Free Universal Carnal Knowledge
XLV
The ideal career
The next morning for some inexplicable reason I felt quite sleepy and I stayed in bed (entertained by visitors, of course) until nearly eleven. Then I showered and asked Wendy to come and see me. This could, I thought, be a difficult discussion.
Not a bit of it: never underestimate the power of FUCK. It turns the world upside down. Things that used to be easy, like taking a tube ride without seducing some gorgeous girl, get very tricky; and things that one would expect to be difficult, like telling your wife of twenty years that you love another woman, become strangely straightforward.
I stressed that I still loved my wife, that I had no intention of divorcing her, that she was still indescribably precious to me. But I confessed my feelings for Fran; that she was equally special in a different way.
Wendy was initially perturbed by the portentous way I told her we had something very important to discuss, and maybe I did not help matters by rather beating about the bush, but once she realised where I was heading she took the whole thing in the easiest and most relaxed way imaginable, as if it were nothing at all remarkable or unusual: a natural development, perfectly understandable, even inevitable, and certainly nothing to get upset about. “Don’t keep apologising for it, darling,” she said eventually. “You can’t help how you feel. And don’t forget Fran’s a favourite of mine, too. She’s lovely, she’s clever, and she loves you very deeply. And she kept her head in that Nina incident, which I didn’t; that must count for something, too.”
“I didn’t either,” I reminded her. “Yes, that was what made me realise how I felt, but I have to be honest and say this has been coming on for a little while.”
“I know. I’m not blind. I can see it’s what you want. So I want it, too. Go and tell her, darling. She’s a lovely person and it will make her so happy.”
With this generous blessing I hurried downstairs to invite Fran to walk with me outside.
It was deeply affecting. Fran wept tears of utter joy. She told me how she had hoped for this and dreamt of it but thought it could never be.
She was, bless her, desperately concerned about Wendy. She insisted on taking me back to the house so that she could assure herself in my presence that Wendy was as supportive as I claimed. Before long the two women were embracing and crying and saying how much they loved one another and each was telling the other how lovely she was (“lovely” was definitely the key word that morning), and things got so thoroughly girly that I was, I ought to be ashamed to say, glad to slip away and leave them to it while I went downstairs for a fuck.
Several fucks, as it turned out. I was conscious that time was passing and soon I should have to give up my temporary occupation of George’s house. The thought of leaving these idyllic surroundings and beautiful girls was almost too much to bear, and the idea of going to work next day seemed almost absurd. But it had to be done, so I told everyone that they must assemble in the sitting room at four o’clock. I needed to talk to them all together.
So I slowly wound down. The newer girls would take longer to recuperate so I worked my way through as many of them as I could, then after about one o’clock I turned to my longer-established girls. Of course I left Wendy and Fran to last, then the three of us showered together and made our way to the sitting room.
As we entered we were met by a thunder of applause from the roomful of happy girls. There was not much space to spare but a corner had been kept clear for me and I took my position flanked by Wendy and Fran. As the ovation died down I motioned the girls to sit. The higher-ranking girls had staked their claim to chairs but the majority sat cross-legged on the floor. This is a posture more commonly associated with small schoolchildren; adopted by naked young women, it meant that throughout the ensuing discussion I had to struggle to maintain my concentration in the face of dozens of gaping cunts, all of them directed uncompromisingly straight at me.
Wendy, Fran and I alone remained standing. Wendy was in her frock, I in my dressing gown; Fran, like everyone else, was still butt naked.
For a few moments I could do nothing but gaze at the sea of lovely faces and glistening fannies looking back at me. The girls were so young, so beautiful, so available, so utterly mine. I felt ashamed that there were still eight or ten to whom I could not confidently put a name.
I pulled myself together and began to speak. After thanking them all for coming (big laugh) and hoping they had all enjoyed the weekend (I gathered they had), I turned to the practical considerations that were the true reason for this assembly. First, I stressed that there must be no trace of our presence at the house. We must leave it as we found it, and take away everything we brought with us, “especially Connie’s DVDs.” Then travel: the majority were going by train (this included Fran and Connie, whom I had not the heart to order into Gabby’s car again). They would be ferried to the station in small batches and they were to stagger their journeys and avoid drawing attention to themselves; I did not want anyone to wonder why this obscure branch line was suddenly flooded with gorgeous women.
I also warned them about the side-effects; the weight gain, the loss of body hair, the raised heels. Not only that: for some years, although not permanently (I was taking Albert very much on trust here), their periods would stop and they could not become pregnant, but their sex drive would be ferocious. They should try to ensure that these changes did not come to other people’s notice, especially doctors’. In fact, they should generally seek to avoid doctors, which ought not to be difficult because they would seldom or never fall ill.
All these instructions were heard with quiet respect. It was when I started to talk about their future relationships, with other men and with me, and more generally about the ordering of their lives, that I became aware of a certain undercurrent that I found hard to define. It was certainly not a refusal, or even a reluctance, to obey my orders; they were far too firmly under control for that. But I got a sense that my audience was no longer wholly receptive and passive as I told them that they should return to their studies or jobs and avoid arousing any suspicion among their friends and families, and while I was happy for them to have as much casual sex as they liked they must have no steady boyfriends.
The outrageous selfishness of the last requirement, especially since with the best will in the world I should be able to see many of them only at long intervals, would seem to anyone unacquainted with FUCK to be the likeliest bone of contention. But the slight restiveness of my audience had set in before I came to that point. Having finished what I wanted to say, I surveyed the faces gazing at me and saw that Connie looked particularly fidgety.
“All right, Connie,” I said, “I can see you’re bursting to say something, get it off your chest.”
She jumped to her feet. Everyone looked at her and suddenly she became nervous. She was, I well knew, a good and voluble talker, never happier than when at the centre of a large crowd of friends, but, like so many people, she was very uncomfortable in any situation savouring even remotely of formality. Tongue-tied and clearly embarrassed, she struggled to find words for what she wanted to say. Eventually she blurted out, “James, I wanna fuck,” and everyone laughed.
“We all want to fuck, Connie,” I said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Oh, James, that’s not what I mean. I don’t wanna go to work tomorrow, I’m not cut out for it and it’s boring. I wanna fuck for money, like Gina.”
At this there was a general murmur of assent. I registered it, but it was so unexpected that I had no idea how to react, so I focused on Connie while I decided what to do.
“You mean you want to be a –” I was about to say “prostitute” but I thought a stronger word would bring home better the implications of what she was suggesting, “whore?”
I should have known better than to try to shock Connie when it comes to sex. “That’s it,” she agreed brightly. “I’ve talked to Gina. She says I’d be a natural. I’d fuck guys all the time and rake in a fortune, and any time you wanted me, James precious, I could drop everything and come running.”
I had to admit, if only inwardly at this stage, there might be something to be said for this idea. It was certainly true that Connie and the insurance business seemed to function in different conceptual universes; sooner or later she was going to get the sack. The girl loved sex and had to make a living somehow, but I was not willing to agree here and now.
“All right, I’ll think it over,” I said, and nodded to show she should sit down. She clearly wanted to say more, but she obeyed at once.
I thought I had better find out how widespread this sentiment might be. “When Connie suggested her career change I got the impression,” I said drily, “that one or two of you might be thinking along the same lines. Show of hands, please.”
Instantly it seemed that every single hand in the room shot up.
I say “seemed” because as I recovered from my surprise – I am not sure what I had expected, but certainly not this – I realised that dotted around there were girls with their hands still down. But then I saw that they were Gina, Olga, Precious and the other girls that were whores already. Them aside it was unanimous. I looked for Elspeth; her hand was raised: Alicia; hand raised: Laura; hand raised too. Apart from the whores, only the two women beside me kept their hands down. Then, before my eyes, ever so slowly and almost reluctantly, Fran’s hand went up too. I looked back to Wendy; her hand stayed firmly down and she gave a small shake of the head.
I made a gesture that the girls could lower their hands and turned to Fran. “I admit I’m a little surprised at you,” I said with a calmness I was far from feeling. “Could you explain your thinking, please?”
“James, darling, I think I can make you happier this way,” she answered. “It’s like Connie says. I’d be financially secure and I’d be available much more readily than if I were working in an office.”
“And the fucking?”
She seemed surprised that I thought that would be an issue. “That’d be fine. I like fucking,” she said in a tone she might have used to say she liked gooseberries.
“And your career? You know you could be a high flier in business.”
“And end up on the board of some big insurance company. Would that please you, darling?”
“Not particularly,” I had to admit. I turned to the woman on my right. “What about you, Wendy?” I asked. “You seem to be a minority of one.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I’m just too old. I’m sure I can make you happy in other ways.”
“What if you were twenty-five years younger?”
“Oh, in that case, yes, I should think so. Why not?”
I turned to face the rest of the room. “Has anyone else any thoughts she’d like to share?”
Elspeth stood up. “James, I can see you weren’t expecting this but a few of us have been talking about it today and, frankly, everyone I’ve spoken to is envious of Gina and the others because when you think about it, whoring is the perfect job for your girls and your girls are the perfect whores. Gina’s been telling me all about it. She fucks all day, which thanks to you is exactly what she wants to do, she’s her own boss so she can see you any time you want her, and do you know how much money she’s making? So James, it’s your decision, and I’d never do anything you objected to, but I can’t see why you wouldn’t agree to this.”
This brief but powerful speech got a big hand.
“All right,” I said, “I’ll think about it.”
I did. For a good ten minutes the girls watched and waited in respectful silence, while I stood there mulling it over. From what Gina had told me about the sex trade I knew that lovely girls like these could work with reasonable safety and security at the top end of the market, and clear instructions from me would stop them from doing anything silly or risky. They would be able to fuck pretty well non-stop, which I knew they would appreciate, and best of all they would all be based in London and would be handy for me whenever I liked. But on the other hand, I did not feel I could allow them all to plunge into the sex business first thing tomorrow, as they appeared to wish. I made my decision.
“I’ve thought about it,” I announced. They stared up at me, agog to hear my ruling. Relishing my power, I made them wait several moments before I continued. “You’re all going back to your jobs or studies tomorrow morning, just as I said before.” A wave of disappointment swept over the room, but there was resignation too. I had given my decision and no one dreamt of arguing.
“But,” I continued, and they all looked at me in renewed hope, “I will allow you all, with one or two exceptions whom I shall notify separately, to wind up your current commitments in an orderly manner. You are to take your time in order to concoct reasonable and plausible explanations for the benefit of your families and friends. You are on no account to call attention to yourself by sudden dramatic changes in behaviour. Only when you have thoroughly readied the ground may you begin your new career. Girls in work and final year students can start their preparation right away. Other students will first have to finish their degrees, to which they will apply themselves diligently. [There were several groans.] Sorry, girls, education is important. Any questions?”
Ruth stood up. She was one of the girls that floated past on Thursday; I remembered her because she looked a bit younger than most of the Cambridge girls. “I don’t graduate for another two years,” she complained. “James, can I whore during the holidays?”
“A most reasonable request. Yes, provided you can arrange a good cover story, and don’t flash the money around during term.”
She sat down looking much happier.
There being no further questions, I closed the meeting at 4:53 pm.