We Should Talk to Marsha

My friend Douglas is a public servant. He has been so for the best part of 25 years. Although, for most of those 25 years, he has successfully managed to avoid providing any services to the public.

In some ways, I suppose that I should be grateful. My wife and I have built up a pretty successful business, mainly doing stuff that taxpayers have already paid public servants like Douglas to do.

Recently, Douglas and I were catching up for a beer. 'You're lucky,' he said, 'being your own bosses, you and Jenny can have a holiday whenever you want to. I have to put in a request.'

'Oh that that were true,' I said. 'Being our own bosses just means that we're last in the queue. There are all sorts of rules and regs about giving our staff days off, weeks off, sometimes it seems like months off. But nothing about guaranteeing breaks for ourselves. Next week's little jaunt down to Portugal will be the first proper break that Jenny and I have had in almost three years.'

'Really? That long?'

'Really.'

'You should come and work with us,' Douglas said. 'We get a summer holiday, a winter holiday, and umpteen days scattered in between.'

'I know. That's why we have a business doing what, strictly speaking, you are already being paid to do.'

'Steady on,' Douglas said. 'You get paid for it. And, anyway, a chap has to have a bit of playtime. All work, no play? We can't be expected to work seven days a week.'

'We are,' I said. 'And if there were eight days in a week, I'm sure we'd be expected to work the eighth day as well.'

And then, as if someone had been listening in to our conversation, the contracts manager at the Ministry decided that they need another a little thing done. And it couldn't wait. It needed to be done now. If not sooner.

'But everything's organised,' Jenny said, when I told her. 'The flights. The hotel. Not to mention the fact that Samantha has organised to be there at the same time.' (Samantha is Jenny's best friend, a best friend who, thanks to the demands of work, Jenny doesn't get to see nearly often enough.)

And then I had a thought. 'Look, it's not going to need both of us to get this stuff sorted. Why don't you go off and have the first few days with Samantha, and I'll come down and join you when I get things up and running back here?'

'You need a break as much as I do,' Jenny said.

'I know. And I shall get one. You'll just get a two or three day headstart.'

Eventually, Jenny agreed. And on Friday morning we got up even before the sparrows to get Jenny out to Stanstead for an early flight to Faro. Then, after dropping Jenny at the airport, I drove back up to town, and headed for the office.

I spent the morning mapping out a plan, and then I got Marsha, a former government gamekeeper-turned-poacher, to 'stress test' it. Marsha got back to me just after two. 'I think you may have been a bit optimistic with a couple of the timelines,' she said -- and she laughed -- 'but apart from that.... Do you want me to round up the troops?'

Marsha assembled the troops in the main conference room; I gave them an overview of the project and allocated the various component tasks; and we all got down to work. By seven, we had completed what we needed to complete -- for Friday, anyway. 'Thank you, people,' I said. 'Great work. Now, those of you who can, go and have a good weekend. Next week is going to be busy, busy, busy.'

Marsha and I stayed on for another hour or so; checking everything; dotting I's and crossing T's. To take some of the sting out of it, I found a bottle of dark rum and some orange juice. Marsha may have lived and worked in London for almost ten years, but she was still a Jamaican girl at heart.

Jenny phoned me on Saturday morning to say that she had arrived safe and sound. The hotel was great. And the weather was even better.

'Don't rub it in,' I said. 'The forecast here is for rain.'

'How are things at the mill?' she asked.

'The wheels are turning,' I told her. 'Marsha's a little concerned that we probably won't be able to get the live testing started until Tuesday morning. But we'll just keep our fingers crossed.'

'Well, just make sure that you have something proper to eat from time to time,' Jenny said.

'I will,' I assured her. 'Now stop worrying and start doing.'

'Doing?'

'Yeah. Doing. Doing nothing. Isn't that what the plan was?'

Jenny laughed. 'Easier said than done. But I'll give it a go.'

On Sunday afternoon, Marsha and I both went into the office to see how the coding guys were coming along.

'Fingers crossed, we should be finished in about three hours time,' Marcus, our tame brain, said.

That's great.'

'Well, it will be if we hit the target. So keep your fingers crossed.'

'A couple of hours for pre-testing...,' Marsha said, as we walked back to the conference room. 'I don't know... maybe we'll be able to press the go button for a live test around midday tomorrow. What do you think?'

'That would be good,' I said. 'If we could, and if the live test goes well, there's a chance that I could perhaps get a flight to Portugal on Wednesday afternoon.'

But, of course, Sod's Law kicked in. The coders hit a bit of a problem. And then, on Monday morning, the Minister's Office decided to 'add' a couple of things. It was going to be Tuesday afternoon -- at the earliest -- before we could start the live test. My trip to Faro was starting to disappear like a shallow puddle in the Portuguese sunshine. I phoned Jenny and gave her the bad news.

'Do you need me to come back?' she said.

'No. It's a problem of time rather than manpower,' I told her. 'But thanks. You'll just have to relax for both of us.'

'When did you last eat?' Jenny asked.

'I have a banana with me as we speak,' I told her.

'Not a snack. A proper meal.'

'I'll pop into Tesco Metro on my way home this evening,' I said.

'No. Don't do that. Where's Douglas?'

'He's off on some jolly,' I said.

'OK,' Jenny said. 'Where's Marsha?'

'She's here. Somewhere. Why? Do you need to talk to her?'

'No. But you need to gather her up and take her to a proper restaurant. That way you'll both eat some proper food. You need to take an evening for you both to unwind.' Jenny did have a point.

I put Jenny's suggestion to Marsha. 'Jenny's worried that neither you nor I have eaten lately,' I told her.

Marsha laughed. 'It has been a while,' she said. 'Perhaps tomorrow night.'

'Yeah. Let's do that. Things should be under control by then.'

'It's date,' Marsha said.

I phoned and made a booking at Pandemonium for eight o'clock on Wednesday night. Pandemonium -- 'all the demons' -- seemed somehow appropriate.

The new module went live at six o'clock on Thursday night -- almost three days later than I had originally hoped. Then Marsha and I sat there with our eyes fixed on the monitor, all the time expecting an error message while hoping for none. Our hopes were fulfilled, and shortly before seven-thirty we left everything in the capable hands of Eric, our nightshift manager, and headed for the restaurant.

'Well, we live to fight another day,' I said, as Marsha and I raised our glasses in a toast.

Marsha clinked my glass and smiled.

I'm not sure how we went from eating rather delicious grilled saltmarsh lamb, accompanied by an assortment of charred eggplant, peppers, onions and tomatoes, to going back to Marsha's place to drink Navy rum. But we did. And one thing kind of led to another.

As we sat opposite each other in Marsha's little townhouse, my mind flashed back to the day, about five years earlier, when Marsha first came in for an interview. She was wearing a black skirt and a green, black, and gold top, but I thought that she should have been wearing short shorts and an athletic singlet. She looked as if she could anchor the Jamaica Women's 4 x 400 Relay Team. I almost didn't hire her. I thought that she might be too much of a distraction -- and not just for the writers and engineers. In the end, I let Jenny have the final word. 'It has to be Marsha,' Jenny said. 'She's the total package. She has the skills, she has the experience. And, apart from that, I just like her.'

I didn't disagree.

I didn't disagree, either, when, halfway through our second Navy rum, Marsha suggested that I should follow her through to her bedroom. 'We both need to unwind,' she said, as she slipped out of her clothes and then began to remove mine.

'Should we be doing this?' I said.

'Just think of it as therapy,' she said. 'For the good of your health. If you're not healthy, the whole business is in trouble.' She had a point.

Marsha might have put on a few pounds during the five years she had been with us but, naked except for her dense black snatch thatch, she still reminded me of a top athlete.

Our first carnal encounter was all over rather quickly. But then, after we had both had a chance to catch our breath, we started all over again. Our second fuck was long and leisurely. Perhaps we were both beginning to unwind.

Jenny arrived back from Portugal late on Friday afternoon. She was looking tanned, but she didn't seem to be quite as relaxed as I had hoped.

'Are you OK?' I asked when we got her home.

'Perhaps a little bit tired,' she said. 'And I know that sounds silly.'

I laughed. 'Not used to having time off,' I suggested.

'Maybe,' she said. 'Perhaps we need to have an early night tonight.'

We did have an early night. But Jenny seemed to be uncharacteristically edgy. It was as if she had something on her mind.

'Are you sure you're OK?' I asked. 'You seem very quiet.'

'Do I?'

'You do,' I said.

For a while Jenny said nothing. And then she blurted out: 'I'm sorry, but I strayed.'

'Strayed? Oh?' I said. 'You strayed.'

'Yes. Out in Portugal. One of Samantha's friends. One of the chaps that I told you about. I'm not really sure how it happened. I think I was just feeling.... I don't know. It just sort of happened. I'm not sure what else I can say.'

'Just sort of happened?'

'Yes. I mean... it didn't mean anything. It just happened.'

'Just happened.'

'Yes. I'm sorry. As I say, it wasn't as if it meant anything. It just happened.'

I laughed. 'This thing that just happened -- was it fun?'

For a while, Jenny said nothing. And then she said: 'Fun? Umm... well... yes. If I'm honest, I suppose it was. At the time, anyway.'

'Oh well, that's good,' I said.

'Good? You're not angry?'

'Angry? Angry that you had fun? Why should I be angry that you had fun?'

'I just thought...'

'Well... you were out there on your own. Although not entirely on your own. Obviously. And you were on holiday. Trying to unwind. No, I'm not angry.'

'It didn't mean anything,' Jenny said. 'It was just... well... sex, I suppose.'

'And this fellow put his cock in your cunt?'

'He used a condom.'

'A gentleman,' I said. 'So... what happened?'

'Do you really want to know?'

'It might be fun,' I said.

Again Jenny went very quiet. But, this time, I think she was trying to remember what happened. 'I told you about Samantha's friends,' she said. 'Grant and Paul. They were staying at the hotel next door. We met them down on the beach. And then the next day Samantha arranged for us to go and meet them for a drink.

'We met them at the Sundown Bar and had a cocktail or two. Then, afterwards, we walked along the beach to a seafood restaurant that was supposed to be very good.'

'And was it?' I asked.

'Yes. It was. You would have loved it. They had that charred octopus dish you really like.'

'Maybe next time,' I said. 'Anyway... I interrupted. Sorry.'

'Umm... well, we had some supper -- which, as I say, was very good -- and then, when Samantha and I went off to powder our noses, she said that she thought that she and Grant might go off and make the beast with two backs. We all went back to the hotel; Samantha and Grant said goodnight; and, after they had gone, Paul invited me up to his room where, he said, he was sure that he could find us something for a nightcap.'

'And every good girl deserves a nightcap,' I said. 'Just as every good boy deserves figs.'

'Figs?'

'It's how we were taught to remember the notes on the treble stave,' I told her. 'E, G, B, D, F. Every good boy deserves figs.' And I counted out the notes on my fingers.

Jenny laughed, a little nervously, and I slipped my hand up inside the leg of her loose-fitting pyjama shorts and rested it on her neatly-trimmed mound.

'So you went to his room?'

'Just for a nightcap,' Jenny said.

'And?'

'Brandy,' Jenny said. 'But not French brandy. Portuguese brandy. Actually, it wasn't bad.'

'And then he fucked you?'

'I suppose so.'

'Did he finger you first?'

'A bit?'

'Good?' I said, allowing my own fingers to begin their march towards Jenny's slot.

'I think so.'

'So... he fingered you... and then he fucked you.'

'Yes.'

'Did you enjoy it?'

'It was just sex,' Jenny said. 'It didn't mean anything.'

'But it was good sex,' I suggested as my fingers found their way into her slippery crevice. 'Good enough to make you come.'

'He was very attentive,' Jenny said.

'We like attentive,' I said. 'Attentive is good.'

Jenny reliving her time with Portugal Paul seemed to be doing her no harm whatsoever. Her cunt was as wet as an otter's pocket. I slid my fingers from her emerging clit, down past her hot fuck hole, all the way to arsehole, and then dragged them back again whence they had set out.

'And his cock?' I said. 'You liked his cock?'

'Actually, it was rather like yours,' Jenny said.

'Like mine? So you felt right at home then?'

'I suppose so,' Jenny said.

And then, as I slipped my first finger into her fuck hole, Jenny asked about my supper with Marsha.

'It was good,' I said. 'You were right. We needed to eat some proper food. We went to Pandemonium. That new barbeque place where they cook everything over wood.'

'What did you have?'

'To eat? Lamb. Saltmarsh lamb. Welsh, I think. With a sort of grilled-vegetable ratatouille.'

'Sounds nice,' Jenny said.

'Yes. It was very nice. We should go there. I think you'd like it.' And I slipped a second finger into Jenny's slippery fuck hole.

'And then?' she said.

'And then?'

'I don't know,' Jenny said. 'I just thought that you might have....'

'Well, we did go back to Marsha's place,' I said. 'Just for another... you know... another glass of rum.'

'Marsha likes rum.'

'She does. She had some special Navy rum. It was rather nice after the barbequed lamb.'

Jenny nodded. 'Yes. I can imagine.'

With two fingers in Jenny's hot, wet fuck hole, I began to massage her growing clit with the ball of my thumb. Jenny freed my stiffening cock and began to work it.

'You get quite horny when you drink rum,' Jenny said.

'Do I?'

'You seem to. Did Marsha's rum make you horny?'

'It... umm... might have,' I said.

'And Marsha? Did the rum make her horny?'

'It might have.'

'Did you finger her cunt? The way that you are now fingering mine?'

'What do you think?' I asked.

'I'm just guessing, but I think that you might have. I think that Marsha might have a very nice cunt. And you do like a nice cunt.'

'Well, as you say, rum does seem to make me horny. And one thing may have led to another. We needed to unwind.'

Jenny nodded. 'But it was just a once only thing?'

'A bit like you. It was just sex. We needed to unwind. There are no plans....'

'One night only.'

'As I say, bit like you and your chap,' I said.

Jenny nodded. 'That's a pity,' she said.

'A pity?'

'That you aren't planning a second performance.'

'A second performance?'

'I think if there was one, I'd like to be there. I'd like to watch. If I was the kind of girl who liked other girls, I think Marsha is the kind of girl I would probably like.'

'But you're not the kind of girl that likes other girls?'

'I don't know. I didn't used to be. But now... now I'm not so sure. Perhaps if I could watch you and Marsha. And then just see what happens.'

For a moment or two, I didn't say anything. And then I said: 'If we were going to do it again, we'd probably need to do the whole thing. Supper. A few rums. You know. Just like before. But, this time, with the three of us.

Jenny nodded. 'We should talk to Marsha,' she said.