Free Universal Carnal Knowledge Pt. 08

VIII

"Any woman"

After a while I began to feel stronger and I wished I could go to Albert's as I had been trying to do for the last few days. But I could hardly leave Kylie sexed-out on the front room floor so I pottered about the house for a bit, then, since she showed no signs of coming down after nearly an hour, I decided I might as well take the opportunity to catch up with a few jobs about the garden.

"'Ello, James," said someone. "Sorry to 'ear about yer uncle."

It was Betty, Kylie's mother from next door. "Thanks," I said.

"I'd like a word, if yer've got a moment," she said. I was about to make some excuse when she added, "It's about Kylie."

Fear gripped me. Kylie was at that moment lying on my front room floor fucked into oblivion. Could it be that Betty somehow knew?

I invited her to continue and moved nearer the fence, but not too close because I feared what effect FUCK might have on her. I had no desire whatsoever to seduce Betty, who was the salt of the earth, no doubt, but was frumpy and forty, with a cigarette (as always) hanging from her mouth.

"I'm reelly worried about 'er, yer see," she began. "She won't take no notice of me. She just does what she wants. She goes out when she wants, never tells me where she's goin' or when she'll be back, she's often gorn fer hours and if I ask where she's bin she just tells me ter mind me own business. She's out somewhere now, matter of fact; gawd knows what she's up to."

Huge relief flooded over me; she knew nothing. I managed to make some reassuring comment about headstrong teenagers.

"I know," she said, "I was a right scamp meself. But that's just it. I love 'er to bits, and I can see she's goin' ter make just the same mistakes as me. Yer see," she added confidentially, "she finks I don't know but she's bunking off school, just like what I used ter."

I hope I looked suitably shocked.

"An' she's allus goin' on about 'ow she's got ter 'ave 'er tongue pierced, or 'er nose or 'er belly button. I don't 'old wiv all this piercin', I fink it looks 'orrible. I dunno 'ow much longer I can talk 'er out of it, though."

This time my look of concern was unfeigned. I was with Betty one hundred per cent on this one. I hate piercings.

"'Er weight, too," she went on. "I try ter watch what she eats but she just piles it in when I'm not lookin'. And the stuff she wears, she looks like a tart. An' she's active," she went on. "You know, wiv boys. Or it might be men, I don't know. She don't tell me nuffink. But I found the pills."

Again, I tried to look shocked at the revelation of Kylie's non-virgin state. I was pleased to hear about the pills, though. One of my many worries over the last few days had been that all this unprotected sex with Connie and Kylie might lead to pregnancy. At least I was apparently safe with Kylie. I said that it must some comfort that the pills showed that Kylie understood the risks. I added that I could see why Betty was worried but I was not sure how I could help.

"Kylie looks up ter you," she replied. "I didn't know till the last couple of days but when I 'appened ter mention – Friday mornin' I fink it must've been – that Wendy 'ad told me yer uncle 'ad died she looked reel sad and said it was such a shame, you was such a nice man. And since then she's mentioned a couple more times that yer such a good and kind man and she keeps askin' me if she can do anyfink ter 'elp yer, but I told 'er I couldn't fink of nuffink. But I fort it's good that she looks up ter James, cos she's right, 'e is a good man, an' maybe she'll listen to 'im cos she won't listen ter me an' she don't 'ave no contact wiv 'er farver, yer see."

A stickler for good English myself, I could not but wince as she concluded this speech. She misinterpreted my reaction.

"Yeah, shame, innit? But it can't be 'elped. 'E's married, see? 'Course, I allus knew that but I was young an' 'e was so lovely, I just din't care. An' give 'im 'is due, 'e's bin good to me money-wise," she added, gesturing at the house. "But it ain't the same as a proper family. That's why I worry about Kylie; I can see 'er goin' off the rails same as me."

Dully I registered the irony of being asked to keep Kylie out of the clutches of married men. I said I was not sure how much influence I might have, but I promised to have a word with her. I reflected that I should have to do so anyway, so it might as well be with her mother's blessing. Betty thanked me for agreeing to help and said she would ask Kylie to look in on me as soon as she returned.

I had noted with some relief that although this conversation had lasted some time and we had been standing quite close on either side of the fence, Betty's manner to me had remained reassuringly normal and I had not detected the remotest suspicion of any dreamy, wide-eyed gaze. This was good news, of course, but it increased my confusion about how FUCK worked.

Returning to the front room, I could see at once that Kylie was coming slowly back to life. She was still lying flat on her back on the floor, but she moved her head very slightly when she heard me come in and she announced, "Fuck.'

Very accurate diagnosis, I thought. "Kylie,' I said aloud, "are you all right?"

She seemed to take a long time to consider this. In the end she came out with, "Fuck me," and lapsed into blissful post-orgasmic silence.

I was shocked to find a slowly stiffening bulge in my trousers telling me that what she had uttered as a meaningless expletive was maybe not such a bad idea. "Kylie?" I enquired again. There was no reaction at all; she had drifted back into a more profound trance. I looked down at her. Flat on her back, legs a little apart, spunk oozing from her cunt (beautifully clean-shaven, I noticed for the first time), she gazed blankly at the ceiling with a vacant expression of total bliss on her face. She was utterly helpless before me.

It would be rape. I knew it would. There was no way I could pretend even to myself that she had consented. But the sight of her there, her sheer absolute availability, wiped these thoughts from my mind. I stripped, separated her unresisting tree-trunks of legs, and took her.

As my cock drove into her there was a gush of displaced spunk from our previous session. She did moan a little at this point, whether with discomfort or pleasure I did not know or care. As I thrust vigorously back and forth her hips seemed to make feeble attempts to respond. But there was no sign of awareness on her face; her occasional gasps were only the result of the pressure on her lungs as I pounded up and down on top of her.

But when I came, squirting jets of fresh spunk to mix with the stale semen already filling her, her hip movements suddenly became stronger. Then, just as abruptly, she gave another of those huge long moans and relaxed again.

I pulled myself off her and collapsed into a chair. She simply lay there, utterly inert. The only signs she was alive were the shallow rapid breaths and the indescribable expression of ecstasy on her otherwise vacant face. Looking at her, as I slowly recovered, I asked myself what I had allowed myself to do to this healthy and vivacious teenager. What sort of person was I becoming? I knew my sexual urges were still getting stronger, and it seemed now that I was willing to be increasingly selfish about satisfying them. I had some excuse for so much sex with Wendy – after all, the sternest moralist could hardly criticise me for desiring my wife – and I could plausibly tell myself that Connie (both times) and Kylie (the first time) had led me on shamelessly (not much of a justification, I know). But there was no excuse for what had just happened; I had used Kylie's insensate body purely for the selfish satisfaction of my animal lust. It was as if I had the arrogance to think that I was entitled to take any woman I wanted.

I suddenly sat up. That was it! Any woman I wanted! So that was what Uncle Albert had done! Somehow, god knew how, FUCK was tailored so that it would affect only those women that I wanted. I rapidly reviewed the extraordinary events of the last few days. The three women that had succumbed – Wendy, Connie, and Kylie – were all women that I desired. Even though in Kylie's case my desire had been stimulated by the FUCK coursing through my system, it had undoubtedly become very real. And as soon as I had spent any amount of time physically near these women, they had been overcome by lust for me. On the other hand, men and undesirable women seemed immune however long they spent in my company; this explained the lack of effect on Brian and Linda at the office, Betty just now, the solicitor Mr Lucas, and various other people I had been close to on trains and elsewhere.

This also helped to account for the only ambiguous case, namely Fran. True, I had spent a lot of time closeted with her on Wednesday and it had obviously had some effect, but nothing like so dramatically as with Connie. This made sense: I was very fond of Fran, but mostly in a paternal way; I was aware she was very pretty and I loved her accent but she was not entirely my type and any sexual feeling for her was relatively low-key. Connie, on the other hand, I had fancied like mad for weeks.

At long last, I felt, I was beginning to understand what was happening to me. If I wanted a woman, any woman at all, all I had to do was contrive to get near her and stay near her for a reasonable amount of time. Then she was mine. She would be helpless to resist. "On reflection," it suddenly occurred to me, "Fran is more fanciable than I thought. I can't wait to try it out on her."

I jumped to my feet, utterly appalled. How could such a thought have entered my mind? My lovely Fran was not like Connie and Kylie; she played by the rules (as I had always considered myself to do), and she had a great professional career ahead of her, doubtless with a nice middle-class husband and kids along the way. Horror swept over me that I should have contemplated even for a second taking all that away from her, just for my own carnal pleasure. "No," I said firmly (but not aloud, for the still-entranced Kylie was beginning to show faint signs of awareness). "Wendy, Connie and Kylie are enough woman for any man. Fran is sacred."

After a while I became aware of a growing feeling that the still-helpless Kylie looked very sexy and desirable lying there oozing with my juice. I had expected this. I took a firm hand with myself. I went upstairs to the bedroom and had a very determined wank. It was hardly the same as sex with a real woman, such as the one lying downstairs ripe for the taking, but I stuck to my task and was eventually rewarded by a great outgushing of spunk. At once I felt the sexual imperative ebb away. I took this as a sign that if I was careful maybe I could manage the consequences of FUCK, and I was also feeling quite pleased with myself for unravelling at least part of its mystery.

When I returned downstairs Kylie was definitely taking more notice. She was still lying in the same position but she turned her head when I came in and she gave me a gaze of unqualified adoration. "Oh, James," she managed to sigh eventually.

"You sound like a girl in a Bond film," I replied.

She managed some sort of a chuckle. It was some time before I could get anything really coherent from her, but slowly I pieced together the story from her point of view. She told me that it seemed inexplicable to her now, but she had never thought very much of me one way or the other until a few days ago, when she had been sunbathing in the garden when she should have been at school.

On hearing this confession of truancy I remembered to look shocked and disapproving. This seemed to dismay her. "But James, I know it's wrong but it's so fucking boring and all the teachers hate me. My mum'd kill me if she knew."

"Never mind that now," I replied. "Tell me what happened when you were sunbathing."

"I had this unbelievable sexy dream," she said. "It was absolutely fucking fantastic. When I came I almost exploded. And it was you, James, the man in my dream was you. I've dreamt of you again every night since, and in the day I've just wanted and wanted to be with you and do it – you know, make love – with you. That's why I've been watching out for you all the time. That's how I saw you and the black lady."

"And you listened too?"

"Yes. Whenever I was on my own I listened with a glass against the wall. I couldn't believe how much you and Wendy did it. It made me feel so horny. And the black lady too. I knew I mustn't say nuffink to no one –"

" 'I mustn't say anything to anyone.' " This gratuitous correction just slipped out before I could stop it. (Colleagues get me to check their grammar at work.) One might expect an unruly teenager to react with sharp resentment, but in fact she accepted it meekly.

"I knew I mustn't say anything to anyone, but I fort – thought – if the black lady, well, why not me? I watched your house all day yesterday but you never went out and I could hear you doing it, and then today I watched again and when Wendy went out I thought I've gotta see James today, I've gotta. I was out the front trying to think of an excuse to go round when I saw you going out. I felt so horny and I didn't want you to go so I talked to you and –"

"I remember the rest," I assured her.

As she had told this story she had by slow degrees levered herself up on one elbow to face me, and now she attempted to stand. I jumped up to help her. As she got upright, my god, not droplets of spunk but an absolute river of it – a thick, white, sticky river – ran down her thighs. She gasped, and looked at me in even wider-eyed wonder, as if she were unable to believe her luck.

"Oh, James, you are so fucking brill!"

Dully wondering how I was going to explain to Wendy the state of the carpet, I got some tissues and we cleaned her up sufficiently to get her in a chair without ruining it. She sat there drinking me in with fascinated adoration while I marshalled my thoughts.

"Now, Kylie," I said in my firm voice, "there are some things I need you to do for me."

"Oh, anything," she sighed happily; "James, I'd do anything."

"Good," I said. "I want you to go upstairs [she looked joyful] to the bathroom and have a thorough shower [she looked slightly crestfallen, but still eager to comply]. Then put your clothes back on [I wanted no repetition of the Connie incident] – I think they're in the hall – and come back to me here. Quick as you can, please."

I spoke brusquely because I wanted to try another theory I had developed about FUCK. I had already reasoned that its effect on a woman I desired was to create an irresistible craving for me. But once sex had actually taken place, this craving seemed to be supplemented by an overwhelming eagerness to please. Look at the incredible trouble Wendy had taken to do things she thought I would like; while Connie had pledged the absolute subordination of her will to mine. And, so far as I could recall, any direct request addressed to either of them had met with instant compliance. So I decided to test it with Kylie on the grounds that if it worked with an obstreperous teenager it would work with anyone.

I was not disappointed. Without a word she jumped to her feet (still slightly unsteadily) and hurried out of the room and up the stairs, and moments later I heard the shower. I had told her to be thorough and I presume she was because it was some time before the sound of water ceased. Not long after that she reappeared in the front room fully dressed (or what passed for it in her case).

"Good," I said. Even this curt expression of approval prompted a look of delight. "Now, go home." She looked downcast. "Don't tell anyone where you've been. Your mum is going to tell you to come back here because she wants you to talk to me."

Her face lit up in utter joy. "Are we gonna do it some more?"

I was firm. "No Kylie, we aren't. Not today."

"Don't you like me?"

I could see she was getting ready for the waterworks job that Connie had pulled. This time I was ready for it. I knew my FUCK-fuelled sex drive well enough to be certain that I should be seeing Kylie again, so I simply told her that of course I liked her and yes, we should certainly be enjoying much more of each other's company, but she had to be patient and trust me and above all she must never breathe a word of what had happened.

She promised.

"Good," I said. "Off you go."

She went, only to return a few minutes later, having formulated a question.

"How did you know my mum was going to say that?"

"She told me earlier. She's worried about you. So am I. Now, listen, Kylie."

So I gave her her orders. It did not matter that school was boring. She went there for education, not entertainment. She was to attend faithfully and apply herself diligently. She was to treat her mother with due respect and let her know where she was going and when she would be back. ("Unless you're coming here, obviously. Then you must invent some lie.") I told her I hated piercing and she was to forget about it, but I missed out the bit about the tarty clothes, which I had decided on reflection I quite liked. And I added an item of my own, about the cigarettes I had seen her smoking in recent months; this must stop at once. She reminded me that her mum was always nagging her to diet. I thought about this for a second, decided the curves would not suit everyone but looked good on her, and told her not to worry about her weight (she looked pleased). It was when I got to the bit about her being "active" that we hit a tricky negotiation.

I had been thinking about this. Kylie was blossoming into womanhood with hormones surging in all directions and it seemed wrong to expect her to confine her "activity" to a middle-aged neighbour with two other women already on the go. I decided I was happy with a share of the cake; I did not want the whole of it. So I came over all modern and told her I understood that growing up was very exciting and she wanted to meet people and have new experiences, but she must be careful.

She looked stunned. "I only want you," she said as if it were ridiculous to imagine otherwise. "Those other boys –" She made an expression of scorn.

In the end I told her that it was her life and her body. If she wanted to keep it for me, she could; but that was her choice, not mine.

"Well if it's my choice," she said firmly, "it's not my body any more. I'm giving it to you. It's yours, James."

And there we left it.