Ally’s flat is full of candles. As she unlocks the door to the apartment, a glow awaits me. Yellows, blues, reds, oranges blur into a rainbow of welcome. The waxy scent is almost strong enough to drown her own floral perfume. I kiss her neck and inhale.
‘Roses?’ I ask.
‘Forget-me-nots,’ she says.
I walk further into the flat. It is a studio – the bedroom is the same as dining room and kitchen. But tonight it feels all bedroom. The divan is covered with pink satin. So, I notice, are the posters on the wall – old studio prints, from Minghella to Hitchcock to a Merchant Ivory rendering of Maurice, have pink satin swathes draped over them.
Ally is in midnight-blue. Silk. Her feet are bare and I see her toenails are painted sparkly blue to match the dress. She has made an effort.
‘I made martinis,’ she says, speaking quickly. ‘And there are some olives if you’d like them, or some nuts, and then I thought we could pop out and—’
‘I brought ice-cream,’ I say. ‘Butterscotch.’
‘My favourite!’ she says. ‘You remembered.’
‘I’m a researcher. I remember everything.’
‘Are you still researching me?’
‘Yes. And do you know what research I specialise in?’
‘Let me guess. Undercover?’
In reply, I kiss her slowly. While I do that, I trace one hand over her collarbone, like the Internet said I should. With the other hand I caress her hair. She places one hand against my chest.
‘Are you looking for those abs?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she murmurs.
‘Let me show you,’ I say. I slowly unbutton my shirt. She moves her hands across my chest, fingers tracing the ridges between my muscles.
‘Now your turn,’ I say. I trace the sides of her dress for some kind of opening, but it’s impenetrable. ‘Show me,’ I say.
‘We should at least have a drink first,’ she whispers. ‘I’m not that easy.’
‘It’s you I want to drink,’ I murmur.
She steps back from me, but not to fetch martinis. She takes the bottom of the dress in her hands, and pulls it up her body. First red lace pants are revealed, then her own version of a six-pack, then a red lace bra containing what I suppose are a perfectly adequate pair of breasts.
‘More,’ I say. ‘I’d hate that nice underwear to get all butterscotchy.’
Ally pulls off her pants and removes her bra. I gesture to the bed. She lies down, on her back, moving her arms above her head, arching them. Like a lobster’s claws. They will need to be twined, in due course.
‘You’re wearing too many clothes still,’ she says.
‘I’ve got to handle ice-cream, haven’t I? Can’t be getting cold.’
‘But what about me? I’ll get cold.’
‘I promise to warm you up afterwards.’
I turn my back on her and get the ice-cream from the bag. It has melted slightly, which is helpful, as I can just drip it bit by bit down her body. At first, she squeals as I pour, but then she gets used to the cold, and doesn’t moan as much. I pour ice-cream across her body too, defining her abdominals into sections. I get close to her as I begin to lick it off and I see the little fine golden hairs running across her body. I run my tongue down to her genitals – which, unlike the pictures I have seen, do not have hairs – and do a quick recce. I consider taking out the pictures from my bag to help me, but she has clamped her legs around my shoulders, so that’s not really an option. I will just have to rely on my memory. The clitoris, I know, is important. But the Internet told me I’m not supposed to go there first. Instead, I get some ice-cream on my tongue, and lick around the labia majora, then work my way into the labia minora, stroking her inner thighs as I do so. I then spot the clitoral hood, exactly where the picture said it would be and, taking a fresh mouthful of ice-cream, I shift my tongue to the clitoris itself. Her moans confirm I am an A* student, a master of female biology.
I’m thankful for the butterscotch ice-cream, because pretty soon she begins emitting her own liquid into my mouth. She tightens her thighs around me for a bit, then they relax again, enough for me to stand up.
‘Wow,’ she says, propping herself up on her arm, her eyes shining. ‘If all researchers were that thorough, we’d have some pretty amazing films!’
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ I say. ‘Roll over.’
She does so. I move up the bed to take hold of her arms. Then I tear one of the satin scarves from the picture over her bed and use it to tie her wrists to the bed-head.
‘Ooh, kinky,’ she giggles.
Now that she is in position with the scarves, I take the proper restraints out of the bag.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks, as I clip the handcuffs in place over the satin.
‘Relax,’ I say, stroking my hand down the small of her back. ‘They won’t hurt. That’s what the satin is for.’
Then I get the blindfold and the gag from my bag. I slot the gag on first, before she can say anything. Next, the blindfold. It obscures most of her face. She could be anyone.
‘Now it’s time to warm you up,’ I say.
I get one of the candles and extinguish the flame. Then I begin to drip the wax down her back. She starts making a noise that may be an attempted scream. But it’s pretty quiet, so it doesn’t bother me. She starts kicking around with her legs, so I sit on them. Drip, drip, drip goes the wax down her spine, right to her tailbone. All the little hairs become sticky with it. Then drip drip drip all the way up, until I am at her neck again.
‘Is that too hot?’ I ask her. I blow on her neck, watching how all the little hairs stand on end. Those that aren’t covered by wax, that is. Then I kiss her, on the neck, on the ears, on what is accessible of the cheeks. I feel her relax underneath me.
‘You all warmed up, now?’ I ask. She nods. ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Then it’s time.’
I look down. Luke’s blue pill has done its work. Time to get as close as possible.
Luke unzips his fly and takes out his penis. He rolls on a condom and puts the wrapper in his pocket. Then he positions her just how he wants her: back slightly arched, bottom raised. He guides himself into her vagina and he thrusts. Although he has done this before, of course, because Luke is very experienced, each new person is different. His whole penis is in, without resistance from her. He pulls it out and thrusts again – again, all the way in. There is hardly any resistance, although when he slams into her he can feel at the top of what must be the cervix. He is riding her, riding her, but she is moving up the bed because they are going so fast, and so he unties one of the silk ties from her hands, leaving the wrists cuffed, and he loops it round her neck like reins. Then he can pull back and thrust and pull and thrust and pull and then there is an overwhelming rush of pink and red and if he just pulls back on the reins a little harder he will just explode and he does. And as he does he pulls as hard as he can to be as far inside her as possible, and there is a crack from her neck and she sags.
He pulls out of her, clutching the full condom to himself and she collapses on the bed. He calls her name but there is no answer. He removes the gag and undoes the cuffs but still she does not speak, so he blows out the candles, does up his shirt and picks up his bag. Then he leaves the flat and the door slams behind him, he rushes down the stairs and into the street.
I feel the fresh air against my skin. I am standing on the street, outside Ally’s flat.
I realise I am clutching something. I look down.
It is a used condom.