There is no Backdoor

I'm halfway home when my phone buzzes. It's from Rocco and it's just a picture -- my house keys.

As I'm looking at it, my phone shakes again and a single-word question appears -Yours?

I send him back a crying face.

I'm still here for the next ten minutes. Come get?

I sigh and send the thumbs up. It's a cold night and my long coat is protecting me from the elements but not from the clingy layer of sweat underneath. I was in a rush to peel off my yoga pants and top and have a good long shower, but missing those keys for a full week, until the next class, would be a real pain. I send a thumbs-up and turn around.

I pass several of my session mates on the way back. They're all women the wrong side of middle age, matching exactly the demographic of the village. It's a lovely place but the mistake my husband and I made was moving here about three decades too soon. We thought it would be romantic, but instead, it's just a dull dull place for a woman in serious danger of becoming a housewife if I can't find something more gainful to do soon. The older women look at me in askance and I just say "Forgot something." I shrug and they continue with their gossip as they pass me.

They're laughing about Rocco, of course, because he's the most interesting thing in their lives. A thirty-something yoga-instructor with abs, a ponytail and an Italian accent. Registrations for the class had nearly tripled since he took over from Karen. There was even a waiting list now as the number of post-menopausal women wanting to come and salivate over him exceeded the maximum occupancy of the church hall. The women of Sheepy Holborn hadn't known what had hit them.

I can't fool myself that I'm immune. That second honeymoon period for Dave and I just after we'd moved to the village is now well and truly over. We still have regular sex but we have it all about conception and it's lost something special in the process. Stuck at home all day, I have the choice of sitting on the sofa watching daytime TV or sitting on the sofa pleasuring myself with fantasies of infidelity with sexy, hot men. Rocco isn't the only guy I think about, but he is a regular.

The four-space car park is empty when I get back -- with just Rocco's motorbike propped up against the wall. The door to the hall is still ajar and anemic light from a single bulb at the back spills out. I push through it.

Rocco is in the middle of taking down an old advert from the notice board and replacing it with an updated one.

"Hey," he says. "Your keys are at the back on the window sill."

As I walk across the wooden floor, he moves over to the door and shuts it, pulling the bolt across and attaching a heavy padlock to it. I turn to look at him.

"I'm about to leave," he explains. "We'll need to go out the back. There have been a spate of youths breaking into church halls and vandalizing them recently and the vicar has been on my back about making sure this place is secure."

He picks up his jacket from a chair and walks over to join me.

"Actually," he says. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh, right," I reply. I'm expecting him to ask something about the routine. Is it effective or is too hard or too boring or something? Instead, he comes right up to me. Too close for comfort.

"I've noticed, you know," he says.

"Sorry, I don't understand."

"No need to be embarrassed," he continues. "It's perfectly natural. I've seen you watching me."

I give a short laugh. Of course I'm watching him. He's the instructor. Monkey see, monkey do.

"I know you want me," he continues. "It's okay."

I've taken a step backwards without thinking about it and now I'm in the corner. He puts an arm out, just propping himself up on the wall.

Blocking my escape.

"I'm a married woman," I say. It doesn't quite come out as definitively, as I want it to. There's part of me that's interested.

"And you still will be afterwards," he says with a shrug.

He has a point. I sincerely doubt he's the relationship kind. He wouldn't cause any trouble if...I let something happen. I'm kind of flattered and then I think about all the other women in the class and I'm suddenly less so. I look at him for just a second too long.

"See, you want it," he says. Suddenly he's leaning in and kissing me. I lean back slightly, but not as much as I should. I'm caught in two minds but there's nowhere for me to go anyway. He smells good. He tastes good too. He would be great. Even the feeling of his stubble against my cheek excites me.

I can't though. I put both hands up on his chest and gently try to push him off. It has no effect but to make me even more aware of his rock-hard chest. Dave's doesn't feel like this. I push a little harder, but still only token resistance, and he only redoubles his kiss, pushing his tongue further into my mouth. I tell myself I'm not giving in, only waiting for my moment.

We separate and he sees my eyes are wet. I'm not quite crying yet. I want to do this, but I don't want to have done this. He brushes away a tear that's not quite there.

"I'm sorry," I say, sounding truly regretful. "The answer is no."

He flashes me a smile. "I didn't ask you a question."

The delivery is weird. It's like a deadpan joke, but there's no mistaking the edge. A moment ago, I'd been scared of what I might do. Now I am scared of what he's going to do. I turn, ducking under his arm, and run into the backroom. I'm surprised that he lets me go so easily.

I've never actually been in here before. It's mostly junk - stuff from the toddler group, stuff from the amateur dramatics group, some garden tools, and a big stacks of donated Mills and Boon and Catherine Cookson books. I look around frantically for the exit. Wherever it is, I'm not seeing it. I run to the back wall anyway as if a door is going to magically appear.

Rocco saunters in after me, standing in the frame of the door. "Yeah," he says, casually inspecting his nails. "There is no backdoor."

There's a bundle under his arm. It's one of the gym mats we've just been working out on.

I'm trapped now for real. I've got my handbag and in it is a can of Mace that Dave insisted I carry. The thing is, even if I spray him directly in the face, I'd still need to get the key out of his pocket. I'm not sure I can do that, even with him semi-incapacitated.

I've turned now. We're both staying put at either side of the room and weighing each other up.

Finally, he speaks. "Normally this'd be the point at which I say I'll wear a condom if you play nicely, but...," He whistles through his teeth. "I know you're trying to get pregnant, so consider what happens next a favour."

Arsehole. I curse under my breath. Our fertility issues have been a constant topic for the busybodies of the village ever since Dave made some way too premature baby-related purchases at the local car boot sale.

He moves into the room only enough to close the door and then rolls the gym mat out to partially cover the empty space on the floor.

I pull myself up to my full height, which is about a foot shorter than I'd like it to be, and make a play that I know is not going to work. I walk forward, try to remain calm and say, "Let me out and I won't call the police." I reach into my handbag for my phone.

He's on me like a shot. I feel rather than see him slap the phone out of my right hand. As my head snaps to look that way, I suddenly feel another hand on my left and immediately the world revolves around me. My body is slammed down hard onto the mat and my yoga pants are halfway down to my knees before I've gotten my breath back. I start to kick but it's too late. He's gotten hold of the crotch and is able to pull them straight off even as I flail. I'm left in my knickers and I clamp my thighs together.

I realize that my handbag had gotten lost somewhere during his judo throw. I couldn't even guess its trajectory and don't want to bring my head up to look for it.

"Okay," I say defeated.

"Okay, what?" he asks.

I slide my knickers up round my knees and off and then I lay there with my legs now not quite together. "Just...okay," I said.

Another asshole smile. "See, I told you that you wanted it."

I don't respond. There's no point rising to it. Play nice.

He's standing over me now. I see the bulge of his cock through the fabric of his jeans but look away as he unzips. I'm aware through the corner of my eye of him giving it a couple of pumps. For a moment, I wonder if I just lie here, will he just wank off over me.

No, I'm not going to get off that easily.

The secret is going to be giving him what he wants. Let's just pretend I'm a cheating slut after all. Why couldn't I have just been a cheating slut?

My eyes make contact with his dick. It's what he's been waiting for.

"Let me suck you," I say. It should be sexy, sultry, instead, I'm terrified and it comes out desperate. I've raised myself up and I'm supporting myself on my elbow.

"Yeah, why don't you?" he replies. When I don't immediately move he reaches down and yanks me onto my knees.

His dick is not all that. I've been imagining some porn-star monster. His is average. Bigger than Dave's but not by much. It still scares me. I know what I have to do, but I'm frozen in place.

He grabs me by the hair. As I let out a gasp he forces his cock into my mouth. He fucks my face and three thrusts later I'm gagging. He lets me up and I drool saliva over the tiled floor.

But when I've recovered I start sucking in earnest.

I feel his body relax. That's good. As long as I do a good job, I'll be okay. I close my eyes and pretend it's Dave. I haven't blown him kneeling since uni.

I wonder why that is. I'm suddenly worried it's my fault somehow.

And just like that, I'm actually enjoying it.

God help me, I'm enjoying sucking this rapist off.

I'd like to say it was this moment when my pussy became wet. I don't want to think that it was earlier when he kissed me, or when he threw me to the ground. The honest truth though is, I'm not sure.

But as I blow this guy, I realize that he's going to fuck me and when he does he'll know I'm ready for him.

At that moment, I'm going to die inside. I'll have no shame left. My body has betrayed me. Unbidden, I find I'm rubbing my thighs together, squirming at the thought. I think he notices. At least, I see a smile dance across his face for just a fraction of a second.

My mouth breaks free and starts to peel off my top half -- my jacket comes up and then the top. I'm left in just a bra. He reaches round and unhooks it. This time when he kisses me, I push forward, not back. He undresses himself with our lips separating.

Then we're moving together. It's not that he pushes me down, nor that I go down of my own accord. It's mutual. I'm on the mat and he's on top of me.

No, he's inside me.

The comment never comes. Nor the smile. There's that little air of victory any man gets when he enters you. I let out a gasp, but no more than usual for that first push.

And then we're doing it. Doing what, I wonder? Are we fucking? Are we making love?

One thing I'm sure of is that I'm not being raped. I said yes. He made a pass and I said yes. That's what I'd tell my husband. That's what I'd tell the police. Hell, that's what I'd tell my priest if I were Catholic.

It's easier this way. I did want this. I do want this. I've fantasized about this every afternoon for the past month.

This is so fucking good.

No one will ever find out. Rocco's not saying anything. I'm not saying anything. If I'm going to have a secret, I'm going to make sure it's a happy one.

I wrap my legs around his as he dives deeper into me.

I want to cry out, but I daren't. There's a skylight in this backroom, but no actual windows. Still, I'm not sure how far sound might carry. I don't want an errant dog-walker hearing anything they shouldn't. It's hard keeping it in though. I find myself biting my top lip.

As we continue, I find myself looking up at him. His eyes are half-closed in pleasure and he's looking away from me. I wonder what I am for him. How has he watched me these past few weeks? Has he been fantasizing about me or has he just identified me as an easy mark?

Does he think I'm hot?

This is not the first time he's done...this. I'm sure of that. He's had dozens of women, willing and unwilling.

An unpleasant thought hits me. What if I'm not the first woman in this yoga group? He's been running it for nearly two months. Come to think of it, how did I lose my house keys? I'd have had no reason to get them out of my bag. I don't know how he managed it, but this was a set-up all along. I try to think back to other weeks, if any of the other ladies lost anything if any of them made unscheduled returns to the hall.

No, they wouldn't have mentioned it.

God, am I jealous? This is ridiculous.

He chose me.

He's risking arrest, risking being fired, risking prison for me. Not anyone else.

That's...that's not the point. That shouldn't be the point.

I snap myself back to reality. We're fucking and it's good. He's driving me crazy. I'm not sure why. Dave would be all tender with me -- arms around me, kisses, stoking my hair, making sure I'm okay.

Hell, Dave would be finished by this point.

Rocco is just settling in though. There's something about his rhythm that suggests he's at his mid-point. Fully comfortable and in no hurry.

Damn him, isn't these things supposed to be furtive and opportunistic. He's way too comfortable. Hasn't got a care in the world. It's because I've surrendered to him. Why am I letting him do this?

My head is turned slightly on the mat. I've been out of it, not using my eyes. They've been open but only now am I seeing what's besides me.

My handbag. Around our waists and out of Rocco's field of vision.

It wouldn't take much to reach my hand inside and pull out that can of Mace. I know where his trousers are now and that the key is inside. It's risky, but I could end this. He could get what's coming to him.

And what would come to me? Everyone knowing about that time I ran through the village naked and half-ravished. Banging on our front door to get Dave to let me in. Crying tears as I'm telling him what happened.

Can I even cry those tears? I'm not sure. I'm already guilty. I'm already an accomplice.

Besides there's no guarantee.

Besides the deed is already half-done.

Besides it's fantastic.

I'm assuming he's going to let me go after this. Why am I assuming that? I've got Rocco pegged as the smooth operator, not the axe murderer.

What if this is the last anyone ever hears of me? What would be the last thing I'll be thinking as the knife, or the brick, or that chintz lamp in the box for the second-hand stall at the fete comes crashing down on my skull?I could have had at least shot at escape if I wasn't such a whore.

There is a fire axe. I've seen it hanging right by the entrance.

"Oh, fucking God!"

Where had that come from? I hadn't meant to cry out. I wrap my arms around his head and pull him closer. "You're so fucking good."

That's right. Stoke his ego. Make him feel good about himself. That way you won't be chopped into little pieces.

But it's true. He's so fucking good.

"Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes!" I settle into a rhythm. He takes my encouragement. I want him to fuck me harder. The pain is making me feel alive and the pleasure is making me feel as if I'm about to expire.

"You like that, you little slut?" he asks me.

"I like it. Oh, God I like it." I cry out.

I'm not a slut. I said no. I did.

"You want me to fuck you harder?" he asks.

"Mmm," I say. No sooner is the first moan out of my mouth than he pulls up my legs and puts them on his shoulders. This time when he thrusts down, I feel it twice as hard.

It doesn't take more than three thrusts for me to come on his dick. My body spasms with pleasure. "Oh, Christ," I say. "Oh, Jesus."

I lie there panting. It takes me a moment to realize he came too. Yes. In the middle of my orgasm when the world stood still, when he was deep and unyielding inside me, he came too. I was so lost in myself...

It's done.

He hands me some tissue in a generic Tesco-own brand box. His seed is leaking out of me. I wipe. He takes the damp paper off me, wraps it some more, and puts the large wadge in his pocket.

He offers me a hand up.

I'm collecting my clothes from the floor.

I'm dressed.

I'm walking out of the building.

I'm at my front door trying to find my key.

"Hey, how was yoga?"

"Fine."

"Match went into extra time. I'll be up in a minute."

It's only when I'm in the bathroom that the world starts to return to me. I start the shower running, and as I'm waiting for it to warm up, it hits me.

I run over to the toilet and vomit. It only lasts a moment. I get in the shower and start to wash.

The last time I was sick like that was on the school trip to Alton Towers when I was sixteen. I was dragged on the Nemesis. I hadn't wanted to get on it. I said I was below the height. The girls dragged me on anyway. I lasted the whole ride, got off, and then calmly walked over to the ladies and emptied my stomach.

And then afterwards, we'd gone on it again.

I'm alive. My heart is still beating. In fact, it's still about to burst out of my chest.

I make sure I'm clean and I make sure I'm calm before I head out. Dave's already snoring in bed. I check my clothes. There are no signs of semen or other telltale traces on them, but I put them in the machine anyway. Not that Dave's ever going to mess with my yoga stuff anyway.

At lunch the next day, I go to the chemist. Not my regular one, the one on the other side of town. I'm in there for a good twenty minutes. Nominally I'm browsing. I never do get the resolve to buy the item I've come in for.

Instead, I leave with another box of pregnancy tests.