Ingrid 2

Ingrid 2Friday already; who stole Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Someone pressed fast-forward on Monday and here we are at the end of the week.

Anna has indeed dropped the lover.
“I need someone who doesn’t see me as fucking investment potential, and who isn’t so rough around the edges,” she’d said, while dipping a half a loaf of crusty bread into the garlic and cream soup her moules-mariniere had come in. “The sex was great, er…..a little metronomic at times, but he generally managed to get me off.” She wiped away the soup leaking from the side of her mouth with a napkin. “Then there was the thing with the rubbers on the floor, and the fact that he snored with his mouth open.”

“Unforgivable,” I said, with mild sarcasm.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “It’s okay for you, you found your mister-right already. I bet he doesn’t snore.”
“Yes he does, but only gently. If it gets too bad, I just roll him over onto his side.”

The rest of the time was spent shredding her ex-husband’s character and lack of staying power, and mulling over problems she was having with her oldest daughter, who had become a bit of a tearaway and had started having screaming tantrums.

*

I realize that I’ve left a gap in this history, with regard to Ingrid, the beautiful, but sad woman I met at a party for hedonists on an evening spent with Christian.

After that night I didn’t think that she and I would ever run into each other again. Even so, something about the unfathomable sadness in the look she gave me, as the other woman devoured her vagina, caused her face to drift into my consciousness several times over the following weeks. And that single kiss she’d planted on my mouth hadn’t been a message of lust and desire, but one of a need for something unknown.

It was a phone call I received from Christian one Thursday morning as I was driving to work, that started the intrigue with Ingrid. Now I think on it, perhaps the entire direction of my life has changed with calls from Christian. That was certainly how the meeting with the Italian and the incidents that followed all started.

“Do me a favour,” said Christian down the phone, not bothering say good morning, or how are you.
“Only if it’s immoral and ever so slightly illegal,” I joked.
“That’s what I love about you,” he laughed, “You’re a game bird.”
“Does that mean you can shoot me with buck-shot, then hang me up by my beak to rot for a week?”

“Come on, be serious. I need a favour.”
“Go on then.”
“Have lunch with Ingrid tomorrow.”
“I hope this isn’t some lame attempt to set me up. That’s the last thing I want right now.”
“No, absolutely not. She’s in town and needs someone sensible and sympathetic to talk to.”

“Why can’t you be sympathetic and sensible? Don’t you talk when you are in bed together?”
“Darling, that sounds like jealousy. Don’t worry, she hasn’t had the pleasure of my sublime injector. Anyway, I know she’d rather go down on you, than me.”
“That’s what’s worrying me. I’ve barely escaped one difficult situation – I have no desire to leap straight into another.”
“Pretty please, darling. I’m going away for a few days with you know who.”

“Let me guess; the new man is back and he wants to tie you to the bed-post and do unspeakable things to you.”
“Got it in one. So, will you do it?”
“Okay. But I’m not munching any rugs.”
“Don’t worry – she doesn’t know anything about your dalliances with what’s-her-name.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. I take it you haven’t told her anything about the other thing either.”
“Of course not. All she knows is that we’re friends, that we sleep together sometimes, and that you keep pestering me for sex.”
“Good, I’ll-“
“I’ve given her your mobile number. She’s going to ring.”
“You’ve what?”
He hung up before I could tell him what I thought about him giving out my number.

Later that day a text came through from Ingrid.

-I know Christian has asked u 2 have lunch with me, but I will understand if u prefer not 2.

 I thought about it for ten minutes, before I picked up the phone and replied:
I would love to. Are you staying at his place?

Her reply was almost immediate:
No, at the Hyatt. We can have lunch there or somewhere else. I don’t mind where.

It is coincidental, that some time later I stayed at the Hyatt for single night with the Canadian. I recognized some of the staff from my lunch and subsequent dinner with Ingrid. But they didn’t….couldn’t identify me; that night I wore a blonde wig, green contacts and skin lightning makeup and no panties.

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