Don't Tell

Don't Tell

I can't remember the first time I saw her but I can remember it was
raining. In fact it was one of those nights you only get when the
seasons are changing. You know the kind. Wet and windy, almost as if
nature doesn't know what kind of mood it should be in. The kind of
night to keep people away from their windows and glued to the
television. That was probably what she was hoping for. That's not what
she got, though.

I was upstairs in the bedroom, gazing absently out of the window into
the street the below. We live on a main road, but not a very busy one.
Not unless you count the morning and evening rush hours, of course. The
bedside lamp was on and it cast a warm and homely glow around the room.
Moments earlier my wife had finished putting the kids to bed. Then,
after giving me a perfunctory kiss on the lips, she walked downstairs
and out of the house to her car. It was Monday evening and aerobics
night. I watched as she backed her car out of the driveway and onto the
road. Then, with a quick glance upward towards me she waved her hand
and was off.

As I leaned down to switch off the lamp something caught my eye. I knew
instantly what it was; flesh. I knew its colour right away and although
I knew I shouldn't I looked again. Across the road, framed by the
bright light in an upstairs window was a young woman. I had seen her
before, but never like this. Naked. Her long red hair hung in curls and
she was brushing it wildly, tugging at it as if in a temper. The deep
auburn of the hair seemed to burn and provided a stark contrast to her
skin that was the palest white. You know the type of skin I mean. The
type that burns when brought into contact with strong sunlight, yet
glows healthily when care is taken to protect it from the harsh rays.
As she tugged at her hair her breasts swayed gently from side to side
and I thought her a most magnificent creature. She was not thin. Slim,
I think you would call her, although she did possess strong thighs and
a large and shapely bottom. And at the junction of her legs and navel,
a perfect v-shape of red hair. I remember thinking at the time:
matching collar and cuffs.

Just then she looked up and caught me.

Caught in the act I quickly switched off the lamp leaving the room lit
only by the light that emanated from the upstairs landing. Thinking
back that wouldn't have fooled her. The light that spilled in the
bedroom door would have framed my form in the window. Whatever, she had
seen me and to my surprise she didn't seem put out. In fact, she
smiled. Yes, she actually smiled! She also did something else, and I
think you'll like this bit - she raised a finger to her lips. Almost as
if it was to be our little secret. For the next few minutes I stood
transfixed and watched as she finished brushing her hair, then she took
her hands, and starting with her thighs she began to rub them all over
her body. No part from the knees up was left untouched; thighs, belly,
waist, arms, shoulders, neck and breasts. When she reached her breasts
she seemed to pay them particular attention, rubbing them slowly and
touching and fingering the nipples. I noticed my mouth had become dry,
and forcing out some saliva, I licked my lips.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started it ended. Her hands stopped
moving and her head jerked to the left. I could see her lips moving as
if she was speaking to someone. I moved my eyes to the other window and
could make out the shape of someone, a man, outside her bedroom door. I
moved my gaze back in time to see her reach down onto the bed. Seconds
later she put on a bathrobe and was hurriedly tying the belt around her
waist. She made her way to the window and reaching out with both hands
grabbed handfuls of curtain. But before she closed them she looked once
more across to me and smiled. Then, letting one of the curtains fall
she again put a finger to her lips.

Moments later the light was switched off. I sat down on the bed and
tried to make sense of what I had seen.

I couldn't. Not then.

* * *

I never mentioned what I had seen to my wife and for the next three
nights I went upstairs and hoped for a repeat performance. Her actions
that night had certainly suggested there would be others, but for a few
days I was to be sorely disappointed. In fact, I sometimes wonder if
there would have been a repeat had she not actually seen me in the
street.

It was Friday afternoon and I had returned from a meeting. The meeting
had dragged on and there seemed little point in returning to the
office. Taking advantage of my closeness to home I had called my
secretary and told her I would not be in again that day. I'm a bank
manager, you see. Not the modern type, but the old-fashioned type that
actually goes out and meets his customers. I know that I am quite good
at it because I've recently been promoted, but the work itself no
longer excites me. I've been doing it for nearly twenty years. After
this is all over I think I'll change careers. Anyway, although the job
is boring the Bank has me by the short and curlies. It has provided me
with a subsidised mortgage that allows me to punch above my weight in
the housing market and other perks like profit sharing and stock-option
schemes. Add all of that up and it makes it extremely difficult for me
to think about leaving. I think recruitment consultants call it "golden
handcuffs". Anyway, I'll look for something else. Something a little
less&;#8230;. stressful.

I digress.

I had arrived home early on the Friday afternoon and had just locked up
the car. My neighbour Frank Daley happened to step out of his house
just as I was entering mine. He asked why I was home early and after I
explained we acted out a scene that we had acted out many times before.
He said how he envied my steady job and I told him I'd swap in an
instant to be able to do what he does. (Incidentally, he is a freelance
writer who writes for various magazines. I've read a couple of his
articles in men's style magazines and to be honest he's a bit dry and
over stylised.) I asked what story he was working on and he told me it
was about sex addiction. I think I made a joke about Michael Douglas,
or was it him from the X-Files? Whatever. Anyway, we laughed and said
that if you had to have an addiction it might as well be that one. Just
then I saw him looking across the road. I turned and saw the redhead
appear from her front door. Frank made some lewd remark about wanting
to sort out his addiction with her and it annoyed me. Frank always had
that ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It would get him
into trouble one day I told my wife. I asked him who she was and he
said she was one of the students who shared the big house across the
street. We both watched as she crossed the road and passed by us. At
the very moment she passed our houses she looked up at me and smiled. I
know I blushed because Frank said something lewd and laughed.

I told him to fuck off and went inside with his laughter ringing hot in
my ears.

* * *

My wife went out that night with some old friends from school and at
nine o'clock I went upstairs and waited. I didn't have to wait
long.

This time she took care to lock her bedroom door. I watched as she went
over to her stereo and pressed a button. I imagined music flooding the
room. Something dark and erotic; The Doors perhaps, or Radiohead.
Whatever it was she played it seemed to excite her, and on this
occasion she touched herself between her legs.

And she seemed to revel in it.

And I have to admit I touched myself too.

* * *

I don't know how she managed it. Perhaps she came to our front door and
read the nameplate when the house was empty, but however she did it she
got our phone number.

On the Monday evening when my wife was at her aerobics class she
telephoned me. I knew before I picked up the handset that it would be
her. In the darkness I sat and listened&;#8230;.and watched. Under
any other circumstances the words that poured from her lips would have
been obscene, but accompanied by the sight of her at her window they
were fitting. The perfect soundtrack to the perfect moving image.

She asked me to undress and I have to admit I did.

Then she asked me to touch myself and I have to admit I did.

But she asked me not to come. She told me to save that for another
time.

* * *

I knew it couldn't go on forever. I just didn't think that it would end
the way it did.

All in all it lasted six weeks. Although she would perform for me most
nights she would only ever call me on the Monday evenings when my wife
was out. She was discreet. I'll say that for her.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and I had booked a day off work to finish a
couple of odd jobs around the house. You know the sort of stuff I mean.
Painting window frames, fixing loose door handles - that kind of thing.
I was in the back garden painting the dining room window frame when
Frank popped his head over the fence and told me to come round as he
had something to show me. Something he knew I'd like.

Well, let's just say I didn't like it. Frank was single, in his
mid-thirties, and he had never married. He was the type of bloke that
made women nervous. My wife once said that if she didn't know him and
she saw him coming towards her in the street she would cross the road.
After leaving his house that afternoon I knew what she meant.

What Frank had to show me were pictures of the girl. Pictures of her
performances for me. In the photographs you could clearly see that her
gaze was being drawn to something from across the street. Frank had no
idea what it could be but he described the person for whose benefit the
show was as "a lucky bastard". I could feel the heat burning beneath my
shirt. If he had taken his eyes off the photos for one minute he would
have guessed that the lucky bastard was me. I made my excuses and left
the house but before he had closed the door behind him he said
something that made my blood run cold.

He said he was intending to interview her.

* * *

The next time I saw Frank I asked him if he had managed to speak to
her. He told me he hadn't but he was hopeful he would manage something
in the next few days.

I would like to say that the girl and I stopped our night-time
activities during this period but the truth is we didn't. It continued
much as it had done before, only this time there was an urgency about
it on my part, almost as if time was running out.

I didn't know then, but it was.

But not for me.

* * *

It was a Saturday afternoon just like any other. We had been shopping
at the supermarket and whilst the kids were helping us take the bags
into the house Frank appeared at his front door. He looked across at me
and winked. I knew then that he had spoken to the girl. Without
realising it I glanced up at her bedroom window. I looked back at
Frank. That simple mistake on my part confirmed what must have only
been conjecture on his part. He knew then that the man she had
performed for was me.

She hadn't told him.

* * *

The following Monday evening there was no performance, only a phone
call saying that it had been fun while it had lasted but that it had to
stop. Someone else had seen her and it had spoiled the magic. She hoped
that I understood.

I told her I did and then hung up.

* * *

The next day I made up an excuse to visit a customer whose business
premises were close to my home. After a short meeting I drove home and
parked the car round the corner from my house. You see, I didn't want
anyone to see the car.

Frank wasn't surprised to see me when I knocked at the door. He ushered
me in and straight away asked me what it had all been about. What had
started it? How long had it been going on for? Had I fucked her?

I answered all of his questions, of course. After all they weren't
going to do him any good. And after I had sat and listened to his
perverted view of the world; about how he liked to go to illegal sex
clubs and dress up in women's clothes and have women almost strangle
him during sex, I killed him. Yes, that's right I killed him.

We had gone upstairs. I had pretended to be interested and asked him to
show me some of his stuff. Phew! What stuff he had. The magazines were
the tamest things he had and they were pretty disgusting. Of course, I
had read girlie mags as a young lad but these went way beyond that.
These were filthy. He showed me his collection of women's underwear and
asked me if I fancied trying some on. I told him no, but he persisted
and finally I snapped. Grabbing a silk stocking from him I tied it
round his neck and pulled it tight asking him if this was what he
liked. If this was what got his motor running? He struggled, of course,
but since he was smaller and flabbier than me it didn't do him any
good. I was surprised how little time it took. You know, for him to
die? I always imagined that killing someone would take longer. I let
him fall to the floor and then stepped over his body, collecting up all
the photos of the girl that had fallen from his grasp in the brief
struggle between us.

Of course, I didn't pick them all up did I? There was the one that had
slipped under the bed wasn't there? The one that your forensic bods
found. The one that led them first to the girl, and then later, to
me.

So you can switch off that tape recorder now and I'll sign wherever you
ask me to.

Oh, and by the way. Can I have a fag now? I don't normally smoke but
they do that sort of thing on The Bill don't they?