The complications of Camille

There is this little thatched pub near the canal. They do a decent line caught bass lunch.

They do a good glass of chilled white wine. I sat in the bay window, watching a canal boat slide by and waiting for Camille to come back from the ladies. I say ladies, but later I realised that she had telephoned Jenny, one last, absolute check. If you pictured Camille then it would be a bob hair cut blonde from the cover of Vogue or such like. She is a very beautiful woman. So the invite to lunch from one of Jenny’s golf friends, well it was unexpected. I didn’t absolutely buy the advice on her Rottweiler motive, just because I trained dogs as a hobby. Loki was pretty much sussed. She didn’t need help with the dog.

‘Do you need another drink?’ she asked. She looked tense as though this was the lead up to something.

I shook my head. The woman was unbelievably good looking. Guys were looking at me and wondering how I had pulled this bird. She pulled up the sleeves of her light summer jacket, preparing to try the lobster. She was wearing a Cartier Francaise, exactly like Jenny’s. I noticed it. It wasn’t worth a remark. Just good taste, they both had good taste.

‘Mark…. I have to tell you something….’ she began. Her eyes were all over the place. It was like she was expecting an argument.

‘There’s not much wrong with Loki’ I said. May be I wanted to head off the angst thing. What is it with people these days? They’re neurotic, not the damned dogs.

‘Loki…’ she shook her pretty head, this wasn’t working as she’d imagined it, ‘no….look, Jenny and I are seeing one another.’  She shot me a look as though this was meant to explain all. It was as if an honest explanation was just too vulgar.

I sipped the white wine. I hadn’t comprehended.

She sighed, dabbed the napkin to her lips and looked as though she was readying herself to bolt.

‘Jenny and I are lovers’ she said as calmly as she knew how.

I didn’t drop the glass. I didn’t chuck the wine in her face. I remember my jaw suddenly tightening and I looked out at the canal. A guy with a fishing rod was ambling past. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that Camille was gay, a lesbian. I was fucking well sure that I didn’t know that Jenny was gay.

‘Jenny gave me this’ she said, showing me her watch which she wore in an affected way, the face beneath her wrist. It was like that symbolised her sneakiness.

I stared at her like an oaf. You can’t imagine what sort of shock that was! An affair, but with another woman! What the fuck did that say about me? I remember that my heart was racing. I remember that there was chatter all around us and feeling that I had been ambushed. I’d be taken out here to receive the news because a scene would then be more difficult.

‘We’ve been seeing each other for five months. We love one another and will live together’ she said firmly, metaphorically girding up the loins.

I continued my stare. I was frankly…well.. I was dumbfounded.

‘You’re meant to say something…’ she said, ‘without shouting.’

I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know she was bi sexual. Presumably that was what this meant. My wife was attracted to women as men. Otherwise, ten years…ten years of a fucking sham!

‘I want you out of the house, its Jenny’s anyway. If you will go quietly there is a flat that I own in town. You can have it rent free for a year whilst you sort yourself out.’

I stared at her still. Miss butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth. Miss prim and fashionable. She was dressed immaculately in the designer white jeans, the crisp white silk blouse and that cream summer jacket. Se had driven me out to lunch in her Maserati.

‘I don’t believe you’ I whispered. I couldn’t believe her. I didn’t want to believe her. She reached into her designer handbag and took out her phone. She flicked through some pictures and then showed me. It was a nightclub some place and Jenny and she were necking. Kissing, that way.

‘If you make a nuisance of yourself with Jenny, I have a lawyer who will ensure that you were kept at a distance before your eyelids blinked’ she warned. Her eyes were slate blue and beneath her blonde fringe, they looked like rock then. Unyielding they followed every flicker or alarm, shock, disbelief on my face.

‘You’re a nice man Mark, a gentle and a thoughtful man. You have the dignity to withdraw quietly…’ Camille whispered. Her hand touched mine. her nails were manicured an immaculate baby pink. I imagined the they had been between Jenny’s legs. What did lesbians do? What had I done wrong? Why the fuck wasn’t I enough?!

‘Don’t blame Jenny…I seduced Jenny, it was I that did the wanting…I know its hard that…’

‘That you’re a dyke who fucking came on to Jenny!’ I hissed.

Her eyes narrowed. If it had to be rough and uncivilised, then so be it.

‘Men don’t have a right to women Mark. Jenny chooses, all women choose. Men pursue, women pursue, that is what the world is like.’

My hands were shaking. I had to put the wine glass down. I imagined her with the dirty great Rotweiller moving into our place. No going back there for a chat then!

‘OK!’ I said. All you can do is play for time. All you can do is wait to talk to your wife.

‘You’ve lost…I want to find ways to help you cope with that. But you have to accept that Jenny isn’t sharing. I won’t share her with you. You have to go.’ Her hand stroked mine. It was like she was a grief counsellor or something. She was so fucking pretty. Her phone rang, she answered it, whispered, ‘I’ve told him, he’s coping, I’ll call you back. I love you.’

‘Why?’ I asked. I think that my mouth hung open. I’m sure that I looked like an idiot.

‘Because she compared you with me’ she said calmly, blinking. May be that was how this always worked. Brutal honestly pushed through the shock. ‘I’ve got more to offer her. We have lots to share. There are friends…some of your past friends…good friends, they know.’

My mouth must have been quivering. I put the cutlery down, it was impossible to eat.

‘Perhaps we should go now, we can talk in the car. I’m going to drive you to a hotel where I’ve made a reservation for you’ she said calmly.

I don’t hit women. I couldn’t hit a woman. I just gawped at her. She gestured to the manager,

‘Jean Claude, please put this meal on my account. We have to leave a little early’ she said airily as if this was but a little difficulty. Jean Claude smiled and nodded like he was used to fawning up to the bitch. I watched her rise from the table and feeling like an automaton I followed her. She sashayed towards the Maserati in front of me. Her hips moved back and forth. It was a fucking arrogant, nasty job done now walk. She looked such a haughty young bitch. What was she, 28 against Jenny’s 35. I watched her mesmerised.

I must have been on auto pilot, I actually got the car door for her. She slipped in and seated herself. I went around to the other side and started to seat myself.

‘Are you going to be calm and discuss things nicely? Otherwise you can walk to the hotel, I’ll give you the details’ she said firmly.

My heart sank. I was still in shock. The bloody pub reeled around and around me. Swans were fighting on the canal.

‘It’s your show’ I said lamely and was allowed in the car. The door went ‘clunk’ in that expensive way.

Camille drove aggressively. I imagined that she did sex much the same way. I wasn’t daft enough to imagine that lesbian women aped heterosexual relationships, one dominant and one submissive. Relationships were way more varied than that. But if anyone did the ‘fucking’ I guessed that it was Camille.

‘Breathe deeper’ she said, adjusting the air con. I must have been hyperventilating. I must have been staring like a rabbit in headlights. ‘It starts with sex and with gay women, it will always be about sex Mark. I’ve made Jenny need me and the space for you just ran out. Gay women, do better sex.’ We drove through some villages at break neck speed. Had there been a cop he’d have stopped her, she’s have simpered and we’d have driven on.

‘You’re beautiful’ I admitted, still numb in my head.

She glanced at me, checking for sarcasm, irony, something. There was none.

‘Women are beautiful, more beautiful than men. It’s just how it is’ she assured me, taking the Maserati through an S bend, the exhaust rumbling.

‘Yes’ I said mechanically and looked at her. She shifted down the air con again, her manicured fingers against the leather interior.

My response must have surprised her, but I didn’t feel I had a leg to stand on. Jenny did own the house. That kiss between them had some volumes. Camille was so pretty. I was lost, lost about how to deal with this save to go meekly along for now.

‘So…….you’re going to be nice about this then?’  she wondered.

How can a woman that beautiful be that much of a bitch?

‘Yes’ I admitted.

The Maserati accelerated along a dual carriage way.  She passed other cars without a glance.

‘Will you tell your friends or shall we? It might be kinder, simpler if you said that you accept matters…’ I heard her silky voice tail away. A lake with trees on the far shore shot by.

‘ I won’t fight this, I’m not vindictive’ I said, unsure whether I could keep an promise forever though.

‘Say that you’ve become the bohemian’ she suggested, ‘bold it out with them. Say that you admire me, that you understand why I took over…’

The bitch sounded on some sort of victory trip.

‘Yes Camille’ I whispered and blinked at her. I must have looked mesmerised, completely brain fried.

‘Good’ she smiled sweetly and indicated left. We were making towards a hotel say ten miles from our home. She parked the car and led the way to the reception. I followed her again, staring. Is this how cattle go to the slaughter. Do they walk in a daze this way. Camille ‘sorted’ the receptionist just like she had Jean-Claude. It was so sophisticated, so assured, so just so. She would bring a case over later for me, once Jenny had put the things inside.

The room was a good one, Camille stepping inside to check it first. She had a letter for me from Jenny, explaining that I had to accept things. It would be silly to make a fuss. Camille stood above me, as I sat on the bed and read it. Jenny’s hand writing. Jenny’s sweeping script, devastating script. There was something about sexuality changing, no one was a constant or type. My eyes watered so I couldn’t read it properly. Camille held out a handkerchief but I kissed her hand instead.I kissed the cocktail ring on her finger.

‘It’s OK…you may….just as long as you are humble’ she whispered. She turned her hand over so that I started to kiss the palm of her hand. It was like I was being fed. I can’t explain to you why I did it, save perhaps that I was begging. I was begging to be allowed, to be left something.

She blinked softly. My submission was a surprise. It must have been a real surprise.

‘Lick’ she instructed.

I started to lick her palm. I licked it like a dog might, fucking Loki.

‘You’re going to have to accept this…’ she murmured, ‘ a lot more men will have to learn to accept this.’

‘Yes Camille’ I whispered.

I sucked her fingers and she let me. It must have been sexy some way for her, some changing attitudes way in her head. She watched me curious at how delicately I licked her fingers. They had probably teased Jenny.

‘You’re beaten’ she said, as if not quite believing the reaction that I gave.

‘Yes’ I agreed.

‘Jenny is mine, you will never again go to her bed’ she said, reciting a check that I suppose that she thought she might have to snarl at me some stage.

‘Yes Camille’ I surrendered, my head down then.

She checked her watch. It would soon be time to drive home to Jenny and to share the news. It would soon be time to make love with Jenny. There was ten minutes, just ten minutes.

I watched her peel down her immaculate white jeans to just above her knees. She wore a tiny white thong. I watched her turn and lean forward against the chest of drawers immediately beside the bed. She waited, her rear pushed towards my face. She waited and checked her watch again. Now, or off to that flat for good Mark. Some things you can read on a fucking petulant face.

I knelt. I knelt and kissed the cheeks of her buttocks.

She moved her legs as far apart as the jeans would allow now and with her perfectly manicured fingers she teased her buttocks open, showing me her perfectly puckered botty hole. She glanced back at me, no more than that. I started to lick around and around and around her rim. I licked as delicately as I could, watching her botty hole tighten in little rhythmic bursts of pleasure. As I inhaled I could smell her, warm, soft, fecund, powerful and arrogant. Even though you shouldn’t be able to smell attitude, I could then! Another round of tantalising teasing touches with my tongue.

‘Good boy’ she mewed, her face creasing with pleasure.

Thank God! I nodded and eyed her bottom again. She was so arrogant, so aloof, licking her was an urge. I hoped, I hoped too….it meant not living in a flat either.