It was during the first week of October, on a cloudy and chilly evening, when he found himself in the foyer of a movie theatre, having a date with Adele Woodman, a girl with absolutely no interest in anything but sex – a truly great cocksucker and an uncomplicated fuck. A little smile tugged on his lips while he kept his eyes straight on the door of the ladies restroom, waiting for his little cocksucker to come out again.
"Father Callum was actually 68 years old. He was well-fed, very old-fashioned and most notably shot and killed on the morning you talked to me about my wedding night and tried to make me leave my fiancé."
Arthur flinched, looked to the left and couldn't help but smile. Maud Armstrong.
"After we learned about his death the following day I thought that you'd killed him." She stated and gave him a disapproving glance. "Andrew was very upset because I ... I discussed very intimate things with the man who'd killed Father Callum. And ... I nearly broke down, because of fear and panic. Retroactive, so to say.
"I didn't kill him. We found him dead," Arthur answered and she nodded: "I know. They arrested two young boys from Smethwick for murder with robbery. They've found a few silver goblets and the collection box of St. Peter in their homes."
She cocked her head and watched him with that prompting look she'd given him on this memorable morning in May.
"I've heard about it. So ... did my advices worked out?" He then asked and, after a last look to the still closed restroom door, turned around to face her. "Did you leave that old-fashioned fiancé of yours, this bloke who don't want his wife to feel lust and fulfill her duties with joy?"
"I ... I did. You ... I hate to say it but you were right." She made a face and Arthur felt a wave of relief pulsing through his body.
"I'm always right."
"I see," she said with a smile. "And by the way – what's the name of the man who's always right? It's not Father Callum, that's all I know."
"Arthur Shelby. Always at your service, Miss Armstrong." Arthur answered and gave her a broad smile.
She didn't answer for a few seconds, and Arthur took a deep breath, before he looked her in the eyes, returning her intensive gaze.
"I liked talking to you. Back then, in church." She stated, so low that he was forced to come a bit closer to be able to hear her. "I wish we could've talked longer."
"So do I," Arthur answered and the smile on her face seemed to lighten up his whole existence.
She was ... she must be a kind of witch, making him feel things he never felt before. Lighten up his whole existence – what kind of fucking bullshit was that, holy mother of god? But this was what he felt, what he thought. And he was hooked in an instant. The first contact with Maud's charm, back then in the middle aisle of St. Peter, got him hooked. The second contact, right know, made an addict of him. He fell under her spell and was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
White linen, raindrops on the windows, a fireplace radiating warmth and light, peace in his mind and his soul, his body next to hers, over hers, under hers, skin on skin. Nose to nose, chest to chest. Delicate fingers roaming over the freckles on his shoulders, pausing in the second he enters her, slowly, nice and easy.
"Arthur ...," she'd sigh and he'd sink deeper, until he'd be balls deep in the warmth and coziness that's incomparable with any other warmth in the world.
"'M here," he'd whisper, and exactly that he would be: There, with her, only the two of them, no room for the war, for Tommy, for Billy Kimber, the races, the whiskey, Tokyo, money, for blood, pain and misery.
Pull yourself together, goddammit, Arthur Shelby, he thought, pushed the pictures in his head aside, but not without memorizing them for later, for the darkness of his room. He tried to concentrate on the conversation, to come back to topic: "I guess you never finished this ... what do they call it?"
"Marriage preparatory course," Maud answered and nodded: "I didn't finish, no. Father Callum was dead and his imitation was vanished into thin air. Until today."
"I'm sorry," Arthur answered and cleared his throat: "Tomorrow, at five, Bellham's Teahouse at Chesham Lane? They serve the best malt bread in town."
"I'll be there," Maud answered. "Have a nice evening, Mr. Shelby."
"Thank you. You too. Will I see you after the movie?" He asked and nodded to the auditorium.
"Oh, I'm not here for the movies. I was on my way home when I spotted you through the window." She answered and pointed to the entrance.
"I see. Have a good way home then. I'm looking forward to tomorrow." Arthur answered and she gave him a last smile before she turned around and left.
He took a deep breath and looked to the restroom door, still no Adele in sight. Fuck. Whatever she did in there, he'd lost any interest in her. The lips he truly wanted on his cock weren't hers. Forget Adele, he told himself, and left the movie theatre without looking back. Adele would find another cock to suck.
The next day, he was as nervous as on the evening he'd lost his virginity to Anna McRae, a mousy girl from the neighborhood, barely able to look him in the eyes. It had been hasty and short and, looking retrospectively at this fugacious encounter, pretty embarrassing. He'd lasted about twenty seconds, before he shot his load into the condom he'd stolen out of the nightstand of his father. He hadn't cared about Anna's pleasure for a single second, he hadn't even known that women are absolutely able to have an orgasm. He'd been told, just like Maud, that fucking was his right as a man, that women were here on this earth to care for him, to give him pleasure and to bear his children. He'd been taught that he could have any woman he wanted, he just had to take what he longed for.
He heard the voice in his head while he waited for Maud to arrive at the Teahouse.
"This, boy, is a condom. You use it if you don't want her to be with child. You can fuck her mouth or her ass too if you don't want to get her pregnant, but if you long for her pussy, use this. If she's complaining while you use her, tell her she shall the fuck shut up, Arthur. If she goes on, a few slaps in the face will do the job, silencing her. If she cries and you don't like it, give her a real reason to cry. Next time she's gonna pull herself together, you'll see. If she denies the access to whatever hole you want to fuck, I recommend the belt or the cane. They learn fast, Arthur, but you have to be stern and strict, until she knows her place and how to behave in your presence. Don't get fooled by her tears or her begging for mercy. She'll walk all over you if you're soft."
He lived by this for a year or two, until the day Tommy was about to lose his virginity and they've had a talk among brothers. Polly overheard the bullshit Arthur told Tommy and she was furious. She gave him hell, like no one gave him hell before. Sometimes he thought his ears were still ringing from the piece of her mind she gave him. He'd been so embarrassed he refused to talk to Polly for a whole month. He lived abstinently for about three months, thinking every day about the things his aunt had told him. Then he made a decision and went, for the first time in his life, to a whorehouse. He paid a beautiful woman – she'd been from the Orkneys – to teach him how to pleasure a women. And that she had. In a very long (and expensive) night she'd confirmed every detail of Polly's speech. In the grey light of the morning he'd confessed that he'd always wondered why there were word like 'caresses', 'endearment', 'gentleness' and 'tenderness' when no one seemed to be tender, gentle and caring. A sad, heartbreaking smile had been the only answer he got.
The war ended the eagerness of doing the right and good things instead of pure, heartless fucking. He didn't care about the whores he'd fucked. He wanted to forget, he wanted to relief stress, angst and the constant fear of death, just by feeling alive, fucking a girl in silence, his eyes on the wall, only eager to feel this tingle in his spine, announcing the orgasm. But now, with Maud in his fantasies, he wanted to go back on the way he'd first heard from Polly. The words "caresses", "gentleness" and "tenderness" were back in his mind, in his fantasies. And he wanted to live them.
"Mr. Shelby," Maud said and he looked up.
There she was, in all her beauty and her spell kicked in immediately.
"Miss Armstrong," he answered and stood up, "please, take a seat."
"Thank you."
Only seconds later he ordered Cream Tea and a serving of the fabulous malt bread and watched her in silence.
"Mr. Shelby," she started the conversation, "are you married?"
He shook his head and swallowed an inappropriate answer, something like 'I waited for you my whole life' or some other romantic and totally unduly bullshit. He had to leave, immediately. Otherwise he'd propose to her before the fucking Cream tea was served.
