Read Online Helena by Leo Barton - Free Book Online Page A

veiled words, my
deep need of you.
    So we talked
and talked, you giving me just enough of yourself to allow me to
give you what seemed all of me, even shamefully telling you about
being angry with my husband and his desire for children and my
reluctance to have them. How did you do that? What was the spell
you cast me under? You were a careful listening, choosing each
question deftly. I didn't even notice how you did it, your tone so
reassuring, your questioning delicate so my next utterance threaded
a natural progression from my last.
    You asked if I
would like another coffee and I said yes. But the moment you were
gone, a dark cloud passed over me; your presence again became
intimidating. I became frightened. I wondered then whether I should
just leave you there, cruel and crazy though it now seems, escape
from you, and all that your presence would bring to my life. You
see I knew that you had brought me back to the precipice. I was
looking down again at the chasm of my need, tempted as I had never
been tempted again, angry with myself, but no longer able to bear
the excitement. How I wanted you Freddie!
    I didn't
leave. I couldn't leave. You sat down beside me again, smiling as
you did so.
    "Helena, you
are so beautiful. I want you very much." It seemed so natural, none
of that English circumvention in your desire, the raw need hiding
behind a cornucopia of words, a flow of words washing over the hard
stone of lust. You liked me. You were attracted to me so you told
me.
    "Oh!" I said.
I was so English, couldn't reciprocate your frankness. You laughed.
You couldn't resist laughing at me. I laughed too, sensing how
ridiculous I must have sounded to your ears. You took me by the
hand, gently; your strong fingers stroked the centre of my
perspiring palm.
    I pulled my
hand away. I must admit I was a little affronted by your
directness.
    "I'm sorry,
Helena. I know I have no right to say anything to you." You smiled
again, your eyes searching me, this time for forgiveness. You'd won
me then. I would go with you wherever you wanted me to. I knew that
I would do anything that you wanted me to do. What was it like,
Freddie, to feel such power?
    "No, that's
okay, thank you for the compliment."
    "I want you
Helena. Come with me. I want to make love to you. Very much."
    Freddie, I was
so excited by you, by the sensation of your soft hands lightly
stroking mine, untensing my rigid palm with their delicate touch;
excited by the lustre of your eyes; by that velvet voice that
eroticised the most commonplace of English expressions.
    "Will you come
with me?" Again neither etching-viewing ensnaring, nor
circumvention. It made me shiver knowing that you wanted me,
knowing how easy it must have been to pick up women that you had
chosen.
    It was raw,
animalistic.
    I nervously
hesitated, my guilt always making its dull appearance at the
prospect of pleasure, especially illicit pleasure, as if I was
never meant to have it, my life having conditioned me to be
suspicious of physical delights.
    "Come with me,
Helena!" you intoned.
    "Where?"
    "Follow
me."
    You took my
hand and walked me along the narrow corridor and then to the
stairs, my knees almost momentarily buckling with excitement. We
walked past the security guard and out of the building. Trafalgar
Square shimmered before us in the crisp light of winter sunshine. I
was in a daze, bewildered by the presence of you beside me; you
clasped my hand firmly, encouragingly, in your own, scared perhaps
to let me go in case I ran away from you, ran back to my life of
compromise, of sluggish sex, of make-do and persevere.
    We climbed
down the steps, and at the bottom you turned to face me, your lips
on my mine, your tongue forcing my mouth open, delving inside. I
felt your hot breath, and for the first time the smell of your
skin, so individual, so arousing. Your hands clasped me to you, my
pliant flesh pressed against the hardness of your chest.
    "You're so
beautiful, Helena!" you said, pulling away from