Merriment in the Museum - Book One in the Rock My Socks Off Trilogy by Jeremy Edwards

Normandie. They were sitting on the unmade bed, fully clothed, because the bedroom was where Jacob had found Normandie when he’d returned from his meeting with Susan. The bed smelled like Normandie had jilled off after the nap she’d admitted to; Jacob relished the image of her lounging there in an impromptu diddle, working restless fingers in her panties just because it felt so good.
    ‘Susan is a terrific photographer, able to capture anything from the beautiful – that’s you – to the inexplicable – those you-know-whats at the museum. I’m sure she’ll do a wonderful session.’
    ‘What else do you think of her?’
    ‘What else? Well, she’s a little strange, of course … quiet – until she starts declaiming in cafés about her sexual fantasies, that is.’
    Normandie ran a finger down the length of his chest. ‘Is she sexy?’
    ‘Oh,’ said Jacob. ‘To me?’
    ‘No,’ whispered Normandie with polished sarcasm, ‘to “Weird Al” Yankovic.’
    Jacob reflected. ‘Yeah, I guess she is. To me.’
    ‘Tell me about it,’ Normandie said, still whispering.
    Tell me about it was a cue, in their relationship, for the party of the second part to relate or create a sexual fantasy. So he understood now that he was being called upon to spin a vignette with Susan Weedon at its centre.
    Normandie reclined on the bed. Her quasi-golden hair was framed by a crimson pillowcase.
    ‘Susan is one of the quiet ones that you have to watch,’ he began.
    ‘I would love to watch her.’
    ‘She goes about her business, never saying a word … but she’s tuned in to every detail, especially sexual details. She notices where your skirt clings to your ass. She sees when my cock stiffens slightly in my trousers. When your hands brush casually against me, Susan Weedon can detect minute changes in the composition of my perspiration. And she can smell when you’re aroused, perhaps even before you realise you’re aroused.
    ‘So she goes about her business, and she logs all of this, never saying a word. She records it and takes it home with her, much like her camera records the things that it’s supposed to.
    ‘She lives alone. She can strip to her underwear in the living room without anyone noticing. Her underwear is incongruously loud – hot pink thong and lace bra, I believe – and this incongruity is the whole point of Susan Weedon.’
    Normandie’s hands had moved to just inside the top of her jeans, and her mouth formed a little ‘O’.
    He continued. ‘She’s in her living room, but she doesn’t settle down yet. She keeps in motion, prowling her own apartment in her underwear, thinking in circles about me and you, replaying everything she’s observed. She’s alone – she can take everything at her own speed. She’s restless between her legs, and her hands repeatedly drift to her crotch.’
    ‘Repeatedly drift,’ echoed Normandie. Jacob could see that she was easing herself into masturbation.
    ‘Finally, she’s so wound up there’s only one place she can take it. So she buries her little bottom in the corner of her living room couch and kicks her legs up and down while she rubs furiously over the thong – and inside it as well – palm squeezing, thumb pressing, fingers dipping, thighs quaking … mind reeling with my cock and your scent and the artist’s conception of me fucking you against the wall of the Living Museum of the Goddamn American Rocking Horse.’
    ‘Oh!’ Normandie was coming, rocking herself on the bed.
    ‘I want some of that,’ Jacob told her, his cock pounding in his pants.
    He got some of it.
    ‘While you were out, I got a call from another television show. They’ve booked me for August.’
    ‘You’re going to be the toast of local TV.’
    ‘This one’s national. Gimme Some Science! ’
    He knew the programme. A network had ingeniously put an accessible, hour-long science programme in the hands of Priscilla Ray, a former supermodel whose intellect was even more