“Can you see?”
“Mmmm. Yes. Do me a favour, Beth, get those stuffed toys out of shot. They’re most off-putting.”
I giggle and sweep teddy and pals down on to the floor.
“Better. Spread your legs a little. Show me. Good.”
I start to angst about the volume; will mum and dad be able to hear this? I try to move my hand back towards the keypad.
“What’s the problem?”
“You might be heard. I don’t want the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Oh. Go on then; turn it down if you must. No, I didn’t say pull up your trousers, did I?”
I lunge for the volume control and turn it down as far as I can without losing the golden tones of Sinclair altogether.
“Sir, I would like your permission to go out tomorrow after lunch.”
“Where are you going?”
“To my friend’s house. To watch DVDs.”
“I see. Female friend?”
“Yes.”
“Brothers?”
“No. And why is that relevant?”
“It’s relevant. All right, permission granted.”
Just as well, I think to myself, because I’d have gone anyway.
“Thanks. Oh, by the way, do you remember seeing me packing my pills?”
“Pills?”
“You know. Contraceptives. Did I leave them at the flat?”
“I’ve no idea. Kneel up, Beth, and part your legs. Now lick your fingers….that’s nice…and put them down there. Pleasure yourself for me.”
I finger myself to orgasm right there on the duvet, helped along by Sinclair’s wicked purr of suggestion, finally flopping face down in front of the webcam.
“I miss you, Beth,” he says softly as I lie there, boneless as Looby Loo, my displaced rag doll. “Goodnight.”
*
I’ve had my instructions for the day. Hair in a ponytail, jeans, long-sleeved top, no make-up. I find thinking about that kind of thing boring anyway, so it’s a relief to have a stylist on the end of the phone to do it for me; he’s my own little Trinny&Susannah.
I spent the morning completing an essay on the French Romantic poets and novelists and now I’m free to do as I please, which is see my best friend Caitlin.
“Oh my God, you’ve had a makeover,” she says on opening the door.
“No I haven’t.” I’m confused. The jeans and top are old. I’m not wearing cosmetics. More like a makeunder.
“Well, no, not a makeover, but you just look…different.”