Light My Fire

Later, Sonja visited the Marketing and Promotions Department for a second time. 'It's Friday,' she told Conrad. 'I'm going to meet a few people at the pub. Why don't you come with me?'

'To the pub?'

'To the pub. Don't worry. I'll look after you. You'll be safe with me.'

Sonja returned just after five. 'Are you ready?' she asked.

'As I'll ever be,' Conrad told her.

Conrad expected the pub to be local. White City. Or possibly Shepherd's Bush. But Sonja led the way to the Tube station, and they headed east. As their train approached Lancaster Gate, Sonja told Conrad: 'This is us.' Then they walked along the southern side of Hyde Park Square, and then along Connaught Street, until they reached The Duke of Kendal. They were just a hop, skip, and a jump from Conrad's flat.

'Do you live around here?' Conrad asked Sonja.

'Up near the hospital,' she said, pointing north.

'Ha. I'm just on the other side of The Edgware Road,' Conrad told her.

Sonja smiled and nodded. 'We're practically neighbours.'

Sonja's friends had already taken over one corner of the pub. 'This is Conrad,' Sonja said, introducing Conrad to the others. 'Conrad's a rock star. But he's currently moonlighting at Mac Fashions.' And she laughed. 'If you want his autograph, you'll need to form an orderly queue.'

'Ooh! A rock star!' a red-haired girl in a micro mini skirt said.

'Not really,' Conrad assured her.

The girl narrowed her eyes for a moment, but then smiled broadly. 'Yes, you are. You were at The Plainsman. Last weekend. You were playing the guitar. I'm sure it was you.'

'Bass,' Conrad said. 'Bass guitar.'

Sonja's friends were an eclectic bunch. Milly was a nurse. Kwando was an engineer. Pete was a gardener. Erica was an estate agent. Henry was an antique dealer. And Joyce, the red-haired girl, was a florist.

The conversation and the lager both flowed freely and, suddenly, it was seven o'clock, and Kwando announced that he needed to pull for shore. The others too began draining what was left in their glasses.

'Spaghetti?' Sonja suggested to Conrad.

'Spaghetti?'

'There's a place in New Quebec Street. It's not flash. But it's quite good.'

'Oh. Yeah. I know where you mean. OK.'

The New Quebec Street café was run by a couple of chaps from Dalmatia, not Italy. They came from a small village on the coast on the other side of the Adriatic. But the Spag Bol was pretty good.

'So where is your place?' Sonja asked, when they had finished eating.

'My flat? Just around the corner,' Conrad told her.

Sonja nodded. 'And is that where we're going now?'

'Umm... we could do,' Conrad said. 'It's a bit untidy.'

'That's OK,' Sonja said. 'I can close my eyes.'

'And we should probably go by way of the offy. I do have some brandy. But it's Spanish. And not very good. I should get something else.'

Sonja smiled.

Conrad's flat wasn't that untidy. Far from it. Yes there were a few magazines, and a few records, lying around. But they were lying neatly. They were organised.

'If this is your idea of untidy,' Sonja said, 'then my place is a tip.' And she laughed.

Conrad took a corkscrew from one of the kitchen drawers and uncorked the bottle of Chianti that he had picked up from the off licence. Then he got a couple of tumblers from one of the cupboards. 'Not really wine glasses,' he told Sonja. 'But I guess the plonk will taste the same.'

'Cheers,' Sonja said.

'Do you like The Doors?' Conrad asked.

'Doors?'

'Jim Morrison's outfit.'

'Oh. That kind of Doors,' Sonja said. 'Yeah. Whatever. You're the rock star.'

Conrad laughed and he put The Doors album on the turntable.

'Are we going to fuck?' Sonja asked, as Jim Morrison exhorted one and all to Break on Through (to the Other Side).

'I don't know,' Conrad said. 'Are we?'

'It would be a pity not to.'

'I thought that you were married,' Conrad said.

'There's married and there's married,' Sonja told him. 'Yes, I'm married. But David and I have an arrangement.'

Conrad nodded.

'We don't have to,' Sonja said. 'But I think we should. As I say, it would be a pity not to.'

'Do you fuck lots of men?' Conrad asked. 'I don't mean all at once, but... you know.'

'Hardly any,' Sonja said. 'Although I get plenty of offers.'

Conrad nodded again. 'Yeah. I can imagine.'

'Once men hear that I'm a model. They seem to think that model equals fuckdoll. But no. I could probably count them on my fingers. But you and me.... I think you and me might be fun.'

'OK,' Conrad said. 'Where do you want to do it?'

'Up to you.'

'We could do it here,' Conrad said. 'But I should probably go and get a rubber.'

'Probably,' Sonja said.

When Conrad returned, Sonja had removed most of her clothes, and she was about to unfasten her bra.

'No. You can keep your bra on,' Conrad told her.

'Oh? Is that your kink?'

Conrad laughed. 'Perhaps,' he said. 'I find it sexy, anyway. A bra and no knickers.'

'A bra and no knickers it shall be then,' Sonja said. 'Now... let's get rid of some of your clothes.' And she began by unbuckling Conrad's broad rock-star belt.

Once Sonja had Conrad's trousers off, she went to work on his growing cock. And Conrad slipped a finger between the warm, wet wings of Sonja's secret butterfly.

'Gosh, you're ready to go,' Conrad said.

'Ready to rock,' Sonja told him. 'Now... where's that rubber?'

Conrad reached into his shirt pocket.

'Allow me,' Sonja said. And she deftly opened the packet and then rolled the condom down over Conrad's cock. And they were, as Conrad had suggested, ready to go. But they teased each other for a moment or two longer.

And then Sonja perched herself on the edge of the red Formica-topped dining table. And spread her knees. Jim Morrison was already announcing 'the time for hesitation is through'. Conrad placed his condom-clad cock at the entrance to Sonja's wet and waiting fuckhole. 'Come on, Baby, light my fire,' Jim Morrison said.

'Oh, yes!' Sonja said. 'Yes, yes, yes.'

Six minutes and 50 seconds of bliss. And then, while Conrad turned the album over, Sonja turned herself over. And Conrad returned as the 'Back Door Man'. 'Give the dog a bone, Conrad,' Sonja said. And she laughed.

Later, as they sipped their Chianti, Sonja said that she knew from the start that they would be good together. 'I don't know why. I just knew.'

'Does that mean that you have to go home now?' Conrad asked.

'Not unless you want me to.'

'No. I was just thinking about your husband,' Conrad said.

'He's somewhere in Denmark this weekend,' Sonja said. 'He's pitching for a project. If he gets it, he will have to go and live there for six months.'

'Denmark?'

'Denmark,' Sonja confirmed.

Conrad nodded.

'And if he does, I'll need someone here in London. Someone to light my fire from time to time,' Sonja said with a broad smile. 'We should start practicing. You and I. Practice makes perfect. We don't have to. But I think that we might want to. I think it might rather nice.'

'Yeah. It might be very nice,' Conrad said. 'It also might get a bit complicated. You know. Still... I'm sure we can work something out.' And he too smiled and nodded.