The Three Halves of Martyn Manning-Chapter Fifteen: Inception - Part Two

Then
there was Heather. Oh Heather, Heather, Heather. He still had a soft
spot for Heather. It was the strangest story. Or perhaps it was
normal for those sorts of people, you know, the lower classes.

One
of his housemates was a medical student called Rob. Early one dark
winter’s evening Rob arrived back from class with the news that
he’d heard there was a Mess Party later that night. They thought
about it. On the one hand it would be a long and tedious journey to
the hospital on the other side of town. On the other hand there may
be loads of hot nurses gagging for a shagging. On balance they
decided it was probably worth the effort and jumped in the car.

It
was indeed a long and tedious journey. When they got to the hospital
they had trouble finding the venue and then once inside it was dark,
noisy and crowded. It really wasn’t pleasant and the pick-up
potential was minimal in such a place. They bought pints and found
seats at a small table then quickly decided they’d only stay for
one drink. They’d been there for maybe five minutes and Martyn was
half way down his pint when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He
turned round without thinking and was surprised to see a woman
standing behind him. She was mouthing words at him but he couldn’t
hear. He cupped his hands to his mouth:

“What?”

She
bent to his ear.

“Do
you want to dance?”

He
followed like a lamb as she led him to the dance-floor. He’d never
actually been asked to dance by a woman before and he was taken
aback, he wouldn’t have known how to politely refuse even if he’d
wanted to. In fact, thinking about it, he couldn’t remember himself
ever asking a girl to dance, not directly, not just like that, not
sober. And he wasn’t a natural dancer. He knew he wasn’t and he
was embarrassed when he was forced into it. In an ideal world he’d
be on his sixth pint before it got to this, but whatever, needs must.
As he shuffled around he tried to make an assessment of his partner
but it was difficult to make much out in the gloom. She had shoulder
length blonde hair with an average, perhaps slightly stocky build.
She was a couple of inches smaller than him and was definitely older
though he couldn’t tell by how much. She seemed pretty enough. They
had a couple of dances and tried to talk but given the loudness of
the music it was futile. He was actually getting a little bored so he
was relieved when she leaned towards him.

“Have
you got your car?”

“No,
I’m in my friend’s.”

“We’ll
have to go to mine then. Well, it’s my sister’s. I’ll have to
get the keys.”

She
started off towards the edge of the dance-floor but he caught her
arm.

“Hang
on. Why are we going to your car?”

“Just
come. We can talk. It’s too noisy in here anyway.”

In
the car it was just as dark as in the disco. They sat in the front
seats. He felt awkward and didn’t know what to say but she seemed
fine.

“So
my name’s Heather, what’s yours?”

“Nice
to meet you Heather, I’m Martyn.” He paused and waited for her to
speak but she didn’t, she just looked at him.

“So
do you make a habit of kidnapping strange men?”

She
still didn’t answer. It was getting a little weird. He tried again.

“Why
did you ask me to dance?” This
was a genuine question. Despite
his recent successes Martyn still looked upon the male/female
relationship world of
sex and seduction as
a strange and confusing place,
a sort of competitive
chess board, where
he somehow had to fool or out-manoeuvre
a woman into sleeping with him despite
his obvious repulsiveness.
It would still be many years before he could even
begin
to accept
that he may be inherently attractive himself, attractive
on
his own terms, in his own right. That
a woman might find him attractive was way beyond his ability to conceive. She
spoke at last.

“I
really like you.”

He
wanted to snigger but that would be disrespectful and impolite.

“You
really like me? Well that’s nice, thank you. But you don’t know
me so how can you say you really like me?”

“You
have a kind face. I can tell you’re a nice person. I can just
tell.” She paused. “Kiss me then.” She didn’t move towards
him but remained upright in the driver’s seat with her head and
face turned to his, so he had to lean across and over the handbrake.
She had neutral breath, a robust tongue and breasts he could weigh as
he cupped them. They chatted a little between embraces but it was
polite and desultory. Given that they were sat in the front seats of
a car he thought it unlikely it would go much further that night. He
didn’t even try to get his hand down her pants. She said she had to
check on her sister so they wandered back to the disco.

For
the next few days he went about his business as usual but she kept
coming into his mind. He kept telling himself he was a player and she
was just some slag he’d picked up for a snog and a tit-feel but he
couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was something to do with her
attitude, an attitude he’d never encountered before in a woman.
She’d identified what she wanted, taken the lead in getting it,
enjoyed a casual sexual encounter and then moved on. Wasn’t that
what a man was supposed to do? He was intrigued. He was aroused.

He
didn’t have her phone number but she’d said she worked behind the
bar in a business hotel in town. A bar was open to anyone wasn’t
it? He wouldn’t have to explain why he was there, he was just going
in for a drink, it would be a random meeting, a coincidence. So
that’s indeed where he found himself on the Thursday evening after
work. It was the usual hotel bar, silent and soul crushing, with
dimly lit “colleagues” lurking in the shadows. It was many years
before the insidious ubiquity of laptops, phones and tablets. The bar
staff wore white shirts and black waistcoats, the men with tartan
trousers, the women tartan skirts. There seemed to be something
Scottish going on. All the staff had a sprig of heather pinned to
their breast. He couldn’t help but smile.

The
barman was nice enough and served him pleasantly, but there was no
sign of Heather and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by
asking after her. He was about to swallow his last mouthful of beer
and leave when she walked into the bar through a door at the back.
She spotted him almost immediately and came across and smiled.

“Hello!”

She
didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him. He was a little
surprised that she even recognised him. They exchanged pleasantries
and he got a better chance to appraise her in the brighter light. Yes
she was older than him, probably in her late twenties so seven or
eight years. And she was quite attractive, definitely worth the
effort. When he screwed up his courage and asked for her number she
jotted it down straight away and passed it to him without hesitation.
He had what he came for, no need to hang around.

“Alright,
well I’ve got a few things to do. I’d better let you do some work
or you’ll be in trouble.”

“Ha-ha!
No chance of that here. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Well
anyway, gotta go. I’ll give you a call.”

“OK.
Good. Bye then!”

 

A
week later he pulled up outside a newish terrace house on a middling
council estate on the east of the city. It was comfortingly closer to
respectable than run down. She’d asked him to call when he arrived
rather than knock on the door, which he’d thought a little strange,
but these weren’t his people so who was he to judge? They drove to
a wine bar he knew. He passed her the menu but she said she wasn’t
hungry, maybe some crisps. When she talked he didn’t have to feign
interest, he was genuinely fascinated. Here was a woman who lived a
life of which he knew nothing, who moved in circles of which he
wasn’t even aware. When she talked of her family and friends she
made casual off-hand references to recreational drugs, to cannabis
and cocaine, even heroin. She talked of alcoholism, of shop-lifting,
of violence, of domestic and sexual abuse, even of rape. She talked
as if such things were part of everyday life, though she was clearly
trying to present herself to him as an observer rather than a
participant. It was all she knew so it was all she could talk about,
but maybe she felt defensive and needed to attempt to maintain some
measure of distance. But to Martyn it was a different world, a world
of which he’d only read about in tabloids. She was vague about her
own relationship status. He got the impression that she’d recently
had a man but that they weren’t together any more.

It
was a small house, if you were being polite you’d say compact.
Downstairs was just a kitchen, a combined living/dining room and a
hallway. When they got back the downstairs lights and the upstairs
landing lights were all blazing. It was like an operating theatre.
She ushered him into the kitchen which was tidy, clean and modern.
She opened a cupboard, pulled out a wine glass and put it on the
counter in front of him.

“There’s
a bottle of white in the fridge. Help yourself. I’ve just got to
pop upstairs a minute.”

“Don’t
you want one?”

“Oh
yeah, of course I do. What
am I thinking.”
She pulled out another glass. “Back in a minute.” She
disappeared out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He
didn’t
really wonder where
she’d gone or what she was doing, he
vaguely assumed
she
was doing whatever women did before first time sex with a relative
stranger though he had no idea what that might involve.

He
poured the wine then just stood in the kitchen and waited. It
would be rude to go exploring and anyway he didn’t have the nerve.
But
he didn’t have to wait long. She breezed back into the kitchen
looking quite serious but then grabbed her wine and smiled.

“Come
on, let’s go through.”

They
walked through to the L-shaped living room. He looked around but
there wasn’t much to see. White walls, a tiny dining table and two
chairs, one of those large grey CRT TV’s of
the time, the
size of a small airing cupboard. There
was a gas fire set into the wall with a sheepskin rug in front of it.
There
were very
few photos but of course she didn’t have kids. The
furniture was cheap tubular framed chrome with loose brown cushions.
When
he’d finished he turned round to
find she’d
closed the door, pulled her blouse
free from the
waist of
her
jeans and was now
unbuttoning
the
front.
Her
bra was light blue with a lacy white trim and a small silk bow
between the cups. He
must have looked surprised.

“Aren’t
you going to get undressed then?” She seemed very matter of fact.

“Oh
yes,
of course. Er,
shall
we turn the light off?”

“If
you want. Are
you shy?”
She
grinned.

He
judged the taunt
to
be without malice and
ignored it.

“We
could lie on the rug by the light of the fire. That might be nice.”

“If
you like.”

They
met on the rug as he’d suggested. Her
breasts were large and hard and
smelled of talcum powder.
He
enjoyed it, of course he did, and he thought and hoped she did too,
though he wasn’t sure if she’d come or
not.
He didn’t worry too much about
that.
Many
of
his friends had assured
him that it wasn’t really essential and that women didn’t
need to come, they enjoyed the simple
intimacy
just
as much.
And
he hadn’t taken any precautions but then he never did. It was long
before Aids and anyway that was the woman’s job.

He’d
hardly finished when she pushed him off. She stood up and turned on
the light, looking around to gather her clothes. He realised he’d
never seen a post-coital partner standing upright and naked under
bright lights before, he’d never properly noticed the way that
large breasts move when hanging unconstrained, together yet not,
synchronous yet dissonant. He didn’t know why this made him feel
uncomfortable. Surely this was perfectly normal? She certainly seemed
to think so. He’d just fucked her. He’d just put his cock in her
cunt and shot his load. So what was it now, what was it about this
particular scene, that made her seem so...so shameless. She glanced
up at him as she pulled up her pants.

“You
ought to get dressed.”

“Are
we in a hurry or
something?”

“Not
really, but you never know, he might come down or something.”

It
took a moment for Martyn to properly
process
this.
He tried to sound calm.

“He?
OK.
And who
exactly
is He?”

“Paul.
I told you about him earlier. Don’t
you remember? He’s
upstairs but he’s probably asleep.”

Yes,
he thought, I think you may have mentioned Paul in passing. As
an Ex certainly. But
I’m pretty sure you didn’t mention that while we were downstairs
fucking he was going to be upstairs and for all I know listening and wanking. I
understand,
it must have slipped your mind, these things do. By
the way, does he own an axe?

“And
is Paul likely to come
down?”

“He
shouldn’t, I told him not to.” (Oh,
that’s OK then.)

“But
what if he does?”

“Just
get dressed.”

He
did
get
dressed, in record time. He
was back across town, showered and in bed before his flatmates were
back from the pub.

 

She
never called him but she always responded to his calls, even at very
short notice. They’d
meet in the city, usually a wine bar. They never ate, they just got
drunk and sometimes danced, then back to his grim trainee’s digs
for
sex. They never went back to her house again for obvious reasons. At the end of the evening he’d give her five
pounds for a taxi home. He
knew it was too much. Actually
she did call him, just once. It
was several months since they’d seen each other. She called to say
she’d seen him filling his tank on a garage forecourt but
she
couldn’t say anything because she was with Paul. She said she liked
his flash new car and when was he going to take her for a ride in it?
He’d promised to call but
he never did. That was the last time he spoke to her. That reminded
him. After putting down the phone he searched in his desk drawer and
pulled out his address book then inside the back cover he jotted down
three sets of initials. He
didn’t want to lose count. He
was turning out to be a bit of a stud. He might even
need
a bigger address book.

END
OF CHAPTER