The Three Halves of Martyn Manning
Order, logic. Rationality, but with a touch of the flamboyant. These were the traits in which he took pride. That’s why he was such a gifted architect. Every night when he closed his office door at Martyn Manning Associates his desk was clear, his papers filed, his mail answered. But he saw no contradiction between being rational and flamboyant, the logical yet the extrovert. Just because you were a rationalist it didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy a few drinks down the pub with the lads, and even get drunk now and again. In fact it was necessary for a gifted architect to have some of these colourful creative streaks. He considered this further as he drove home this particular evening. For instance, take the subject of married men and affairs. It was quite clear that evolution and the survival of the species demanded a man should spread his seed as far and wide as possible. Man was clearly never intended to be monogamous. A woman on other hand needed to find a single lover, a provider and protector for her precious and finite eggs. It all made perfect sense. That’s why men have probing, invasive, violating penises whereas women’s parts are enclosed, protected, hard to enter without willing submission. Martin did of course realize that there was a paradox here. It was easy to rationalise a man’s need for infidelity and a woman’s need for fidelity, but a man can’t be unfaithful with a woman without a female accomplice. He knew this put something of a strain on his argument but thought he’d put that one aside for another day. Naturally, should an affair take place then great precautions should be taken to make absolutely sure that the cuckolded party didn’t find out. But as long as it was utterly circumspect he thought a discreet affair might be a wonderful tonic for a tired relationship. Nevertheless, Martin had never been unfaithful to Janet, his wife of twelve years. Janet, so beautiful and intelligent, so ambitious and successful, and yet sometimes so cruel and remote. He even thought he still loved her. Of course it wasn’t still the first consuming flush of young love but Martin was bright enough to know that a lasting marriage was based on companionship and friendship and lots of other things that were far more important than the exchange of fluids. And after all, she had given him the two most beautiful children in the world. He’d never been unfaithful, but he often pondered the times he’d had the chance, and as he drove home through the dank February night his thoughts turned to Jenny.
It was four years ago when he was in his late thirties when he’d been spending three days visiting a client in Fort Royal, a small town in remote rural Virginia. Jenny was an intern whose desk was immediately outside Martin’s temporary office. He guessed she was in her mid-twenties. She had big cascading brown hair and her skin was freckled almost, but not quite, to the point of disfigurement. Her body was of solid American health, a tribute to US Beef, an outdoor lifestyle and an exclusive gym membership. He could only imagine the firmness of her breasts to his touch. For the first two days he flirted outrageously and to his surprise she responded with embarrassing and transparent excuses to enter his office where she'd sit and chat of his work or England or music. Once, when discussing the project they were working on she said “I could learn a lot from you”. “And there’s lots I could teach you” said Martin catching her eye with a look he hoped was meaningful. On the morning of his last day he entered his office to find a red foil-wrapped chocolate lollipop in the shape of a heart on his desk. “It’s Valentine’s Day, I got one for everybody” she tried to joke, but when he eventually plucked up courage to mumble something about dinner that night she readily agreed.
As he dressed for his date that night he pondered for a short while on what to wear. Then he remembered that it really didn’t matter. By his late thirties Martin had learned a few things about women. He knew for instance that it was pointless to try and foresee a woman’s taste in men’s clothes. If he tried to dress in what he thought she’d find attractive she would almost certainly find it appalling, whereas if he thought he looked appalling she’d probably think he looked cute. He also knew that if Jenny really fancied him it wouldn’t matter what he wore, whereas if she didn’t fancy him he could wear the finest clothes in the world and it wouldn’t count for anything in his campaign to bed her. She picked him up from his hotel in her red Toyota SUV and they drove into town. Her green angora sweater and very short, very tight, very white canvas shorts with frayed edges highlighted her powerful shapely thighs. Nervous and looking for signals, Martin wondered whether anything in her dress indicated either a night of vigorous coupling or a night of HBO with a sleeping pill. They wandered through the evening crowds. Martin bought ‘The Magic Flute’ on CD to try and impress her with his European culture, and then they watched some black street musicians on a temporary stage playing old soul hits. He decided against holding hands at this point. They went to eat at ‘The Big Red Walnut’, a crowded and popular micro-brewery and restaurant. She had a warm chicken salad and he ordered New York Strip steak with cheddar mashed potatos and a bottle of Californian merlot. Then as soon as their order was taken Jenny started asking questions. How long had he been married? What was his wife like? Did he have any children? Martin was a great believer in the ‘Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker’ approach to bedding girls and as they talked he kept re-filling Jenny’s glass. Buoyed by alcohol the questions soon became even more personal and slightly bizarre. How often did he have sex? Was it boring making love to the same woman all the time? How did he enliven his sex life? What was his favourite position? How many mistresses had he had? Martin responded. How many partners had she had? (Lost count.) Had she ever slept with a black man? (Yes.) Did he have a big penis? (Not really.) Was a big penis better than a small penis? (It can be.) By now he was convinced she was going to spend the night in his bed. He thought of asking ‘What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done?’ but then decided to save it to use as post-coital viagra.
Martin toyed with his food. There’s a special tension between two people who know they may shortly sleep together for the first time, and Martin was drinking it in. He was anxious to have the sex question resolved and as soon as was decent he beckoned the waitress and asked for the bill.
As they drove back to the hotel he noticed Jenny had very small and delicate hands. Martin always found such hands to be a highly erotic on a woman. He called them wanking hands and loved to imagine them working his penis. She drew into the hotel car park and switched off the engine. For a few moments they sat in the darkness in awkward silence, and that was when he made his stupid, stupid mistake. He knew it was a mistake before he said it, but he was a well-brought-up Englishman, he couldn’t just invite her to his room for sex, he needed some sort of pretence, something to hang it on.
‘Wanna come to my room? I’m gonna watch a porn movie.’
Her body stiffened and even in the dark he could see her face change.
‘No. I’ve got to get home. Big day tomorrow.’
As soon as he was out of the car she sped off leaving him looking and feeling like an idiot. How could he have been such a fool? He’d broken rule number one of seduction. When you trying to seduce a woman you have to remember that the woman wants you to be completely focused on her alone, at all times, to the exclusion of all others. Especially wank-stars.
He walked forlornly back to his room. He gave her half an hour to get home then called.
‘Oh it’s you’ she answered icily.
‘Why didn’t you come back to my room?’
‘What, to watch a fucking porn movie?’
‘I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean it. We had such a good evening. It came out wrong. It was just something to say to get you back to my room.’
He continued to charm and flatter and slowly she defrosted. They chatted until eventually she said,
‘You know, if you’d just asked me to watch an ordinary movie I’d have come with you.’
‘Maybe next time’ said Martin.
‘Definitely next time’ she said. Early next morning he left for the airport. He never did go back to Fort Royal.
Martin’s Volvo could almost drive itself through the narrow country roads though he did have to stay alert to dodge the regular piles of roadkill. As he drew up outside The Old Rectory he could see that neither Janet’s nor the nanny’s cars were there. He had the house to himself. He let himself in and went straight up to the bedroom to change. He took off his suit and hung it in the wardrobe, paused for a moment, then took off his shirt, pants and socks. Then he lay down on the bed, relaxed and naked on top of the duvet, and began his favourite fantasy.
He and Jenny are secret lovers. He often visits Fort Royal and while he’s there they have athletic, passionate, non-stop sex. Then one morning, his birthday, as they lay in bed together, his balls spent and empty, she asks him what he wants as a present.
‘I want to fuck you again’.
‘I know you want to fuck me again. You always want to fuck me again. But I thought I might get you something really special.”
“I thought all men were turned on by three-in-a-bed.’
‘What are you talking about Jens?’
It turns out Jenny has once had sex with a woman. ‘It was great’ she says, ‘a woman knows all the right places to touch.’ She also has a friend, Carla, a single mum divorced from a marine who doesn’t have a boyfriend and is frustrated and desperate. ‘I’ll call her and invite her to dinner. We’ll take it from there.’
They meet that evening at ‘The Big Red Walnut’. Carla is a pretty girl in her early twenties with a white-blonde bob. She wears a plain white t-shirt and tight stone-washed jeans. She has a flat stomach and apple breasts. Although she is attractive she’s a poor single parent and Carla is not used to being taken to dinner. She drinks lots of red wine and by the end of their main courses she’s clearly drunk. As they wait for their desserts Jenny strikes.
‘So Carla, how’s the love-life? Seeing anybody?’
Carla laughs. ‘Love-life? You’ve gotta be joking. What fricking love-life?’ Carla takes another deep drink.
‘So still not getting any? I heard you were making out with some computer salesman from Denver. What happened to him?’
‘Same old story. Didn’t want commitment, specially not to someone with a kid in tow. I dunno what’s wrong with the men in this town. All I want is a good dicking now and again and I haven’t even had that for months. How about you?’
‘Well actually Carla my friend it’s never been better.’ Jenny gives Martin a meaningful look.
‘You are joking’ shrieks Carla. ‘You and Martin? Are you serious? I had no idea!’
‘Oh Carla, I’m telling you, he’s the best ever. I can’t get him off me. And he’s hung like a donkey. I never get any sleep when he’s in town.’
By now Martin is fully erect. But he hasn’t let himself to touch himself yet. Now the fingers of his right hand start to gently massage his glans and his breathing quickens.
The three of them are now entering Martin’s hotel room. It’s a huge American hotel room with two enormous beds to the right and a large desk set against the wall to the left. The only light shines from the open door of the bathroom. Jenny goes to the mini-bar to get Carla another drink and Martin goes for a piss, though he finds it difficult with his hard prick. When he comes back from the bathroom Carla and Jenny are already in a clinch, their mouths, breasts, pelvises pressing tight together, their thighs entwined. When Jenny sees Martin she pulls her mouth away from Carla’s.
‘I told you she’d like it’ she says. ‘Is it doing it for you?’
Without waiting for an answer she steps back and pulls off her t-shirt and bra, then she helps Carla do the same.
‘Lie down on the bed Carla and I’ll do nice things to you.’
Carla lays motionless on the bed. As Jenny’s tongue plays over her nipples, her hands undo the clasp of Carla’s jeans.
‘Just keep doing it’ murmers Carla.
‘Don’t you want to get really dirty?’ says Jenny.
She rises from the bed and quickly strips. She stands naked before Martin, triumph and exhilaration in her eyes, revelling in her youth, beauty and sexual supremacy. Then she returns to the bed. She pulls off Carla’s jeans and pants and settles her head between Carla’s legs, her fingers parting her lips. Her tongue works and sucks on Carla’s clit as her hands knead her breasts. Martin kneels on the bed and slips into Jenny from behind, into her vagina, not her anus, not yet. Then Carla comes. It’s not a shouting, panting, limbs flailing come but an eyes-closed, body tensed then contented shudder come. Jenny moves forward, slipping off Martin. She snuggles down next to Carla and gently kisses her mouth and face.
“My turn” she says.
Carla sits up and gives Martin a broad smile. She takes hold of his prick and starts to yank.
“Your turn too huh?”
Carla starts to lick and suck on Jenny, her bum stuck up in the air, and again Martin enters. Carla is looser than Jenny, must be because of the kid, but she’s both warmer and wetter. Jenny comes with little gasps and kitten whimpers, and pushes Carla’s head away. For a few moments the three of them kiss and caress, then Martin stands up.
“Come on ladies, time for Martin’s fun.”
He takes Jenny by the hand and leads her to the long desk. She knows what to do as she’s done it many times before. She sits on the edge of the desk and beckons Carla to sit next to her. Martin starts with Jenny. He gently enters her and she settles her legs around his pelvis. Then he starts to make long, slow thrusts, his arms around Jenny holding her tight to his chest. Suddenly he pulls out. Jenny protests.
“No, I’ll come. It’s not fair on Carla.”
He pulls away from Jenny and moves to Carla, who gives him another big smile. She takes hold of his prick and pulls him towards her. With her free hand she opens herself and guides him in.
“I’ve never done it like this before.”
He drives into her, their mouths locked, his thumbs rubbing her nipples. Then he pulls his mouth away so he can look down between them to see himself moving in and out in the dim light. Suddenly he withdraws completely. He can’t wait any longer, it's time to finish himself off. He takes both Carla’s hands and pulls her from the desk, then pushes her backwards onto the bed. He enters and works at her furiously, her breasts rippling with each full thrust. He tries to move his pelvis in a circular motion as if to make her hole bigger. Harder and faster, harder and faster.
With his left hand he lay some toilet paper on his belly then cupped his balls as he approached his climax.
As wanks go it was quite disappointing. He’d realized with a few seconds to go that he didn’t have his grip quite right, but it was too late to change it so he carried on. As a result, the orgasm didn’t come properly from the fully stimulated glans but from deeper in the less sensitive shaft. Still, thanks girls. He lay there for a while pondering wanking. Was it so terrible to enjoy a wank now and again? Should he feel guilty? He didn’t know, but he did know that every man on the face of the earth did it and any man who denied it was a liar. And did women have the faintest idea how often men wanked? And why did men in a relationship still wank even though they could have sex whenever they wanted? It wasn’t better than sex, certainly not better than drunken sex with a new and unexplored partner. But it was still pretty good.
Then he heard the scrunch of a car’s wheels on the gravel of the drive. He leapt to the window to see the nanny’s bright blue Focus pulling up next to his Volvo. No doubt the kids were in the back. He opened the wardrobe and quickly pulled on denim jeans and a polo-shirt. He heard the front door open.
“Daddy, Daddy, we’ve been to McDonalds!”
He ran to the en-suite bathroom. He threw the sticky toilet paper down the bowl and flushed.
“Hello my darlings!” he shouted. “Did you have a good time?”