From THE ORCHARD OF INFINITE DELIGHT - PART ONE
The orgasm was huge, overpowering. I collapsed on to my stomach, my hand clasping my groin to prolong the sensation.
After a while I was aware of Evelyn's voice, softly beside my ear. "Thank you for being so trusting. I wanted it to be special for you."
"Special doesn't do it justice," I said. "But what about you? Do you want me to ... do that. With my tongue."
"Yes, but not this time. You have come a long way. I am already on such a high I don't really need it, anyway, much as I would like you to do it. Just lick me. Once you feel me responding, don't stop. It will be good for both of us, I promise you."
So that was how our first time together ended. I felt drained and at the same time exhilerated. I saw the point of the Orchard of Infinite Delight and I knew I would have to explore it again. When I said as much while we were recovering over a cup of tea, Evelyn said she hoped there would be many more opportunities.
But that was where a problem arose. After our third meeting, she sensed that I was not entirely happy. Eventually, I had to admit that I was increasingly uncomfortable to be enjoying this new experience as it were behind Trevor's back.
"I thought that might happen," Evelyn said. "But I have a suggestion. I hope it won't shock you."
THE ORCHARD OF INFINITE DELIGHT - CONCLUSION
What I found shocking was my own behaviour. That behind my husband's back I had allowed myself to be seduced by Evelyn and now was struggling to come to turns with the fact that I wanted more of the same.
When I didn't reply, Evelyn said, "There's no need to feel guilty, if that's your problem."
"But I do."
"Then you shouldn't. Look, the most important thing for me is my marriage. And the most important thing in my marriage is sex with Alec. Nothing will change that and Alec knows it. But sometimes there is sex that is simply good as sex - not as a commitment, but as a simple expression of giving and receiving pleasure. That's what you and I have, and we must never lose our sense of perspective. Of what is the most important."
I heard what she was saying and I wanted it to be true. After a while, I said, "You say you have suggestion?"
"Yes. You know Alec fancies you?"
"Oh!" We did meet occasionally as a foursome when Trevor and Alec collected us from rehearsal or after a performance. Then we would go for a drink, sometimes for a meal - we all enjoyed Indian cuisine, and could be sure of finding one open late. Nevertheless, I had never thought of Evelyn's husband in that way. "How do you know?"
"I asked him."
"Just like that?"
"Not quite. We were doing it a few nights ago - I'd had mine and Alec was slowly working up towards his, the way he does - and just on a whim I said, 'Suppose this wasn't me?'
"He stopped what he was doing. 'How do you mean?'
"'Well, suppose it was Jenny.' I said. It was as though I had turned a switch. He got to work again - and it din't take him long. But the thing is, after he came I could feel he was still hard inside me. And that got to me. I started to move - the way you do, you know?"
"Yes," I said. I knew how it worked with Trevor.
"Well, it was wild, as good as it had been for ages. And that told me."
"That Alec fancies ... it with me?"
"Yes. But don't let it worry you. He won't pounce on you. But it made me wonder."
For the next half hour, Evelyn explained her idea, answered my questions, finally overcame all my objections. Though I remained nervous.
As bad luck would have it, there was nothing we would be able to do for a while. Evelyn's curse was due, and it was always heavy. And no sooner should she be clear than my diary told me I would be starting. All we could do was wait and be patient.
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In the end, it was several weeks of frustration, until opportunity arose from an unexpected quarter. One of the major orchestras had recruited the latest heart-throb conductor, a thirty-year-old Pole with a lock of dark hair that fell across his forehead to be tossed back dramatically whenever he was summoning a fortissimo from the brass. He had been hired for a cycle of the Beethoven symphonies; our chorus were required for the finale of the Ninth.
At rehearsal, the wonder boy wasn't happy. His problem was with our contribution to the last movement. He put down his baton, leaned on the podium and surveyed us, flopping lock, dark eyes sweeping along our rows.
"Listen," he said, "I know you can sing the notes. So why do you give me no passion? All the pictures we see of Ludwig make him look angry. I know. Angry - not sexy. We know little or nothing of his sex life." He paused. The male members of the chorus looked away, one or two of my colleagues giggled quietly. "Or do we? Of course we do, and I will tell you how we know. What you are singing is Schiller's Ode to Joy, isn't it?. So think what gives you joy. Real joy. Then sing again for me and at the same time think of what you will do tonight when you are in bed with your partner. Then tell me Beethoven knew nothing about sex."