Free Asking For Trouble by Kristina Lloyd Page B

hadn’t really given it much thought up until that point. While I’d thought about him a lot, too much, I hadn’t really thought about ‘us’.
    Oh, there’d been a thousand fantastical moments of ‘us’, but they were just isolated incidents. I was constantly playing ‘what if . . .’: What if that’s him at the door? What if I phoned him and said come round and fuck? What if he’s seriously kinky and wants to chain me up and whip me?
    But all those ‘what if’s didn’t add up to a greater whole. I hadn’t envisaged anything so concrete as an ‘us’, as a relationship with, for God’s sake, a future. And when Ilya said ‘us’, I felt a pang of disappointment. It sounded so mundane and couplish. I was enjoying our tantalising phone calls and risque photos. I wanted more of the same.
    ‘I’m not looking for a relationship,’ I continued. ‘I don’t want anything serious or heavy or messy.’
    I thought of Martin and of all the pain involved in caring for someone. Could I be detached enough to havea relationship that was pure sex? Could I shut my brain off from my body? It sounded iffy because already I was fascinated to the point of lunacy by this Ilya guy and we hadn’t even met. But hey, I reassured myself, wasn’t that fascination fuelled by lust? And by Ilya setting himself up as Mr Dark Man of Mystery? Once we got it together, that would all fade. So yes, I decided, an angst-free, no-commitment, sexy good time could be had by all.
    How naive I was back then.
    ‘I just . . . I’m in the mood for a fling,’ I said. ‘A summertime fling.’
    ‘So autumn’s our cut-off point then?’ he replied matter-of-factly.
    Christ, he was talking about finishing and we hadn’t even begun. I could picture him writing ‘the end’ in his diary.
    ‘Maybe,’ I said, trying to be light. ‘We’ll see how it goes. We might not last that long.’
    ‘We will,’ he said. ‘I reckon we’ll be good together, Beth. Suggest something. Tell me a fantasy I can help fulfil.’
    I fell silent for a while, unusually shy. I’d never bared my sleazy soul to long-term lovers, let alone to someone I’d yet to meet.
    ‘It doesn’t have to be major league,’ he prompted. ‘Start off small. We can build up if things work out.’
    ‘OK,’ I said quietly. ‘Then it’s really simple . . . but it’s something I’ve thought quite a lot about in recent days. It’s not really fantasy; it’s more . . . I just want us to fuck. Nothing wild. I mean, I don’t even know what you look like, not properly. A fuck would be a good starting point, don’t you think? No small talk, no big talk. Just a fuck.’
    He didn’t reply. Immediately, I feared I’d disappointed him by being far too pedestrian. Was a simple fuck not part of his game-plan? Had I put him off? Did he expect more from me? Was my request like the photo I’d sent him: dull and unimaginative?
    I could hear his disapproval in the lengthening silence.
    ‘You asked me to suggest something,’ I said, defending myself with aggression. ‘And that’s what I suggest. I’m not saying it’s my ultimate fantasy or anything. What’s wrong? Do you only get off on weird stuff? Are you –’
    ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said levelly. ‘I was just waiting for you to elaborate. You know, a time and a place, that kind of thing.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said, severely humbled. ‘Oh, OK. Well, what about my place? Say, tomorrow evening? If you’re free, that is.’
    ‘Sorry,’ he said, a little too chirpily for my liking. ‘No can do. Tuesday night, maybe?’
    I curbed a rising anger. Tuesday night was Body Language night. He must have known that. He was fucking me about, playing games.
    ‘I’m busy,’ I replied curtly.
    There was a pause, then he said, ‘Tell you what, let’s forget about arranging a time. I’ll just call on you. If you’re there, you’re there. If you’re not, you’re not.’
    My instinctive reaction was ‘no way’. We weren’t talking