Free The Berkeley Method by J. S. Taylor Page A

tidy. I hate the idea of anyone having to pick up after me.
    In a dreamlike state, I wander out of the kitchen and up the open wooden stair to the mezzanine level. There’s a single door up here, and I open it to reveal a large bedroom.
    The walls are an elegant faun colour, and the floor is polished wood with a thick wool rug. There is a large sleigh-bed, in the style of the chalet, made up with crisp white sheets and a fur throw set in artful contrast.
    Over the top is a hand-stitched bedspread which doesn’t match the rest of the décor.
    I walk over and study the quilt in puzzlement.
    It looks almost identical in style to the friendship blanket I have at home. Though it lacks Lorna’s rough and ready patchwork.
    The realisation clicks into place. James had this bedspread put in especially for me. He must have remembered the friendship blanket from my bedroom, when he visited my apartment. So, he’s had something similar made to make me feel at home.
    For some reason this act of consideration prompts tears to rise up. I brush them away hastily.
    Stop it, Isabella , I admonish myself. You can’t cry over every little act of kindness.
    The bedspread makes me wonder what other little touches he might have added for my benefit. There’s an antique bedside table with three drawers, and I pull open the first.
    As my eyes fall on the contents, I gasp and shut it quickly. Then I force myself to open it again.
    Certainly, James has ensured I am well-stocked. Though I can’t say this is quite as considerate as the bedspread or the romance movies.
    Inside the drawer is an array of sex toys. Some I understand immediately, and others are more mysterious. I recognise the branding though. It’s the same make James made me familiar with in the Met Hotel - Kiki de Montparnasse.
    Since the kit in the hotel cost over £200 for panties and a vibrator, I can only assume this selection has cost thousands.
    Carefully, I take out the largest item in the drawer. It’s a sleek wave of black silicone over steel, and I’m guessing by the shape it’s a vibrator.
    I’ve seen vibrators before and thought they looked a little smutty. But this is so elegant. I turn it carefully in my hands. It’s wide at one end, and the length is pushing towards what I’d call intimidating. I see a tiny discrete switch, and when I flick it on, the vibe pulses noiselessly.
    Wow.
    From the effect it’s having on my hand, I can only imagine what it might do in more intimate areas. I turn it off and return it to the drawer.
    The next item I remove is a black leather-bound rod with a puff of fine white marabou feathers on the end. I touch them, marvelling at their softness, and then run them experimentally along the inside of my forearm.
    Hmmm. That tickles.
    I place the rod back in the drawer. Next I take out two more vibrators of different sizes. One is shaped like a flat round pebble and made from cream- coloured silicone. The other is short and wide, fashioned out of shining black plastic.
    Where are these for? I wonder.
    Finally , I pull out what looks to be a string of freshwater pearls. On closer inspection, the string is attached to a light silk material. I turn it in my hands. It’s a G-string, I realise. The pearls are designed to sit inside the buttocks.
    Ok aay.
    I wonder how comfortable that would be. I place the G-string back in the drawer, letting the pearls drop heavily back, one by one, through my fingers.
    I close the first drawer and open the second.
    Underwear. This is less intimidating.
    I take out three bra and panty sets, two black and one soft pink.
    I lay them out on the bed, trying to decide how I feel about them. They’re certainly far sexier than anything I would ordinarily choose. My eyes rest on the most audacious set. The top half is a balcony bra cut very low, at a height I judge will put my nipples on display. Eyelash lace peaks over the top of the cups, but offers barely any coverage. Straps of wide black satin come over the