He must have been in pain all through the meal, and I had to admire his stoicism. “He’s one of the old sort,” Bill said, the same thought in my mind. “I wouldn’t care to cross him, unless in my own good time.”
Alice lowered her face towards the cheese plate. “She’s had it,” Bill said.
A hand under her arm, she lifted easily. “I’ll help you upstairs,” I said.
Bill couldn’t resist! “The poor woman’s done in, so no hanky-panky.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not Parkhurst.” I half carried her up the wooden hill and along the corridor, to the same room she’d had on our stay in Spleen Manor three years before. As I let her down on the bed she opened her eyes. “Thank you, Michael. Now undress me. I can’t move a finger.”
What could I do? Feeling no prurience whatsoever — it’s true — I took off her shoes, undipped suspenders to remove her stockings, and untied her pretty little neckerchief before undoing the buttons of her blouse, raising her as little as possible to get her warm arms through the sleeves. Unclipping the bra revealed small soft breasts and suddenly upstanding terracotta nipples on my not being able to resist a glancing kiss for each. I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice, since her eyes were closed, but she opened them, and looked at me, and in her state of exhausted mischievousness said: “Thank you again.”
“That’s all right. I used to be a ladies’ attendant, and I occasionally undressed them in the hope of getting a bonus for my skill at the end of the month.”
She smiled as I drew off her skirt. “I didn’t know a man could be a ladies’ maid.”
“Oh yes. I loved the job. Had it for five years. I started at eighteen, and did two years in college to get a diploma. The course cost a pretty penny, as you can imagine, but Gilbert Blaskin, with his usual generosity, paid the fees. Dressing and undressing a woman was the most difficult part to learn, and a lot of students dropped out after a month or two because they couldn’t get the hang of things. One of the students was thrown off the course because the grooming of his fingernails wasn’t up to scratch.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “The part I excelled in was the pleasuring side, though in a way it was more difficult than anything else. At the beginning we practised on big dummy replicas exported specially from Japan, but at our final exam we had a real woman, an anonymous volunteer from the local community. At the first job after graduation you had to be subtle, and know exactly when the pleasuring was called for. A false move, and you not only lost your situation but your certificate as well.”
I spent as much time as was decent in getting off her satin knickers, but she was naked for only a few moments, because I drew a sheet and blanket up to cover her in case she was chilly. “Oh, Michael, I love your stories. I’ll never forget the one you told me last time.”
“I haven’t finished this one yet. According to your luck the women for your finals could be any age but, as I recall, the one I had was exactly like you, with a similarly interesting face and the same utterly desirable figure. I toyed with her for at least half an hour, and before my fingers went in for the kill, as you might say, she was gasping, and trying to put them there, but I resisted till I was good and ready, and then you should have heard the noise, and seen her thrashing about. She came within seconds. I was awarded a distinction for that, got top marks, and passed out with flying colours. She let herself go so much that she cried out that she was the vicar’s wife. A lot of the other students didn’t do so well, because they all too often made the woman get there sooner than was right. So the orgasm didn’t last long and wasn’t as intense, or as high on the dial of the orgasm meter as mine, which was taken into account, as it should have been.
“It was drummed into us,” I went on, at the movement of her hands and her enlarging eyes, “that every square inch of a woman’s flesh is erogenous, and there was a chart on the wall in the college lecture room to show the erogenous zones from one to ten, and I memorised it quicker than anyone else. The nape of the neck was very important, as were the woman’s lips, but they rated about two on the scale. Then you got to the breasts and nipples, which took the score up a bit — to three or four — as did the insides of warm and silky thighs. You ascended by various degrees to the woman’s behind, and finally worked slowly to the clitoris which, naturally, rated ten out of ten. Maybe I’ve left a few choice items out, but they usually come back when I go into action, because I always have that chart before my eyes while attending to a woman. My experiences after doing such a course have always stood me in very good stead, as you might imagine. Anyway, now that I’ve convinced you that men can be ladies’ maids, let me tuck you in so that you can get some well-earned sleep. Then you’ll wake up fresh and energetic in the morning. I can go into greater detail for you some other time.”
Her eyes were wide open, and far from sleep. “Not on your life,” she murmured. “Now you can do some post-graduate work on me.”
Truth to say, I was fully as ready for it as she was, and an hour later, after being afraid a time or two that her cries would reach Moggerhanger, she fell asleep in my arms. I hadn’t intended to seduce her but, hearing no complaint afterwards — as how could I? — I was happy at having had the privilege. As she was drifting away I wondered whether to get a divorce from Frances and marry Alice, but knew that such uxorious speculation had little reality so close to making wholly satisfying love. Maybe I should sell the method of seduction to Blaskin, I thought, but decided it was far too good for him, who would in any case only use it in one of his trashy novels.
I disenveloped myself from Alice’s arms when she was far into sleep and, knowing nothing could wake her, made sure she was well tucked in for warmth. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised that it wasn’t yet midnight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I needed a long sleep, to dream away the memories of Parkhurst’s mad intentions. Slumber does the job better than counselling and with less trouble. All the same, never a late lounger, I went into Alice’s room and kissed her into a smile. She opened her hazel eyes: “I hope I’m not falling in love with you.”
I drew the clothes down to look at her breasts. “It’s good for the spirit to fall in love, keeps you young, especially when the sentiment is returned, as you can bet it is with me. You’re the most glamorous woman I’ve ever had anything to do with.”
She let every stitch fall aside, and held out her arms. “So what are you waiting for? I had the best night’s sleep for a long time, thanks to your top class academy treatment.”
“I’ll go downstairs for your orange juice first, remembering how you liked it as soon as you woke up.”
The kitchen was full of empty bottles, and unwashed pots which Dismal was licking clean. Some on the floor were broken, but he reached others by standing on hind legs at the table and separating each one.
Opening the fridge for Alice’s juice I pulled out cooked kebabs and a tub of hummus, knowing that a dog must have a proper breakfast. Two croissants went into the oven, a jug of instant coffee was made, and glasses of juice as well balanced on a tray I carried up the stairs.
“You were so long,” Alice said, “I was about to lay hands on myself.”
I loved it when a woman talked so openly. “I’m glad you waited, so that I could watch. But let’s have breakfast first.”