‘I’ve heard so much about you, Jade!’

A very awkward silence as Ollie’s arm encircled my waist and he softly nuzzled my neck just beneath my ear, a gesture that he knew would normally send shivers of desire rippling along my skin. I shivered. But out of cold.

‘That’s your cue to say, “I’ve heard a lot about you, too – and all of it good!” ’ She laughed, but there was no warmth in the tone and a curious emptiness in her eyes. I wondered if she’d been drinking but the chilled dew-covered bottle of wine on the table in front of her was nearly full and it looked as if only a sip or two had been taken from her glass, just a barely-there smudge of bronze lipstick along the rim.

‘I’ve been wondering how much Oliver has told you about me.’ Oliver. It was as if she was talking about someone else.

I finally found my voice. ‘Not a lot,’ I managed to croak.

A delicately swooping eyebrow raised in mock – or maybe real – astonishment. She twisted the white-gold band on her left hand and I noticed that Ollie had stepped away from me. ‘Now that does surprise me. My husband… is normally much more forthcoming. Now it was Ollie’s turn to laugh. I didn’t get the joke.

‘Jade,’ they both chorused at once.

‘A drink?’ From Ollie.

‘Come and sit down.’ That from Bea, and she patted the cushion next to her. I had no choice. It was as if I was being reeled in to the centre of a sticky but irresistible web.

I sat next to her, goosebumps spring up along the length of both arms even though Bea was close enough for me to sense the heat emanating from her skin and take in the enticing, musky, sandalwood odour of the perfume she wore.

Ollie handed me a cold glass of wine and his fingers lingered, thumb sketching slow, lazy circles along my wrist. Then he sat opposite, easing back in the armchair, strong elegant fingers enclosing a tumbler of ambler liquid, swirling it around gently, reminding me of the ways in which he’d aroused my senses, while his eyes travelled languidly up and down my body. I’d never known Ollie to drink spirits before and he reminded me of a grand master in chess. He’d moved his pieces into position and was now considering what might happen next…

‘He’s right. You are lovely, you know. Oliver has described you in almost painful detail. I feel as if I know you so well already.’

I was feeling decidedly more uncomfortable with every word she spoke and I gulped greedily at the wine, praying for a bit more courage. I looked across at Ollie, hoping for some clue as to what was going on, but he only smiled benignly at me. I wondered if I was going a little crazy and had conjured up this weird situation. They were both behaving as if this was the most natural scenario in the world. Bea clearly knew that I’d been screwing her husband but it was as if this happened every day of the week. Maybe I should play along.

‘I wish I could say the same about you. So, tell me: how did you two meet?’ Not the safest of questions, but I couldn’t think of anything else.

‘Oh, through friends.’ She glanced at Ollie and they shared a smile as if this was some secret joke that only they understood. Bea reached for her glass and, as she leaned forward, the top button of her flimsy cotton top came undone. The causal movement revealed the deep golden swell of her breasts, a hint of the maroon lace bra that encased them. Was this accidental? Her breasts were full, ripe, larger than mine and I was momentarily transfixed by the sharp line of paler flesh that reminded me that these two had not long ago been on honeymoon. I imagined them together on smooth, glistening sand under a relentless sun. I looked away, fire rising to my cheeks. I couldn’t have told you whether what I felt was jealousy, guilt, embarrassment or desire. I might not have admitted it anyone then, but in the mix was a flicker of intense lust at the thought of this exquisitely beautiful woman entwined with Ollie and at the mere glimpse of her perfect tits moisture began to flow.

Bea shifted closer and my thigh thrilled against hers. ‘I know all about how you and Oliver met.’ Her fingers brushed against the V of her blouse and she waited until she had my full, unresisting attention before releasing the next button. God! The temperature in the room was definitely soaring and I could sense Ollie shifting in his seat.

‘He told me, that first night, how hard he got as soon as he saw you.’ Bea reached across and rested a finger on my lips, tracing the contour. She leaned forward and her fingers encircled my neck, caressing softly over and over, hesitating a moment before brushing her lips softly against mine. I heard Ollie’s stifled gasp and a shaft of pure electricity shot through my body. I couldn’t pretend that this was anything other than unadulterated desire and I couldn’t hide it. But this was like nothing I had ever experience before with Ollie. There was an edge – a sharp, dangerous edge – to the sensations coursing through me. I couldn’t have vocalised it then, but I know now that I wanted to possess Bea, to overwhelm her, to see her succumb to the violence of the emotion that she was evoking in me.

‘Oliver wanted to have you right from the start.’ She was whispering in my ear now, nuzzling, blowing gently, tongue probing, teeth nipping. I couldn’t help moaning but sucked in air as two finger tiptoed around my waist and walked their way to my hopeful breasts. She cupped and weighted for a few delicious seconds and then rubbed hard, the heel of her palms bruising my nipples. My legs unconsciously parted and my hand fell instinctively into my lap. Bea lifted my T-shirt and bent to enclose a nipple in her hot mouth. Tongue lapped back and forth, curiously languid, hypnotic. I followed the rhythm, softly caressing between my thighs as delicious honey started to flow. I was slipping, sliding, gliding, falling, tumbling head first into drugged ecstasy.

I looked down at the oddly innocent nape of Bea’s neck. At the outskirts of my vision I could sense – or imagine – Ollie unzipping his jeans, realising his dick, stroking, stroking, stroking… But I couldn’t concentrated on him, only on my body’s need for Bea’s touch. Bea… my lover’s wife… his friend… his… what exactly?

And suddenly I felt it. One single burning drop. And Bea pulled away, not looking at me, but her eyes glistening and fiery as she stared for a while at Ollie.

Then: ‘I can’t do it, Oliver.’ A soft Caribbean lilt that I recognised deep down magically appearing. ‘This time, it’s different, isn’t it?’

Bea ran from the room and her sobs echoed, bouncing cruelly between the walls.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul

9 July 2008

Call me dumb. Call me selfish. Call me totally and utterly obsessed with sex and the wave after wave of new sensation that had fizzed just beneath my skin every time he looked at me over the past few month, but this was the very first time that I allowed the knowledge that what I was doing was plain wrong to permeate the distant corners of my conscience.

Of course, I must have known somewhere along the line that Ollie’s explanations about his ‘sham’ marriage of convenience couldn’t possibly be true. I’d seen the wedding pictures, understood the beauty and sensuality that oozed from every pore of her skin. It just wasn’t possible that Ollie would have been able to stay aloof from whatever delights she had to offer.

It wasn’t even the ‘this time’, echoing in my dreams, that got to me. Not even Bea’s tears – I was still too self-absorbed to be really touched, deep down, by that. It was probably the way that Ollie still sat, legs akimbo, penis still erect, red and raging as he caressed it with total concentration, a softly cruel smile on his lips as the ringmaster waited to see what his pliable puppet might do next.

I stood, looked around for my jacket but couldn’t locate it. Tough; the night was still warm and I’d have to do without it. I picked up my bag and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

As I descended the stairs, a mingling of sounds disturbed the usual murmur of London traffic: muffled but unmistakable sobbing cross-fading into the triumphant gasps of Ollie’s orgasm.

I wasn’t really surprised. I guess I’d sensed something manipulative and self-centred about Ollie but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it – too absorbed in attaining my own pleasure. I’d love to be able to tell you that there in his overheated living room was the last time that I saw Ollie, but my life couldn’t possibly be that simple.

Several weeks of intense mourning following, pining for the innocence that I’d so readily discarded, that I’d so longed to shed and that, in all honesty, I’d helped Ollie to abuse. I might blame him for the lies and deception, but I’d been an eager, avaricious accomplice. I cried some. Moped a lot. Lost a great deal of weight and probably caused my parents extra grey hairs. But I survived on rejecting Ollie’s calls, deleting text messages and unread emails. I didn’t want to hear his explanations and excuses fearing that he might, for once, actually decided to tell the truth.

So when the time finally arrived for me to leave London, to travel northwards to university, I had emerged enough from my self-imposed prison sentence to utter a few silent words of gratitude to Ollie. I was setting out towards a new phase in my life, towards new experiences with the somehow comforting thought that I was a lot older than I had been just a few months earlier. I wasn’t as green as I might have been. I looked at life with an eye that was perhaps more jaundiced than would have been ideal, but I’d toughened up. No one was ever going to take advantage of me again. I’d come through my ordeal ‘scathed’ but not crushed. There was a steely glint in my eye and iron in my soul. Men had better beware. And I was certainly never going to sleep with one again!

My newfound resolve held. Until I met Adam.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul

16 July 2008

For all my desperate need to be independent and to be treated like an adult, the experience with Ollie and the knowledge that I’d messed up meant that this salutary episode in my development had to remain hidden from my parents. As for my sister, Amber, what point would there have been in disillusioning her so young? I’m not even sure that she would have believed me; she’d have to learn in her own way.

So in the days before I left for Uni, Dad fussed, hovering around me like a protective King penguin, keen to nudge be back towards the nest, but knowing that he’d have to allow me to take flight. Mum surprised me – she probably suspected the truth – by staying calm and practical and constantly reminding my father that his little girl was ‘a young woman now’. Amber just delighted in trying on, discarding or setting to one side the clothes that I was forced to leave behind.

I felt a little lost as I waved them goodbye after Dad had driven me to the campus and settled me into my room. Listening to the bustle of activity along the corridor, I also experienced a temporary feeling of regret, a profound sense of mourning for lost innocence. It was as if I were a thousand years older than the other new students around me. I lay down on the narrow single bed, hauled the duvet that still smelled of home over my head and fell into a deep and oddly dreamless sleep.

During Freshers’ week, I studiously avoided all the fairs designed, it seemed, to lure us into secretive cabals. I attended lectures, met fellow students and avoided eye contact with any of the guys. They all seemed so young, spotty, green and desperate. Ollie had definitely spoiled them for me. By the second week, I’d settled into my protective shell consisting of lectures, library, home, eat, read, bed. That was exactly how I planned to spend the next three years. And then Adam forced his way into my life.

I occasionally see Adam on television these days. Probably not instantly recognisable – more than a few extra pounds, a little jowly, prematurely grey at the temples. But he’s exactly where he’d promised to be: in the House of Commons, though not representing the party that I would have expected. His voice, though, still has to power to reverberate deep inside and to evoke suppressed memories.

I’d given in to the badgering of girls along the corridor and endured the humiliating experience of auditioning for a play, knowing that I had no desire to act, dance or sing in public – and lacked the talent. I ended up, though, helping out the sound technicians on the production. I had one button to press at a crucial moment and had to endure the director’s fury at my third miscue.

‘What the fuck is going on? Who’s the cretinous peabrain who can’t even…'

Everyone shrank back faced with the onslaught of his anger. I managed to stand, knees trembling.

‘That cretinous peabrain would be me.’ I put my hand up, just like I’d done sitting behind Robert McGregor in Year 2 at primary school.

‘Well, don’t just stand there like some premature foetus, why can’t you—‘

His eyes finally met mine and in spite of the disdain on his face, I knew that I was looking at the most beautiful human being, female or male, that I had ever seen in my whole life. Imagine Lord Byron painted by Rosetti. Full, thick, dark hair – a little too long – full lips that almost pouted, olive skin and deep, sad almost black eyes with the longest, blackest lashes that should be a crime on a guy.

Adam stopped, his anger spent and I knew that I surprised him, just as he had me, and for a number of reasons: he hadn’t expected a woman. And certainly not a black woman. And probably not one who, like a complete idiot, couldn’t even stammer out a defence. I could sense Adam’s eyes travelling the length of my body and I instantly froze. Shit. This was exactly what I’d been avoiding: I was in no mood to be treated either like an imbecile or like a piece of meat. When his eyes finally returned to mine, I grabbed my jacket and walked out, closing the door carefully behind me.

Seconds later, the soft pad of rapid footsteps, a hand on my shoulder that swivelled me round. Adam, in the dim light of the corridor, was even more enraged than before. The sparks flying might have burned.

‘Don’t you dare walk out on a production like that. There’s a whole team of people now hanging around while I chase after some wimp of a girl who can’t even take a telling off when she’s—‘

‘It’s not that.’ We were glaring at each other and I stood legs planted firmly apart, hands on hips, months’ of suppressed rage building, building…

‘Then what the hell is it?’

‘The way you… you…’ Frustration and anger were making me uncharacteristically inarticulate.

‘I what? What the fuck did I do?’

‘The way you looked at me.’

Adam smiled a smile that lit up his face, transforming brooding, menacing good looks. He might have been a toddler tasting ice cream for the very first time.

He held up both hands, palms forward in a gesture of surrender.

‘Guilty as charge. You caught me out. And I apologise but… What’s your name, anyway?’

‘Jade.’

‘I’m Adam.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ The old polite ingrained lie sprang to my lips and I held out my hand.

He took it in a warm, firm grip.

‘Very pleased to meet you, too, Jade.’ He was laughing at me now. ‘I’m really sorry but you really are the most stunning woman I’ve ever met. Forgive me if I can’t stop staring.’

Adam lifted my hand to his lips, turned it and kissed the palm.

Could I resist?

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul


23 July 2008

By mid term, it seemed as if every woman in the city had concluded that Adam, in his second year, was the hottest thing around. They uttered his name with a peculiar shade of awe and I, by association, was tinged with a corresponding glow.

You see, Adam made it perfectly clear that he wanted me and he didn’t seem to care who knew. I insisted, particularly when accosted by total strangers, that I was not interested. There was a part of me that was still frozen, yet to recover from the pain and distress of Ollie. Another part was scared to take a leap and yet another tiny segment seethed with rage and wanted revenge. A secret, hidden, tiny repressed part of me longed for… Well, I buried that part somewhere deep and untouchable.

Adam intended to batter down my resistance with roses, champagne, chocolates, poetry and the most lavish of compliments. It seemed as if he’d enlisted the support of all my friends who urged me to give him a chance, each somehow offended by the coldness of my heart.

After the final performance of the play – and I’d hit my cue perfectly for the very first time – I slipped away quietly from the after-show part, tired, still slightly exhilarated and happy with my own company.

I heard soft rapid footsteps and, in a repeat performance of our first meeting, Adam was by my side. I glanced at him, momentary irritation giving way to amusement at the mock-tragic expression on his face.

‘Shouldn’t you be at your own party, Adam?’

‘Party? What party if you’re not there?’ He took my hand, halting my progress and knelt on the damp pavement in front of me. ‘Life itself is meaningless without you, Jade.’

I laughed. Adam laughed. And something about is dark, stupendous good looks combined with his ability to laugh with me, at himself, melted my resolve and set free a tiny atom of that part that I’d tried to bury called lust.

Adam must have recognised something in my face because he stood, kissed me fleetingly on the lips and tugged at my hand until we both started to run, frantically, to his rooms.

Behind a half-closed bedroom door, Adam finally kissed me properly, tongue probing deep as we both fumbled with buttons, belts, laces and zips while striving to not lose the touch of skin upon skin. We collapsed onto the bed as Adam fumbled for the lamp switch.

‘Leave it. Look, you can see the stars through the window.’

‘Fuck the stars. I want to see you. Jesus, you’re incredible, Jade.’

And for a moment, I believed him. Adam found the switch and a soft light flooded the room. I felt virginally self-conscious as he stopped all movement and his eyes swept the length of my body, widening as they swept up, along and around each curve, lingering at the swell of my breasts. A small nucleus of hope and longing began to unfurl at the wonderment in his gaze.

Tentative fingers trailed across my skin, moulding the contours of my breast and he bent lower, full lips enclosing my nipple, igniting a long-suppressed flame. Then Adam crouched down above me, caressing, cradling flesh as if I were the most precious, delicate prize that he could ever have dreamed of. His eyes seemed to glisten. I tried not to make the inevitable comparison. Adam: so much younger, leaner, stronger. Dark, luxurious hair that fell now across his brows. The deepest eyes that threatened to drown you. Strongly muscled arms that could crush and a hypnotic, self-aware beauty that might overwhelm.

I reached for him then, sliding down to enclose his thick, burgeoning penis in two hands, thumbs delicately tracing the swollen mushroom of a head, then cupping the soft warmth of his balls, smiling a little to myself as they tightened between my fingers. Adam groaned, neck sinews taut. I slithered down the bed and took him between soft lips, tongue gliding gently around the rim – as I’d been taught to do.

‘No. No. Not now.’

I ignored him and made my tongue hard, like a sword. I stabbed at him and then flicked back and forth, back and forth, delving into the most sensitive crevice, then swirling softly round and round, now tender, now relentless. Adam tried to pull away, but I held fast, fist now slick, pumping rhythmically.

‘What are you doing, Jade? I don’t want to—’ His breath caught, choking off words.

I held Adam’s gaze, squeezing, releasing, building the rhythm. I knew what I wanted – and what I didn’t want. Not now.

‘Please don’t. Please. Pleeeeeeease…’

I took my cue and pumped faster, clenched tighter and drew him into my mouth. I sensed Adam’s resistance and worked to overcome it as he had mine. Surrounding him with liquid warmth, swirling, enclosing, enveloping him in hot, silky smooth syrup… until the sudden spurting fizz of champagne.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul


30 July 2008

I glanced at Adam in the mirror as he swept a stray lock of black hair behind his ear. The gesture was so elegant. As I applied a slick of mascara to my lashes, I tried to concentrate on what I was doing but, in all honesty, Adam was mesmerisingly gorgeous and I allowed myself to be completely absorbed by him. The fact that he seemed to spend more time at the mirror than I didn’t really matter at the time.

In those days, I was one of a very small number of Black girls on the campus and it occasionally crossed my mind that Adam wanted me by his side because for him, I was a fashionable – if mildly scandalising – accessory. As he eyes met mine in the looking glass, his swollen lips tilted in an expression that might have had a hint of self-congratulation. He turned to me and gently cupped my breasts, enclosed in the black lace bustier that he’d chosen for me, the movement languid and instinctively, gently arousing in the post-coital glow. I leaned into him, moaning, against my will ready for more.

‘We can be late. Robin won’t mind.’ As his thumb circled and probed, I was slipping into a sultry haze as his hard body pressed against mine. The mention of his best friend, Robin, brought me to my senses. This was the first time that I’d be presented to the inner circle of Adam’s friends.

I swatted his hand away even although his dilated pupils and the sensation of his hot tongue along the curve of my neck from ear lobe to collar bone tested my resolve, reminding me of the long afternoon we’d spent together, avoiding lectures, exploring each other’s wants, needs and desires. Lust flickered as Adam continued to hold me close.

‘Let’s not go, Jade. We can stay here.’ His fingers eased inside the bra cup, the warmth of his touch setting alight a spark from groin to brain, sizzling in sharp, sweet ripples that threatened to burn out of control. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ Adam teased. He bent his head and licked at an erect nipple. ‘Honestly, Jade,’ he murmured, ‘We don’t need to go. You won't enjoy it. We'll have much more fun if we stay here.’

I could easily have succumbed right then, but something in his tone puzzled me. I lifted his head and looked into his eyes, but the underlying meaning was unreadable. Looking back, I wonder if Adam knew what was to happen that night. He must have seen the puzzlement in my eyes and tried to deflect my unspoken questions. I moaned as the gentlest touch found the silken skin between my thighs, thumbs circling in concentric circles, up and up, pressure increasing unbearably and a sigh of longing escaped my lips. Taking his cue, Adam knelt before me and his hot breath grazed my flesh, fluttering through welcoming, treacherous, pussy hair. I looked down at his bowed head, tempted to grab those dark curls and pull him to me, imprisoning him just there, within reach, forever. His lizard tongue flickered towards my pulsating clitoris, pebble hard now with want as he neared, tempting, teasing, poised to attack. A deep sizzle of electricity shot through me as moisture began to flow and I almost fell, faint with the emotion. Adam held my hips, tongue sliding up against inviting flesh. ‘Ah, ah, aaaaah,’ I gasped as his tongue, a spear now, thrust hard against me, probing, testing. I tried to push him away, needing to prolong the moment, a little scared of the power Adam now held over me, but he held fast, concentrating now on the most vulnerable spot, the bead of concentrated, explosive potential that now felt dangerously unpredictable.

‘Adam… Ooooh, babe, that’s so good… sooo good but…. Oh, there…. Yes, yes, yes… There.’

He pulled me closer, tongue relentless, powerful, punishing as he lapped, lapped, igniting the fuse and as I clawed at my own breasts, the tingling unbearable, squeezing hard at tender nipples, my whole body crying out for his touch, each erogenous spot needing his touch. And then he struck sucking flesh deep and hard while fingers plunged into hot slickness, stoking the flames edging me closer and closer to—

‘Eeeeeeh…. Eeeeeh…’ I screamed as the whole world and every atom of my body seemed to shatter into myriad crystal rainbows. I seemed to stop breathing for a moment, luxuriating in sensation, in the most intense, vibrant pleasure. My knees sagged and I fell to the floor, Adam holding me gently, almost tenderly, still stroking my sides, moulding the curve of my hips.

‘Better than a dinner party?’ he asked.

I smiled at him, then lifted a heavy wrist and glanced at my watch. ‘We can still make it.’

I wonder now what on earth made me say that.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul

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