Part Twenty-Three
John slept fitfully on the Friday night, his dreams filled with fear and uncertainty, though fear of what he couldn't say. Jo was very much aware of his tossing and turning, and when the clock edged towards seven on the Saturday morning, Jo turned over and put her arms round him. His body was extremely tense, his eyes holding that slightly wild, desperate look that almost begged her for reassurance. "I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you," She told him gently, softly running a hand up and down his back. "I can't," He said miserably, wishing he could but knowing that he didn't have the face to do it. "John, this is me you're talking to, not some random fling." "I know," He replied darkly. "That's what makes it worse." They lay quiet for a time, because Jo simply didn't know how to proceed. It was extremely rare that John couldn't talk to her, and she always felt utterly helpless when it did happen. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She asked him, hitting on something to buy him some time, if that was what he wanted. "Yes please," He readily agreed, seeing this as her tactic of lulling him into a false sense of security, before she started in on him again. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, she slipped out of bed and went to make the tea. As he lay, listening to the muffled sounds of her moving around in the kitchen, he couldn't help but think that George might have been right. How much easier last night would have been if he'd been able to tell her why he didn't want to make love with her. Not that it had really been difficult. It had taken him a while to getting around to actually saying it, but Jo had simply accepted it without explanation. Should he tell her? Should he abandon every shred of pride he possessed and tell her of his failure? This was all Helen's fault, he decided in a moment of abject fury. If she hadn't started him back on that road of admissions and self-discovery, he wouldn't now be contemplating doing such a thing. But that was ridiculous, his conscience told him scornfully, as it was he who had elected to start the therapy again in the first place. Thumping his fist into the pillow, he silently cursed his traitor of a body, vowing to one day make it pay for the torment it was currently putting him through.
When Jo returned with the tea and slid back into bed, she could tell that something in John had been resolved in her absence. Jo snuggled under the duvet, waiting for her tea to cool down a little, but John immediately took a swig of his, the hot liquid bringing him to full alertness. When he lay back down, putting his arms around her soft, voluptuous body, he knew that the time had come to bury his pride, and trust in her usual level of tact and diplomacy. "I feel quite ashamed," He began, hesitating over the right word to describe his feelings. "Which is why I didn't want to tell you. You'll probably think I'm being incredibly stupid, but I don't. It's funny, but George said I should tell you, and I virtually bit her head off for suggesting it. Last Saturday, when I was with her, I, erm, I couldn't rise to the occasion." As John went as still as a rock, Jo suddenly understood everything. He felt a failure because he had been unable to make love to George, and he was terrified of not being able to do the same with her. A wave of sympathy rose up in her, and she reflexively tightened her arms round him. "Oh, John," She said, gently kissing him. "It's not anything to be ashamed of." "I don't want pity, Jo," He said stonily. "Sympathy, John, not pity, they are two very different things," She told him quietly. "I felt so humiliated," He said, almost relieved to have it out in the open. "And all George could do was be nice to me." "John, it happens," Jo told him firmly. "It doesn't mean that you won't get it back, and it certainly doesn't mean that you're a failure." "George said that I should just try and forget it, and not feel under any pressure to make love to anyone." "And she was absolutely right," Jo said, feeling a touch of pride that George had handled this so sensitively. "I badly didn't want that to happen with you," He admitted sheepishly. "John, do you seriously think it hasn't ever happened with other men I've slept with?" "That's different," He said dismissively, making Jo laugh softly. "No, it's not," She told him fondly. "It happens to everyone at some point or so I'm told. But George is right, the more you worry about it, the more it is likely to become a problem." "I'm sorry," He said, softly kissing her, wanting to make up for his inadequacies. "You've got nothing to be sorry for," She told him firmly. "Nothing whatsoever." As she said this, his thoughts strayed to Karen, and the precise reason why he was in this predicament in the first place. He did have something to be sorry for, but Jo didn't know it, and if he had anything to do with it, she never would know about that. She would neither understand, nor sympathise with him, not that her sympathy for what he had done was something he wanted in any case.
After quite a long time of some simple cuddling, Jo said, "You know, it's funny, but quite often when I'm with George, I feel as though I don't know a thing about her. It's as though she's hiding an awful lot of herself from me." "You mean when you're in bed with her?" John queried, glad to be onto a different topic of conversation. "Yes." "She probably is," He replied, wondering if George knew that she came across like this. "But why?" Jo wanted to know, George's wanting to conceal anything from her in that respect almost unthinkable. "George is a little," John searched for the right word, "different, when it comes to bed. She always has been, and I suspect she always will be. There are some things she's into, that I can safely say she wouldn't want you to know about." "Why, does she think she'll frighten me off?" Jo asked with a sardonic smile. "Probably," John said entirely seriously. "The thing you need to understand about George," He continued, slightly adjusting his position to get more comfortable. "Is that nothing turns her on more, than to feel that she is being bad. She sometimes needs to feel as though she is being punished. I think it stems from always feeling the need to behave when she was a child. After her mother died, I think part of her probably realised that her father didn't know how to handle her, which is why he sent her off to boarding school. So, whenever she was at home, she was forced to persistently behave, either because it was what her father expected of her, or because she simply wanted to please him. The older she got, the more she realised she could act on her own feelings, rather than on what those around her expected of her. I've a feeling that smoking dope at university was a part of that. She was even more on heat than usual if she was slightly stoned." Jo laughed. "So, anything sexual that would make her feel in any way that she was doing something forbidden, she found incredible. That's why she likes being tied up, because it gives her the feeling if not the reality, of being forced to submit, not something your average person is supposed to enjoy. I suspect she would love to be spanked, but she knows I wouldn't do it for her, which is probably why she's never asked. I remember once, she wanted me to pick her up from King's Cross, just like any other prostitute, though she was a little drunk at the time, so we didn't ever get around to it, thank God. I can't tell you all of it, because I'm not about to break a confidence that I know she would definitely want to be kept." "It can't be that bad," Jo encouraged with a broad smile, thinking that her eyes were certainly being opened this morning. "It's not, in the grand scheme of things, but I know she would be highly embarrassed if I told you, and that's not something I'm about to do to her." Jo was forced to admire his unerring loyalty to George, and to the secrets of their marriage, which still could not be undone.
After John had left later that morning, saying that he had some work to do before going to see Charlie, Jo caught up on all the housework and a pile of ironing, jobs that she had been putting off all week. This seemingly endless succession of mind numbing tasks, gave her time to think, time to dwell on everything that had been said in the early morning. She had felt an enormous amount of sympathy for John, as she more than anyone, except perhaps George, knew just how much the ability to make love really meant to him. It was the one thing he could always cling to, the one act he could always rely on himself to perform. Well, at least until now. As for all the things John had told her about George, Jo couldn't help but smirk. She didn't think that being tied up was something she would ever come to enjoy, but each to their own. She also couldn't help continually wondering what on earth it was that John wouldn't tell her. She thought with a soft little smile, that one day she might be able to persuade George to tell her what this forbidden fantasy was.
When Jo arrived to see George late on the Saturday evening, she had to admit to being in a state of heightened arousal. She knew that it was a combination of having thought about George's slightly unusual sexual tastes all afternoon, and not having been satisfied by John. As George opened the door, she could see that every one of Jo's senses was on red alert, ready to act on George's merest suggestion. "You look positively alight with lust, darling," George said in greeting, as Jo's arms went round her. "Very much so," Jo admitted sheepishly. "And it's all your fault." "That's nice to know," George said as they moved into the lounge. "But before you become entirely fixated on my body, there's something I want to show you." "I should imagine I can manage to restrain myself," Jo answered with a wry smile. Going into her office across the hall, George returned with the letter from Kay, that had been faxed to her a couple of hours before. As Jo read it, she smiled. "That's nice," She said, handing it back to George. "It made a difference from any average report," George agreed. "So, where's our Lord and master this evening?" "Helping Charlie with an essay," Jo replied, George's fondly satirical name for him making her smile. "She never asks me for help with an essay," George grumbled, and then felt stupid. "I always had to force Mark to do his homework under extreme duress," Jo told her, trying to change the subject slightly. "Charlie's always been her daddy's perfect little angel in that respect," George said almost bitterly, and then forced herself to lighten up and forget about all her insecurities over Charlie. "So," She said, sitting down next to Jo and putting her arms round her. "Why so aroused, frustrated and distinctly on heat this evening?" She asked, punctuating each word with a kiss, and making Jo blush. "I'm not quite that bad," Jo told her with a laugh. "Darling, have you looked at your nipples lately?" George asked with a smirk, delicately running a finger over an already erect peak. "I'm sorry," Jo said, feeling a little silly for the intensity of her feelings. "Jo," George told her sternly. "Don't ever apologise for feeling sexy. Believe me, it's almost unbearably flattering. Do I perceive your state of highly unfulfilled frustration, to be as a result of John's temporary abstinence?" "Partly," Jo admitted. "And this morning, I even managed to persuade him to tell me what that was all about." "Good," George said with a warm smile. "I told him he should tell you, when he came to see me yesterday. He didn't know how to tell you that he didn't want to sleep with you." "Yes, it did take him a while to say it. George, he's still very wound up about it." "I know, but as I told him last weekend, the more he thinks about it, the less it's likely to sort itself out. Jo, he was mortified, he made me promise not to tell you." "Well, let's face it, he'd probably just received one of the biggest shocks of his life." "That therefore means, that you will have to content yourself with me for the time being," George stated lasciviously, the gleam in her eye promising Jo that she wasn't going to be disappointed by this turn of events.
They moved by mutual consent from sofa to bedroom, Jo badly needing what George could give her, and George being more than happy to oblige. "I never would have thought we'd end up doing this," Jo said, as they lay in George's spacious bed, their hands and mouths deliciously wandering. "Two years ago, I mean." "No," George laughed huskily. "But then I've always thought that particularly sustained fighting was definitely a precursor to foreplay." "In that case," Jo said with a smirk. "You should be destined to sleep with half the members of the Bar council." "Most of them wouldn't know a sex life if it crept up on them and took them forcefully in public," George said dismissively. "You used to think that about me," Jo reminded her fondly. "No, I didn't," George insisted. "You'd managed to make John fall hook, line and sinker, and you couldn't have done that with just your intellect alone." "I think there was a backhanded compliment in there somewhere," Jo said with a laugh, as George's kisses moved steadily downwards. "You're bloody right there was," George assured her, her mouth now contentedly full of soft, warm flesh. "Are you trying to make up for all those years of anorexia," Jo asked unsteadily. "By attempting to consume me whole?" "Something like that," George replied, briefly detaching her lips before returning to the highly delicious occupation of gently tugging at Jo's hardened nipples, soothing the sensitive skin with her tongue. "How on earth do you manage to do that with a complete absence of teeth?" Jo asked, still not quite having mastered this particular art. "Practice, darling, that's all," George promised her. "Ask John, I learnt on him." "You really enjoy doing that for him, don't you," Jo said almost in wonder, giving oral to a man never having been one of her particular favourites. George briefly stopped what she was doing and sat up slightly to look at Jo. "Enjoy is really the wrong word," She said, clearly having had to think about this. "It's not something I do all that often, at least I certainly don't take him all the way like that very often, and he always gets it on my terms not his. I like doing it for him occasionally because he likes it, and because I know I'm good at it, but I'm not sure that I'd recommend it to anyone else. Those who can stand the taste of the end result are very few and far between, and I am highly fortunate that I happen to be one of them, but just because I occasionally do that, doesn't mean I actually like it. Women on the other hand, and especially you, taste infinitely better." With this thought lingering between them, she returned to her task of stimulating Jo's nipples until they could easily have pierced any bulletproof vest. But once these delicate peaks had been mercilessly teased, George began kissing her way down Jo's ribs, nibbling at every inch of skin on the way down. Jo's musky scent was different from Karen's, though at the same time similar, acting on George like the proverbial aphrodisiac. Before sleeping with Karen, George couldn't quite get her head round the thought of doing this for another woman, yet now here she was on her second, delighting in Jo's taste far more than many men might have done. Neil Haughton had always refused to do this for George, on the odd occasion when she'd asked him, insisting that he didn't like it, and that it wasn't something normal people did. She had refrained on those occasions from telling him that John had never been able to get enough of doing that for her, but she had always wondered why he wouldn't at least try it. Now she had tried it on two women, she didn't know what all the fuss was about. Doing something so sensual, so deliciously erotic was incredible, and not just for the person receiving it. Nothing currently delighted her more than to follow Jo's every reaction, to interpret precisely what she wanted. George could tell just how sexually wound up Jo had quite obviously been for hours, from the slightly hushed unintelligible verbal encouragement that was coming from her, spurring George onto further endeavour. Seeming to realise that she just might scream if she wasn't careful, Jo bit down on her right hand as her orgasm approached, every muscle screwing itself up at the rush of feeling.
When Jo returned to full alertness, George was lying beside her softly smiling. Her entire body tingled in the aftershock, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it to push some hair out of her face. Reaching out an arm, she gently pulled George against her, their mouths meeting in a gloriously sensual kiss that took the breath out of both of them. "You see," George told her when their lips parted. "That's how utterly divine you taste." "You're as bad as John," Jo told her with a laugh. Then turning serious, she said, "I do want to try it, and I don't, if that makes any sense." "And there's no one here saying you have to try it," George assured her gently. "Darling, just because I enjoy it enormously doesn't mean you will. I suspect that your curiosity will take over one of these days, but I won't be complaining if it doesn't. However, what I would like you to do for me," She said, giving Jo another lingering kiss. "Is to tell me precisely what had you so fired up today, because I know it wasn't just a lack of attention from our wayward judge." "Again, it's your fault," Jo told her with a smirk. "Things far too often are my fault," George replied with a mock frown. "We ended up talking about you, and John filled me in on some of your slightly more eccentric tastes. I don't think I've learnt quite so much about one person on a Saturday morning for a long time." "It sounds as though our lord and master, needs a little lesson of his own," George said a little bitterly. "On how to interpret that little word discretion. Just how much did he tell you? Though I suppose he couldn't have told you everything as you're still here." "Don't be so defensive," Jo gently admonished her. "John didn't tell me anything you need to be ashamed of. Yes, I don't understand why you do enjoy some of it, but that doesn't put me off, I promise you, and no, John didn't tell me everything. He said that there was something that he definitely wouldn't tell me, because he knew that you wouldn't want me to know." As she said this, she felt George's body go rigidly still, with a crimson blush rising furiously to her cheeks. Then, as if needing to hide, George tore herself out of Jo's embrace and turned away from her, pulling the discarded duvet over her, lying with her back to Jo and with her shoulders as stiff as a rock. George just couldn't believe it, how could he? How could he have almost told Jo about that? She didn't care that he had actually kept her confidence, because he had succeeded in rousing Jo's curiosity, something George would far rather had been left untapped in such a matter. She knew that she liked some pretty out of the way things when it came to bed, but that didn't make her a bad person, or did it? She could vividly remember how long it had taken her to tell John about that particular fantasy, and she had only got round to it after a few glasses of red wine. But just because he hadn't castigated her curiosity, didn't mean she wanted Jo to know about it.
When Jo tentatively put an arm round her from behind, delicately entwining their fingers, George tried to ignore Jo's compassion. "Don't sulk," Jo told her quietly. "I'm not sulking," George replied stonily. "I'm hiding, rather unsuccessfully it would appear." Jo laughed softly. "George, you might be hiding, but your thoughts are even louder than they usually are, so try talking to me instead." "Jo," George said slowly, not entirely sure how to put this into words. "Just because I sometimes need to feel bad, doesn't mean I want to feel wrong. I know that some of the things I like are a bit peculiar to say the least, but I don't think that makes me a bad person." "Of course it doesn't," Jo assured her, feeling the weight of all George's insecurity about this. "George, I don't care what you may have liked or may have tried, because it doesn't alter who you are to me. If you ever want to tell me about it, that's fine, and if you don't, then it's not a problem." Turning over to face her, George put her arms round this woman whom she certainly hadn't expected to ever have in her bed, feeling a lifetime's worth of reassurance coming from her. Jo kissed her, wanting to make her feel better, wanting to take away any lingering vestiges of uncertainty. But as George felt her breast being softly stroked, she laid a hand over Jo's wandering one and said, "Sorry, but no," Her earlier lust having entirely dissipated. Jo simply held her close, occasionally kissing her, and trying to soften the sharpened edges of defensive armour that had risen between them. She perhaps shouldn't have broached the subject at all, but it was done now, and all she could do was to help George to relax, something that only time and sleep could achieve.