Excerpt 12 from Nick Alexander’s gripping 13:55 Eastern Standard Time.
Jacques closes his eyes and concentrates, his hand resting on his dick. Partly out of guilt, and partly as a mental exercise, he tries to conjure up images of Véronique, but he sees her driving or in the kitchen, and that doesn’t really do it for him.
She’s only next door – he can hear her moving around – so he could just go and get her, could even just call out her name and she would come running, flattered and eager.
He tries, in his mind’s eye, to dirty her up a bit, to give her shiny lip-gloss and high heels, but she morphs into someone else entirely, a random image of the dirty-girl he never slept with. And that’s the problem, because, in truth, Jacques would rather have virtual reality sex with this figment of his imagination, than actual sex with his wife.
It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Véronique. She’s pretty, kind, clever. She’s an attractive enough woman. But Jacques’ sexuality revolves more around physical specifics than personality. High boots, for example. The girl in his mind’s eye totters into the bedroom wearing thigh high leather boots. A cliché Jacques knows, but what can he say? It does it. And glossy red lipstick. And big pert breasts. The girl is morphing into Véronique’s trashy friend Olivia. As usual.
He doesn’t know why these things turn him on this way, and wonders briefly, if somewhere in the world, some psychologist has explained why people get turned on by specifics – in his case, boots, silky blouses, breasts, lipstick…
So, no, he doesn’t know why these things make him hard – his dick is twitching and quivering now – but they do. Véronique knows about it all of course. And she disapproves. She thinks it’s all cheap and tacky. So does he, to tell the truth. And she thinks it’s to do with him being a sexist pig – wanting to turn her into a sex object, she says. She thinks he should be able to decide that what turns him on is Véronique in a dressing gown stroking his forehead and telling him she loves him. Véronique also wants more sex, better sex; but she wants it on her own terms. Shame. Because it doesn’t matter – sex-wise – how sweet Véronique is, or how much fun they have on holiday, or how much she loves him, because none of that makes his dick hard. Whereas Olivia, well!
So where’s the harm? Where’s the harm in living with Véronique and having virtual reality sex with Olivia in his head? Véronique would be mortified if she knew, but of course she never will. Unless he says her name in his sleep – he worries about that sometimes. But otherwise, well, what Véronique doesn’t know can’t hurt her, can it? And it’s not like he’s actually doing anything wrong, is it?
In a way, it is problematic, he realises. Because this is actually the first thing he ever decided to not tell Véronique about, and in some weird moral way, it feels like it probably is as bad as actually cheating on her. But as long as she doesn’t find out then the moral imperative of not hurting those one loves remains intact.
His hard-on is fading, so he spits on his hand and rubs a little harder, and wonders if the moral imperative thing applies to actual affairs too; if he had an actual affair with slutty Olivia, and Véronique didn’t know, could anyone really claim that he had hurt her?
Now there’s a fantasy!
Catch up | Part one Eight Million | Part two Ok Sticker | Part three 13:55 Eastern Standard Time | Part four Slipping through | Part five A bus in Berlin | Part six A Really Good Decision | Part seven Yanks and Paddies | part eight Frozen | part nine The slowlands | Part ten Caravan Of Hope | Part 11 Not Quite Unhappy