The Architect (6 page)

Chapter Eight

Sitting on my soft beige sofa with a full belly of lasagne, I open up my laptop. The first thing I search for is ‘Kinky nights out in London.' The search engine gives me a list of shops, definitions, and clubs. Purely out of interest and research purposes, I open the link to a shop called ‘Dungeons and Hard Ons'. The first page that loads asks me to verify that I am over the age of 18. It has a background image of a cage, and a silhouette of a curvy woman standing with a whip. I validate and enter the site, protected by my computer's antivirus system. I'm so concerned over privacy on the internet and computers, I always think someone's going to hack my system somehow and be able to watch me over the built in webcam or something, which is why I stick a sticker over it when I'm not using it to talk with my sister.

The page loads and I'm surprised to see that it's tame and tasteful. Pictures of clothed women and men behind category names. I scroll through the departments and click on ‘Bondage', which takes me to another list. From there, I choose ‘Bondage Kits'.

As I navigate, there's nothing that I haven't seen or heard of before. Apart from a ball gag, which I have to say, I do not like the look of. Next, I choose another section in the ‘Bondage' group - ‘Nipple and Clit Toys'.

I am shocked as soon as the webpage starts to load; I see a picture of what looks like a microphone filter, with a hand pump attached to it. My face almost hits the screen as I move closer in disbelief. A clitoral pussy pump! I laugh out loud as I read what it does. Apparently it's meant to make your vagina hypersensitive and temporarily enlarge your lips and clit. I mean come on, even if it did make me super sensitive, there's no way I'm lying there pumping at something that shouldn't be pumped, just to get a bit more of a thrill. And what if it got stuck and I had to go to hospital? Now that would be a story to tell, wouldn't it? After you died of embarrassment, and swelling, of course.

Back on the search for a dirty night out, I decide to check out a club called Fantasia. I scrutinise the website. I click on every link, look at photos, and read reviews.
This could be a very kinky night out indeed.
All the user reviews state that they had great fun and felt safe the entire time, and almost one hundred percent of what I read says they would definitely go back again.

They also have an events calendar, naming Thursdays as ‘Go Crazy Gals,' for single ladies and every other Friday as ‘Fetish Night.' The club has three different areas; ‘The Dance Floor', ‘The Dungeons', and ‘Let Loose'. The Dance Floor is pretty much what it says on the tin, somewhere to dance and get a drink. The Dungeons are located in the basement under the dance floor, where people go to be flogged, tied, gagged, and all manner of other things, I suppose. And the Let Loose zone is to the right of the dance floor through a tall black door, where you basically walk into an orgy, from what I can tell. They word it much better on the website, but basically if you step foot over that threshold you're asking to get fucked by men and women alike.

I search some more until I realise it's 20:13, and past time for my chat with Sally. The very second I'm logged on to Skype, she's calling. I answer and see her curly blonde hair and chubby cheeks pop up on my screen.

“Well, hello. It's about time, you're late.” She wags her finger like a cross parent.

I bob my head. “Yes, yes I know, sorry.”

“I'll let you off, as it's a first.” She smiles. “So, how are things?”

“Things are really good, actually.” I grin ear to ear. “I've met a man, and I really-”

“Oh my God. Finally. What's he like? Where did you meet him? And has he got a big ding dong?” She laughs, and I join her.

“Well,” I tuck my feet underneath me, “he's really nice. He's gorgeous, he's tall, he's got brown hair, and a great bod.” I turn bashful. “He's really nice.”

I see her screen wobble as she gets comfy. “Where did you meet him?”

“I met him in a bar, and it just went from there, really.”

“And?”

“And what?”

She comes closer to the screen and whispers down her mic, “Has he got a big...” She moves back and wiggles her little finger at me.

I laugh. “Yes!” Then I change the subject. “How are you and Marcus?”

“Yes, we're fine, thank you, although my poor baby had to have his nails cut yesterday, and he didn't like it at all.”

The Labrador hears his name mentioned and suddenly I catch a glimpse of his black head as he lowers it to rest on her lap.

“Hello, Marcus,” I say in a baby voice.

Sally sticks her bottom lip out. “He's ignoring you, Auntie Ruth.”

I pout. “Why?”

“Because you haven't been to see us in a long, long time.”

“Aww.” I frown. “Well, I promise I will be up to see you soon. And you, Sal,” I add.

She scowls at me, and I return her facial expression before going on to ask about her love life. She's been on and off with this one guy, James, for as far back as I can remember. She ran away to Wales with him when she was eighteen, leaving me at home with Dad and the wicked stepmother, and she's been there ever since.

He's an all right guy, he just doesn't want the same things she does. He wants to watch EastEnders, she doesn't, he wants to have pork for Christmas dinner, she wants lamb. But the main fall out they have is over children. He wants kids, but she doesn't, yet, which I say is fair enough. At the end of the day, no matter how much she criticises him, I know she loves him. And no matter how many times she swears she'll never have him back, I know within two hours she'll be calling me telling me they've sorted their disagreement out and are going to give it another go. So now I just do what I quite frequently do to Liz, act like I'm listening to every word, and nod occasionally.

She tells me things are the same old with James, then moves on to a more upsetting subject.

“You know Dad's been dead two years at the end of this week?”

I look down at my keyboard. “Yes, I know.”

“Are you going to be doing anything? You know, like in remembrance?”

“I'm not sure.” I look back up to the webcam. “Are you?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. It's not like we can go to his grave or anything, is it? That bitch has got his ashes!”

I run my fingers through my hair. “I know. Try not to get too worked up about it, though. It doesn't matter where his remains are, Sal, he's not there anyway.”

I can tell she's getting carried away. She always breathes heavily when she's annoyed or about to burst into tears.

This time it's a mixture of both. She sniffs. “It's just so unfair, Ruth. She's an evil, cheating, back-stabbing-”

“Stop it, Sal. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm sorry.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve.

Trying to lighten the mood, I joke, “God, can't you get a tissue? Or at least use the dog's tail? It looks like snails slithered over your top now.” It works and she judders with laughter.

“Yes, ma'am.” She salutes and goes on to bore me about her job at a local farm shop, and how the fruit there is so much nicer, and how everything is so much cheaper. I know she wants me to move there, but there's no chance. I'm a city girl and that's that. There's no way I could live there. There are no shops for miles, no gas, or electricity, and I don't look that good in wellies. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating on the power supplies, but still, it's not my cup of tea.

We go on to natter for the best part of three hours, until I finally throw in the towel and take myself off to bed.

Spread out like a starfish in my lonely bed, I struggle to get to sleep as my conversation with Sally has opened up Pandora's Box. The memories of my childhood and my father's suicide all come screaming back to me at once. Visions of my stepmother telling me to leave, and images of my dad's dead body all inhabit my mind, until Heath and his presence takes over. His face breaks through like the sun on a dark cloudy day and banishes the unwanted thoughts as I slowly drift off to sleep, speculating on the experiences yet to come.

Chapter Nine

Tuesdays at work are the best days. The surgery shuts for a half day and I usually go and browse the shops; but not today. Today I am on a mission to find a proposal for Friday's night out.

After spending most of the day sneakily disinfecting things that sick people have touched, my shift ends, and I make my way home listening to eighties tunes and daydreaming about Heath.

Stepping inside, I hear the post shuffle along the wooden floor as I push open my front door. Looking down to examine whether it's bills or junk, I'm intrigued when I notice a black envelope. Picking it up and examining it, the front just has ‘Ruth Watson' written on it very neatly in silver ink.

Studying it with a puzzled face, I notice that there isn't a stamp, which makes me nervous. Shutting the front door and heading down the hall, my nose suddenly sends signals to my head, telling me I can smell Heath. Lifting the curious post to my nose, I take a good sniff. The musky scent fills my head and I sigh as I take a seat at my desert island. It's from Heath, it has to be. Why else would his fragrance be all over it?

I carefully unbind the sticky seal and pull out a piece of black card.

Ruth,

I request your company for a night of kink and fun.

The Place: Fantasia, Clover Road.

The Time: 9pm

The Attire: Something sexy.

RSVP to my number, and don't take too long about it, because I miss you.

H x

A thousand emotions rush through me all at once. Anger; how the hell does he know my address? Lust; he misses me. Apprehension; will we have sex at this club? Will we try The Dungeons and the Let Loose room? Curiosity; when did he post this? And how did we both come to be looking at this particular club?

I inhale the aftershave he must have sprayed on the card, and close my eyes as the aroma picks out memories of our times together.

I send him a text.

I received your invitation, thank you. When were you at my house and how did you know my address? X

His reply comes through within minutes.

G
ood. And what is your answer to my invite? H x

I consider my response.

I shall repeat. When were you at my house and how did you know my address? X

I posted it on my lunch break, and I watched you walk home the night I dropped you on the corner :/ H x

He watched me walk home. Why? That's quite sexy, but at the same time kind of freaky that he spied on me.

Why did you do that? X

His response this time is slower.

I wanted to make sure you got in all right. It was late and there was a group of boys across the road falling about drunk. What can I say? I'm a gentleman. Out of the bedroom at least ;) H x

I smile, but don't recall seeing anyone about that night, and to be honest, I can't even remember getting into bed, so I wouldn't have noticed if there was a circus rolling down the street, let alone a group of people.

I thank him for watching me home safe.

You're welcome. Now, you bad girl, I want an answer to my request by the end of Thursday. Okay? H x

I text back.

You will have a reply by then. X

Good, now go and be a bad girl, so you've got lots to tell me about on Friday ;) H x

I was going to reply with a yes, but I think I'll make him wait until late Thursday now, or maybe even Friday.

Retrieving my laptop from the front room, I search the club again. I immediately remember the ‘Fetish Fridays,' and check the calendar to see if this Friday is one.

It's not, and I'm half relieved because I know nothing about this stuff, and half disappointed because I'm curious to see what goes on. I then look for the dress code, eventually finding it under the FAQs. The dress code is smart casual unless it's a fetish night, where rubber, latex, and nudity are accepted.

I'm stunned as I read this.
Nudity, really
? I'm so glad it's not a fetish night. There's no way in hell I'm stripping down to my birthday suit in front of a load of strangers, or even worse, people who aren't strangers.

Reading through all the questions and answers, the conclusion is, you don't have to get naked, you don't have to have sex, you mustn't pester people, and pictures are prohibited. It sounds like fun, but I am twisting inside at the thought of actually going to a place like this and seeing it all around me.

Before I know it, it's dinner time and I'm satisfying my rumbling stomach with yesterday's leftover lasagne and a handful of mixed salad. Moseying back to my computer with plate in hand I position myself comfortably. Taking a fork mixed with pasta and leaves in one hand, I use the other to scroll down the homepage of the club to check I haven't missed any vital links or information.

There's one I missed. ‘Membership'.
Are they serious?
They want my full name, mobile number, address, email, and age. Starting to feel uneasy and less comfortable with this venue, I fix upon questioning Liz about it tomorrow as I shut the laptop down and finish off most of my dinner before settling down for the night with a book.

***

Sitting at work, I'm wishing for lunch time to hurry along so I can chat to Liz in private. I can't concentrate on the elderly man standing at the desk asking for his prescription, as my mind is in all sorts of wonderfully disgusting places. I finally manage to find his medicine on paper through the filth of my thoughts and hand it to him, to which he replies, “Take your time, why don't ya?”

My eyes widen, and I want to tell him to not be so rude, but instead I smile and help the next patient.

Lunch time comes, and like a kid waiting for playtime, I run to the staff room to catch Liz before she heads out for her one o'clock smoke.

“Jesus Christ, woman, you nearly knocked my teeth out,” she yells as I breeze through the door.

“Sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you went for a cigarette.”

She stands there with her mug in one hand and her cancer sticks in the other, waiting for me to say something. I poke my head out of the doorway to check none of the doctors or nurses are coming to make a drink. The coast is clear, so I come right out and say it. “Have you ever heard or ever been to Fantasia? The kinky club in town?”

She grins like the Cheshire Cat. “Of course I have. You don't think a dirty dog like me hasn't tried such a place, do you?”

Is she actually asking me that?
I avoid answering, and instead fire off more questions. “What's it like? I mean, is it respectable?”

She gives me an odd look. “Most people would say it wasn't, but that's only because they're prudes.” She slurps her brew. “Why do you ask?”

I lean against the doorframe and keep a look out. “I've been asked to go there this weekend.”

“By the dish you met last week?”

“Shh!” I frown. “Yes, with the dish I met last week.”

She lowers her volume. “Wow, a hunk with a dark side. You are a lucky girl.”

I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes. “Seriously, Liz, is it a seedy party for horny old men?”

She laughs. “No, it's nothing like that. The place is much respected in the swinging community, and the staff are very friendly and safety conscious.”

I scrunch my nose.

“Don't worry about it. Just go and have some fun, even if all you do is dance the night away.”

“What about the membership? Why do they need to know so much about you?” I ask before it slips my mind.

“I'm not sure why they need all that stuff. It's probably another security measure, but I've never had mail or phone calls from them, so I wouldn't worry about being bombarded with offers and stuff.”

I pull another face and let her go for her fix of nicotine while I make myself a coffee to take back to the desk.

She comes back to take her seat, stinking of stale smoke, and swivels to face me. “So, are you going?”

I shrug as I place my mug down. “I'm not sure.”

“Is it the idea of the club itself, or are you worried about giving your personal information out?”

“It's a bit of both, really. I definitely don't like the idea of giving my address and stuff out and-”

“Then make one up.”

That's not a bad idea, I never thought of that
. I nod at her suggestion and turn back to my computer.

Liz says no more on the subject, and I don't hear a peep from Heath until he and Liz simultaneously ask me if I'm going to go/come to the club. I tell Liz I'm still not a hundred per cent sure, and I text Heath back.

Can I be honest with you? X

You know you can. H x

I'm quite nervous about this whole thing. What is it exactly you want to do? X

Liz pipes up. “Are you texting him now?”

“Yes.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “And are you accepting his offer?”

“I think I will. I just want clarification that he doesn't want to get into a swingathon,” I joke.

My phone buzzes on my lap.

I'm nervous too, but I thought you would like it since you suggested a kinky night ;) And I thought we could just go as voyeurs and see what it's all about. H x

I smile at the thought of him being nervous.

Oh good, I was just a tad worried you might want to get involved, but being a peeping tom sounds good to me. X

“Ruth?” It's one of the doctors.
What does he want?
They never call me down the corridor.
Oh crap, what if he's seen me on my mobile?
Rummaging in the desk drawer, I hide my phone under some paperwork and go to get my arse chewed.

Turns out he just wants me to help him with one of the system updates for his computer, thank God.

Back in my chair, I reach for my phone. Four new messages, all from Heath.

So that's an acceptance? H x

I can't wait to see you again, you know. H x

I'll meet you inside around 9pm then? H x

And I'll be the guy in the black suit with a wide grin ;) H x

Dropping my phone into my bag, as paranoia about getting caught sets in, I assume he has taken my last text as a yes, and wait to answer when I have finished the daily grind.

The day drags, but finally home time arrives. I hurriedly make my way to my little KA to respond to Heath.

I can't wait to see you either. See you at 9 on Friday then. X

***

After dinner I rifle through my closet for something to wear for my date. I don't want to wear something too racy, but at the same time I don't want to be too conservative. Pulling out a little black number, which by rights should be covered in cobwebs because I haven't worn it in years, I try it on and it still fits nicely. It comes just above the knee, and is tight fitting, allowing my curves to softly make the hourglass figure.

After slipping out of my ancient man catcher, I take a shower and then jump into bed. Laying here stretched out on my double divan, I stare into the darkness, thinking about Friday night. My belly knots at the thought of walking in alone, and giving the club all my personal information.

Thinking back to what Liz said, and after a long debate with myself, I decide to give the club my real name, but not my real address. It won't be a complete lie; I'm just going to change the number, and who's ever going to find out?