Twisted Love and Money Read online

  Jeremy stood up and swallowed his drink and made for the door. He was reasonably steady considering the amount of drink he had. Dorothy and Paul were obliged to abandon their drinks and follow Jeremy, or else lose him.

  “You shit.” Dorothy said grabbing his arm at the top of the stairs, “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

  “Sorry.” Jeremy did not look contrite, “I was pissed off,” he added.

  “Let’s go and get a bite to eat,” Paul suggested when they got outside.

  “Yeah let’s,” said Jeremy, again walking off, this time down towards Fitzwilliam Square. He grabbed Dorothy and linked her. “Don’t say I forgot you this time.”

  Dorothy grabbed Paul’s arm and linked him so that the three of them walked down the road together, arms linked in a row. Paul sensed that Dorothy did not want to be seen in public being escorted by Jeremy, who was short, fat and drunk.

  Chapter fourteen

  Fitzwilliam Square was busy enough. Two black prostitutes stood on one corner.

  “Where do the blacks come from?” Jeremy asked, curious not racial.

  “England I expect,” Paul replied, “I believe they come over for a short spell and then are replaced.”

  Jeremy aggressively asked Dorothy. “Would you like to be one?”

  “Piss off.” was the spirited reply.

  “What would you do for fifty?” Jeremy persisted, a lewd grin on his face as he enjoyed Paul’s embarrassment at the topic and Dorothy’s rising anger at his nerve.

  “F’ you!” Dorothy said angrily, letting go of Jeremy’s arm.

  “Done,” said Jeremy, producing his wallet and producing five ten-pound sterling notes.

  “Piss off,” Dorothy hissed, pulling Paul along as she continued to link him.

  “O.K., O.K.,” Jeremy said, “only joking, I was going to offer you three to one odds for a bet,” and he ran to catch them up.

  He still had his wallet in his hand. Angrily Dorothy snatched it and extracted three twenty pound sterling notes. Then she handed back the wallet.

  “Up those steps,” she instructed.

  “Where?”

  Dorothy let go of Paul and grabbed Jeremy by the elbow and pushed him up the steps of one of the Georgian houses. During the day this was a beautiful square where Surgeons had their rooms and professional firms were proud to have their offices.

  Anxiously, Paul hung about at the bottom of the steps. What were they doing up there?

  A car came by slowed down alongside Paul and then sped away. They think I’m a male pro, Paul thought, I’m getting out of here. But he could not. He had to stick to Jeremy or Clifford would have his guts in the morning.

  Then they came down the steps.

  “What were you doing up there?” Paul asked as innocently as he could muster.

  “Just clearing up a bet,” Dorothy said, sticking the twenty-pound notes in her wallet.

  They all linked up again and walked along. Paul noticed that Jeremy’s shirt was sticking out of his pants, but he said nothing. He was disgusted.

  “Have to go,” Dorothy said as their walk brought them along the bottom of Grafton Street. She had preceded her remark by hailing down a passing taxi and now she proceeded to get into it.

  “What?” Paul asked feeling a sense of rising panic, where she going?

  “Be a good boy now Jeremy. I’ll be in touch,” Dorothy said and closed the Taxi door. She rolled down the window. “Bye Paul,” and blew him a kiss, said something to the Taxi driver and was gone.

  Somehow Paul was surprised that Jeremy let her go. As the Taxi disappeared Paul stood on one foot wondering what to do next.

  Conversation was difficult. Paul felt tense, not knowing what might happen next. He borrowed from Dorothy’s technique and began to ask Jeremy about himself. “Are you married Jeremy?”

  “No,” Jeremy said with ponderous seriousness. The drink had now taken him beyond wild aggression to a tired depression. Jeremy became oppressively serious and Paul began to feel bored.

  “I never seem to know about myself,” Jeremy went on, “am I AC or DC. Know what I mean?”

  “Not really. What’s your fancy? Dorothy looks really well.”

  “Bitch,” Jeremy said venomously.

  This introduced a silence.

  “I wanted to be a priest,” Jeremy said seriously, almost piously, after the silence, as if he was wrestling with a confession.

  “What happened?” Paul enquired.

  “I made too much money.”

  “That should not stop you.”

  “What do you know? You know nothing.”

  Sensing it was still the drink talking, Paul did not rise to this aggressive response.

  “I have to go to the Loo,” Jeremy said when they reached the restaurant.

  No sign of Jeremy. Probably getting sick down the loo, Paul thought as he waited some five minutes later.

  “Your friend has left,” the headwaiter said.

  “Good I’ll have a steak.”

  Meanwhile Jeremy wandered back towards Fitzwilliam Square. The whores were still doing business. They all seemed to be female. He felt repelled by their sexuality, dirty, he thought. The drink was beginning to work as a depressant and he felt very serious.

  God, he had gone off the rails. What a night. If his David had seen him. The way he had treated that Architect. Was it only because his name upset him? He sighed, it was still a good deal, and he could make up with them tomorrow. George would help. Business was business. They needed him.

  But he had too many personal problems. And Dorothy the bitch, what a bitch, the way she had taunted him in Fitzwilliam Square. But he had enjoyed it. She was so masterful and he was so weak.

  Jeremy leaned against the railings of the Square. He began to get sick. The whores watched him dispassionately. Another drunk. Sick drunk, Yuk. No business there, and they turned their attention away.

  Jeremy was alternately hot and then cold with a cold sticky sweat. The drink came up. He began to feel clearer, better. He felt the clearness that comes in the immediate aftermath of getting sick. He looked down. He had splattered his shoes and jeans.

  Cleansing, that was what he needed. He was a dirty sordid son of a bitch. Forgiveness. He needed Dorothy to forgive. He would go to Dorothy. With unsteady step he made his way back towards St. Stephens Green, looking out for a Taxi. He would call on Dorothy this very minute. Still half drunk but rapidly sobering up he hailed a Taxi. It pulled in. Jeremy flashed some money and the driver nodded to him to get in.

  Chapter fifteen

  Dorothy was drinking a whiskey when the doorbell rang. She was still wearing her coat, still fuming at Jeremy. How could he be such an antichrist? What had happened to the nice man? What was wrong with him? But in her heart she felt she was the cause of his anguish and this pleased her, but she was still angry.

  Angrily she went to the door, thinking, who the hell at this hour. It was Jeremy. She pressed the buzzer for him to come up to her flat.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Sorry?” she shouted, “You fat little bastard. You humiliated me. You were despicable.”

  “Sorry,” he said again. He looked as if he might cry. Dorothy was speechless.

  “Sorry,” he repeated, “It was too much for me. David, my David is coming to Dublin. I don’t know what to do. I feel so guilty, so mixed up.”

  “Guilty. Yes you were fucking guilty tonight. Where did you ever learn your manners? If that is what drink does to you should stay on the wagon.”

  “I…”

  “Jesus, come in,” she cut across him, “you stink, did you get sick on yourself? Get in out of the corridor before a neighbour sees you.”

  “I feel all right in England,” he stammered. “But in Ireland, it’s a sin, it’s dirty.”

  “What is?” she snapped.

  “Homosexuality.”

  “Rubbish, not these days. Not if you have genuine feelings,” Dorothy contradicted, a little surprise
d at herself.

  “Since I met us. I can’t handle David. I’m a mess.”

  “You are a little bastard. Get in, we can’t talk out here.”

  Dorothy stood back and Jeremy came slowly in. She shut the door firmly behind him and pointed the way in through the small lobby to the living room. “In there,” she instructed.

  “Will you forgive me?” Jeremy asked while Dorothy fixed herself another whiskey. She did not offer Jeremy a drink.

  “Why should I forgive?” Dorothy demanded. “Jeremy you were an antichrist tonight.”

  “An antichrist? What do …?”

  “I mean a shit and a bastard,” Dorothy cut across him angrily.

  “Forgive me,” he asked contritely.

  “Go to confession Jeremy. Maybe a priest can forgive you.”

  “Dorothy I could not confess. I feel it is wrong, but it is right. But not that, tonight I mean. Tonight is what I want you to forgive. I was out of control, off the rails. I’m sorry.”

  “A priest would give you a good penance,” Dorothy suggested frostily.

  “A penance, you give me a penance Dorothy.”

  “I’ll forgive you if you let me cleanse you. You should be cleansed if you are coming into my life. That is your penance.”

  “A penance?”

  “You are repeating yourself.”

  “Anything. I am worthless Dorothy. I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “My mother? She would disown me if she knew I was gay... She would take the ash plant to me.”

  “The ash plant?”

  “Yes.” Jeremy managed a small smile, “When we were bold when we were small kids, my mother would send us to the local Hardware shop with a penny to buy an ash plant. It was a cane made from the ash tree. When we brought it back home she would give us a whipping. Nothing sadistic, but it hurt. Then she would forgive. It was rough justice but we knew where we stood.”

  “And how do you want me to forgive?” Dorothy asked in a deceptively quiet voice, a glint in her eye.

  Jeremy shrugged, “Forget tonight happened. Let us take up again from our cinema date.”

  “That’s not good enough Jeremy. You come here stinking of your own vomit asking forgiveness.”

  Suddenly Dorothy grabbed Jeremy by the lapels of his jacket. She pushed him over the back of the couch, so that his head was down to the seat and his backside in the air.

  Jeremy submitted to the pushing and shoving without protest. His eyes did not meet hers, he kept them submissively looking at his feet.

  Dorothy reached around and opened his trouser belt. With a jerk she pulled down the zip on his flies. Then with a flick she pulled his jeans and underpants down exposing his backside to the room. She pulled off his shoes and then removed all his clothes without letting him change position.

  “These are for the wash,” she exclaimed crinkling her nose at the smell of vomit on the ends. “Don’t you dare move an inch Jeremy?”

  Jeremy stayed in his undignified position while Dorothy put his jeans into the washing machine and ran a wash.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Jeremy asked with a tremor in his voice as he heard her return to the room. He looked at her from his upside down position, but made no attempt to move.

  “Don’t move,” Dorothy said firmly and went into her bedroom. When she emerged she had a riding crop in her hand.

  “I use this on my horse when he misbehaves,” Dorothy said, slapping the crop against the flat of her palm. Jeremy squirmed, but said nothing.

  Measuring the force of her blow to strike firm and hard, but not viciously, Dorothy laid the crop across Jeremy’s bare behind. He jumped and squealed a little but held his position folded over the back of the couch.

  Carefully Dorothy slowly measured out five more blows, letting each have full impact before following with the next. Each blow left a red line across his buttocks. At each strike Jeremy squealed and wriggled, but did not attempt to stand up. At the fifth blow, Dorothy grabbed his jacket and pulled him up.

  “Get up and kneel,” she instructed firmly

  Jeremy slid to his knees, still not looking at her face.

  “Should I forgive you or give you five more?” Dorothy demanded, grabbing his hair and forcing him to look her in the eye.

  “Please don’t, please. Enough is enough.”

  Dorothy pushed him down, letting go of his hair. “Please, please,” he grovelled at her feet.

  “Whom do you belong to?” Dorothy demanded.

  “Belong to?” he asked.

  Dorothy hit him again. She was feeling a rush of power and strength.

  “Ouch,” he squealed, “You Dorothy, I belong to you.”

  “That is much better. Now we will cleanse your soul and body Jeremy.”

  Dorothy grabbed Jeremy by the hair and dragged him through her bedroom into the bathroom. He struggled to keep his balance and half crawled half walked after her, bent over as she held his hair a waist level.

  “Undress completely,” she instructed.

  While Jeremy undressed Dorothy ran the shower. She made sure it was good and hot.

  “In,” she instructed.

  Jeremy stepped into the shower, helped by a backhand from Dorothy’s riding crop.

  “It’s hot,” he protested.

  “Shut up, it has to be hot to cleanse you off.”

  “Cleanse me off?”

  “Yes. All your sins. All your men. Start soaping yourself.”

  While Jeremy applied the soap Dorothy slowly undressed. When she was ready she got the brush from the holder beside the toilet. Then she stepped into the shower.

  Meticulously she began to scrub Jeremy with the brush.

  Dorothy spoke not a word and when she was finished she switched off the shower, stepped out and threw him a hand towel. The bath towel she used to dry herself. He looked at her passively as he dried himself. He seemed almost at peace. The physical treatment and the scrubbing had given him an erection and he seemed almost surprised as he looked down at himself.

  Before he could speak Dorothy grabbed him and pulled him behind her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

  “Sit!” she instructed, pointing at the bed. She went into the bathroom.

  When she returned Dorothy put a contraceptive on him. A yellow and blue one, from a fancy pack she kept in the bottom of the cupboard.

  Then she lowered herself onto him and began to rock back and forth while gently holding him to her breasts. She kissed him tenderly and murmured Hmm. Hmmm.Hmm, softly to him, and repeated, “that’s my baby, that’s my baby” As she rocked she used the handle of the riding crop, rubbing up and down.

  He came into her juddering and trembling in a climax, almost crying as he whimpered in pain and pleasure. Slowly Dorothy felt her climax come and consume her passion.

  “Jeremy, Jeremy,” she moaned. “ I think I am in love with you.”

  “Dorothy I’m not worth it. I’m worthless.”

  “Do you want another whipping?”

  “Please no.”

  “Then tell me who you belong to.”

  “To you Dorothy.”

  They continued to hold each other in warm silent embrace.

  “Let’s go to sleep then,” she said after a while.

  Cradling each other they drifted slowly off to sleep.

  Jeremy was up early the next morning and he woke Dorothy to breakfast in bed consisting of tea and toast with cereals. He was still naked and the whip marks on his posterior were turning from red to blue bruises.

  “Poor thing,” Dorothy said. “Get in beside me and don’t spill the milk.”

  Jeremy cuddled in beside her. He had no breakfast for himself and he watched Dorothy eat. Occasionally she fed him a spoonful of cereal or a bite of toast.

  “Are you sore?” she asked softly.

  “Not too bad.”

  “You were a naughty boy, Dorothy had to chastise you.”
r />   “I deserved it.”

  “Do you still feel guilty?”

  “No, it was like a release. At least for the moment.”

  “Do you still belong to me?”

  “Yes Dorothy.”

  Dorothy kissed him. Passively he received her kiss. She put the tray on the chair beside the bed and turned to him.

  “I have an instruction for you Jeremy.”

  “Yes Dorothy?”

  “Make love to me. You get on top. Service me.”

  With a submissive smile and a “yes madam,” Jeremy went to work. When he showed signs of flagging she dragged her nails across his bare behind and each time this renewed his energy. Finally she came and he collapsed against her.

  “Did it not work for you sweet?” she whispered.

  “Don’t mind me. It’s amazing I can do it with you Dorothy.”

  Dorothy pushed him back and began to nibble at him. He arched his back and came in seconds. She smiled at him. Jeremy reached for her and held her tightly to him.

  “My word you are strong big boy,” she teased.

  “I have got to go,” she added eventually. “I’ll shower on my own this time.”

  In the end Dorothy had to rush to avoid being late for the office.

  “There is a spare key in the bedroom drawer,” she said. Jeremy was out of bed, still naked, fussing over her needs like a personal servant.

  “Thank you Jeremy,” she said, now fully dressed to go out. Then as an afterthought she went to the bedroom.

  “Bend over,” she instructed as she reappeared.

  “How many do you deserve?” she asked, amused at him.

  “Whatever you say madam.”

  “One then,” Dorothy said and whacked him across the rear with the riding crop. Jeremy jumped, holding his behind and then resumed the position.

  “Later perhaps?” Dorothy said rubbing the handle of the crop along his body. She was pleased to see he was excited by the gesture.