Two Can Play Ch. 02

Rachel had no intention of going back. Angered by her husband's total lack of concern for her or her feelings, she could think of nothing but escape. Where to, exactly, she had no idea, so she repaired to the ladies' powder room and locked herself into a cubicle.

She made a great effort to control herself, but it was no good. Her tear ducts opened and soon she was sobbing prodigiously. She was still crying when there was a knock on the door. No doubt it was that bitch Carol pretending to be concerned.

"Go away."

"He's not worth it."

It took a few moments before Rachel realised it was the voice of someone other than Carol.

"Please leave me alone."

"I'm right, aren't I?" the voice continued. "It's a feller brought on this misery."

"Yes," Rachel miserably admitted..

"Thrown you out, has he?"

"No. I - I walked out."

"Ran more like."

"Um," Rachel agreed with a sniff.

"Yeh, I know all about it. I've been there myself. But never again. Believe me, never again. I make sure I call the shots. It's very awkward talking through a door. Won't you come out?"

Rachel debated for a moment. It was a kind voice; full of sympathy and understanding. She unlatched the door, opened it and stepped out of the cubicle. Through her tear-blurred eyes she saw the image of a woman a few years older than herself.

"I'm Kate Turner."

She held out her hand and Rachel took it. "Pleased to meet you."

"Have you somewhere to go now you've ditched your true love."

Rachel shook her head. "Nowhere." She sounded pathetic and helpless.

"I've got room in my place if you don't mind roughing it on a studio couch."

"I couldn't."

"You'd rather rough it on a park bench?"

"No....no, I mean, put you to so much trouble."

"Aw, that's nothing. I'm used to taking in strays. I can tide you over till you sort yourself out."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Same goes for you, but if you're willing to take a chance, I'm game as well."

Rachel managed a small smile. "That's very kind of you."

"I'll enjoy the company."

"I....I haven't any clothes or anything."

"Orphan in the storm, eh? I'm sure I can find you something. We're about the same size, though you're a bit taller, I think."

Rachel looked at her bag, which she had automatically plucked up when leaving. "I have my credit card." She managed a wan smile.

"Then you'll be able to buy something tomorrow."

"Yes."

"Come on. Let's get out of here. My car's round the corner."

"What do you do?" Rachel enquired, as they drove away.

"Auditor for a commercial radio station. Trends Radio." Kate pulled a face. "I know, I know. Not a very popular person. About the level of Inland Revenue, and a touch above traffic warden. But I'm good at figures and somebody's got to do it."

A ten minute journey through light traffic took them to a small, untidy flat above a shop. There was one bedroom, kitchen, bathroom and a general living room with an array of paper-back books, CDs and tapes piled in the corners or spilling from tables and chairs. DVDs were stacked on top of a TV and a large studio couch, the most prominent piece of furniture in the room, was generously covered with feminine clothes casually thrown down.

"Sorry about the mess." Kate grimaced. "I didn't realise it was quite as bad as this."

"It looks...." Rachel tried to find the right words.

"A tip," suggested Kate.

"Lived in."

The owner looked around. "Um. You could say that, I suppose. Anyway, let's put the kettle on. You could do with a coffee. Unless you prefer something stronger."

"No, no, coffee's great."

"Good job. I don't have much booze in. I go out for that. And for the men."

She disappeared into the kitchen leaving her guest slightly bewildered by the turn of events. Kate had come across on their initial meeting as a man-hater; in fact, the thought had struck Rachel that her host was a lesbian, which made her wonder what she thought about that. She dismissed it as not being important in the circumstances and if there was a bridge to be crossed, she'd wait until it was in front of her. The last remark made Rachel completely revise her ideas.

The coffee was strong and a little bitter for her taste, but she gratefully drank it down as she poured out her story.

"You've been married to the bastard for ten years?" Kate was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Rachel curled up on the studio couch, now swept clean of clothes.

"Yes."

"I didn't think that was possible."

"I was in love and happy. I thought Paul felt the same."

"You certainly found out the truth the hard way." Kate sounded grim. "With your friend, too."

"Carol isn't my friend. We have nothing in common, but she's married to my husband's best friend, so we had to mix."

"Too much, by the sound of it. Bet it wasn't the first time, either."

"You don't think so?"

"First time he was caught, that's all."

"Oh." Rachel looked crestfallen.

"Now it's your turn."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got to get up to date. This is the age of women's empowerment. You'd barely begun leading your own life when you fell into a mantrap. Ten years wasted." Kate shook her head.

"What should I have done?" asked Rachel.

"Found your own place and enjoyed yourself with no ties and no responsibilities. Ever since time began men have been playing the field, having it all their own way, but now it's our turn. Go out, mix with the fellers and make your choice. One night stands. Nothing longer or you're in trouble."

"One night!" Rachel exclaimed. "But what if I really like him and want to see him again?"

"Mistake. Stay loose. Don't let them tie you down. That's what the bastards want. Once they've done it and you're running around after them, they're off to someone new. One night because you want to and then leave it. There's plenty more fish in the sea - more than you can ever take. You're attractive and you've got style. Make the most of it."

Rachel tossed and turned that night, finding sleep elusive. She had rarely slept by herself in the ten years of marriage and it was difficult to settle in a strange flat with no-one beside her. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but her body was missing Paul. Her clitoris was crying out for arousal and a dampness between her legs betrayed the need for satisfaction.

Using both hands she pulled the lips of her vagina apart, the middle finger of one rubbing her clitoris, whilst the middle finger of the other plunged into the wet and silky warmth of her pussy. Bending her knees she opened her legs as wide as they would go imagining that a multitude of eyes were gazing down on her as she masturbated. She could feel her breasts, swollen with desire, pushing against the material of her nightdress. The juices of her arousal flowed out of her vagina.

Her whole body was shaking and shivering, the uneven springs of the studio couch poking and prodding with every move. She rubbed her clitoris ever more vigorously and inserted two fingers into the hole that longed to be filled by a penis. Paul's or would any do?

She tried to imagine what it would be like having sex with a man she didn't know. Kate was adamant she shouldn't get in too deep; avoid feeling at all cost.

"Except lust, of course. You want to have his hands all over your body and his penis inside you or it's no good. The big O is what you're after."

"The big O?" Rachel was mystified.

"Orgasm."

"Oh, of course."

"That's what it's all about. Too many fellers push it in, flood your cunt and think they've done a good job. Then they expect to do it again the next night or whenever they fancy. But not with me, they don't. And, if you put your mind to it, not with you."

Rachel brought herself to a climax, but it wasn't enough; she was still left with a feeling of need. Need for a big, hard cock that would stretch the walls of her vagina and reach up to her womb. A dildo caught her eye. It was lying on a table close-by; she only had to reach out and take it. It was put there by Kate.

"Just in case," she said. "Not as satisfying as a man's penis, but maybe better than nothing."

Rachel hesitated. Inserting a phallic object was not a practice she had indulged in before. She was uncertain about the wisdom of doing so. Would it hurt or satisfy? Dammit! She longed for Paul to be inside her, but he had relinquished his right to enjoy the pleasure. A picture of Carol, her bottom bared, love slit open and Paul's penis entering it kept floating into Rachel's mind. She could forgive many things, but not betrayal; never that.

Shutting her eyes tight, she took the dildo and tentatively pushed it against the lips of her vagina. They opened to receive the unfamiliar object. It was cold and hard in a way that bore no resemblance to the male member. Was it possible to get satisfaction from its intrusion? Could it really give her an orgasm? She pushed it deeper, wincing slightly at its unyielding edge rubbing along the soft and delicate walls of her vagina. It was a momentary discomfort, quickly replaced by sensations of pleasure.

Confidence replacing temerity, Rachel began to thrust the dildo back and forth, gradually achieving a steady rhythm. At the same time, her finger diligently worked on her clitoris, sending waves of sheer delight spreading through her body. Her breathing quickened, juices flowed and nipples distended. Faster and faster she drove the phallic object; deeper and deeper it penetrated her secret chamber.

Suddenly she was rigid, her body almost lifted clear of the mattress, supported only by her shoulders and feet. Then she fell back with a low cry as the orgasm flowed away from her. The muscles of her vagina, tightened around the dildo, relaxed their hold and she slowly pulled it out. Still clutching the dildo to her, she curled up in the foetus position and drifted off to sleep.

*****

It was a very different Rachel who stepped into a trendy bar the following night. Carol had made her feel old-married, dowdy and unattractive. Maybe that was the reason for Paul falling for the other woman's seductive charms. She obviously had no scruples and did everything she could to waylay men. Well, two could play at that game.

Freshly styled and groomed, Rachel wore a new dress that hugged every one of her curves, but covered only a small part of her legs. With a neckline that revealed almost more than it concealed, the whole effect was undeniably eye-catching.

"Everyone will look at me," Rachel complained to Kate as she studied herself in a full length mirror.

"That's the idea."

"I've never worn anything as daring as this. I don't think I can. I'll be too embarrassed."

"Nonsense. You look absolutely wonderful. A knockout, and that's the reason you'll draw the stares."

Kate was right. Rachel was aware of all conversation almost dying away to nothing as she walked in; all eyes were on her, bringing a flush to her cheeks and a frisson of excitement between her legs. It was easy to imagine all the men in the bar appraising her and wondering what chance they might have of scoring. It also took little imagination to realise how the women were feeling when confronted by such competition.

The two girls joined two others at a table. One, tall, very slim and russet-haired, introduced herself as Cherie.

"No, not that one."

They all laughed.

"And I'm Beverley," said the other, her most remarkable feature being breasts that out-Monroed Monroe. She was also a golden blond with red gashes for lips.

"Rachel's a new recruit to the One-Nighters," Kate announced.

"Welcome aboard," said Cherie. "I suppose, like us, you've suffered?"

"Ten years!" exclaimed Kate. "Ten years married to one man and then he two-timed her."

"Not for the first time, I shouldn't wonder," growled Beverley.

"Exactly what I said." Kate patted Rachel's hand. "You're in good company here. We've all been there and we've all done something about it. Now it's your turn."

Rachel was uncertain what was expected of her, but drinks were ordered and the four of them chatted on about their experiences, their jobs, hopes and ambitions. Every so often the talk would stop whilst they made a joint survey of the men in the room; at any rate, those who were unaccompanied by a woman. They were given marks out of ten for looks, grooming, smile-factor....

"Smiling is very important," said Cherie. "For women, too."

....and sexual potential.

"How can you do that when you're not even talking to them?" enquired Rachel.

"Difficult, but not impossible." Kate pointed to a dark-haired man in a party of six a few tables away. "Look at the fluidity of his movement, the strong gestures and the animation of his face when he's talking to his friends. It could mean a lot."

"Or nothing," Beverley glumly added.

Kate shrugged. "Or nothing."

Cherie suddenly gave a little squeal of excitement.

"What is it?" asked Beverley.

"Over there...over there." Cherie pointed.

"Try not to be so obvious, dear," chided Kate.

"Who is it?" asked Rachel.

"Matt Hudson."

Beverley peered at the man in question. "Who's he when he's at home?"

"The footballer. He's in town for the big match tomorrow. Surely you've read about him splitting from his girl friend? Their on-off romance has been in the papers for weeks."

"Oh, him."

"I'm going to give him a try." Cherie stood up.

"I thought footballers were supposed to stay off drink and women the night before a match," said Kate.

Cherie grinned. "It looks like Mr. Hudson doesn't mind bending the rules."

She headed off across the room.

"Hi." Her greeting was bright and her smile broad, but neither dispelled the air of gloom which hung over the footballer, almost thick enough to be a cloud.

"Hello." His reply was desultory and his eyes remained firmly fixed on the glass which he was twisting round and round on the counter.

"Working out tactics for tomorrow?" Cherie remained bright and undaunted despite his poor response.

"No."

"Ah." A slight pause. "All alone?"

"Yes."

"Mind if I join you?"

"This is not a good time."

Cherie was losing her confidence. "Before a match, you mean."

"If you like." He still didn't look at her.

She gave up. "Nice talking to you."

"Yeh."

Her progress back to her friends was slower and more dejected.

"Brush off, eh?" Beverley was grinning.

"He seemed more interested in his glass than me." Cherie resumed her seat.

"Drowning his sorrows in drink," suggested Kate.

"I wonder if Paul's doing the same." Rachel wore a little furrowed frown.

"Don't even think about him." Kate's voice was sharp.

"He's drinking orange," Cherie glumly informed them.

"So he prefers not to break the rules." Beverley emptied her glass. "I think we're due another."

"Wait." Kate stopped her. "Desperate measures are called for here. Rachel is starting to feel sorry for her two-timing husband. She needs action and I believe our footballer can provide it."

Cherie spread her hands. "I've already tried. Zilch."

Kate dismissed her protest. "The chemistry was wrong, but I have a feeling about Rachel. In that dress she can do anything. The guy needs taking out of himself and so does she. I think they could do wonders for each other." She turned to her newest friend. "What do you think?"

"As Cherie said...."

"Never mind her. Do you fancy him?"

"He looks...."

"Well?"

"Yes...fanciable."

"Are your knickers getting damp when you look at him?" asked Beverley.

Rachel shook her head. "To be honest - no."

"There's no point in this," exploded Cherie. "The man's not interested, no matter what Rachel feels about it."

Kate put her hand on Rachel's arm. "Over there is a big hurdle for you to climb over."

"I thought you were supposed to jump over a hurdle," interjected Cherie.

Kate ignored the interruption. "If you can make this one you're home and free. Paul will be out of your system for ever and that's exactly where he should be."

"I'm not sure I want him out of my system." Rachel sounded slightly pathetic. "I love him."

"More fool you. All right. You don't need to get him out of your system, but you do need to play him at his own game. Don't be a willing doormat and let him walk all over you."

Rachel gazed across at the footballer. "Matt Hudson, you said."

"That's right." Cherie looked distinctly peeved.

Rachel drained her glass, slowly stood up, grabbed Kate's glass, emptied it and moved towards the bar.

"That's a girl," crowed Kate.

There was a vacant stool next to Matt Hudson and Rachel perched on it whilst she ordered a pink gin. The footballer took no notice of the new arrival, but continued staring at the glass in front of him. When the barman brought her drink, Rachel fumbled in her bag for money. Nervousness had tied her stomach in knots; there was a strange lack of co-ordination between her brain and fingers. The bag fell, tipping its contents all over the counter. A lipstick rolled along and hit Matt's glass with a small ping.

"Sorry." Rachel managed a tentative smile. "There's so much stuff crammed into this bag. Something is always falling out. Typical woman, I suppose."

"Um." Matt handed back the lipstick, barely glancing at her.

There was a short pause while she looked around. "This is a great place, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

"Do you come here often?"

He looked at her. "That's supposed to be the man's line."

"Is it?" A nervous laugh. "Haven't you heard the latest news? Women are equal; we can speak and do the same as men."

"Yes, I've noticed."

Matt sounded grim and Rachel felt extremely foolish. What made her think she was seductive enough to pick up a man? In desperation she looked round at Kate seeking some kind of help or instruction. A few vague pushing gestures, which could mean anything or nothing, were all the help forthcoming.

Rachel took a large sip from her pink gin. "This is my first time here."

"Mine too. I don't live here."

"Oh, really?"

"I'm here for the match tomorrow."

"Match?"

"Football."

"Oh."

"I'm Matt Hudson." He said the name as if he fully expected instant recognition. None was forthcoming. "Obviously you don't follow football."

Rachel shook her head. "Not at all," she said, taking another sip of gin. "I don't get much thrill out of watching twenty-two men chasing around after a ball trying to kick it into each other's goal."

Matt eyed her up and down and liked what he saw. Her legs were slightly apart and the short dress rode high on her thighs making it almost possible to glimpse her most secret part. The top half was equally exposed to his gaze with more than half her breasts bare of cover. Her nipples were pushing against the taut, thin material of her dress.

Rachel was aware of his gaze and had a pretty good idea how much he could see. It was obvious she had finally caught his interest and now the actress - she had been a leading light in school plays - came to the fore. She looked at him through half hooded eyes, her finger idly stirring the liquid in her glass. It was a seduction technique she had seen used in a film.

"Do you think you'll score tomorrow?"

"Hope so."

"You could even score tonight." Rachel put her finger into her mouth and gently sucked it dry of the alcohol. That was in the film, too.

"Are you offering to be the goal?"

"Tomorrow you'll have a ball to put into a net; tonight you've got a prick to fill my hole."

Rachel could hardly believe she had said that and felt a strong desire to giggle at the inanity of her dialogue. Matt, however, was obviously taken by the thought and was unable to stop staring at the part of her anatomy so blatantly offered. Not that he could actually see it, but his imagination took over from where his view stopped.

Matt swallowed. "No drink or women the night before a big match." He repeated the mantra in a voice hoarse with desire.