title I wouldn’t have been sure who was manipulating who, as the narrator, Don Matteo, was mature, wealthy, confident, everything you’d expect in a predatory older male, while the girl, Concepcion or Conchita, was young and seemingly both vulnerable and naïve. Only as the book progressed did it become clear that she had more than a touch of the devil in her, while he was at least to some extent her willing victim.
When I finally put the book down, no longer able to focus properly on the page, my head was full of images of sun-drenched Spanish streets, dark windows and darker eyes hinting at sensual delights only to draw back at the last instant. I felt pity for the man, Don Matteo, yet also sympathy for Conchita and a savage yet also guilty pleasure in the way she tormented him, apparently for no better reason than to take pleasure in his frustration. What I hadn’t felt so far was arousal, mainly because the descriptions were a little coy, but also because I had no real desire to treat a man that way myself, nor to be treated that way in turn. I wondered how Violet felt, and if her affair with James McLean really mirrored that of Conchita and Don Matteo.
I woke late, very glad indeed that it was the weekend, made myself coffee and went straight back to the book. Within a few pages I’d reached a much better scene, in which Conchita ensured that Don Matteo knew she was dancing nude for other men, bringing his lust and jealousy to boiling point. She handled him with consummate skill, flirting and feigning innocence, making promises of surrender only to withdraw them at the last moment, and all the while making him seem to be the aggressor. Finally he snapped and simply took her, which proved to be what she had been angling for all along.
That I could appreciate, the idea of teasing a man until he lost control, much the way Stephen had on our first night together but with no more contact than a kiss. I could imagine Violet doing it too, although from what I’d heard through the wall I knew that whatever she might have held back from him in the past she had now given herself over completely. She said she’d seduced him, implying that he had tried to resist but eventually broken his will, leading to his dismissal. No wonder their relationship was stormy, and yet he still came back to her.
I had never had that sort of control over a man, and found the idea compelling, also curious. Violet was pretty, and she had a languorous, sensual way about her, intensely feminine despite having snake hips and no bust to speak of. Evidently Dr McLean’s desire for her went beyond the merely physical, which was no surprise given his intelligence and learning. Yet he was also physically attractive and no doubt had plenty of admirers, which meant that there was something about Violet that set her apart, something for which he’d been prepared to risk losing everything.
The obvious answer was that he had fallen deeply in love with her, but that didn’t quite seem to fit. He was too cool, too in control. When I’d listened his voice had been calm and authoritative even as she sobbed out her passion, while if he was desperately in love with her he’d hardly have suggested dealing with me too. Perhaps whatever dealing with Violet involved was what was so compelling about her, in which case it was something that could be done to me too, but which I wouldn’t accept because they thought I was a nice girl.
I’d imagined hot wax, but that now seemed trivial, too small a thing to excite such passion. Maybe Dr McLean had some rare and curious fetish that Violet was willing to accommodate, and yet she had been the one moaning with pleasure. It didn’t seem to make sense, but it had turned me on, both the last two scenes in the book and thinking about Violet and her lover. As my thighs came up and open I had to push aside a brief jolt of shame for having masturbated more often in the previous week than over the rest of the year, but that
When I finally put the book down, no longer able to focus properly on the page, my head was full of images of sun-drenched Spanish streets, dark windows and darker eyes hinting at sensual delights only to draw back at the last instant. I felt pity for the man, Don Matteo, yet also sympathy for Conchita and a savage yet also guilty pleasure in the way she tormented him, apparently for no better reason than to take pleasure in his frustration. What I hadn’t felt so far was arousal, mainly because the descriptions were a little coy, but also because I had no real desire to treat a man that way myself, nor to be treated that way in turn. I wondered how Violet felt, and if her affair with James McLean really mirrored that of Conchita and Don Matteo.
I woke late, very glad indeed that it was the weekend, made myself coffee and went straight back to the book. Within a few pages I’d reached a much better scene, in which Conchita ensured that Don Matteo knew she was dancing nude for other men, bringing his lust and jealousy to boiling point. She handled him with consummate skill, flirting and feigning innocence, making promises of surrender only to withdraw them at the last moment, and all the while making him seem to be the aggressor. Finally he snapped and simply took her, which proved to be what she had been angling for all along.
That I could appreciate, the idea of teasing a man until he lost control, much the way Stephen had on our first night together but with no more contact than a kiss. I could imagine Violet doing it too, although from what I’d heard through the wall I knew that whatever she might have held back from him in the past she had now given herself over completely. She said she’d seduced him, implying that he had tried to resist but eventually broken his will, leading to his dismissal. No wonder their relationship was stormy, and yet he still came back to her.
I had never had that sort of control over a man, and found the idea compelling, also curious. Violet was pretty, and she had a languorous, sensual way about her, intensely feminine despite having snake hips and no bust to speak of. Evidently Dr McLean’s desire for her went beyond the merely physical, which was no surprise given his intelligence and learning. Yet he was also physically attractive and no doubt had plenty of admirers, which meant that there was something about Violet that set her apart, something for which he’d been prepared to risk losing everything.
The obvious answer was that he had fallen deeply in love with her, but that didn’t quite seem to fit. He was too cool, too in control. When I’d listened his voice had been calm and authoritative even as she sobbed out her passion, while if he was desperately in love with her he’d hardly have suggested dealing with me too. Perhaps whatever dealing with Violet involved was what was so compelling about her, in which case it was something that could be done to me too, but which I wouldn’t accept because they thought I was a nice girl.
I’d imagined hot wax, but that now seemed trivial, too small a thing to excite such passion. Maybe Dr McLean had some rare and curious fetish that Violet was willing to accommodate, and yet she had been the one moaning with pleasure. It didn’t seem to make sense, but it had turned me on, both the last two scenes in the book and thinking about Violet and her lover. As my thighs came up and open I had to push aside a brief jolt of shame for having masturbated more often in the previous week than over the rest of the year, but that
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