Perceptions (12) ‘Hardly.’ ‘Not good looking, but he’s a nice boy - and that’s why I said "no". He’s only a boy. Not my type nor old enough. Come to that, neither am I. Christ, I haven’t started to live yet!’ ‘You’re doing all right in the sex department.’ ‘So are you!’ ‘I’m streets behind you.’ ‘Are we in competition, or something?’ ‘No,’ she answered, guiltily. ‘But I wouldn’t mind some of the blokes you’ve been getting of with recently, you lucky bitch.’ I grinned, hanging up the towel and waltzing happily past her. She followed me again. ‘You’re like a stray puppy seeking attention this morning. What’s got into you?’ ‘Nothing. Just jealous because I didn’t get screwed last night.’ ‘And bored, it looks like. Nothing to do this Saturday morning? What’s the weather out there like?’ Jo stood at the doorway to my bedroom as I pulled open the drawer in search of some underwear, her scrutinising eyes searing the skin of my buttocks. I hauled on a lacy red pair of briefs and matching bra and sat down in front of the dressing table mirror. I looked like shit, and I would still look like shit when I’d blow-dried my shoulder length blonde hair and given it back some shape. ‘Not a trace of cellulite,’ Jo said.’ ‘What?’ I was trying to fix the ravages of enjoyment on my face with some makeup and cream, critically cursing myself under my breath. My normally bright blue eyes stared back at me with a hazy red smudge. ‘Your bum,’ Jo went on. ‘How is it so firm and unlined? No dimples, no marks - you’ve made a pact with Satan, haven’t you? I glared at her. ‘What are you going on about? Neither have you. Did you take some funny stuff last night?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then go and make us some coffee, woman, and stop bitching. There’s nothing wrong with your bum or the way you look. You’re young and tasty and you’ve got years of knob-pulling ahead of you.’ Jo pursed her lips as though she meant to argue, but said instead: ‘well, why doesn’t someone tell me these things, sometimes.’ ‘I just told you; so what more do you want? Go put the kettle on, moany Jo.’ ‘But you’re not a bloke.’ She turned away aggrieved and headed for the kitchen. I heaved a sigh. ‘I’m glad you noticed,’ I said to myself, continuing the refurbishment of my face. Together with Leigh, we hit the shopping centre later in the afternoon. Of course it was crowded, but we were women. We loved to shop. What was shopping without commitment and passion? We struck like tornados. Jo and Leigh busily interrogated every rack in search of tight-fitting black trousers and a sexy top to match, while I waded through the underwear section hoping to find any briefs or thongs that would have guys drooling with their dicks at full mast. Sex was life. Shopping was living. We took a coffee and Danish pastry break at 2.30pm and then twenty minutes later we hit the remaining boutiques like express trains until we found what were looking for. At 5pm we landed with a thump on the sofa, burnt out but extremely satisfied with our purchases. Eagerly we showed off to each other what we had in our bags amid the usual feminine gasps of "nice!" and "where did you get that?" After a refreshing cup of tea, Leigh left us and Jo called out for a Pizza takeaway, which, when delivered, we ate with relish. No cooking was standard issue with us on Friday and Saturday evenings. No cooking meant no washing up, and all of that meant we had time to doll ourselves up for the evening’s entertainment: meaning guys! Life was tough enough being a woman, so if a guy was to walk on by without so much as a second look, we knew that we hadn’t set out our stalls creatively enough. A guy had to see something he fancied if he was going to take the trouble - and the expense - to home in on a prey and ravish it. Of course, we had to want the guy, or he’d be dumped like a useless corpse in the dark. So he’d have to be worth it to see what colour and brand our underwear was. But a woman had to be in charge of affairs, naturally, and the way to do that was to lure the hapless young man with beauty before showing him your brains. So dressing up was of vital importance. I’d learned one important lesson: when dating, always wear a skirt and not trousers. Apart from the lure of beautiful legs in stockings (or not), trousers were a bummer to get off in a hurry, and it meant you were naked from the hips down. With a skirt all you needed was to hitch it up, in emergencies, or lower it quickly and easily when the time and place afforded it. Tops were interchangeable, but easy access was a must. Tonight, the four of us, including Tanya, were going out to the local disco. If by chance Tony and his gang were there, all well and good. I wouldn’t object to a second night in the sack with him. If not, there had to be plenty of other interesting males ready to get a leg over; and when were men never ready for that? Jo and I were in our respective bedrooms giving ourselves the beauty treatment. No matter what Jo thought, I had to work hard at looking good, and guys rarely passed praise, except in that they were easily hooked by appearances. If you looked like a dog you could only expect to be taken for a walk. Otherwise the way was open for a night of unremitting, if not regrettable, passion. There were always nights when you wished you hadn’t met a guy or wished you’d gone for his pal instead of him. Still, live and learn - that was my motto. So long as you could do both then the price was worth it. The reflection in the mirror still didn’t measure up to my standards. The hair wasn’t quite right and I was beginning to have two minds about this top. Was the cut too low or was I being a Miss Brodie? ‘What do you think about this top, Jo?’ I stood at the doorway of her bedroom interrupting her own appraisal. She glanced over at me with a double take, her mouth dropping open. ‘Christ, Lara, what are you trying to do to those poor sods? Burst their eyeballs?’ ‘What? Do you think it’s too low?’ ‘Too low? Any lower they’d see your navel!’ ‘What about the colour? ‘Seductive red has always been your colour, dear, but if you wear that tonight they’ll be raping you in the streets. Where’d you get it from, anyway? I’ve never seen that before.’ ‘I bought it a few months back. It’s gorgeous, don’t you think? I just didn’t have the nerve to wear it.’ ‘I’m not surprised,’ she said, pulling her own top over her head and discarding it. ‘Didn’t feel right. Mark my words; wear that top at your own peril. The arresting cops will let ‘em go due to "mitigating circumstances". Remember, this is a disco, not a glamour party.’ I was hurt and disappointed, but maybe she had a point. Slinking back to my own room I took another look. Where else could I wear this if not a disco or nightclub? I had to admit, it was really daring; it was very revealing. It was tight, yet comfortable, and I really liked it! Should I wear it? I tried a few poses in front of the mirror. Okay, it was a little tarty, but it didn’t show anything too risqué. Did it? Jo was at my door. It was her turn to question her selection. ‘That’s fabulous! You’ll knock ‘em dead, Jo’ ‘I don’t want to kill them - just turn them on. You really think it’s okay?’ ‘Definitely.’ ‘You’re not just saying that?’ ‘Jo! Trust me. It’s great.’ ‘Are you going to keep that on?’ I glanced down at my bust. ‘I’ll chance it.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I tried. Shall I give Securicor a call before we go out?’ We both burst into laughter. The evening air was cool and refreshing, rather like yesterday. A girl could bare her legs and not turn blue or catch pneumonia. I preferred this weather rather than the icy cold of last week, even if meteorologists told us it wasn’t normal for the time of year. So what, people? Who wants to go out dressed like an Eskimo anyway? Who could you attract except another Eskimo or Baloo the bear? Dropped outside Foxy’s Disco by the cab at 9.30pm, the four of us jumped out with the urge of a Tigress to attack the male of the species. We were on the prowl and they had better look out! Handing in our jackets at the check-in, we entered the arena. It was a little early, perhaps, but no better time to stake territory and lie in wait. The music was banging away with fervent rapture and the disco lights were spinning around and creating a sensational playground. We were in jovial mood, the four of us, and though the crowd was sparse we could enjoy some dancing until we saw something in trousers that we liked. Typically, the dance floor was full of girls. Guys never stood up to dance until they’d consumed enough to forget that they couldn’t swing to the tune, so the girls had to set the early tone for the evening, as always, handbags on the floor and acting like lesbians. Conversation, as usual, was difficult under these conditions, but young people developed the incredible ability to read lips or mime whenever appropriate. Tanya was the first to receive a male heterosexual signal, and a guy with probing eyes soon became ensnared by her powerful female persuasion. They screamed chat-up lines at each other and in seconds they were at it on the floor, bobbing to the volume. Dancing, I mean. As evening drew longer, the Disco began to fill. Characters of various shapes, sizes and genders appeared on the scene. ‘He looks a bit of all right,’ Leigh yelled in my ear. ‘What?’ I shouted back. ‘I said: he looks a bit of all right!’ ‘Who? Which one?’ ‘The one with all the smiles doing all the listening.’ ‘Him? You would say that, wouldn’t you.’ ‘Which one is she talking about?’ questioned Jo, concerned that she might be losing out. I pointed. ‘Him?’ ‘Leigh likes him because he doesn’t talk much; gives her a chance to do all the yakking.’ ‘That’s a lie!’ Leigh piped in. ‘Talkers aren’t doers. He looks the type that does his talking vertically.’ We all laughed. A couple of likely looking lads homed in on us, both of them okay-looking but slimy with it. We gave them the polite brush-off. ‘Our boyfriends are in the toilet,’ Jo told them, and they disappeared into the crowd without another word. ‘A bit easy, weren’t they?’ Leigh said. ‘Hardly made an effort,’ Jo agreed. ‘Look over there. What about that little group? Those three guys - what do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘So-so.’ ‘They’re looking,’ Jo warned. ‘They’re coming over.’ I took another sip of my Bacardi and Coke. ‘They look reasonable,’ I said, eyeing them as they made their approach. I already knew which one I was interested in. They were all smiles as they landed in our terrain. Andy, Will and Pete. Their chat-up lines were hardly original, but we didn’t mind and we played along with them. It didn’t take Leigh very long to decide that Will was for her and she allowed him to smooth-talk her onto the dance floor. Pete was my intended victim but he seemed more interested, or at least subject to the whims of Jo. It didn’t stop him casting his nefarious eyes at me, however, even as he hit the dance floor with her. Andy remained with me, buying me another B&C and touching me up as he gazed at my rather too-exposed cleavage that was certainly turning many male heads in my direction. His face was in my ear half the time as he desperately tried to give me his full attention. I kept on drinking and smiling and returning his chat, but all the time I had my eyes on Pete. It was difficult to keep track of him with all the movement, but I was fairly positive that the bulge in his trousers could grow larger if I got within reach of him. At last Andy persuaded me to bounce around with him on the packed floor. Actually, he was less the charmer than he thought he was. I decided, in fact, that I could get closer to Pete on the dance floor than standing around playing cock-teaser with Andy. My plan worked a treat. Jo seemed to be having fun, but if Pete’s eyes could leave his head they would be in my bra cups, and it didn’t take long for Pete to start making overtures in my direction, much to Jo’s chagrin. Poor Andy was practically dancing on his own as Jo and I circled around the same guy. With a change of record, Pete made an excuse to go the toilet. Before he left he threw a clear signal at me to follow him. Jo missed it, but I told her that I also needed to go. She ended up alone with Andy, who simply shrugged his shoulders and carried on with the dance. Standing out of sight of my friends at the gent’s toilets, Pete couldn’t wait to greet me with a smile and a touch of my sleeveless bare arm. A simple gesture, but it radiated intensive heat in my crotch. It sparked the desired effect and his mouth came forward to kiss me. His lips were burning. I swooned. ‘How about we go to my place?’ he asked. ‘It’s not far…and we can have some more drinks and say "hi" a little more intimately.’ ‘Okay,’ I said quickly, like a juvenile idiot. ‘I’ll get my jacket from check-in.’ ‘Right. Just got to go to the loo first, though. Okay?’ His eyes blow-torched my cleavage as he turned to go inside. Pete’s place was a short distance out of town and it didn’t occur immediately to me how I was going to get home. I had my mobile with me all the time, so that was a comfort, but even so, I was vulnerable alone with a guy I’d only just met and whom I knew nothing about except his roving eyes and bulging package. He was surprisingly quiet as he drove us to park outside a group of houses that were built with a small gap from the rest of the block. It was an old house and not particularly encouraging, but it was his place and we’d be alone and that’s all that mattered. ‘I’m renting it from an old tart,’ he replied, when I inquired about it. ‘Some old girl’s husband passed away and she didn’t want to live in it alone, so I jumped at the chance.’ ‘Lucky you,’ I said. We went inside and it smelled a little bit musty. Pete switched on the hall light as we entered and he closed the front door behind me. ‘I live with my girlfriend Jo; you know, the girl you were dancing with.’ He grinned. ‘The girl you stole me from, you mean.’ I laughed, but it didn’t sound funny coming like that. ‘You fancied me. That was obvious from the start. I thought you were just being polite when you danced with her.’ The living room was small and claustrophobic. ‘Did the old lady leave you her furniture, too?’ He gently disengaged me from my handbag and placed it on the coffee table in the centre of the room. I also gave him my jacket, which he rested neatly on the only armchair. ‘You were too hard to resist, sexy Lara,’ he said, ignoring my critical comment and coming on to me with large leering eyes. ‘That outfit makes a powerful statement about a girl’s desires, doesn’t it?’ I glanced down at my bust once more and looked up again with a pale grin. ‘You like it then?’ ‘It’s impossible to ignore.’ Commenting no further, his fingers darted to the thin 18-carat gold necklace that hung just north of my deep valley. He touched it, held it. ‘Very nice.’ ‘The necklace or my boobs?’ He didn’t laugh. In fact the expression on his face gave me cause for concern. ‘It isn’t often that I meet a girl like you,’ he said, lifting his eyes from my chest, ‘but when I do, I know exactly what to do with them.’ ‘A man of the world; I like that.’ ‘I’m sure you do, sexy Lara.’ I cleared my throat nervously. ‘How about that drink - to get me back in the mood?’ I offered him a smile. He was slow to react. ‘Oh. Right. Yes. What is it you like? Gin and Tonic, wasn’t it?’ ‘Or a Bacardi and Coke - if you have it, that is.’ ‘Sure. I’ve got everything.’ ‘It’s a little bit cold in here. Do you mind turning up the heat a little?’ ‘Yeah, no problem. I’ll just get you your drink first. Okay?’ ‘Thanks.’ I was actually glad when he disappeared into the kitchen. He was beginning to frighten me. Pete just didn’t seem to be the same guy I’d met at the disco. Annoyed with myself and with a release of pent-up breath I turned to take stock of the house he’d brought me to. I was surprised that he could afford the rent all by himself, but maybe the old lady had let it go very cheaply due to its age and rough condition. Certainly the state of the furniture wasn’t an inspiration, and that, too, was surprising. A young man would surely have started buying or borrowing better, modern stuff than this. And living alone in here - where was the motivation? How did he cope? It didn’t look as if he could be bothered to clean up after himself or cook for himself. Even the television and the radio seemed out of the ark. Without a doubt, most guys his age would have invested in the latest technology, turned up the volume and to hell with the neighbours. Certainly, the gap on one side of this house favoured him. I bet he could play his music full blast and - well, there was that old radio standing there. Maybe he had his own in his bedroom. What did I know? ‘Did you want some ice with that, sexy Lara?’ That tag was beginning to irritate, but he was taking a long while with those drinks. What was he doing in there? I decided to go and see. The little kitchen was dimly lit and bizarrely quiet. I went in suspiciously. ‘Pete?’ The second I got past the door I knew I was a fool. An arm encircled my neck very tightly and a hand holding a foul rag was stuffed over my nose and mouth. Even as I struggled and tried to scream I could smell the chloroform as it hit the back of my skull. I passed out like a light. As soon as I regained consciousness the adrenalin began to flow out of control. My head hurt and so did my hands and legs. My neck wasn’t feeling any better either. The drowsiness cleared slowly and the reasons for my discomfort became terrifyingly clear. Unable to move, I discovered that I was hogtied and cleave-gagged. At once I reacted with a muffled attempt to scream for help, but my struggle was broken before it could begin; my bonds simply tightened. With tears in my eyes and a ball-gag in my mouth I stared towards the headrest of the bed on which I was trussed chest down. My body trembled and I made my ears do the work that my eyes had started. I had to get a grip on my bearings and location. And where was Pete? The bastard, he would pay for this. What the fuck was he playing at? I could throttle him if I could free myself. That was easier said than done. My arms were stretched and bound to my ankles by the wrists. He’d done a good job on me and there was no escape. What the fuck was he doing? Angrily I turned my head as far as it could go. I was in a bedroom, that much was obvious. I could see a small window that was boarded up. A small lamp on an old bedside cabinet gave me the only source of light I had. And there was silence. Only the sound of my own breathing reached my ears and that was very strained indeed. I was alone. Was I a prisoner, or was this his sick idea of a joke? A dickhead with perverted humour? What were his intentions? Was he planning to rape me or just torture me? Listening to my own thoughts reminded me of Jo’s vain warnings. Perhaps she’d been right. I shouldn’t have worn this bloody top or else I should have hired a bodyguard. It had got me into big trouble. I almost broke into tears as the worst possibility entered my head. What if he wanted to kill me? Nobody even knew where I was. I had left without notice or forethought. To bed and sex - that had been my sole plan. The tears began to flow. At least I was still dressed; and I could feel my high heels on my feet. In fact they were anchored to my feet along with my ankles to my wrists. I could just make it out by cranking my shoulders round with my neck even though it hurt to do it. At least I knew he hadn’t raped me unconscious, the bastard. Or had he and then re-dressed me? No, I probably would have felt his point of entry between my legs, and that was just about the only place, it felt, that didn’t ache. Steady, Lara, steady. Take it easy and don’t go to pieces. There was precious little comfort of assurance I could give myself. How stupid, STUPID of me!
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