The Secret Self by Christina Shelly

Author:Christina Shelly [Shelly, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780753535974
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2010-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

7

The Space Between

She awakens to the sound of the telephone, dragged from a dream of Cherry and the nylon-wrapped feet of the mysterious and beautiful Helen. The first thing she feels is a painfully severe erection pressing against the bed-sheets. Then there is the headache and the dull sickness of a disabling hangover. She moans into the pungent darkness of the bed covers and surfaces for air. The phone is her mobile, placed at some point last night on the bedside table. Its persistence is painful and disturbing. As she picks it up, she notices it is nine a.m. exactly.

She mumbles a hoarse ‘hello’ and is immediately greeted by Richard’s voice.

‘Was it good?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your evening out. Did you enjoy it?’

‘It was interesting. You should have been there. Then it would have been even more . . . interesting.’

‘I can imagine it was interesting enough without me.’

They both laugh, the intimate humour of lovers.

‘What happened?’ Richard says, persisting in his slightly over-eager interrogation.

‘They invited me to the club. This evening. With you. They want me to become a member of the Elect.’

‘Of course they do.’

‘Will you come?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

There is a pause.

‘Did you miss me?’ Richard then continues.

‘Very much.’

‘I want to come over; I want to spend the day with you. Before we go out.’

‘Yes, I’d really like that. But give me a few hours to straighten myself out.’

‘I’ll come at lunch time.’

Then the phone goes dead. Eve laughs gently and pulls the sheet back over her heavy head.

She finally hauls herself out of bed just before eleven a.m. and spends half an hour under a hot, steaming shower. Then she sits before the dressing-table mirror, still naked, and ponders her somewhat dishevelled reflection. Red eyes betray the ongoing trauma of hangover and the hand that reaches for her hairbrush is shaking visibly. As she combs out her short hair, she considers an appropriate outfit. Her sex remains uncomfortably hard. In the shower she was almost overwhelmed by the need to masturbate, but controlled the savage urge with thoughts of Richard and the need to guarantee she can perform properly in any sexual adventure the afternoon might bring. This sustained state of sexual excitation also ensures that she is able to focus carefully on her dress and its impact on her boyfriend. Yet even as her imagination stirs, she finds her thoughts travelling through time, backward to the night before and then forward to the forthcoming visit to the Crème de la Crème club.

At first, in the dark heart of the initial hangover, she had felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, the sort of terrible regret that many feel as they half remember the drunken antics of the night before. What a fool she had been. To expose herself, to reveal the truth of her history; to expose Aunt Debra. To confess her secret desires. And then to allow herself to be overwhelmed by them under the cruel eyes of Helen and Samantha. And finally to agree to become something more than just a simple member of the Crème de la Crème club.

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