A Willing Seduction

First Line Fiction Prompt #98

Picture By Val Francis Using Night Cafe AI

A hand grabbed my arm, and a voice whispered, “Don’t look behind you,” before she disappeared into the crowd.

No need to look; I recognised the voice. A voice from the past, one that I’d unsuccessfully tried to forget, possibly because I didn’t want to. Is it likely you’d fail to recall the glorious summer of your seduction?

Her name was Marina, and I was sixteen and still a virgin when I first met her.

I’d changed schools to become a day student at Drayton School in Oxfordshire. The reason for the change was the school’s excellent reputation. Drayton excelled in the number of its students entering an Oxbridge University. Making the change was a no-brainer.

My parents agreed that instead of boarding, I’d stay with an old friend of my father’s who lived close to the school.

Henry Mann and his wife, Marina, were childless. Henry spent most of his time at their London apartment with his mistress, as I would later discover.

When I arrived at their home in Abingdon, Oxfordshire, I was met by Marina, his wife, at the train station. I immediately liked her — it was impossible not to.

We’d never met before, so her effusive greeting might have made me uncomfortable if it had come from anyone else. Happily, with Marina, I felt completely at ease from the outset.

My bedroom was large and had a double bed, a luxury I’d never enjoyed before. It also had a desk and chair, plus an armchair. I’d settled into my bedroom, plugged in my laptop, and within the space of a few hours, I felt perfectly at home.

Apart from the cleaning woman who came in three times a week and a gardener, Marina took care of everything.

Would you like a glass of wine before we eat?

The offer of wine was a new experience for me. Neither of my parents drank, and I doubt if they’d approve of me accepting alcohol of any kind. They’re both religious, which means that, as a son, I’m a great disappointment to them. I’d announced one Sunday morning when I was ten that I was an atheist, and that I wasn’t going to church anymore.

“Yes, please, Mrs Mann.” My manners were impeccable.

“For fuck’s sake, call me Marina. Mrs Mann makes me feel as old as my mother. Red or white?”

“Red, please, Marina — and call me Robbie, if you like. Only my parents call me Robert.”

She smiled and surprised me at the same time when she patted my arse as she went to the drinks cupboard.

No one had touched me like that before, other than my mother when she’d no doubt powdered my rear when I was a baby. I missed a breath because that was the beginning of my education.

Seated in the garden with our wines, Marina asked me a question that threw me. It threw me largely because it was one that I’d been asking myself.

“Are you gay, Robbie?”

I nearly choked on my wine.

“Gay?” The warmth in my cheeks alerted me that my blush was plain to see.

“Sorry — I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

I managed a smile, and I spoke the truth. “I don’t know, because I’ve never been with anyone, male or female.”

“It’s important to discover what you are. Perhaps you’re bisexual?”

“Possibly.”

I was thankful when she changed the subject, and we moved on.

Sandwiched between my schooldays, homework, and study time was Marina. She was an incredible cook, and I couldn’t help comparing her with my mother’s efforts. Effort summed up my mother’s culinary attempts. She found no joy in cooking, unlike Marina.

We fell into a comfortable routine that ended three weeks after I arrived in Abingdon. We were on a garden seat with glasses of wine and waiting for Marina’s lasagne to finish cooking. We looked at each other when we heard the sound of a car crunching on the gravel driveway.

“Oh fuck — and we were having such a wonderful time, and now he’s come to ruin it.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Henry’s come to spend the weekend. His mistress must be busy, because that would be the only reason.”

A minute later, Henry Mann walked through the house and into the kitchen. He saw us outside and joined us a minute or so later, holding an empty glass.

“Is there enough, or do we need another bottle?”

“This is a fresh one,” she said. Marina sounded perfectly amiable, unlike how she was a moment before. “Much traffic?” she asked.

“No, it was a good one for a Friday evening.”

“Nothing to keep you in town for the weekend?”

I guessed that her amiability was merely a front.

“I thought I should pop down and welcome our houseguest.” He turned and greeted me with a handshake. “We’re pleased to have you here, Robert.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Call me Henry.”

We sat enjoying our drinks, and I caught Henry giving me a once-over when he thought I wasn’t looking.

When we’d finished our drinks, we enjoyed Marina’s heavenly lasagne with some more wine. It would have been a pleasant evening were it not for the tension that existed between my hosts.

I told myself that I was imagining it, but I wasn’t. Later, when I was in bed, their argument confirmed my suspicions. They had a blazing row, complete with bad language and the slamming of doors.

The following morning, I thought I’d go for a run to clear my head. It was another perfect day with barely a cloud in the sky. Surrendering myself to the rhythm of my footfalls, I ran for miles along the banks of the Thames. When I returned, I noticed that Henry’s Jaguar was absent from the driveway.

Marina was in the kitchen, and she turned to greet me while wiping her hands on a dishcloth. I noticed that she’d already put her makeup on.

“Ready for breakfast, Robbie?” she asked. Then she looked me up and down and amended her offer. “Perhaps you’d like a shower first, to freshen up.”

I smiled. “That’s probably a good idea, Marina.”

“I can put your running clothes in the wash,” she offered.

One thing I love about Abingdon is the unlimited supply of hot water. I took longer than I should have, had I cared about water conservation. Finally turning off the tap, I stepped onto the bathmat and realised that I’d left my towel in the bedroom.

“Bugger.”

Then I heard Marina in the hallway, and I called out — “Marina.”

The door opened a crack. “Yes, Robbie?”

I told her, and a moment later, she returned with my towel. She passed it through the opening, and I dried myself.

Returning to the kitchen, I smelt bacon cooking, and my mouth watered. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had more than a bowl of cereal and an OJ for breakfast.

“Henry said to say goodbye.”

“Do you see him often?” I gave way to my curiosity. My parents’ marriage was dull, but they had their religion as a fallback. I wondered how Marina dealt with a loveless marriage.

“Often?” Her eyes supplied the answer before her lips formed the words. “I see Henry when he’s at a loose end, which isn’t very often. Susan keeps him busy.”

“Susan?”

“His mistress, Henry’s femme fatale.”

“Oh — I’m so sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry, Robbie? It’s our mess to sort out.”

“You almost sound as though you’re reconciled to the idea.” I knew that it was none of my business, but in the short time I’d been in Abingdon, I’d come to care about Marina.

“Do I?” She asked.

“Yes.”

Marina paused for a moment. “Perhaps I am.”

I waited because I knew there was more to come — I was right.

“We were okay together when we started, but Henry is very old-fashioned. He expected me to supply him with an heir within the first two years of our marriage. We tried — he was very enthusiastic — I was less so.

I watched and listened to her pause. It said as much as her words had.

“You’re obviously barren,” he told me on our third anniversary. Six months later, he’d met Susan, and our current arrangement began.”

She laughed, though there wasn’t much joy in it. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Robbie. I fell out of love with Henry within the first year.”

“Because of the lack of a pregnancy?”

“Not really. It was mostly because I discovered that he was a self-opinionated, arrogant bore. We had nothing in common, and neither of us liked the other.

“You deserve better,” I told her.

“You’re sweet, Robbie.” We shared a lingering look until Marina broke the spell. She gathered the breakfast plates together and took them to the kitchen.

“Would you like me to stack the dishwasher, Marina?”

“You sit there; it’ll only take me a couple of minutes.”

Even so, I picked up our cups and saucers and carried them into the kitchen.

Placing them on the bench, I looked at Marina as she took them and bent to put them in the dishwasher. It was then that I realised the reason for her makeup. It wasn’t cosmetic but was, in fact, to hide her bruises.

When she stood up, I reached across and touched the bruise on her cheekbone.

“Henry?” I already knew the answer.

“I provoke him.”

“It doesn’t justify him doing that.”

“He’s always sorry afterwards.”

My fingers remained pressed against her cheek. I was about to remove them and avoid any awkwardness when her hand cupped the back of mine.

It was as if neither of us was breathing, and we didn’t move. It was then that I knew that I wanted to kiss her. I’d never kissed anyone apart from my parents and some relatives when I was little.

The effect of the sexual tension between us was obvious for me at least. My heart was pounding as though I’d run more miles flat out.

Our lips brushed softly, and desire took control.

Never before had I been so aware of my body as I was at that moment. My hands trembled as they explored forbidden places.

“Robbie — ?”

Though she’d said my name, the attached question never came. Our needs were too strong — and our consciences were missing in action.

I told myself I was greedy and that disaster was inevitable. But those next four months were the happiest I’d ever known. I slept in Marina’s bed, and we made love every night. She taught me things that neither my father nor sex education classes ever could.

It was all too perfect. Even my schoolwork didn’t suffer due to my newfound addiction to sex.

I ought to have known it was too good to last.

“Henry’s moving back in,” Marina announced one evening over dinner.

Looking at her, I was praying that it was a joke, a cruel leg pull. But it. wasn’t, and I felt my gut heaving. Worse was still to come, though.

“You ought to move into the school when he returns.” Marina couldn’t look at me when she said this.

“How long?” I asked.

“This Friday.”

“So soon.”

“It gives us two nights.”

Those last two nights were less about lovemaking and more about storing the memories for when I’d be alone.

And that was it. Our affair was over, and I knew deep down that there’d be no secret trysts to warm the long winter.

I made it into Oxford, where I began six years of study in medicine. I’d just ended my first three years and was due in a month’s time to begin my hands-on, in-hospital training.

One morning, I was checking the train departures board at King’s Cross Station. I was heading up to Edinburgh to meet with a friend, a casual boyfriend. He was at Edinburgh University, a long way from Oxford. The brutal truth was that we kept our relationship casual because of distance and our busy lives.

Being early for my train, I decided to head for Costa’s to get a coffee. As usual, my eyes were glued to my phone screen and not to where I was going. As a result, when a hand grabbed my arm, and a voice whispered, “Don’t look behind you,” I was left reeling. I saw her disappearing into the crowd. I’d recognised the voice, and I didn’t intend to let her get away from me.

“Marina,” I called after her.

She stopped and waited for me as I approached her.

“What did you mean, don’t look behind me?”

The familiar smile was still there, and I knew that the longing I’d once felt was still hanging around. Stating the obvious, I remarked, “You have a child now?”

“Yes.” Marina, clasping the boy’s hand, introduced him. “This is Spencer, and this is your uncle Robbie.”

We looked at each other, sizing each other up.

“I don’t think he takes after Henry.” It was an unasked question.

“We’re divorced.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I wish I’d known,” I said

Her smirk wasn’t cruel when she responded. “I didn’t want you to. You were sixteen when we met — your whole life in front of you.”

There was no answer to that.

“My divorce left me comfortable, and Henry recognised our son as his own. All up, it turned out to be a satisfactory outcome.”

“Where do you live?”

Marina began laughing, and once she started, she had trouble stopping. “Sorry, Robbie. It’s just the irony of how it all turned out. I now own Henry’s London Apartment — it’s perfect for Spencer and me.”

“I’m glad, I’m starting my final three years of my medical degree at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford.”

Smiling at the boy, I couldn’t help but ask him a question that was bugging me. “How old are you, Spencer?”

“I’m five.”

Looking at Marina, I suspect she knew what I was going to ask. “A strong subject for me is Math.” Raising my eyebrows, I waited.

“For your own sake, Robbie, don’t go there. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“And if I decided that I did want to go there?”

She smiled at me, and I knew that the embers of our romance were still glowing.

Here is a good piece of fantasy writing from Erosia Potter

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