The Secret Sex Lives of Wanda Mitty. Felix Baron

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СКАЧАТЬ it was because Wanda was ‘spoken’ for and Kitty wasn’t? That’d be some compensation.

      Kitty nudged Wanda with her thigh. ‘I’m sure that we are going to become great friends,’ she declared. ‘I can feel it already.’ She rested a warm palm on Wanda’s knee and squeezed.

      ‘Thank you.’ That was confusing. It isn’t fair when someone you’ve decided to hate comes on all warm and friendly. And ‘comes on’ to boot!

      Wanda picked up a small fork and prodded at the lobster meat, not sure how to proceed. Next to her, Kitty simply plucked her tail from its casing with her fingers, dipped it in a sauce and slowly sucked at the pinkish-white meat. There was no doubt in Wanda’s mind. The girl was fellating the firm flesh.

      Kitty dipped again. ‘I do love this sauce, don’t you, Wanda?’

      ‘I’ve tasted better.’

      ‘Haven’t we all! I wonder if this is a cock or a hen lobster?’

      ‘Does it make a difference?’ Wanda asked.

      ‘They’re both good, I’m sure, but I like to know what I’m putting in my mouth, anyway.’

      The blatant innuendoes confirmed that Kitty was definitely a naughty girl. Wanda liked that, even if the girl’s freedom to be openly bad made her jealous. Under different circumstances, she and Kitty could have been very good friends. Come to that, she really couldn’t hold Kitty’s past whatever-it-had-been with Henry against her.

      Henry had his head back, pouring an oyster into his mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Did oysters evoke the female essence for him as much as lobster tails did the male one for her?

      Her mother and Lucinda were looking into each other’s eyes as they too slurped oysters. Oh my God! If that didn’t confirm exactly what Wanda didn’t want confirmed, what would?

      So as not to mimic Kitty, Wanda picked her tail up and sank her teeth into it. The sweet meat was resilient enough she could almost fancy it was alive and moving inside her mouth. On her tongue.

      This wasn’t a brunch. It was a goddamned food orgy!

      Four loud and burly young men brought plates that were pyramided with the buffet’s offerings to the next table. Wanda threw a glance at Kitty to see if she disapproved of the newcomers as much as she did. There was something about the young woman’s profile …

      Wanda twisted on her bench seat and looked up at the cartoon. There was a definite likeness between Kitty and the mermaid. And Henry drew. As far as she could see, the picture wasn’t signed, not even with initials. If it had been, and the signature had been ‘Henry Chandler’, or the initials ‘HC’, that would have been very unpleasant.

      Henry’s knee touched hers under the table. Was his hand going to follow? Please?

      He asked her, ‘Do you ride, Wanda?’

      She nodded. Her mother had made sure that she was raised ‘above her station’. Upward mobility had been the theme of her life, imposed by her sole parent. Her mom hadn’t been mistaken though, after all, all being well. From shoe-shop assistant to the wife of a multimillionaire would certainly be an upward move.

      ‘English saddle, or Western?’

      ‘Either – both. Not at once.’

      He grinned, warming her heart. ‘Funny girl! My negotiations will be finished in a couple of days. I plan to take a few days off to get to know my bride better.’

      Did he mean sex? Please, God, let him mean hot sweaty, maybe kinky, sex!

      He continued, ‘I thought we could all go out to the ranch, kick back, take it easy, with maybe some riding? You have a quality about you, Wanda, that makes me want to see you in full English riding regalia.’

      The men at the next table were laughing raucously.

      ‘I don’t have …’ she began.

      ‘No, of course not. Here, take this.’ Henry handed her a business card. Mr Pink, Bespoke Habits. ‘He does boots, as well. I’d like you to go see him and let him measure you. I’ve told him exactly what I want him to make for you. He makes all my riding clothes for me.’

      ‘Oh, thank you, Henry.’

      ‘Pink doesn’t do Western outfits, though, so take this as well.’ He put a black credit card on the table. ‘There’s no practical limit on it, so don’t worry about what you spend.’

      Wanda had some vague impression that there was something special about black credit cards. Henry was giving her a taste of what being married to a very rich man was like. That was a kind of courtship, wasn’t it? Wanda tucked both cards away in her purse and made sure to wedge her purse between herself and Kitty, where no one would be able to snatch it. The backs of Wanda’s fingers pressed briefly against Kitty’s hip. The hip pressed back. Wanda clamped down on her imagination before it could take her where she didn’t want to go. Perhaps she should get away from the table, and the heat of Kitty’s slender young body.

      ‘I’m up for dessert,’ Wanda announced.

      Henry laid a finger on her wrist, where it seared her flesh. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I ordered a special dessert for us. It’ll be right along.’ He lifted his other hand, sending a waitress scurrying towards the kitchen.

      ‘What is it?’ Martha asked.

      ‘Figs.’

      Martha looked taken aback, which was exactly how Wanda felt. Figs?

      Henry explained. ‘Fresh green Smyrna figs, slit open and some of the pulp scooped out. They’re filled with raw Demerara sugar that has been supersaturated with dark 180-proof rum. Then they are wrapped in foil and baked so that the aroma penetrates the flesh.’

      Kitty, under her breath, whispered, ‘Penetrates the flesh.’

      Wanda couldn’t help but echo, ‘Penetrates the flesh.’ She and Kitty exchanged sly glances and didn’t giggle.

      Henry continued. ‘Once they are out of the oven, they are opened, topped with clotted cream and served very quickly, while the hot and cold still contrast. I think you’ll find them amusing. If not, there’s an ample dessert buffet to choose from.’

      ‘I’ve never heard of that dish,’ Wanda admitted. ‘What’s it called?’

      ‘I haven’t named it yet. If you like it, perhaps it will be “Figs Wanda”.’

      ‘Your recipe?’

      ‘The chef here allows me to dabble.’

      Oh! He likes to dress up. He cooks fancy desserts. Please, please, please don’t let him be gay!

      The chef himself appeared, complete with his high hat and check pants, and served them each with a single cream-slathered fig in a cut-glass coupe. Henry thanked him. He bowed to the table and retreated to his domain.

      Wanda picked up her dessert fork. As she prodded through the cream, СКАЧАТЬ