Strange Taste LIVE 4: Keepsake

Keepsake:

After Georgie had finished, he watched her squat beside the bed, wiping her sweaty body. He cherished her like this, recovering, her nipples stiff burnt caramel, her breasts heaving, her soft, hairy mound glistening with intimate dew, her protruding scarlet lips. She smiled fondly at him, reclining lazily on the bed, hands behind his head, his puddle of grey messing the manly growth of hair on his belly, testament to her hand’s tender caress. She sighed,

‘That was really lovely. Thank you.’

‘Did you come on?’

Georgie bloomed and blushed, ‘What do you think?

He was thrilled for her, ‘I’m glad.’

‘Here.’

She wiped the sweat off her breasts and handed him her wad of tissues, to his surprise,

‘What am I meant to do with these?’ he asked.

Georgie pulled up her panties, ‘Keep them, as a memento of my love.’

‘I will keep them, always.’

He sounded deadly serious. He treasured her, dreading the pain of losing her. The clutch of congealed mess in his palm, her intimate keepsake, would remind him of her scent, her sweat, her strange taste, in his dark, lonely nights; recalling the time they first made love.

Mildly amused by his reaction, she pulled on her t-shirt and scoffed, ‘I was only joking!’

He changed the subject, ‘Where are you from?’

‘I grew up on a farm outside Adelaide. Dad owned a million sheep. I used to help him dip them, watch them being sheared, feed the baby lambs, help Mummy in the farmhouse.’

‘A million! That’s a lot of sheep. How did you manage?’

‘Daddy hired a load of casual farmhands for shearing, and during the lambing season.’

He grinned. Coming from a council estate, he couldn’t begin to imagine what life must be like living on a farm out in the wild. He loved the twang in her voice, could listen to her talk all night. She hitched n zipped her jeans, in front of him,

‘When Dad died, four years ago, Mum sold the farm. We moved to a large house on the outskirts of Adelaide. I suppose you could say we’re well off: we have a maid, gardener, someone to do the cleaning. You’d love Australia, the bush, the Outback, the white sandy beaches, wildlife. We had a veranda when we lived on the farm. I used to sit and watch the kangaroos play as the sun went down.’

He could tell by her sad, dreamy expression, the faraway look in her eyes, that Georgie missed home. He felt a knot form in his chest, a rising stab of panic, fearing he might lose her. He wanted to keep her, safe and well, happy in his loving embrace, always; he could never let her go. The drug-fazed mask of the girl’s distress kept flashing through his mind,

‘That sounds incredible. Were there any spiders or poisonous snakes where you lived?’

Georgie slipped on her pumps,

‘Sure! Spiders, Funnel Webs, Red Backs – Black Widows. I checked for them before I got into bed, or if I sat on the toilet. You get used to it. A bite from one of those beauties can maim you. Dad’s arm swelled to three times its normal size when the Red Back bit him.’

‘Your Dad was bitten by a Black Widow?’ he was intrigued, fascinated by the poisoning.

‘The bite killed him. Dad’s lungs gave out before we could save him with the antivenin.’

Georgie stared at her feet. He turned to face her, propping himself on one elbow. He felt gutted for her but needed to know the gory details. If he could just push her a little farther,

‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but did he hurt when he died?’

She bristled with anger, ‘How can you say that?! You’re talking about my Dad!’

‘I was only asking.’

‘If you must know, Dad had terrible chest pains, stomach cramps, was sick, sweated with fever, had a seizure which killed him. There, is that enough for you?’

Flushed with temper, she ran for the door. He leaped out of bed, and caught her, gripping her slender forearm tightly as she went to turn the key. She screamed at him: blue murder,

‘Let go of me! You’re hurting me!’

Worried she might be overheard, he spun her round to face him, holding her thrashing body against his torso until she calmed down,

‘I’m sorry I said that Georgie, really sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ she exhaled, ‘You gave me the creeps, that’s all.’

He held her damp head in his hands and kissed her softly on the lips, feeling her relax, an easing of her tension. She giggled, his naughty little girl-child,

‘Careful! You’re all sticky!’ 

‘Can I see you again?’ he pleaded, letting her go.

One last time, she wanted to make love to him one last time. She played mind games with him, running her fingertips seductively along his lower lip,

‘Maybe, where do you live?’

‘15, Brierley Road, Ifield, Crawley,’ he recited, ‘Off the main drive from the station. You can’t miss it.’

He felt her soften, emotionally exhausted. Felt her body slump against his, as she gave in,

‘Say again. I haven’t got a pen and paper.’

‘15, Brierley Road, Ifield, Crawley.’

‘I’ll find it…’

He crushed her to his bare chest. Breathless, blushing, sweating profusely, she memorized his address, kissing him on the lips, then freed herself, opening the door. The landing was deserted. Georgie heard the others, leaving. It was time for her to go home,

‘Tomorrow night,’ she whispered to him, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

He locked the door after her, annoyed that she hadn’t mentioned the copperheads or death adders commonly found in Southern Central Australia.

Ecstasy:

Janis was relieved to hear the pounding strains of Brown Sugar ascending through the floorboards from the cherub’s grotto downstairs. The music helped her stay composed as she fought to quell her rising state of alarm. She stared down at Lindsey, lying naked, flat on her back, on the bed, clutching her breasts, pressing the flats of her palms to her chest, in a vain bid to control the bizarre tremors undulating through her body. Janis had never seen her twin in this state. She crouched beside her on the bed, scared of what she found. Lindsey ground her teeth, her eyelids flickering involuntarily, her pupils dilated. Janis felt her heartbeat. It was racing – wildly. She was pouring with thick sweat. Running a fever,

‘What did he give you, Sis?’

Lindsey felt her mind drift upwards out of her head, her soul flit and float above her body, loving the forbidden, star-spangled red-dwarf universe she existed in, the exploding suns, flash-by comets, pulsing quasar stars, kaleidoscopic shards of red, orange, yellow, indigo, spinning incessantly in her mind. Her heart tried to beat out of her chest, she fitted, feeling her muscles spasm, wonderful orgasmic, shuddering, juddering, palpitations coursing like hot wires sewn in-and-out, in-and-out, of her flesh, vaguely hearing an alien-girl, roaring in her ears,

‘What did he give you?’

Close to tears, Janis brushed the soaking wet hair off her deconstructed sister’s face and kissed her forehead. She rolled Lindsey onto her side in case she felt like being sick, then left the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

Georgie collided with her. She recognized her pen pal at once from a photo: short, stocky, blushing cheeks, bronze suntan. Only her hair was different. She had dyed it, cupric red,

‘Lindsey?’

Janis was stopped in her tracks by the accent; the girl sounded Australian,

‘No, I’m Janis. We’re twins. People get us confused,’ she sighed, her head still in a daze, ‘You must be?’

‘Georgie. I’m Lindsey’s pen pal. From Adelaide?’

Janis turned to face her. Her eyes were red. She looked as if she’d been crying.

‘I’ve read your letters to Lindsey. We keep no secrets.’

Georgie was shocked. Their letters were private and confidential. They contained intimate revelations of the two of them growing up becoming women, their love-lives, the dreams.

What else did she know?

‘I saw you playing in the garden, on the swing,’ Janis revealed, in a hushed voice, ‘Saw you take your top off, saw your breasts. You’re a beautiful girl, a naughty girl. I saw you playing, with him. Looks like you were enjoying yourself.’

It suddenly occurred to Georgie, how she must look: her straggly damp hair, dragged thru a clinch backwards, his wet patch on the front of her jeans. Janis edged towards her, tired, strained, seeking relief, in her clingy pink summer dress: no bra or knickers, just the dress,

‘Did he fuck you?’

‘No, I straddled him.’

Georgie cringed, couldn’t believe she just said that.

Janis was blocking her way out. There was no escape. She didn’t want to go. Janis needed release. Georgie found her intriguing. She let her kiss her… throatily. They stumbled into the end room. Janis locked the door, told her to take off her top, pull down her jeans, drop her pants. There was a chest of drawers. By the open window. Janis made her stand with her legs apart, palms flat on the chest, staring out at the night sky, while she took off her dress. Georgie felt her squashed breasts, pressing, onto her shoulder blades, her belly, rubbing, over her rear. The twin caressed her, gently, exploring her splayed lips with her fingertips, the back of her fist massaging Georgie’s clenched buttocks – while she relieved herself,

‘That feels lovely, girl, so lovely.’

Georgie sagged to her knees, nerves tingling, in ecstasy, ‘Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.’

After they’d made love, the young women kissed and embraced, then quickly got dressed. 

Georgie asked after Lindsey.

‘She’s not well, not feeling her usual self. I’ve put her to bed,’ Janis explained, motherly, caring, intensely fond of her twin, ‘Lindsey’s had a bad trip. She’s really suffering. Think I should call a doctor?’

‘A bad trip?’

‘Yes, she takes drugs to get high. I’ve never seen her this bad, tho’. Someone fed her dirt.’

Aftermath:

He lay dreaming on the bed next door. Happy, content, he surveyed the aftermath of his lovemaking with Georgie. Some of her hairs had moulted over the pillow. He picked them off individually, savouring the sweet smell of her scent. Wearily, he slid off the sheet and eyed their stain on the duvet. He dreaded to think what the twin’s parents would say when they returned home. At least they hadn’t smoked. His heart sank when he saw their traces embedded in the carpet from when he reached for her, having frightened her. He would have to watch how he spoke to Georgie in future – if he wanted to keep her for his own.

His thoughts returned to the mess. The duvet cover, sheet, and pillowcases would have to be laundered. Perhaps Janis would put a wash on in the morning? His seed would need to be scrubbed off. He took a hot sudsy bath, soaking off the snail’s trail Georgie smeared on his itchy left thigh, then washed her sweet body scent off his face and neck, his chest. Once he had dried himself, scoured the bath, brush-cleaned the toilet, and hung the towels to dry on the hot rail, he moved on to the bedroom. After crawling over the carpet on all fours dabbing at his specks with a wet flannel, he made the bed as best he could, dressed, switched off the light, and went downstairs.

When he left the house, close on midnight, there was no sign of Janis, or the girl. Everyone was soberly bunched on the pavement. Sensing something terrible might have happened, he broke into their silence.

‘There’s been an accident,’ an Indian boy explained, ‘A girl OD’d. She’s been rushed to hospital in an ambulance. Let’s hope she makes it through the night. She’s in an awfully bad way, unconscious, in severe spasm, bleeding from her nose.’

An awfully bad way.

He hung his head in shame, wanting to be sick, ‘Yes, let’s hope she does.’

By the time he arrived at Reigate Station, his pink day return ticket to Ifield was invalid. The ticket office was closed. He decided to chance his luck, catch the last train to Redhill, then wait for a train to Brighton. He alighted on Platform 3 at Three Bridges an hour later. The walk took him thirty minutes. He didn’t crash out on his bed till three in the morning.

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