Lynne’s Story 02

2: Picture Perfect

I drove home, into the dwindling sunset, with my thoughts in turmoil: the sexual tension of the past hour had dwindled and left me with an overwhelming sense of panic and guilt. The marriage vows which had been unquestioned before lay in ruins – as I drove my trembling hands and state of mind caused me to drive so erratically that I pulled into a parking lot, stopped the car and just tried to contain my racing thoughts.

I would previously have rejected any woman that had behaved this way. Robert was BLACK! BLACK! My God! I sat with my face in my hands for long minutes, slowing the trembling, and finally, irrationally decided that I had to go make Richard his dinner, as if that would make it all OK. I would make his dinner and we would talk and relax and maybe watch TV; and in January I would tell Robert that I didn't want to continue. It would be over and I could go back to my safe life again, even if I had to change jobs – nobody would have to know why. I found a hairbrush in my handbag and tidied my hair and makeup in the mirror; it wouldn't do to arrive at home in a disheveled state.

My heart sank as I arrived at home: my parents in law's car stood in the driveway. On occasion they would drop in, without warning, for dinner. As I pulled up the car I took a long breath – I didn't need this today, of all days. My mother in law was, as usual, smoking in the house, my father in law drinking what would be the first of many beers. They had barely greeted me when she started: "I would always have Donald's dinner ready when he walked in the door. Things have certainly changed." I bristled, of course, but all that was on my mind was to get upstairs and put on panties. Could anyone see? I knew Donald would be looking me over when he thought nobody was watching. With his wandering eye, and too long hugs, blessing everyone all the time – these church groupies are all the same. He would be looking for a panty line. Richard, of course, never saw fault in his father at all.

I put down my handbag and was about to go upstairs when Donald stood up and walked over to greet me. "So glad to see you Lynne. God bless you." He hugged me for too long, as usual, with his one hand slowly moving across my back so he could feel my bra strap. I rolled my eyes at Richard. "That's enough, Donald." cut in Agnes. He let go and stepped back with an angelic look on his face. I called them Mom and Dad to their faces, of course; but their irritating idiosyncrasies had reduced them to a first name basis in my mind.

"The Lord's blessings are here to be shared," he beamed. The beer was already loosening him up. "Come to the kitchen, Lynne – I have something to show you."

He waited, of course, for me to walk in front so he could watch my bottom. God I needed to put those panties on! I walked through to the kitchen with my father in law just behind. "Richard mentioned that your cupboard door was loose so I tightened it up. I just thought I'd show you." I had been through this before, showing gratitude that Donald had done yet another thing that Richard had neglected. He showed me the cupboard door, high up, then stepped back so I could test it.

"Thank you dad, just what I needed," I praised, reaching up, aware that he was watching my every move. As I was at the worst point, stretched out, skirt riding up on the back of my legs, my mobile phone beeped that a message was here. I pulled back, relieved that this gave me an opportunity to expose myself less to Donald, and walked back to the lounge to get my cellphone out of my handbag. Richard was talking to his mother about some inanity, when I looked down at the message for the first time.

I've been thinking about your cunny. Have you been thinking about my cock?

The blood left my face and that hard ball of fear settled in my stomach for the first time. This was my home. This was out of control. I had to stop this thing. I realized that I was looking at the phone in shock when Richard asked if I was alright. I smiled. Lying is not my forte – I had never really had cause to do so before. "It's fine – just someone trying to sell me insurance. I'll be here now – just going to the bathroom after all that wine."

As I turned to walk upstairs I heard Agnes asking Richard why I was drinking wine during the day. I slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, then started sending the first of the many SMS dialogues that were to so fill my life in the future.

Lynne: I can't talk now!

Robert: Have you been thinking about my cock?

Lynne: This is my home! My family is here! We'll talk later

There was a brief pause, and I breathed deeply, my heart racing.

Robert: We'll talk now. Have you been thinking about my cock?

Lynne: For God sake, no! I can't do this now!

Robert: I want to talk now.

I began to feel a sense of desperation.

Lynne: I'm going to put my phone off. I CAN'T DO THIS!

This was out of control. I had to stop this now. I should never have allowed any of this to start. And then the full depth of my situation presented itself: Robert sent me, firstly, my home telephone number, and then Richard's. I stared at them, suddenly cold, in disbelief.

Robert: If we don't talk here, I'll call your home and we can talk there.

I wanted to scream in desperation. He had the numbers. Of course he had the numbers: he ran the company. I considered, desperately, just turning off my phone. But what if he called? What if he called every day?

Lynne: You said that you would stop if I wanted to!

Robert: I changed my mind. The days of whites discarding blacks when they get tired of them are over. You could have stopped when I suggested it, but you wanted to kiss my cock. I want to talk now.

I know that I wept, briefly, at that point. A day ago my life had been ordered and safe – now I stood to lose everything, to be humiliated, to be exposed, to suffer shame.

Lynne: Please don't do this. I'm asking nicely. Please.

Robert: If we don't talk now, how are you going to make it up to me?

Lynne: What do you want from me?

He paused. Each moment, each delay, I knew my family would be wondering what was happening. Oh God, all I wanted to do was go downstairs and start dinner and have my normal life back.

Robert: Have you been thinking about my cock?

This again. Again. What to say? I didn't want to anger him – I would just have to say what he wanted to hear for long enough for me to work out what to do.

Lynne: Yes.

Robert: What have you been thinking about my cock?

Oh God. What was I doing? What was I doing?

Lynne: How big you are.

Robert: You like it? Have you ever kissed a cock that big?

Lynne: I did like it. I have never kissed anyone that size.

That was true of course. Even without having seen Robert in normal light I had felt that he was so much bigger than Richard. And Richard was the only man I had ever touched.

Robert: I touch lots of white cunny. You felt very plump.

I could imagine him, relaxing, deliberately sending me messages that he knew would humiliate me. Each message was more demeaning, more controlling.

Lynne: I have to go!

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Richard calling: "Hon, are you OK? Is everything alright?"

Robert: I want a pic of your cunny. I want to see it. A pic with your face and your cunny.

I struggled to keep my voice normal for Richard. "I'm fine, baby – I think I just ate something bad at the party. I may be a little while."

"Should I phone out for something?"

Robert: A pic of your cunny and your face. Skirt up, no panties.

"No baby – give me ten minutes and I'll be down."

"We're all a bit worried. You didn't look well downstairs."

Robert: Where the fuck are you? Do I have to phone your house?

Lynne: DON'T PHONE

"I'm fine baby. I'll be down in a little while and prepare us some food."

Robert: Then SEND ME THE FUCKING PIC NOW

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Lynne: I WILL

"OK Lynne. But if you're not fine I can organize the food."

The tension caused me to snap out: "You know what your mother will say if I don't make dinner!"

There was a brief silence then, as always, Richard backed away. "I'll be downstairs hon."

I looked across at the mirror. I had heard of these women, sending pictures of themselves that then got circulated. But God, what could I do?

Robert: I'm waiting

Lynne: I'm BUSY DOING IT

I stepped back against the wall. My hands were trembling as I switched the phone over to the camera application. Like every mother I had taken hundreds of pictures, but never like this. I reached down and pulled up the front of my skirt. It was full enough that I had to bustle it under my elbow, and now my naked hips, my womanhood could clearly be seen. I had so little time to do this: I adjusted the phone grappling to get the angle correct, then pressed the button.

The photograph was embarrassing: a 42 year old wife exposing herself in the mirror, wide hips, shy, nervous eyes with mascara that had run from the tears. I could see, with shame, why he had said my womanhood was plump: it nestled between my legs, fleshy, slightly parted, it would be opening itself to his gaze.

Robert: I'm waiting

Lynne: [image:01487]

A long, long moment of silence.

Lynne: You have your pic now. I need to go!

Robert: I can't see your cunny properly. Put your foot on the counter and do it again.

Lynne: NO! I HAVE TO GO!

Robert: Take the fucking pic again!

I almost sobbed in shame. It was, I think, the closest I came to just going downstairs and switching off my phone and praying that Robert would not call. But instead, I leaned against the wall to steady myself, raised one foot to place it on the counter, lifted my skirt, and incredibly, managed to find the angle that would show it all. This picture was different – it was less composed, with my womanhood close to the camera and my face in the background. But whereas the first picture had been shy and withdrawn, this could not: the position of my legs had opened my womanhood up – the pink folds, even the opening of the passage were clear. It was humiliating. I could not send it. It was impossible. Nobody should ever see this. Ever. Ever.

Lynne: [image:01488]

Robert: Good. Very good.

I sat down on the side of the bathtub and placed my head in my hands for the second time that day. I finally sobbed with all the frustration, anger and shame that I had. No man had ever humiliated me so; nothing I had ever done had left me feeling this used or afraid. No man had ever held such a strong grip on me so quickly. I realized that I would now, always, have to place my phone on silent. No – on vibrate, so I knew when messages were coming in; and keep it on me so I could feel the messages as they came in, deal with them and then delete them.

Oh God, Oh God – what had I got myself into?

Robert: You have to go make dinner for Richard?

Lynne: Yes.

Robert: You better clean up your face before you do.

Lynne: I know.

Robert: We'll talk tomorrow. I think I want photographs of your panties.

I was so resigned, now, so committed to only saying what he wanted to hear.

Lynne: Of course.

Robert: What size bra do you wear?

Lynne: What? Why do you want to know that? 34C

Robert: OK. Go away now ... we'll talk in the morning.

Lynne: Bye.

Relief swept through me. It was over for now. For today. For today. I could pretend for the next hours that I was a normal wife and mother and daughter in law.

I started washing my face, wondering how much longer I could take upstairs to make my appearance look normal. Oh God, I thought, I had better find some panties.