“It's awful.”
“I don't believe that.”
“Go on, then. Please finish it.”
I wondered what she did with Lily Graham. I squeezed her globes as I spent in her bottom. I drained myself in her rear portal.
I told Claire nothing of my knowledge of things. Now when I found her absent in the afternoon, I savored my secret awareness. I imagined her with John. Or with the actress Lily Graham. I made a point to accompany Claire to the theater one evening to see the Graham woman perform. I found Lily Graham charming enough. I thought she had a thin voice. Claire seemed quite taken with the performance, and on more than one occasion I thought the actress looked up at our box in a meaningful way. During the intermission Claire said she thought Lily Graham's performance was superb. “She's not well known, is she?”
I said I had no idea. “I certainly haven't seen her before.”
“Well, she ought to be well known, shouldn't she? She's quite marvelous.”
Our lives continued. We go on, don't we? The days pass and we go on.
The four of us, Claire and myself, Julie and John, saw each other in a group only occasionally. Claire remained unkind to Julie, snobbish in that way she was. Julie never blushed any more. She chose to ignore her sister's jibes.
John continued to pursue his obsession with balloons. He was well known at the club now. John Dallow, the balloonist. I avoided the club as always. I hated the place. I hated all the dull talk. Let them have their plantations and lion heads. I took to walking up and down the Strand when I wanted company. I suppose there were people in the road who thought me odd.
One afternoon I drove to Arkley Heath to watch John ascend in one of his balloons. He waved to me from the gondola. At that moment I had a premonition that John would soon be killed in one of his silly balloons. I realized I would feel no sorrow. I would feel nothing. He would go down in one of his silly balloons and I would feel nothing. It was true I'd never liked him. But one ought to feel something. I think now I hated him as much as I hated Claire.
In the meantime Claire had become more and more distant from me. I was fully aware of it. We hardly ever talked. We sat in silence through dinner, and then afterward I could seek the protection of the library. We had our evenings out, an occasional Mayfair party, a few dull hours in a box at a theater. She was away somewhere nearly every afternoon. I suspected she saw a great deal of John. Or that lesbian actress. We did connect with some regularity, usually Sunday evenings and Wednesday evenings. She grew accustomed to having me in her bedroom. She always yielded. She was unable to hide her pleasure in it. There was now a small jar of unguent kept within reach of the bed. Did she use the same with John? One always wonders about such things. I told myself I oughtn't to be bitter. I had my pleasure with her. She was more beautiful than ever now. Exquisitely beautiful. To see her bent upon her bed was incredibly exciting. I was vanquished by the marble smoothness of her buttocks, the pouting fig of her sex, the tiny brown eye of her bottom-hole. She always murmured when I applied the unguent with my fingers. I had the impression in those moments she imagined I was someone else. During the act itself she was quite silent. Except at the end. At the end she would begin a series of moaning sounds. This was always the pattern. The sounds increased in volume until the crisis occurred. When I had my root in her sex there were no sounds at all, only the shuddering at the finish. The differences between the two apertures were always predictable. I was certain that her bottom had been poked by others before my first entrance. One has an intuition about such things. I remembered the Baron von Broda. And I thought of course John must do it also. Sometimes I felt an intense jealousy. I was always very potent when I took her bottom and on occasion she complained of it. She said my thrusting was too strong. I suppose I did it in order to punish her. But I also suspected she favored the more vigorous exercises. The more I hated her, the more she seemed to enjoy the way I poked her.
Then one day John's long awaited voyage across the Channel began. We all went out to Arkley Heath to witness the ascent. John wore a bright red scarf around his neck. He tossed flowers at the crowd as the balloon rose. He waved at us, at Julie and Claire and myself. We waved back, Julie and Claire seemed happy. The balloon continued rising and slowly moved south until it became a speck in the distance. We talked about the weather as we motored back to London. Julie was certain John would have fair weather until he landed in France. Claire seemed lost in thought. Then Julie talked of a new play she'd seen and Claire visibly brightened when she heard Lily Graham was in the cast. I passed the time musing how these two French sisters had altered my life. Two days later we received the news that John had drowned in the Channel near Calais.
Chapter Sixteen
Claire suggested that Julie live with us. I hesitated at first, but Claire insisted. She said she would not abandon Julie. “We're not savages, are we, Edward?”
I was uneasy about having the two sisters in the house. I thought there might be difficulties, bickerings, desperate intrigues. But Julie was irresistible and I agreed.
She came to us shortly after the tragedy, two trunks filled with clothes and a collection of mementos of her French childhood. I saw nothing much of John among the things she brought. Nothing much of anything, in fact; she had very little and brought even less. She was given a room next to Claire's and we began what one calls a communal life. I was surprised that Julie showed minimal horror at the tragedy that had befallen her husband. She seemed more concerned about the condition of her clothes. I often found the two sisters laughing at something as I entered the room. They never talked of John. The poor bloke was in the Channel somewhere and here we were comfortable in London.
I frequently found Julie staring at me. I wondered what she thought of me now. Her presence evoked memories. I remembered the intimacies. One always remembers the intimacies. Did she think of them also? Did she remember as I did? I desired her again. I could not help admiring her bust, her delicate wrists and ankles. I thought of the two of us together. Then I asked myself if it was only a way to avenge myself upon Claire. Perhaps it was.
As for Claire, the presence of Julie in the house seemed to produce an exhilaration in her. She seemed more energetic, more certain of herself. She was more demanding of me, more in need of my company in her bedroom. I thought she flirted with me more frequently. She wanted connection more often. She would smile and touch the front of my trousers at odd moments. During our bouts together, she enjoyed various antics previously refused. Now there seemed to be a compulsion to exhibit herself to me. She insisted I accord her certain pleasures. She cajoled me into paying homage to her sex and bottom. What feverish hours we passed! She teased me constantly, fondled me at every opportunity. We did a great deal of sucking, our bodies entwined upon her bed, our mouths working endlessly. I'd never known her to be so ravenous. Always with the lamps burning in the room. As if she wanted to be seen. She said she liked to watch me when I sucked her sex. I found her aggression exciting. I liked to look at her in the nude. I liked to look at her sex and she would always accommodate my interest. She called it her little fig. She would half recline upon the chaise, open her thighs and part the lips of her sex with her fingers to show me the pink interior. On occasion the pose was more blatant, Claire on the bed on her knees, her sex exposed to me from the rear. Then her sex did indeed resemble a fig, and when I told her so she seemed quite amused at my description of it. Then she would request my mouth and I would suck her like that, her body bent upon the bed, my tongue licking at her little fig from the rear. She moaned constantly whenever she felt the lapping of my tongue. And other poses, all the lecherous poses in her bedroom. I saw more of her body now than ever before. She constantly fondled me in her bedroom, held my testicles and root, teased me about my excitement, on occasion a compliment concerning my virility.
But my hatred for Claire did not diminish. I hated her even as I sucked her sex. My desire for her was always strong, but now I also wanted Julie. Claire's sister was in the house and always present in my mind. I wanted the complete possession of Julie. The past moments of intimacy between us had become burning memories.
I was also wary of Julie, wary of my desire for her. I told myself I was easily caught by a woman. An affair with Julie might be dangerous. Claire might discover it. I did not like complications. I wanted a simple life. Claire was so unpredictable. She knew everything that went on in the house. She knew all the details of my life. She would sense an affair with her sister. Or else Julie would reveal it. I would have an abominable intrigue in my house. Two
