Distractions by Natasha Walker Page A

necessary to switch the lights on. Had she beenable to see herself she may have noticed how like a child woken from a mid-afternoon nap she appeared. She even moved in slow motion. Her eyes had a cute, dazed expression, her wide open pupils adding to the effect.
    A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Everything about the scene was familiar, almost as though, while she was sleeping, she’d come down and witnessed the scene – some kind of out of body experience.
    Mark was stretched out on one couch, lying on his back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed, mouth open; he was evidently fast asleep. He was still in his board shorts, shirtless and a little sandy. Two empty glass bottles of beer stood on the coffee table beside him, one full one on the floor by the couch.
    On the other couch sat David, who raised his eyes to her own the instant she appeared. He was massaging one of Sally’s beautiful feet, both of which lay in his lap, slightly apart, for Sally was stretched out on the couch in the opposite direction to David, facing away from Emma. She lay on her back, her head pressed into a large pillow and she still wore her sarong over her bikini.
    There was no sign that the trio had eatendinner. Candles lit the scene, soft music played from the stereo (smarmy Perry Como), and a bottle of white wine rested on a bed of ice in a bucket on the coffee table. Sally held her half full glass by the stem with both hands, resting the base on her bare stomach. David’s glass stood precariously on the arm of the couch.
    Emma’s mood of inane happiness was supplanted by a violent rush of doubts. Her body stiffened, her heart raced, her breath became short and hurried. She wanted so much to scream at them, but her will rebelled. David’s smile was a blanket on a spot fire. Everything is alright, the smile said.
    Nothing is alright, replied Emma’s eyes.
    Sally curved her torso and craned her neck to look where David was staring. She saw an upside-down Emma.
    ‘Hey, Em,’ she said. ‘I thought you were out for good.’
    ‘I bet,’ said Emma, regretting it immediately. Why should she reveal to them her suspicions? She felt like an idiot. She was being made to look a fool by two of her lovers at once. Had she brought this on herself?
    Sally rolled off the couch and stood up.

    ‘We’ve done nothing wrong!’ she said, disingenuously. But then, she was Sally, always cool in a crisis, yet hopeless under the keen regard of her best friend. She felt clear denial the best policy, not fully realising that no accusation had yet been made.
    David lounged, guiltless. He’d had no intention of allowing things to go any further. Sally’s foot had been soft and warm in his hand. He was enjoying the danger of the moment but knew it was nothing. Though, the longer he held her foot, the longer he stared at her pussy, for she was allowing him to look, the more aroused he had become and the less care he took of the consequences.
    Two minutes before Emma’s arrival, Sally was in heaven. Her husband was a drunken wreck not three feet from her, her best friend was conveniently absent, while that friend’s husband massaged her feet, and occasionally kissed her toes and told her how beautiful they were. She was thrilled at each touch. The dangerous position she was in, the accidentally lifted sarong and the proximity of her exposed sex to his hand, so close to his mouth, had her aching pleasurably. All he had to do was bend a little and his warm mouth would be on her. That this could happen in front of herhusband was so naughty it disabled her reason. Naughtiness overload, as it were.
    Had you suggested such a thing to Sally three weeks before she would have condemned the idea, and you, for thinking it possible. She would have explained that she could never find a friend’s husband attractive. Such desire wasn’t biologically possible. Once you’ve found your true love, as she had, no one else could