Free Shameless Exposure by Robert Fanshaw Page B

young men lounged on the bed.
    She talked about Monsaint to Merlin and his friend, using the quarter of her brain that was necessary to trot out the inanities of corporate promotion. With the other three-quarters, she thought up dirty responses to Andreas’s fantasies.
    “Who are you texting?” asked Merlin.
    “It’s just someone I work with. He’s feeling lonely because he’s living away from his wife.”
    “What’s he want?”
    “I shouldn’t tell you. It’s just harmless flirting.”
    Merlin’s friend leaned across from the bed and peered at the screen of her phone. She tried to shield it from his eyes but he saw what the text said.
    “Who would use words like that?” said Merlin’s friend.
    “He’s American,” explained Caroline. “They use different words to describe sex. But I’m not sure how to reply. I haven’t done this before.”
    “Have you told him what you’re wearing?” asked Merlin.
    “Yes, and the colour of my knickers.”
    “Well you’ll have to tell him that you’re running your hands over your breasts at the thought of him oiling his rod ,” said Merlin’s friend.
    “Rolf’s a small ads copy writer,” said Merlin. “This is right up his street. He can make a banger sound like a hot rod.” She did as instructed and sent the text. The three of them giggled complicitly while they waited for a reply. A minute passed.
    “I expect he’s trying to do it one handed,” said Rolf, which Caroline found very funny.
    When the reply arrived, the reason for the delay became clear. Andreas had attempted an ambitious essay, involving his rod, his sod, his pod, and Caroline in several unlikely scenarios.
    “What now?” said Caroline.
    “Tell him it makes you feel zet to imagine his pod in your nouth,” said Rolf. She laughed at his witty misspellings. From nowhere, a warm generosity towards the young hopefuls flooded her heart. She would give them a treat, a gift from Bluebell.
    “Okay,” said Caroline. Andreas’s reply was swifter.
    She relayed his message to her boys. “He says he’s close to coming over his phone.”
    “Yuk! Tell him you’re rubbing your… what do American’s call them?” said her copy writer.
    “Bazookas. But I expect he can translate from the English. Last time this happened he said he wanted to put his spoon in my honey pot,” said Caroline, her fingers busy on the screen. When she was happy with her clever reply, she pressed send, but before the little envelope had disappeared into the ether, a new text arrived from Andreas.
    She looked at Rolf and Merlin, mock disappointment on her face.
    “Typical man. He’s already come, and I’d only just got started. Now I’m feeling frustrated.”
    “Not all men are like that,” said Rolf, trying it on.
    “You’d better be careful of him,” said Merlin. “He’s a bit of a rake.”
    The woman, Caroline, who had bolted with shyness at the scene in the attic, paused for a drink of wine and contemplated her next move. Two frisky young men. She put the glass down and allowed Bluebell, the inner exhibitionist she had discovered one night at an amateur striptease competition in Spain, to guide her movements. Bluebell loved to be in control of adoring men.
    “Well, let’s see if you can do better,” said Caroline.
    “What me?” said Rolf. “Here? Now?”
    “Both of you. I saw a woman upstairs – she had two men in bed with her. I was jealous.” It would be too difficult to explain who she was jealous of, and it wouldn’t matter to these young men anyway. Upstairs Xena had been the centre of attention, Erik’s attention. Now, she was calling the tune. The hungry eyes of Merlin and Rolf, undressing her while she sent the rude texts, showed she had them under her spell. She took her arms out of the sleeves of her dress and inched the dress down over her boobs. Their eyes widened.
    “Are you sure this is OK,” asked Merlin. “Will you still take my CV?”
    “That depends how well you do,” she