must have been joking. He was Brian, my secret admirer, I was sure of it. He’d said that he’d emailed me and . . . No, he hadn’t, I reflected. I’d talked about the emails and he must have thought that I’d meant the teenage girls he’d been in touch with. The stark reality of the situation hitting me as I closed the front door, I held my trembling hand to my head. If Derek wasn’t the one who’d been watching me, sending me sexually explicit emails, then who had?
    The telephone rang and I dashed into the lounge to answer it.
    â€˜Hello,’ I breathed.
    â€˜Hi,’ Dave said. ‘Well, I’ve arrived.’
    â€˜Oh, er . . . Right,’ I said shakily.
    â€˜I rang earlier but you didn’t answer.’
    â€˜I’ve been in the garden. I didn’t hear the phone.’
    â€˜Is everything all right, Sarah?’
    â€˜Yes, everything’s fine. Is the hotel all right?’
    â€˜It’s great. I’ll tell you what, it’s bloody hot here.’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose it would be. Will you be able to email me?’
    â€˜Yes, if there’s an internet connection here. I’ve got my laptop . . . Why do you want me to email you?’
    â€˜Well, just to keep in touch.’
    â€˜OK. Are you sure you’re all right? You sound different.’
    â€˜I’m a little tired, that’s all.’
    â€˜Have an early night.’
    â€˜Yes, yes I think I will.’
    â€˜I’ll ring tomorrow.’
    â€˜That would be nice.’
    â€˜OK, love. Sleep well.’
    â€˜Yes, and you.’
    I replaced the receiver, flopped on to the sofa and cried. Tears streaming down my cheeks, sperm spewing from my adulterous vagina, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d been fucked by the old man over the road. I’d opened my legs and allowed him to lick me and fuck me and . . . Again recalling the boys I used to meet on the common, I thought that I’d left those sluttish days behind me. One afternoon, I’d had two boys. They’d taken turns to fuck me and spunk my tight little pussy. They’d sucked on my tits, fingered me, fucked me senseless and . . . Those dirty days were over, weren’t they?
    Clearing my head of thoughts of crude sex, I took a deep breath. If Derek wasn’t the culprit then, who was? I’d fucked the wrong man, I reflected anxiously. Shit, I’d not intended to fuck any man. What the hell had I done? Reclining on the sofa, I decided not to check my emails. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to read the filthy words about shaving my pussy. Curling up into a ball, I just wanted to hide behind my eyelids and never wake up.

Three
    I WOKE TO find myself in bed, although I had no recollection of climbing the stairs the previous evening. As sleep left me and memories of Derek filled my mind, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d fucked the old man from over the road and . . . Had Dave slept with some tart or other in his hotel room? He’d never betray