Did the Moon Smile?

Since Mark's desk, bookcases and computer had been removed soon after he had left the room was more or less bare. Margot was excited at the thought of someone else being in the house with her; someone she liked and with whom, at least studywise, she shared a common interest.

Perhaps over generously she went out and bought a second-hand desk, large book case, a few other bits and pieces, and, the crowning and expensive glory, a computer. She did wonder to herself what the hell she thought she was doing, but she was enjoying doing it so much she still went ahead.

When Alex saw the study and his bedroom he was dumbfounded.

"My God, Margot, I didn't expect anything like this. Are you sure you don't want me to pay you something?"

"Just wait until you see the garden, my boy," laughed Margot, "you might think I should be paying you something."

Certainly the garden was large, and since Margot had begun her studies she had not been able to give it as much attention as it needed. Alex, however, didn't seem daunted, and said, "I can handle that. Don't forget, I'm a boy from the country."

The question as to how they would get on together soon sorted itself out. Alex was not averse to doing his share of work around the house, and even occasionally cooked. "My mother taught me to cook he said, because she thought one day I'd be on my own and need to."

They did not interfere in each other's comings and goings, not that either of them had a great deal of time to come and go, except to the university.

After Alex had been with her a couple of months Alex did disappear from the house a couple of evenings a week, and she noticed that he was socialising with a few of the boys and girls around the town. She did not enquire what he got up to, but realising that Alex was of an age when the testosterone was somewhat on the boil, she thought she knew what he did.

She grew very fond of Alex and thought to herself, "If I had got pregnant when Mark and I wanted to have a baby, he wouldn't be all that much younger than Alex is now."

Not being one to blind herself to what was going on inside, she saw quite clearly that Alex was becoming a substitute son. She knew that this might prove dangerous, especially if Alex were to detect these maternal feelings and reject them, so she tried to keep these feelings under control.

The other aspect to Alex's living with her was that she felt she got some strange looks around the town, and suspected there were some snide remarks being made, but she didn't seem to care. She had pleasant company in her home, and that was more than she had before Alex's coming.

As the end of the academic year drew near Alex said one evening, "I shall be going home for the long vacation."

It was no surprise to Margot that she felt a pang of disappointment at this. She knew that it was likely to happen, but as with so many things that we know will happen, we can still be put out when they do.

She smiled and said, "Oh well, I'll have to do the gardening, won't I?"

Then Alex said something she did not expect. "Will you miss me, Margot?"

Margot was for a while stumped for an answer. She had once been open to another man and had at first felt as if her life had been torn apart when he left. Even though her relationship with Alex was very different, she did not want to feel she was dependent on his being there. Yet in a sense she was.

It was good having someone there, especially a cheerful, considerate and good looking young man like Alex.

She did not answer the question directly, but asked, "Do you think you'll be wanting to come back here next year?"

"Well, I was going to ask you if it'd be all right," said Alex rather cautiously.

Margot decided to play it cool and simply said, "Yes, I think that will be all right, Alex."

"Phew, I thought you might have had enough of me."

Less cautiously Margot said something that she almost immediately wished she hadn't.

"It's a pity you can't be here during the vacation, the weather's usually lovely, and you could have gone swimming with your friends and...and perhaps we might have swum together."

"I...er..." began Alex, and as if making up his mind to say what he wanted to said, "I had thought about that Margot, and...er...and I did wonder if...er..."

"For goodness sake spit it out, Alex."

"Well, if I was to spend Christmas and a couple of weeks into the New Year with my family, and then come back here, there'd be several weeks before university began...and er..."

"That would be lovely," said Margot before she could stop herself. "We might do a few things together, you know, picnics...things like that."

"That'd be great, Margot," Alex responded enthusiastically.

Apart from fixing the dates on which Alex would leave and return nothing further was said.

The end of the academic year arrived and with it the agonising waiting for results. Margot had done well, but Alex had done brilliantly in a couple of subjects. Had it been anyone other than Alex, Margot might have felt envious, but somehow she enjoyed his success. "Just as if he was my own son having the success, "she thought.

Alex departed for Christmas with his family, leaving a slightly tearful Margot behind.

Chapter 7. The Party.

Margot's friend Celia, having by now decided that perhaps Margot was not a danger to her marriage, invited Margot to spend Christmas Eve with them. Margot accepted, and a couple of hours before the party she set about preparing herself.

Since Mark's departure she had not paid the same attention to her appearance as she once had, but now she decided to smarten up.

She showered and then went to her bedroom. There she stood looking at herself in the long mirror, trying to assess the changes that might have taken place in her appearance over the past two years.

Thirty seven years of age, and it was small wonder the women had been fearful of her. She was not the more generally accepted type of beauty – the blonde blue eyed sex pot. Margot stood around five feet six. Her hair was long and jet black, and normally tied back loosely with a ribbon. Now it hung free framing her face and cascading to her spread over her shoulders.

Her eyes were almost as black as her hair, and her nose was what Mark had called, "pert." He had been wont to kiss it when they made love. Her mouth was not especially large and its lower lip was inclined to protrude very slightly beyond the upper lip. Her face was almost heart shaped, except the point of her chin was rounded with a little dimple in the middle.

Her shoulders were smooth and tended to be square rather than sloping and she had high breasts that were not overly large, perhaps 36 C, but stood out firmly with neat pink little nipples that once Mark had not been backward in sucking.

Her hips swelled out smoothly to flow down into legs that were firm at the thigh and with nicely shaped calves and ankles. Her feet, she felt, spoilt the overall effect by being a bit too large, but Mark hadn't seemed to mind.

There was a thatch of black pubic hair that started on her mons but petered out when it reached her vulva. She remembered Mark, his head between her legs, avidly kissing and licking her sex organ.

She sighed and felt tearful as she recalled those days of their love. There had been no one since and she had not even touched herself. But now she reached with her hand and began to stroke her vulva. She let a finger start to explore her inner lips, and feeling for the first time in nearly two years the beginning of sexual arousal she lay on the bed.

Her finger found her clitoris and began to gently circle it. After a few minutes she felt the first little electric tingles of an approaching orgasm. She began to move her finger faster and more intensely.

It came, not exactly an overwhelming orgasm, but gentle, causing her to moan, "Mark...oh Mark..."

It passed and she lay for some time on the bed. Images came of how she and Mark had lain embracing after they had made love, speaking so lovingly to each other.

She sighed again and said in a whisper, "And I thought it was all over."

She rose and slowly got ready for the party.

On arrival at the party it was quickly obvious what Celia had in mind when she invited Margot.

"This is Bronte Bunny," said Celia, introducing Margot to him. He was only a fraction taller than Margot and probably ten to fifteen years her senior. His hair was receding and his eyes were small and pale blue. He had a pouting little mouth rather like a baby's, the lips of which seemed perpetually moist. Margot noted an incipient belly that in a few years would probably protrude well out in front of him.

As they shook hands Margot felt their cold dampness and shivered slightly. That Bronte was instantly smitten was signalled when his pink tongue protruded to moisten his lips still further, rather like a cat that has just spotted the cream. The handshake went on just a little longer than necessary.

"So this is the man they've chosen to partner me for the evening," she thought. "They must think I'm gasping for man if they think I'd be attracted to him."

Not being an uncharitable person, and understanding that Bronte had probably been told that he was to partner her, she did her best to entertain him. She learned that he was a buyer for a large retail firm and, "Anything you want at discount rates, my dear, just give old Bronte a call."

With Bronte in tow the evening seemed to drag. His interests, that didn't seem to extend beyond "The Firm", were as dull as his appearance. Margot tried to tell him about her studies, but was constantly interrupted by Bronte who, in his somewhat squeaky voice told her things like, "Now in ladies lingerie we have some of the finest..." and so on.

Margot, who was normally a very moderate drinker, began to take more and more of the rather potent punch that Celia had made.

Matters were made worse by Celia who kept popping her head between them, giggling, and saying, "Oh, I can see you two are getting on famously." Then with another giggle depart saying "Do I smell romance in the air?"

"No you bloody well don't," Margot thought, as she tried to smile as Bronte related the wonders of their ladies nightwear department.

As the evening wore on Margot got increasingly inebriated and consequently disoriented. She was vaguely aware that she was sitting on a sofa with Bronte's arm round her, his hand dangerously near her breast, but she no longer had the will to do anything about it.

The room began to swim and as Celia came to them to make yet another fatuous remark Margot moaned, "I don't feel very well."

Celia said something to Bronte and the next thing Margot knew he was escorting, or rather, half carrying her, into the back garden. No doubt the idea was that the night air would help revive her, but it had the opposite effect.

In the Garden was a tennis court with a storage shed beyond it. At the time Margot had no idea how she got there, but became vaguely aware that she was inside the shed. Next she was lowered onto a pile of tennis netting and Bronte was exposing her breasts.

She tried to make a protest but it was ignored.

"Come on babe," Bronte gasped, "you've been panting for it all evening."

Bronte was removing her panties and Margot managed a brief protest, "No...no...I don't want...leave me..."

She heard Bronte laugh and say, "Don't give me that. You've been wet for me all evening, I've had the little operation so there's nothing to worry about, and here it comes."

Margot felt her legs pulled apart and she made an effort to break free, but it was no good. Bronte was between her legs and inserting himself into her.

She was so drunk she hardly felt what was happening. The world seemed to be spinning and she almost passed out. She was dimly aware of Bronte's grunts and moans, then his howl as he ejaculated into her.

She felt his weight come off her and then she was alone. Struggling to get up, she went outside the hut and vomited as if she would never stop. When she finished she felt a trifle better and weaved her way towards the house. As she went over the lawn she heard the satisfied grunts as someone urinated in the nearby shrubbery.

Celia was talking to someone on the Patio and in the dim light she could not see the state Margot was in. With the now familiar giggle she said as Margot passed her, "I think someone's been a naughty girl...and where is the lucky..."

Margot heard no more. She went into the house, passing through the guests who stared at her curiously on seeing her state. In a world still blurred and rocking she somehow found her bag with the car keys in it.

She made for the front door only to be blocked by Bronte.

"Hey, babe, you're not leaving? I thought we'd make a night of it, just you and me back at my motel."

Margot stood swaying for a moment looking at the grinning Bronte, then swung a wild drunken punch that more by luck than judgement hit Bronte in the eye. He staggered back from the door and she passed through it, Bronte yelling after her, all his previous smoothness gone, "Yer fuckin' slut, yer bleedin' whore, yerve blinded me."

How Margot managed to drive the kilometre to her house she never knew, and with the police out looking for drunken party revellers it was a wonder she did not get caught.

She felt polluted – defiled – but hadn't the energy to shower. Fully clothed she fell onto the bed and slept, or perhaps it was more like passing out.

Chapter 8. The Morning After.

She woke about nine the next morning. She had a splitting headache, her stomach was churning and her mouth felt as if it was made of sandpaper. She lay for some time, unable or unwilling to move. She tried to recall what had happened the previous evening and slowly the pieces came together. If she wanted confirmation she got it when in the shower she had to remove the residue of Bronte's sperm in and around her vagina.

Finishing her shower she still felt ill, and having no taste for food she went back to the bed, and this time she got under the covers. She lay there hunched up in a foetal position loathing Bronte and herself, and angry at Celia who had brought them together.

Waves of self-disgust swept over her – disgust at her drunkenness, disgust because she was so far gone that virtually unresisting she had been raped by a revolting little man. Everybody at the party would be sure to know what had happened, and probably would think she had consented to sex with Bronte, and if everybody at the party knew then the rest of the town would know soon after; it was that sort of town.

Although she had only just showered she felt dirty, as if she had been wallowing in a slime pit. She left the bed and showered again desperately trying to wash away what was not there.

She went back to the bed and lay there, eyes closed but not sleeping. She was now berating herself just as she had done when Mark left her. Somehow the blame was all hers. "If I hadn't got drunk...if I'd been sober it wouldn't have happened...perhaps secretly I wanted to happen and the drink was...no, not with that horrible man.

Then from somewhere deep inside her there arose a terrible cry of anguish. It might not seem to an outsider that the cry was connected with the events that had overtaken her, but in Margot's mind it was connected."

"Oh God, I want to be loved and to love. Why does nobody love me...why?

She heard no answer from God.

She lay weeping.

Thoughts came to her of Alex. "Thank God he's not here to see me like this, to know what I've done and what I am. He surely wouldn't stay here a single moment if he knew."

The telephone rang and she dragged herself to it.

"Hello?"

"Is that you, darling?"

"Who is this?"

"Celia, darling, don't you recognise my voice?"

"Oh, what do you want?"

"Well, darling, some of the guests told me you left looking pretty terrible, so I just thought I'd ring to see if you're all right."

"I'm okay."

"Oh, good...darling, you should have seen poor Bronte after you left. The poor dear walked into something and he's got a most terrible eye. Still, you had a little naughty with him in the garden didn't you? I knew you two would get on like a house on fire. Isn't he just a little sweetie? I shall be expecting to hear wedding b..."

"Bugger off, Celia."

Margot slammed the phone down.

"How the hell did I ever have her for a friend," Margot muttered.

By now her stomach had stopped its gyrations and she was feeling surprisingly hungry. She went to the fridge and got out cheese and some cold meat and ate. After she felt somewhat better.

Then it occurred to her, "It's Christmas Day."

Somehow being alone on Christmas Day is lonelier than most other times. When nearly everybody is rejoicing – even though most of them no longer know what they are rejoicing for – to find your self alone can be very depressing.

Alex would be with his family. Where would Mark be – who would he be rejoicing with? At one time she and Mark would have gone to be with his parents, hers being both dead, but now? Celia and her family would be clearing up the ruins of last night's revelry and getting the Christmas dinner ready.

In her utterly negative state Margot gave a sneering sort of laugh and muttered, "Saviour of the world be buggered, he can't even save me."

Chapter 9. From out of the Past.

The telephone rang again.

"Hello?"

"Margot?

She felt her blood run cold. She knew that voice.

"Yes."

"Mark here."

"Oh?"

Margot felt as if she was choking.

"Margot, can I come and see you?"

"W...what...for?"

"Just a talk."

"What about?"

"Oh, nothing special, just a talk...it...it...is Christmas Day and..."

"Where are you speaking from?"

"I'm in town...stopping in the motel."

"I'm not having that women come here..."

"No...no...Margot, I'm on my own."

"Just a talk?"

"Yes, that's all."

"If you're wanting a meal I've got nothing to offer."

"No, that's all right."

"When do you want to come?"

"Now?'

"Now! But...oh all right."

"See you shortly, then?"

"Yes."

She put the phone down.

Her stomach was churning again. What the hell was he doing here and why did he want to see her, and where was the dolly bird?

She was dressed, but only in old slop-around-the-house clothes. She thought she ought to change, then decided, "Bugger him he can see me as I am."

Fifteen stomach agitating minutes later and Mark was ringing at the front door. Margot opened it and they stood looking at each other in silence for a few moments.

"Hello, darling," Mark said, an imbecilic grin on his face.

"Hello, you'd better come in unless you intend to stand there all day."

Mark, bearing a number of plastic bags, entered and said, "By the way, the delicatessen has opened for a couple of hours, you know, in case people need to get a few things they've forgotten. I got some cold chicken and a few other bits and pieces...you did say you hadn't got anything?"

"Well, I didn't exactly mean I've got nothing at all. I just haven't prepared anything."

They went into the kitchen to unload the plastic bags and Mark went on, "Now this will make you laugh, Margot. There's some funny little chap stopping at the motel and last night he went to a party somewhere, and this morning he's sporting the most luscious black eye you ever saw. He says he walked into something, but I reckon he tried to get his hand up some bird's skirt."

"Very possibly," responded Margot, wryly.

"I just rang on the off-chance you might be here. I thought you might have gone out to one of the old friend's places."

"Obviously not."

Margot's stomach had stopped its antics and now she felt somehow distanced from Mark. She looked him over, trying to assess how the past couple of years had treated him. He looked a little worn, but she didn't know if this was just wishful thinking on her part.