AN IMPERFECT NIGHT

Laura has had a very protected upbringing by a caring single mother...

Laura had never so much as entered a boy’s bedroom until last night. She was wary, a consequence of ultra careful parenting by a single mother who had made one mistake too many in her own youth, hence the arrival of Laura in her life. And that single mother was determined to help her lovely daughter remain firmly on the straight and narrow even though she was by now in her twenties and some might think already a bit old for taking her first serious romantic steps in life.

But it had been Paul who had changed all that. And it had been quite simple, really, because she had convinced herself, having just met him, that he was the perfect man, not just for her but for any sensible girl on the look out for a permanent mate. He looked right, whatever right might mean, said all the right things, at least she thought he did, and when he undressed he took her breath away, a feat nobody had achieved before whilst still wearing pants. Yes, she had seen almost-naked men before, loads of them in their trunks at the swimming baths where she worked, for starters, and she knew what they looked like and even had some idea what they kept in their trunks, especially the tight and bulging ones.

But Paul was exceptional, and when the morning came and she saw his head on the pillow next to hers, all tousled and dreamy, and knew that it was his breath that washed over her, sweet as a corn field in summer and that she had to do something about it before it was too late and all of her mother’s prophesies would come true. He would seduce her … he hadn’t last night, at least she didn’t think that he had though her memory was a little all over the place on account of the alcohol she had consumed. But she didn’t feel seduced, not that she had the least idea what that felt like or whether it felt like anything at all.

She climbed carefully out of bed making sure she didn’t disturb him more than necessary, and stood gazing down at him. She smiled as he snorted and tossed his head, but his eyes remained steadfastly closed, which was a good thing. But he really did look wonderful and the fact that she was well aware that he slept naked helped her sum him up. Good looking, confident, and he knew it which was why the first and only time he had taken Laura to bed he had assuredly been naked. As, she told herself shamefully, had she.

Then, with a start, she realised that her right hand was empty. The nice smoothe handle she’d been gripping last night, unnoticed by him, she was sure of that, but her safety, her guarantee that even her female strength was up to the power of a man with that for her to hold.

She had been reluctant to get undressed while he could see her, but he had generously looked away, to help her modesty, and she had taken her own bra and panties off in order to match his nakedness because n a way it was some sort of contest, and had done her best not to stare at him when he knelt by his bed, the very image of an angel from Heaven, and muttered the Lord’s Prayer loud enough for her to catch the words and know what he was doing. So she closed her eyes and almost prayed with him.

Then he had climbed into bed and pushed the quilt aside so that she could join him. Her memory was foggy after that, but she was quite sure, when she struggled to recall what had happened, that it had been a great big nothing. And she had gone to sleep pretty swiftly as well. So it seemed, and this made her breathe a sigh of relief, that she was still untouched by male hands. Or at least, by male nether regions. She squeezed the handle of what she looked on her her safety guarantee. Thank goodness she hadn’t needed it.

Maybe, she thought, this was the right man for her. Maybe at long last she could forget all her mother’s fears because this man would keep her safe. Would not abuse her naivety, would know instinctively the sort of girl she was and the sort of man she wanted. And would be that man.

And if he wasn’t, then she knew what to do, didn’t she? She might be an innocent in this world, but she wasn’t without common sense.

She felt a snese of power, standing there in her birthday suit and looking down at him, aware that her own body was supposed to be the sort of thing that drove men berserk and curious to see what he would look like if he became like that, wild, clutching, grabbing, hugging, kissing…

That was a thing. Had he tried to kiss her last night before she went to sleep? She rather thought not because if he had she would surely remember. Mother had described how awful it was, to feel a fat and searching tongue in her mouth, tasting of everything he had eaten in the past goodness-knows how long. She would remember that, surely?

“What are you standing there for?” asked his dreamy voice. She had been so worried about kisses that she hadn’t noticed the absence of them… did that make any kind of sense at all?

“I was … going to the toilet,” she replied, lying because that wasn’t what she had got up, though if asked she would never in a million years have thought of why she had climbed so carefully out of his bed. Yes: his bed. How many other women had he despoiled in this antique piece of furniture because she couldn’t surely be the first he had beguiled with strong drink and tempted her with his manly flesh. There were plenty of young women around, single women on the nlook out for a partner, either for just the single night or with longer in mind. Maybe they even wanted their bellies to swell with child. How disgusting!

“It’s through there… can’t you remember from last night? You went then and I lent you my spare toothbrush because you said you needed to clean your teeth, though they look perfectly clean to me. But then, we’re not the same as each other, are we? You cleaned your teeth but you didn’t say your prayers…”

“I don’t,” she muttered, “I mean, I don’t say any prayers because I don’t believe in any old man in the sky.”

“He’s not an old man, he’s your creator,” he assured her.

“I thought… I mean, I was created by my mum and a one night stand because she told me. I don’t think the midwife was a man either.”

He smiled at her. “You are so cute and funny,” he said, “I quite like you!”

“Did you do anything to me last night?” she asked, “I mean, I’d had quite a drop to drink and I’m not used to alcohol, and the way I felt it must have been really strong. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening. I don’t usually sleep with men in their beds with them. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of girl.”

He smiled, and what a warm smile that was. Then, “what a funny sweet girl you are,” he said, “is that why you had a sharp knife in your hand while you slept? I saw it, and wondered what it was for.”

“You saw it?” she stammered.

“Of course,” he smiled, again those teeth and those lips forming the perfect invitation to love him, to need him, to want everything to be as it seemed. “When I knelt to pray,” he added, “I could see you holding something under the quilt and I had to peep to see what it was.”

“I’m frightened of what men might do to me,” she confessed, “I keep it, just in case…”

“Sweet Laura,” he smiled, “I’m not the kind of man who would take advantage of you! Certainly not! And to put your mind at rest we only did it twice before I passed out! And you were so good! I can tell you now that I’ve relieved you of your security! But it’s not because you let me deflower you in your drugged sleep last night. Not at all. It’s because you let me drug you at all, you harlot!”

And he produced the shiny blade that was her own security, and in a leap out of bed he plunged it as close to where he thought her heart might be, and pushed hard.

© Peter Rogerson 08.04.2

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Reviews

[D]

Oh my goodness! She went to bed with such a psycho! The end had my heart drop into a ditch. Poor girl. Such a nicely shocking twist at the end.