Do you see what I mean about timing? A few weeks earlier would have been good. Never would have been even better.

At that time in my life, there was no ‘Eddy’ to pick up the pieces. My life was, almost literally, shattered. By now, I had begun to persuade myself that I was in love. I’d lingered in front of jewellers’ windows picking out the rings, practised my new married woman’s signature and even splashed out on Bride magazine. Now was not the most tactful time to tell me that he was getting married. To someone else. And this was the first that I was hearing of her existence. But so much was suddenly becoming clear: the furtive couplings in hidden work spaces that I had imbued with so much excitement. I guess he couldn’t really invite me home! (Well, actually, he could. But that’s a story for later.)

‘Gee! Well, let me see. I’ll have to check my diary for that day.’

I tried to smile as some instinct that surprised me whispered that I needed to play it cool. At that very moment, a dark cloud covered the golden sun and I shivered, goosebumps rising on my bare skin. Ollie leaned towards me as if to wrap his arms around me, but I reached for my shawl and huddled into it instead. I could sense tears pooling to my eyes and I turned away, sharing a coded, voiceless plea with my friend, Amanda. She immediately understood that something was so very, very wrong.

‘I need to get some fags,’ she said, secreting a half-filled pack into her bag. ‘You coming with me, Jade?’

I didn’t look at Ollie as Amanda tugged at my hand, pulling me to my feet and away from the picture-postcard-perfect scene. I abandoned bag, hat and shoes and as soon as we reached the shelter of a centuries-old weeping willow that overlooked the lake. Tears spilled over. Amanda didn’t ask, just held me and waited until the lump in my throat softened enough to allow me to speak.

‘Ollie’s getting married.’

‘Oh… holy shit!’

And I could tell from something in tone of her voice and the slight hesitation that this wasn’t, ‘Holy shit, how could he do that?’ More, ‘Holy shit, I thought you knew!’

So everyone knew?

‘We though you knew.’

‘But how could you believe that I’d ever…’ I blushed as red as my skin colouring would allow.

‘Don’t say that you were a…’ A virgin? Amanda looked horrified. ‘Oh, Jade. I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t realise. That bastard.’

I struggled on with life for the next weeks, hardly daring to look my colleagues in the eye, trying to seem as nonchalant as my seventeen years would allow when I had to encounter The Bastard. And inside, I was disappearing fast, becoming invisible even to myself, shrinking into nothingness without him. And still, still, wanting to feel him inside me sooooo badly. I hated myself almost as much as I hated him.

It came almost as a relief to leave and to not risk seeing him day after day. Even then, I hardly slept, tossing feverishly each night skin sensitised to his imagined touch and each day I flicked through Bride magazine, scoring the pages with an enraged biro.

I almost forced Amanda to accept her invitation to the big day. Some masochistic streak in me wanted to be tortured by the minutest detail of the event. I wanted to be able to picture her, to see the triumph in her gaze. And Amanda obliged. I think, though, that something about the way in which I’d learned about Ollie’s deception sensitised her to every nuance of my emotions. So, before she handed over the photos, she reached for my hand with a gentle, apologetic touch.

‘You know, Jade… She looks so much like you.’

I fumbled with the plastic yellow envelope that covered the images, my fingers trembling. A film misted my eyes and it took a few moments for what Amanda meant to register. I focused. And then I couldn’t stop looking. I wanted to not know, to not see. Ollie’s new wife. High cheek bones, long lashes, dark hair and very smooth coffee skin. She was black and Amanda was right: she looked like a slightly older, more knowing, more careworn, more cynical – or was I just imagining that – me.

I wish I could tell you that that was the final straw. That this was the end of my relationship with Ollie. That I never saw him again. That I banished him from my life forever. I wish I could tell you that.

Jade Williams

Author of Body and Soul

11 June 2008

We went on holiday, my parents, younger sister and I. For fourteen days I swam as far out as I could in azure ocean only returning to the white sands when fatigue dulled my increasingly feeble struggles against the tide and heartache. The regular strokes of my arms delayed the need to think and the salt water diluted the many tears that I cried, hiding from the world.

Mum knew that something was wrong but didn’t pry, just provided the extra hugs and the space – if I wanted to share it. I rocked in the swing chair on the balcony at night, delaying the inevitable return to a feverish bed where I’d toss and turn all night. Dad would, I know, since I could sense his presence, stand at the glass doors checking to see that I was safe – just the way he had done for years. I wanted to creep into bed after my sister, Pearl, was asleep. I couldn’t bear to shatter her hopes, dreams and illusions.

Time to go home. I was a little soothed. Then I was met by a barrage of emails. The vast majority from Ollie. The first one had been sent on the night of his wedding.

I held out for three whole days and four nights, not wanting to know how his messages might touch me. It was, though, inevitable that I’d be unable to consign them to the recycle bin. In the sepia stillness, just before sunrise and after despairing of sleep, I tiptoed downstairs and booted the computer.

<My love,> the first one began. Huh? He’d just got married to someone else. This was my first love. The guy I’d lost my virginity too. A calculated choice. A half-stifled hollow laugh escaped my lips. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply and evenly for a few seconds, my head filled with a mixture of anger, resentment, curiosity and a desperate, aching glimmer of hope.

How would he explain? How could he possibly? For him, it was clear: he needed to make me see. He’d had no choice. Marriage had been the only option. She’d been a friend for so long. Needed to stay in the country. What else could he do? He missed me so terribly that he was in danger of losing his mind. And I still didn’t know her name. Couldn’t picture her.

Each day brought new, more frantic explanations, apologies, denials, regrets, should-haves, would-have, might-haves. The truth was that he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t… do whatever else I imagined that a newly-wed guy might do on his honeymoon! Please, please, please. He admitted that, at first, the attraction to me had been purely physical but you know, Jade, I can’t hide it from myself any longer – and it might seem odd that I’m saying this now, but, Jade, I think I’ve fallen in love with you…

That's all it took. But I had to agree with him on one thing: his timing was way off. This wasn’t the ideal time to come to such a momentous realisation.

You know, a very strange thing happened as I read Ollie’s latest message. I smiled slowly to myself and then the tears came again. They say be careful what you wish for and that’s a lesson that I keep in mind now that I’m at a very different crossroad with Eddy. Yes, I’d prayed for God to strike her down, for him to realise what he was missing, for him to come to his senses The sleepless nights had only been bearable because of this thin hope as I tormented my mind and flesh with the recollection of his touch on my hyper-sensitised skin, lips lingering on the pleading, vulnerable curve of my breasts, wet tongue flickering against the hard points of my nipples, slick fingers strumming the rise of my clit, leading me relentlessly to unbearable heights and depths. And the smile as I read Ollie’s increasingly desperate pleading was one of tremendous sorrow – but shaded with a glimmer of hope and the teeniest nucleus – and I can admit it now – of a feeling of triumph.

I jumped, startled by the sound of footsteps as the room flooded with light. Mum stood in the doorway, an expression of deep concern etching lines into her face.

‘Jade?’ And so much, unsaid, rested in that question.

I walked towards her, steps lighter than they had been for weeks and I produced a genuine smile.

‘I’m fine, Mum. Honestly.’

She stroked my face, smoothing the dark hair away from my forehead and staring her deepest worries into my soul. Reassured, she held me for a while, rocking me gently in her arms.

‘Yes. I think you will be, child.’ She pulled away, patting my arm gently before she trudged a weary path back to bed.

I turned back to the monitor and read Ollie’s last email again. Before I could think too much, I typed a rapid message, nervous fingers skittering across the keys.

<Okay, I’ll meet you. Tomorrow at 6.00. Usual place.>

I felt sick with dread, made even more tense by the need to hide from parents and sister that I was nervous.

I couldn’t have explained, back then, why I’d agree to this meeting and what I wanted from Ollie. I probably would have half-joked that I longed for him to tell me that this had all been an elaborate hoax: of course he hadn’t just got married! How could he when he loved me so passionately and wanted no one else? My friend, Amanda, described my emotions as ‘withdrawal symptoms’!

To tell the truth, I desperately longed for Ollie to do exactly what he ended up doing when we met.

Severely tailored jacket hiding the optimistically sexy underwear, high heels camouflaging the fragility of the tiny inner me, carefully painted make-up shielding the ravages of recent weeks, I arrived late and practised a nonchalant smile before I pushed open the pub door.

Time receded and the pain sharpened as I instantly located Ollie at our usual table. Hair so much blonder, bleached by honeymoon sun, skin darkened to a shade that suited him well. Same old lazy, sensuous smile as he looked up at me. But there was also – was this rehearsed? Because it was the killer – a flicker of pleading, a loss of confidence as he stood and tentatively shifted towards me.

My rigidity, a slight recoiling, took me by surprise and I shrugged it aside, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. You see, even then, my physical needs had taken control and my body was telling me that somewhere, locked away – not so securely – deep down inside, I still desired this sun-kissed, lying, cheating bastard.

Ollie was wise enough not to touch me. My expression must have warned him against it. But, in fact, had I felt the slightest glance of his fingers against my fleshed, I might have melted into him there and then.

‘I got you a lemonade. Thought it wouldn’t stain if you decided to throw it at me!’

I didn’t smile. Just sat down across from him and asked for a white wine.

Ollie knew that I never touched alcohol but didn’t let his surprise register. He just walked to the bar and as I watched the sway of his hips, I felt heat rise from the treacherous, forgiving place between my legs, upwards, prickling, burning, until my nipples stood out like unripe grapes on the vine. I tried to cover up but not before Ollie had noticed. The glint in his eye told me his thoughts and I felt a deep rage building.

An awkward silence that I didn’t seek to break. Sipping at the acidic liquid, I tried not to shudder as I twirled the stem of the glass round and round. The room was hot, crowded, smoky and loud yet it felt as if the two of us were isolated in an icy bubble.

He inched a hand forward until his fingers almost touched mine, the space between us portentous. The third-finger of his left hand revealed a tell-tale, untanned, naked strip where the wedding ring should be. Had he taken it off just for me? Why? It wasn't as if I didn't know. As if he hadn't invited me to the wedding.

‘Jade?’

No reply.

‘Please look at me... I know you must hate me, but…’

That was the problem. I didn’t hate Ollie. I was angry, yes. Hurt? Yes. I wanted him to feel the pain that I had felt. I could have tortured him in boiling oil. But I didn’t hate him. I was frightened. Frightened of the emotions that raged inside my head at just the sound of his voice, at being close to him. I was terrified of what my eyes might reveal to him.

‘I’m sorry, Jade. Honestly.’

I thought for a long while and then looked up at him. He must have sensed something that bolstered his courage because he leaned across the table and kissed me – at first tentatively and, as I opened up to him, his tongue probed further, harder, betraying every emotion that I tried to hide.

Before I could speak, Ollie had grabbed my hand and was leading me out the door. A pool of hot, molten lust began to bubble inside, tapping at the gates, pulsing at the opening of my vagina as every fibre of my body mourned the absence of him inside me.

Within what seemed like minutes, we’d found a hotel and Ollie had paid for a room. In the lift we grappled frantically, clawing at each other, scratching, mauling, biting. Marking territory. I wanted to brand him as mine. Ollie fumbled with the key and we stumbled into the room. He slammed me against the door, ripping at the flimsy fabric of my dress, groping for my breast and squeezing hard as hungry lips enclosed the point of my nipple and then bit down hard. Pain and pleasure forced a scream from my lips as I frantically unzipped him and released the steel girder of his cock from its confines. I didn’t want foreplay, didn’t need arousal but just to dispel the hurt and longing of those weeks, to avenge the anger. I pulled down my knickers, briefly flicking my thumb against my clit, wondering at the wetness that flowed. My own touch burned sharply and I writhed wantonly against him, standing on tiptoe, adjusting my hips so that my pussy lips clutched at him, holding him just there, eager to feel the fullness, but wanting to preserve this precise, exquisite moment.

Ollie’s tongue snaked along the curve of my shoulder burning a fiery trail and at the same time, he lifted me, shifted my hips a fraction and then, without warning, he pulled me down, simultaneously thrusting high and deep, impaling me against the wooden door before he began a harsh, uncompromising rhythm, back and forth, cruelly demanding. I punished him, too, holding back for as long as I could while secretly thrilling at each and every motion. I could hold on until that unpredictable moment when the typhoon began to circle, spiralling through every nerve ending, building, burning, destroying every thought, leaving only pure sensation. Pure, tantalising, rich, flowing sensation until a gigantic wave, a thunderous sheet of golden pleasure destroyed the dam I’d been trying to build and as his cock pounded back and forth, slick with my juices, reaching higher and higher within me, seeking the glorious spot that brooked no resistance.

A loud, piercing squeal and I came in a mist of unbearably sweet, liquid revenge.

I realised then that I hadn’t yet spoken a single word to Ollie. But I had taken what I wanted.

I hardly recognised myself. I had changed in those long week. I didn’t dare pause to find out if I liked the new me. (I know that Eddy might have pitied this new woman, might have done all he could to turn her from the course she was about to take, might even have managed to save her from herself. But he wouldn’t have liked her.)

In the coming months, I would demand much more from Ollie. And in the end, I got much, much more than I’d bargained for.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul



25 June 2008

My English teachers would have been astonished at the creativity with which I produced the most spontaneous fabrications. I amazed myself. The long-planned and saved-for gap year was abandoned since I felt that I wasn’t mature enough yet and, besides, there was so much for me to learn about life right here in London. Too right!

When I look back on the next months, I know now that I was intoxicated, caught up in a mad whirlwind of sensual delights. ‘Mad’ being the key word because I think that, for a long while, I was a little insane, thrown completely off balance by the surges of pleasure-brining hormones as Ollie worked his way through his own particular magical Kama Sutra.

Every sensation seemed new as he taught me how to please him – stroking here, a touch there, firmer pressure right here, quick butterfly flickering of my tongue right… Oh yes!… Right… Oh God!… THERE.

And he reciprocated. Licking, sucking, nibbling, caressing, each time building, building perching me on the edge of a dizzying, frightening precipice that could send me tumbling into a dark, deep abyss filled with the most terrifying heavenly pleasure. My body seemed eager to learn every lesson.

We talked only once of her.

‘I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I don’t love her. I want to be completely honest with you, Jade. Bea’s a great person. You’d like her.’

Nothing more than a raised eyebrow from me.

‘You would. Honestly!’ He laughed. ‘She’s like my best friend. But that’s all it is. I promise. I married Bea because she asked and she needed me to say yes. I couldn’t just abandon her, could I? Besides… there are tax benefits.’

I think I was meant to laugh.

‘But what about me?’ The colossal selfishness of a 17-year-old.

Ollie did what he always did best. As we lay together in the until-now-unnoticed shabbiness of another hotel room, his fingers softly teased the delicate flesh of my inner thing. Calculated, but seemingly nonchalant. I shivered a little. His touch firmer as he eased the weight of his body across mine so that every millimetre of our bodies seemed fused together. A fluttering of need pulsed slow in my belly and began to clench around my heart as I waited for what he would respond.

Ollie raised his head and looked into my eyes. I couldn’t look away, mesmerised by his gaze. He knew just how to hypnotise me, the regular circling of my hardening nipple a backdrop to the intensity in his eyes, the movement of bruised lips as he finally spoke. ‘Jade, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You know that I want only you.’

You might laugh, but that was all it took. I gave myself to him completely as he kissed me, tongue plunging deep as he took my hands and pinned them to the bed and slicked a trail of wet kisses under my chin, between my breasts, down my stomach and, like an arrow, to my already bruised and vulnerable clitoris. Sucking and nibbling, Ollie probed the wetness, moisture oozing from my pussy as the feel of him because almost unbearable and I tried to twist away. But he held me fast, now cupping my buttocks, raising me nearer to his lips as he attacked, faster, harder, leading me to the brink. And then he pulled away, lifted my hips and plunged his rigid swollen cock full into me, drilling as hard and as far as he could, the power of his physical strength all-consuming as he held me at that point, just there, until I could sense the rumbling of the storm, growling, threatening, building, sweeping everything aside until it broke with sweet devastation and I came over and over, the sweet aftershocks rippling, taking their time to subside.

There were tears in Ollie’s beautiful blue eyes.

So the pattern was set. Early-evening couplings in one of London’s many welcoming-as-long-as-you-could-pay hotels, the irresistible drug of sex luring me back each time.

And then, out of the blue, Ollie invited me to supper. At his flat.

I didn’t dress with special attention. I wore little make-up, not needing the defence. I got off the bus, carefree, and checked the directions I’d been given. It wasn’t until I stood in front of the rather grand Edwardian house with its neat front garden and wisteria-clad walls that a sixth sense whispered to me that maybe she wouldn’t be away – as I had assumed. I remembered Ollie’s words: You’d like her.

I shook my head, dismissing the thought, but my steps slowed. I finally forced my hand to ring the bell.

I relaxed as soon as I saw Ollie because he took me in his arms and kissed me like a starving man, fingers caressing the underside of my breasts, then encircling my waist, pulling me in to him so I could feel the urgency of his desire. I broke away, panting slightly and we almost ran up the stairs, laughing in our desperation.

He opened the door to the living room and I stopped cold. I’d seen her picture but I hadn’t understood how astonishing the reality was. Bea was on the sofa, sleek as a feline, elegant bare arm draped across the back, endlessly long gleaming legs stretched before her, crossed at the ankles, feet enclosed in the softest gold leather sandals. Her skin was a shade darker than mine, glossy hair longer, thicker, eyes shadowed by the longest, lushest lashes. She stood up as I appeared, unfolding herself gracefully, like a dancer. A glint of white teeth at a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘You must be Jade. I’m glad to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.’

What the hell was going on?

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul



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May 2008
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