Strange Taste - 9. Shame

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Featured Review on this writing by O'maleD

Even as she went to open the bathroom door, Georgie felt her guilt, mixed with a sense of shame at how she’d just behaved, returning. (18+)

Even as she went to open the bathroom door, Georgie felt her guilt, mixed with a sense of shame at how she’d just behaved, returning. It didn’t help that she was tired, physically and emotionally, drained by the intense effort of seducing and making love to the virgin, or that she was still left wanting him. She turned the handle with her left hand, her clean hand, stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind her, so as not to wake her sleeping…

Christ! What’s his name? I don’t even know his name!

Georgie pulled the light switch cord as the immensity of what she had just done weighed on her mind. She had played with him, intimately, on the garden swing, even though she knew that others might be watching them through the kitchen window. She had borne her breasts for him, exposing herself to the sultry summer evening air. Then, she had caressed him, tenderly, lovingly, leading him to believe she loved him. She thought of him, crying out for her, as he squirmed and wriggled underneath her on the stranger’s giant-sized bed:  

‘I love you Georgie! I love you Georgie!’

Bizarre notions teased her confused mind. She thought of the black and yellow book that her mum gave her when she was eleven: Peter and Pamela Grow Up, imagining she was Pamela, and he was Peter.

Pamela Becomes a Young Lady she said to herself wistfully. Georgie held his full condom up to the light, and inspected it,

I made him do that spunk, she mused, while he was squiffy! Peter Becomes a Young Man!

Disgusted by her own dirty dreams, she went to the toilet, seized a handful of pink Andrex in her clean hand, wrapped his sheath in tissue, and flushed him out of sight.

How the Egg is Fertilised. How careful had she been? Could he possibly have made her pregnant? How would she explain their baby to Mum when she returned to Oz? Georgie squatted over the toilet and urinated, as if that helped her any. Her mother was a devout Christian who believed in the sanctity of marriage. What was it that Mum told her, before she left home to see the world?

‘When you fall in love with a man, find your husband and marry him, Georgie, it’s only natural that you’ll want to kiss and embrace each other. You’ll want to come together in the closest possible contact.’

She smiled naughtily to herself, Come together?!

‘Thanks so much for explaining all that to me, Mum,’ Georgie had said, interrupting her.

Her mum continued, ‘Oh, and darling.’

‘Yes, Mummy?’

‘This act of loving union between a husband and wife is commonly referred to as sexual intercourse.’

Another knowing smile, really?!

‘Commonly, Mum?’

‘Yes, Georgie. Commonly.’

That was how she felt: common, soiled. The hand basin was porcelain white with original brass taps. One of the taps, the hottest one, was still running from her previous visit, when she prepared herself for him. Georgie picked up the bar of Cussons Imperial Leather and scrubbed her hands, ridding herself of him. There was a strange taste in her mouth - his taste. She shook her head despondently, daring herself to pluck the used pink toothbrush out of Lyndsey’s parents’ tooth mug, applied a splodge of Colgate, and brushed her teeth.

The idea of Georgie having a pen friend in England had been her mother’s. Ironically, she had started writing to Lyndsey when she was eleven: the same age that she became acquainted with Peter and Pamela. As they grew older the two teenagers became distant friends, confidantes, confiding in each other about the changes happening in their bodies. Then, on her eighteenth birthday, Georgie had embarked on her back-pack Tour of Europe starting in Italy, visiting Monaco, the South of France, Spain, Portugal, ending in London, from where she called Lyndsey – and heard about the party.

She rinsed the toothbrush clean, dried it on a pink face flannel, and returned it to its mug. There were four his and her towels hanging by the handbasin. Georgie touched them all, the pink ones were soaking wet. She recoiled. She would have to use the navy-blue men’s towel after her shower. The shower head was pristine, without scale. It protruded over the spotless four-legged bath. Georgie turned on the twin brass taps, mixing the water to steamy hot, lifted the shower knob, drew the curtain, ensuring it hung inside the bath. Then she climbed into the bath, thrilling to the tingling sensation of water cascading down her body, feeling tingly inside. She soaped her breasts, belly, and crotch. The lure of him, lying, naked on the bed, returned to haunt her.

Submitted: January 02, 2021

© Copyright 2021 HJFURL. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Quite dense. You write like Toni Morrison. I enjoyed your narrative. ????

Sat, January 2nd, 2021 9:35pm


Thank you so much for your kind words - I have never been compared with Toni Morrison before - that's such a privilege! Thank you!

Sun, January 3rd, 2021 3:41am

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