0 comments/ 24826 views/ 1 favorites Rachel's Fire: 01 By: alexander tzara AUTHOR'S NOTE: Parts of this were posted in an earlier form as "Roger Simian". BTW, the punctuation and style are SUPPOSED to be a bit weird. Just me being all wacky and experimental - haha. (COMPLEXION) The author of *Miss Babylon 1999* sits naked lonely and drunk up there in her bedroom/ slurping straight vodka from a coffee mug and gazing distractedly into the Looking Glass. Its not little blonde Alice she sees staring back at her though. More like a scrawny Snow White. Ink-black hair dripping over skinny shoulders. Chilly green eyes like flawed emeralds. Milky skin the complexion of the vampyre. Breathing deep in through her nose she tugs on the silvery ring that peirxces her FUCKIT! FUCKIT! FUCKIT! that PIERCES her left nipple. She can already feel the familiar burning between her ~~~~~ START AGAIN! So the author of *Miss Babylon 1999* sits naked lonely and drunk before her bedroom mirror. She is 30 years old. The smell is Avocado and Apple (the scent of cheap shampoo that still clings to my hair). The colour is pale blue (a soft reflection of the pockmarked wallpaper Mum and Dad pasted up a quarter of a century ago). To the left of this crow-haired Godiva a bashed white convection heater is turned all the way up to five/ helping combat the worst excesses of the Scottish winter. Tugging at the ring that pierces her left nipple the writer frowns at her milky reflection and flares her nostrils/ breathing in deep through her nose. Shes been thinking about this one afternoon twelve years ago. ~~~ 1987. 18 years old. Shed taken to calling herself Rachel Babylon by this point. Wanted to be a Punkrock singer like Siouxie Sioux or Iggy Stooge. Changing her drab name (Rachel Kearney) seemed to be the first step towards this. But the IMPORTANT thing going on in Rachels life just now was that shed finally left her Mother and moved in with longstanding boyfriend Byron. Byron had this damp wee flat in Wester Hailes that was a bit of a shit-hole to be honest. That didnt matter though really. All Rachel and Byron wanted was time alone together for smoking dope and making love. Thats what you do when youre 18. On this particular afternoon the Sun shone gloriously through the dusty windows making everything seem all hazy and golden/ kind of like some soft-focus French film. Rachel finished undressing - allowing her stuff to drop onto the carpet - and cheerfully clambered up onto the bed. *Whats that youre hiding* she purred/ a comic kittenish voice shed been cultivating over the past few days. Byron scratched his stubbly chin and grinned as she threw back the quilt. Miss Babylon was smiling too. She could see that her boyfriend was getting hard. Just from watching her little striptease. She climbed up on top of him then - her knees sinking into the matress on either side of his body - and took his thing in her small fist. Warm. Swelling up under the touch of ~~~~~ *Kuh!* The author of *Miss Babylon 1999* grins and shakes her head (a subtle movement). Padding over to her desk she slumps down onto the chair and yelps as the cold wood kisses her buttocks. For a moment she studies the tiny goosepimples that have risen up over her arms/ legs and breasts. Getting briefly to her feet she grabs the long pink jumper from the bed and pulls it on. It clings to her body like a misshapen woollen dress. Slumping back down - jumper tugged almost to her knees - she switches on the VDU and hits the Macs start-up/ sparking up another Regal King as she stares at the flickering screen. ~~~~~ Well now. Shit. Here I finally am my dear Severine. Pissed up and agitated in this cluttered wee flat overlooking Clerk Street (possibly one of the noisiest streets in the whole of Edinburgh). Gavins fucked off home and Im alone. But thats ok. Im just as lonely when hes around. Its 3.56/ sorry 3.57 on a predictably downcast Winter morning here in the Scottish capital. Ive got half a bottle of Ukrainian vodka gushing through my veins (this is strong stuff. 140 proof it says on the bottle) and a new century/ a new MILLENNIUM hurtling towards me by the second. (November 1999. Cant you just feel that pessimistic old fart Nostradamus breathing down your neck?) Ok so that wasnt too difficult really. Three pleasant little paragraphs to set up the scene (time place and person). A bit clumsy and laboured no doubt but I can always tidy them up in the morning along with all the other debris of my drunkenness: 2 empty fag packets/ 4 coffee mugs/ 1 creamy-white bra/ a pair of burgundy knickers (Im not always the most co-ordinated girl)/ several green scrumpled pound notes (which incidentally theyll no longer accept in England)/ my new black hip-huggers (only SLIGHTLY flared)/ a couple of Michael Moorcocks Jerry Cornelius novels and half a slice of buttered toast and strawberry jam that I forgot all about till just this minute. So what have I been doing for the past three and a half hours? Lets see. Apart from coffee/ ciggies and toast Ive: ~torn chunks of lumpy blue wallpaper from the wall ~polished off that bottle of crazy vodka over there on the floor ~painted my toe-nails (Cool Frosted Green) ~strummed my jumbo acoustic guitar (not really mine: borrowed off Aunt Jane two years ago) ~daydreamed the usual cavalcade of encounters with a series of faceless men and women (yes I AM a bad girl haha) ~and bathed several times in the glitter-whore glamour of Mr Bowies 1971 album *Hunky Dory*. ANYTHING to avoid the snide mockery of this empty flickering screen. *** (I DREAM OF MARIA) Close your eyes Rachel and imagine this. A beach. Some filthy yellow beach in Spain/ Puerto Rico or or BRAZIL. Yes. Can you see it? Do you smell the Sea? Feel the salt-breeze tickling at your hair? Good. Now picture the woman. She is dark skinned and sullen. Wild and beautiful. She sits on a crumbling wall/ her pretty hazel eyes screwed up in the Suns glare. A smouldering cigarette hangs flaccidly from the corner of her mouth and theres a bottle of something nasty at her side. She could smile so sweetly but the world doesnt deserve a smile. So she scowls. Shes just sitting there/ large breasts thrust out beneath her white blouse/ legs crossed high so no one can fail to notice the expanse of smooth dark shaved flesh stretching from her ankle to her thigh. The Brazilian points at the bottle beside her/ motions for you to join her. *You are English?* she asks stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the wall. You shake your head. *Scottish.* She seems confused but nods and passes you the bottle. You allow a few drops of the vile liquor to trickle over your tongue and the woman laughs as your face contorts. *It is very cheap* she advises. Taking the bottle from your hand she puts her lips round the neck and gulps. A few drops of liquid dribble from the corner of her mouth and you blush. The Brazilian wipes her lips and chin with the back of her hand. *Would you like to walk with me?* she asks as the empty bottle thuds onto muddy grass and rolls. You stare into those dark eyes and shrug. Might be fun to have a friend here who can show you around. She seems to study you a moment Rachel. What does she see? Thick shoulder-length black hair. Melancholy green eyes. You are usually quite a pale girl but the cruel Sun has burned your face and arms/ turning you an unhealthy red. Like a crustacean scuttling from the boiling pot. Under your arms and between your breasts your t-shirt is stained dark with sweat. You must look strange to her Rachel. Almost alien. The woman gets to her feet/ kicks off her sluttish red shoes - discarding them where they land - and walks bare-foot in front of you. Her peroxide hair reaches to the small of her back/ bouncing as she walks. *What is your name?* she asks/ the words floating across her shoulder. *Rachel.* *Rachel? I like that. Its from the Bible no? Im Maria* she says. *Maria Helena Marquez.* You catch her up/ trying not to make it too obvious that youre watching her breasts move beneath the material of her blouse. Top buttons undone. Droplets of sweat trickling into her cleavage. Large-breasted women have always fascinated you for some reason. You glance self-consciously down at your own smallish bosom. (I refuse to be intimidated. Theyre only tits. Weve all got them.) Maria shoots you a strange look. (So why of all people did Gavin have to go and shag Leanne Nesbit? It wasnt the size of her cerebral cortex that got him so hot under the waistband was it? Shit. Dont think about that. Youll only make yourself bitter girl.) *Rachel?* *Huh?* You havent heard a word shes said. *I said I see you here on the beach every morning. You are always alone.* *Aye well. Im on holiday.* you mumble. *No husband?* Shaking your head: *Ive got a boyfriend but were not getting on too great.* Maria stops and looks at you/ lips curling into a snear. *Men are no good. You dont need a man Rachel. They are shits. BIG SHITS.* She spits this out with the bitterness of too much experience. *Do you have a husband?* you ask. *** (CLERK STREET) So maybe I should tell you about the street where I live. If you head off the East End of Princes Street up the Bridges and just keep going till your feet get sore (thats if youre a lazy cow like me) youll arrive at Clerk Street. Its not a bad place to live really. Bit noisy with all the cars/ buses/ motorbikes/ taxis/ etcetera grinding to and from Princes Street but you dont have far to go to get whatever you need: ~ciggies ~books ~CDs ~clothes ~cosmetics ~toiletries ~the bank ~munchies (theres a great curry place just a few blocks away) ~vids ~guitar strings ~booze ~and of course a wide variety of sanitary products to suit all your feminine hygiene needs (Which is my pal Jans cue to start lecturing us about toxic shock syndrome.) Clerk Streets not too bad a place to live really. Some of the pubs are a bit rough mind you. You get all the hard-nuts from the schemes coming up this way to cause trouble. Its quite entertaining. I can sit at that window for hours just gazing down at all the fights and general drunken goings-on. Better than tv. Ive lived 30 years in Scotland (almost 31) and - although I dont have a nationalistic bone in my body - I guess I kind of like the place. Especially Edinburgh. Embra. I know that Edinburgh folk have this reputation for being all cold and antisocial/ maybes even a wee bit snobby (*Aw furcoats and nae knickers* as my Uncle John in Glasgow puts it) but theres still something about this city. I guess I mustve just grown used to the place over the years. Like some shabby old dog that wont stop following you around. (A reference of course to that faithful wee Skye terrier Bobby who kept vigil by Jock Grays grave here in Greyfriars Churchyard for 14 years in the 1800s.) *** (DO YOU HAVE A HUSBAND?) Maria Marquez stops and looks at you/ lips curling into a snear. *Men are no good. You dont need a man Rachel. They are shits. BIG SHITS.* She spits this out with the bitterness of too much experience. *Do you have a husband?* you ask. The question seems somehow comical once the words have left your mouth. You cough/ feeling strangely uncomfortable. Something about the way Maria is staring at you. Shaking her head: *I have many boyfriends but they dont know how to make love to a woman. They only know how to FUCK FUCK FUCK and fall asleep.* Youve arrived at a quiet stretch of the beach. Behind you the town is hidden by the trees. As the Brazilian touches your arm you feel a strange almost electrical tingle pass through your body. She looks into your face. Her pupils swelling. Lips moist. *** (BECOME A MAN MAGNET!) 26 - HE TOLD ME HE LOVED ME THEN MARRIED MY BEST FRIEND How one woman coped with betrayal and learned to forgive 30 - NEW BREASTS The ups and downs of cosmetic surgery 34 - IS SHE REALLY GOING OUT WITH HIM? When you cant stand your best friends man 40 - SEX ON A TRAIN and other top fantasies Our readers reveal their favourite erotic daydreams 54 - BECOME A MAN MAGNET! How to be a seductress in seven easy steps 65 - TIME TO TIE THE KNOT? Are you ready for commitment? *** (COCKTAIL) She looks into your face. Her pupils swelling. Lips moist. *Its easy to fake it. The men here are so stupid* she informs you. *Only a woman really knows how to make me come.* Lost for words. Try not to let the shock show on your face. *Have you ever been with a woman?* she asks. *What do you mean?* You know exactly what she means. *Together with another woman? Fucking her?* *No.* You say this quietly/ your cheeks burning up. Feel your stomach tightening. You look at this woman/ a cocktail of terror and longing coursing through your blood. Taking hold of your face with both hands Maria Marquez thrusts her mouth against yours. Her lips soft against your own. Her cheap perfume intoxicates you. She edges her wet tongue into your mouth and you feel the surge of electricity. But you are confused. You shake your head/ pull away. See the wicked smile curling Marias lips. She nudges you. You fall back onto the sand. *Take off your clothes* she says. *What?* *Take them off!* She is serious. *Please Rachel.* You could easily get to your feet/ shove her indignantly out the way and storm off back to your hotel but you dont do this. Instead you pull off your shoes and socks. The sand is hot against your heels. *** (CUT-UP no 6: SOFT TAXIS) We pulled red cars in snowdrop crashing. The eyes were skinny pale. It gave me unawares and I drank soft taxis. Crushed tomorrows forever empty. *** (TIME CAPSULE) Bowies *Quick Sand* comes on and I get goosebumps all down my legs. I know its a weird one to associate with teenage lust but you cant really choose the songs that map out your life. Listening to it now Im transported back twelve years to Sharons party in Leith. 18 years old. I can feel him pressed against me/ smell his hair/ taste the kiss/ feel his fingers fumbling awkwardly between my legs. All the excitement and confusion has been sealed away in that one song. Like a Time Capsule. Ive been thinking about Byron a lot recently. The first man I ever fucked. Probably the only man I ever really loved. Dont know if Ill ever get over him to be honest. Occasionally if I smell or see or hear something that reminds me of him the pain explodes through me/ burning into every cell in my AH SHIT. Im even crying now. Big splashes of salty water dripping onto my hand as I type. Hang on a second. ~~~~~ Last Saturday I took a stroll down to Cockburn Street. I didnt have any money or anything but I needed to get out the flat. It was doing my head in. So I was just wandering about - having a wee window-shop to myself (fantasising about what Id buy if I had the cash) - and I was heading down past this place where they sell loads of leather gear and jewellery and stuff when I just froze still. It was him. I was sure of it. The hair was cut short and hed lost weight but I was certain it was Byron. He was chatting away to some Goth girl behind the counter so I was able to stare at him through the window without him noticing. I was so mixed up. This was a real shock. I thought Id managed to put him right out of my mind but seeing him in the flesh brought it all back. I wanted so badly to go inside and - I dont know - pretend to check out the skirts or something. Just anything to get myself inside the shop. Hopefully hed notice me and come over to speak (let him make the first move). But as soon as I saw he was getting ready to leave I chickened out and fled up the street. I was acting like some stupid shy wee lassie but - there you go - I guess thats what I am underneath it all. Rachel's Fire: 02 (CHESS) Its a bit of a nuthouse this building really. Theres old Billy The Hamster upstairs (you really DONT want to know). And that wee wanker Shawn next door to him with the skinhead and the tattoo all round his neck. Then of course theres WhatsErFace. From Dundee I think. WhatsErFace has crazy red hair and wears these obscene little skirts that I wouldnt have the nerve to show in public. (I think she might be a prozzie actually. I dont mean a sauna-girl like my pal Shona. I mean a proper five-quid-a-handjob/ignore-the-whisky-breath/Leith-police-dismisseth-us street-walker. Shes got a different man on her arm every time I see her. Always middle aged and profusely sweating. Never like to look you in the eye those guys.) My main bone of contention with WhatsErFace though is the scabby little ratdog effort she has thats always trying to shag a hole in your leg. I absolutely adore animals but that mutt should be shot. Thats the extent of the loathing I have for the beast. The most persistent nutter of the lot though has to be McLay. Wee Graeme McLay from upstairs. He must think Ive got some kind of unnatural obsession with cleanliness or something. Every time he comes to the door Im either just about to have a bath or wash my hair/ ANYTHING just so I dont have to let him in the house. Its not that I dont like the old bugger (I actually feel quite sorry for him) but the man smells of furniture polish and Ive been told hes a bit of a tealeaf. Not the sort of character you want parked on your settee of an evening. Most of the time you never see McLay. He locks himself away in his smelly wee flat doing fuck knows what (being a hermit I suppose) with no TV and no friends visiting cause hes not got any. But then about every three or four days he gets himself pissed up on Special Brew. Dutch courage. This gives him the boost he needs to go round everyones door with his yucky yellow teeth and his broken specks and that clarty old chessboard of his. *Fancy a wee game hen eh?* Thats what he says when you open the door. He seems to have this belief (quite fanatical in its intensity) that playing chess is going to solve everyones problems. Its pitiful really when you think about it. Not one bastardll give the man a game of chess. What sort of a life is it when you cant even find some bugger to play a stupid game with you? Its all he has to live for really. No job (hes a retired railway worker). No family (not that Ive heard of anyways). No pets. No wee woman to take care of him. Hes just one of these poor loveless old farts that you see rifling through the 50p mucky paperbacks in Rabs Books. Its enough to break your heart so it is. If there was any decency left in the world wed all club together - this whole building - and pay for him to have a good time with old WhatsErFace. She might even give him a game of chess. Haha. *** (CUT-UP no 7: DAMPNESS HOLLOW) Twisting my dreams under the oily dark. Hear the lantern bubble: hard barking new shoulders. Soon the damp hollow springs grey in her thoughts *** (LONGING) *Have you ever been with a woman?* she asks. *What do you mean?* You know exactly what she means. *Together with another woman? Fucking her?* *No.* You say this quietly/ your cheeks burning up. Feel your stomach tightening. You look at this woman/ a cocktail of terror and longing coursing through your blood. Taking hold of your face with both hands Maria Marquez thrusts her mouth against yours. Her lips soft against your own. Her cheap perfume intoxicates you. She edges her wet tongue into your mouth and you feel the surge of electricity. But you are confused. You shake your head/ pull away. See the wicked little smile curling Marias lips. She nudges you so you fall back onto the sand. *Take off your clothes* she says. *What?* *Take them off!* She is serious. *Please Rachel.* You could easily get to your feet/ shove her indignantly out the way and storm off back to your hotel but you dont do this. Instead you pull off your shoes and socks. The sand is hot against your heels. Your vagina is moist. *** (DRESSING ROOM) Jumping. Spinning. Squealing like a rat. When Im up on stage I often wonder what all those people are thinking. Whats going through their minds as they watch this skinny anaemic-looking bitch with her Morticia hair/ paint-splattered Epiphone guitar and crimson lippy smudged halfway across her cheek/ chainsmoking ciggies and banging on about the New York Dolls/ Martian Belly-Dancers/ late periods or whatever else drifts into her head while the band struggle to tune up their instruments behind her and the lighting-guy goes postal with the dry-ice machine. Do they think Im weird? Ugly? Sexy? Do I look stupid? I must look pretty fucking stupid. I dont care. It doesnt matter. If I spent all my time worrying how daft I look on stage Id never get out the dressing room. Half the buzz of rock n roll is watching some idiot trying to act like a ROCK STAR and falling on their arse. If you want to get anywhere at all in this business youve got to be willing to risk looking like a complete tit in front of a lot of people. I mean do you really think Sting cries himself to sleep over his tantric sex manuals every night just cause you and I think hes a bit of a Ravi Shanker? Does he hell. Hes laughing all the way to the Ivor Novello awards. *** (THIS MOST PRIVATE ACT) The sand is hot against your heels. Your vagina is moist. *Hurry!* The Brazilian claps her hands together impatiently. You pull your t-shirt up over your head. Maria studies your breasts. *And the rest* she says. So you unzip the jeans and pull them down/ kicking them off over your feet. As you remove your g-string you see Marias hand moving up between her dark legs. *Now touch yourself!* she commands. *What?* The sand scratches against your body. Burning your calfs/ buttocks/ heels/ shoulders. *I want you to fuck your hand.* Maria lifts her skirt just enough for you to see that her crotch is bare. No underwear. Buried in amongst the thick raven tufts of hair her labia glisten. It surprises and excites you that your body has turned her on like this. See how she desires you Rachel? Cool breeze tingling over your skin. Stomach tightening. You rub the thumb of your left hand over your nipple and allow your legs to fall open. It is so wild and strange to be watched like this/ to be watched performing this most private act. The Brazilians dark eyes take in every detail as you slip a finger *** (HUNGRY) Through in the bathroom I lift the lid of the toilet/ pull my knickers down to my knees and sit down hard on the cold seat. The smell of pine-scented detergent is strong in my nose. As I piss into the frothy green water I feel a shiver run through me. I close my eyes and listen to the bubbling sound my urine makes as it sprays into the disinfected bowl. When Im finished I pat myself dry with a few sheets of cheap toilet paper/ pull the flush/ wash and dry my hands then vigorously scrub my teeth with some yucky mint toothpaste before heading back through to the bedroom. Pulling the pink jumper off I stare at my shivering naked body. Its so hard to believe that this is really me. Sometimes you look in the mirror and its a stranger that stares back. Face thin and pale with-out make-up. Black hair tumbling over white shoulders. Green eyes with flecks of orange swirling around in them like distant galaxies. (Mum once told me that for a while after I was born she felt that I was still part of her. It was like the cord had never been cut. She couldnt separate us. Shed look at this small pink wriggling bundle in her arms and feel tears welling up in her eyes. My body was just an extension of hers. A projection of her own fragile self. I think it terrified her how much power I had over her emotions.) I touch my shoulder. The white breasts. Thick dark buds popping out hard from the aureolas. My left nipple now pierced with a wee silvery ring. (Nothing has changed. Here I am still trapped inside her body. I dont know where she ends and I begin. Im like a baby kangaroo stuck forever in its mothers pouch.) Down below: the tufts of black hair. The movement of my ribs as I breathe in breathe out. Funny little birthmark just above my navel. Painted toenails. My feet small and pale against the blue swirl of the carpet. Lying back on the bed I sink deep into the quilt with a pillow under my bum to raise my hips. I stroke my left hand up my leg. Barely touching my hip. Brushing up round my waist. Tiny goose-pimples rising up over my breasts. Aureolas shrivelled up tight. My nipples have grown thick and hard. Swollen deep red like ripe berries. In the mirror I can clearly see this strange and frightening image of myself. Between my thighs my sex gapes and glistens like a hungry mouth. Rachel's Fire: 03 1987. 18 years old. Shed taken to calling herself Rachel Babylon by this point. Wanted to be a Punkrock singer like Siouxie Sioux or Iggy Stooge. Changing her drab name (Rachel Kearney) seemed to be the first step towards this. But the IMPORTANT thing going on in Rachels life just now was that shed finally left her Mother and moved in with longstanding boyfriend Byron. Byron had this damp wee flat in Wester Hailes that was a bit of a shit-hole to be honest. That didnt matter though really. All Rachel and Byron wanted was time alone together for smoking dope and making love. Thats what you do when youre 18. On this particular afternoon the Sun shone gloriously through the dusty windows making everything seem all hazy and golden/ kind of like some soft-focus French film. Rachel finished undressing - allowing her stuff to drop onto the carpet - and cheerfully clambered up onto the bed. *Whats that youre hiding* she purred/ a comic kittenish voice shed been cultivating over the past few days. Byron scratched his stubbly chin and grinned as she threw back the quilt. Miss Babylon was smiling too. She could see that her boyfriend was getting hard. Just from watching her little striptease. She climbed up on top of him then - her knees sinking into the matress on either side of his body - and took his thing in her small fist. Warm. Swelling up under the touch of her fingers. Her hand moved slowly/ teasing back his foreskin so the tip was revealed then letting go so it shriveled shut over the slit. Rachel Babylon gently masturbated Byron in this way until he was fully erect. Byron was already reaching for Rachel Babylons small breasts. Cupping them in his hands. Catching her nipples. Squeezing them so they got all big and red. His fingers moved down over her belly/ slipping briefly between her thighs into the wetness then tracing a trail over her leg to her hip so that the goosebumps rose up over her skin. Rachel slid Byrons thing inside herself and for a few seconds she savoured its solidity. Tightening herself around it. She dropped forward onto her hands and scratched her hard nipples through the hairs on her boyfriends chest. Leaning even further into him - so that her breasts were squashed into his ribcage and Byron was buried alive under an avalanche of black hair - Rachel Babylon used her lips and tongue to attack his neck/ cheeks/ ears/ chin/ mouth and throat. Licking/ sucking and biting with enthusiasm. Savaging him like a rabid dog broken out of quarantine. Byron grasped Rachels buttocks. Kneading the milky flesh. She began to move back and forth against him. Slowly and self-consciously to begin with but becoming more confident as her inhibitions evaporated. Soon she was sitting up - her breasts bouncing madly and the bedsprings squeaking - as she fucked him hard and without subtlety. Looking down Rachel Babylon could see the movement of her labia as Byrons penis moved in and out. Strange. Almost like these lips (familiar yet mysterious) were trying to speak to her. Above the hood of her clitoris a little Bill Haley curl of black hairs glistened like dew-covered grass. Rachel's Fire: 04 (FORBIDDEN) Somewhere under that giant blue quilt over there my boyfriend Gavin is curled up having innocent dreams. I can hear him whispering to himself. He often does that when hes sleeping. I sometimes wake up in the darkness to hear snatches of his confused conversation. I can never make out whole sentences. Just the occasional word. Its almost 4.00 in the morning and Im sitting pretty much naked before the glare of this cold glass once more. Mirrors play an important part in my life. Not vanity: just good old-fashioned female insecurity. (Well now Rachel. What goes through your troubled little mind as you sit shivering by the Looking Glass?) Just the usual really. Should I get my hair cut? Are my tits too wee? Did Gavin switch the immersion on? I mustve sat here for well over two hours/ chain smoking (I honestly really am going to stop after this packet)/ twisting strands of black hair round yellow-stained fingers/ listening to Patti Smith through those annoying wee grey walkman earphones and allowing my thoughts to return once more to Byron. The first man I ever fucked. Probably the only man I ever really loved. It gives me a dark feeling to think about Byron while Gavin lies sleeping in the same room. An adulterous fantasy. Forbidden. *** (THE FIRST TIME) Two weeks after Sharons party. Mum was working late at the hospital and Byron and I were drinking dry cider and talking and listening to Bob Marley. After a while it just seemed right so we stumbled through into my bedroom and lay on top of the bed/ kissing and fumbling in the darkness. I laid my head on the pillow and felt his hand move up my thigh. Under my skirt. His fingers sliding to you know where. Touching me through my underwear. *Thats nice.* I whispered. The air around me cool and fresh against my skin. Inside though I was burning up. Sparked into life like Mary Shelleys monster. Byron crawled up the bed so he could kiss me on the cheek. *Oh dont stop.* (Did that sound desperate?) He drew back and hiked my skirt up to my waist. With one sudden movement he dragged my knickers down as far as my ankles. I giggled and tried to kick them off over my feet but I still had my shoes on and the elastic was getting tangled up in the heels so he gave them one final tug and dropped them onto the onto the (Christ this hurts. It really fucking hurts inside. This sadness.) *** (DOWN IN THE SCUZZ WITH PATTI LEE) *Pissing In A River* comes on the tape and I shiver. Imagine Patti Smith standing there on the bank: thin and naked/ legs splayed/ her clothes bundled at her feet. She breathes the scent of trees and grass and baked mud in through her nose. Curling her toes in the earth. The air tickles over her skin and through her hair. Slowly slowly she steps off into the icy water and sinks until her bony white body is almost completely submerged. Kicking her legs beneath her she allows her muscles to relax and feels that shiver of pleasure run up her skinny spine as her bladder empties and the warmth rises around her. *** (EXPLOSIONS) Christ this hurts. It really fucking hurts inside. This sadness. Ive been thinking about Byron a lot recently. Dont know if Ill ever get over him. Occasionally if I smell or see or hear something that reminds me of him the pain explodes through me. Burning into every cell in my body. Devastating me. At these times I struggle to talk or move or think. Paralised by despair. Maybe if Id done things differently wed still be together. Dont think about it Rachel. Too sad. *** (AN ARGUMENT) So will I tell you about last nights argument? It wasnt anything spectacular really. Just an every-day kind of tiff. Soon as I got home I knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. I was in that kind of a mood. Itching to fight. *How was the practice?* Gavin said as I leaned the guitar-case up against the wall. I looked at him/ not saying a word. I was drunk. Gavin brushed his fingers back through his thinning hair. *You alright Rachel?* *Fine.* *Whats up with you? Youve been dead quiet the last few days.* I searched his face. All troubled and concerned (poor wee lamb). *Do you love me?* (Me just asking out of badness really.) *Eh? What do you mean?* (This line of attack has obviously thrown him.) *I said: do you love me?* *Christ. Is this about that girl?* *Im asking you a question Gavin. Do you still love me?* *I told you what happened Rach. We were both pissed out our faces.* He got up from the bed. Talking to me like I was a child. *She flirted with me and I flirted back. Nothing more.* *Gavin. I dont want to know about some fucking party two weeks ago. I want to know how we are right now.* He was laughing at me. Shaking his head. *Cant believe youre making such a big deal out of this. We were just fooling around. You do it all the time Rach.* *That doesnt interest me.* *Mind that arsehole in Dundee last year?* he said. *You were all over him like a rash.* *** (CUT-UP no 14: CRYSTAL DUNES) Every kiss is the tick-tock heartbeat. Horse-head warriors entangled in the crystal dunes. But Marys thighs were stained rosy with rebellion. *** (ITS OVER) *Shut up!* I grabbed his shoulder harder than I meant to. *All I want to hear is you saying you still love me.* *Well of course I do. You know I love you Rachel.* *Did you screw her?* *Oh come on. Stop this.* (Almost pleading now.) I glared at him. He just shook his head and smiled/ holding one hand up like he was in court. (That wide-boy grin used to just melt me.) *I assure you Your Honour that I did not shag the lady in question. Indeed I believe that on that particular evening I was pished oot ma skull and couldnae get a hardon even if I wanted one.* He chuckled and reached for me. (He thinks hes being cute.) burning into every cell in my body. Devastating me. At these times I struggle to talk or move or I knocked his hand away: *You shouldve fucked her while you had the chance Gavin.* (Heart going like mad. This could be it.) *Eh?* *I said you shouldve just gone ahead and shagged that wee tart.* He was stunned. *Just like you shagged Leanne Nesbit last year and fuck-knows who else since then.* I was determined not to cry in front of him. *What are you saying?* *Were finished Gavin. Its over.* The tears already rolling in hot streams down my cheeks. *** (ANGRY WOMEN) INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. BEDROOM. EVENING. 1996. RACHEL BABYLON lies across her bed carefully cutting a photograph of feminist pornstar turned performance artist Annie Sprinkle from a book about Angry Women. In this photograph (by Eric Kroll) Annie Sprinkle poses as 1/2 Slut and 1/2 Goddess with tassles on her breasts and a sex-toy clutched in each hand. *** (LETS GO TO BED) *Were finished Gavin. Its over.* The tears already rolling in hot streams down my cheeks. He sighed and looked at me. *Youre mental Rachel.* He stroked his hands over my hips. *You knew I was only joking. Whats all this melodrama for?* I shrugged my shoulders and we were silent for a while. (Its humiliating that he wont even take my threats seriously.) *I do love you.* (Him testing the water.) *I know.* He raised an eyebrow/ willing me to smile. *Want a drink?* I nodded sullenly and he padded over to the table/ pouring me out a vodka. I knocked this straight back/ pulled a queasy face and handed him the glass. *Lets go to bed. Im tired.* I said. So I disappeared off to the bathroom to take off my makeup and brush my teeth. By the time I went back through Gavin was sitting naked on the bed/ slurping from a can of strong lager and scratching his nails through the dark hairs of his chest. I turned away from him. Started undressing. Shoes. Tights. Blouse. Skirt. Bra. Knickers. I put my earrings on top of the dressing table and studied my body in the mirror. *I look like shit.* Getting up from the bed Gavin kissed me softly on the nape of my neck and wrapped his hairy arms around me from behind. *Youre gorgeous* he said. He clasped my breasts/ one in each smooth palm. I could smell his Kouros aftershave billowing around me and feel his warm stomach pressing against my back. His hardening penis nestled against the cheeks of my bum. Gavin smiled at me in the mirror. (I used to think he looked like a young Mick Jagger. Those pouting lips really got to me for some reason. Soon got over that infatuation.) He raised two thick dark eyebrows. *Will I skin up?* I nodded. While Gavin expertly assembled a joint on the bedside table I poured myself another vodka and downed it. I opened the bottom drawer of my dressing-table and rummaged through all my tapes. (At one time I used to keep these neatly stacked in vaguely alphabetical order but now theyre just chucked in a heap. A big mess. Just like my head.) After a lot of consideration I picked out Patti Smiths *Radio Ethiopia* album/ stuck it in the machine and pressed play. *** (MY SECRET SELF) dreamed-up punk babe who leads me like a dog through my wild sensual adventures. Quite a bit older than me. A ghostly guru. Wise and poetic/ sharp as a razor too. A kind of super-exagerated Patti Smith. I remember listening to *Horses*/ *Radio Ethiopia* and *Easter* when I was eighteen. I could hardly believe that Id discovered this woman who knew so much about my secret self. *** (HEAD) While Gavin was sucking on the joint he drew my head between his legs and I moved my mouth on him. I can never totally relax when Im doing this. Fantasies are ok but the reality of BJs does nothing for me. What if he shoots his stuff in my mouth? Or starts choking me on his cock? *You wanting some of this?* he mumbled. I gladly sat up/ took the joint and lay back on the bed/ drawing heavily so the end burned brightly. I could feel the room spinning around me. The sex was disappointing. After five minutes of foreplay (tits/ arse/ vagina/ no clit) he clambered on top of me. It takes him fucking ages when hes wasted. Eventually he shuddered and rolled onto his own side of the bed/ drifting off into a contented sleep like some innocent wee boy. I lay there for a while feeling angry and vaguely aroused. My legs were aching and I was too drained of energy to masturbate but my head was buzzing with so many thoughts that I couldnt get off to sleep. After an hour lying there - Gavin snoring softly into my shoulder - I crawled out of bed/ draped a blanket around my shoulders and resigned myself to sharing my insomnia with Patti Smith. *** (SHARP AS A RAZOR) In my fantasies Im the ultimate groupie. A modern day Pamela Des Barres. In my midnight world of lust and dreams I have none of my usual inhibitions. Anything or ANYONE can happen in the privacy of my mind. Damon Albarn. Marianne Faithful. Tupac. Debbie Harry (circa *Heart Of Glass*). Hendrix. Courtney. One of the New York Dolls (cant remember his name). Madonna (any era). Trent Reznor. Those three girls out of TLC. Just WHOEVER. Scenarios often feature this dreamed-up punk babe who leads me like a dog through my adventures. Quite a bit older than me. A ghostly guru. Wise and poetic/ wild and sensual/ sharp as a razor too. A kind of super-exagerated Patti Smith. I remember listening to *Horses*/ *Radio Ethiopia* and *Easter* when I was eighteen. I could hardly believe Id discovered this woman who knew so much about my secret self. A poet with the dark passion of the Symbolists and the fucked-up rock n roll intensity of Jim Morrison/ Lou Reed/ Iggy Stooge. She had no guilt. Talked as dirty as any man. A real Cowboy Mouth. Said she liked to sit at a typewriter and masturbate whilst tapping out wild poems like one of those amphetamine Beat writers from the 50s. *** (MY JOURNEY) Switching off the tape I wrap the earphone-wires round the body of the walkman and stick it back in the bottom drawer. I get to my feet and allow the blanket to fall from around my shoulders onto the floor. Staring at the refection of my shivering body. I guess this dark journey really began when I was 10 years old. Thats when I started to notice all these new curves on my hips and on my bum. It didnt disturb me too much at the time but the next couple of years were frightening. It seemed the more my body changed the less I knew who I was. I was wary of my sexuality. It burst out of me like some wild white horse. Snorting and dangerous. Mysterious and unreal. It confused me. Strange hairs sprouted under my arms and between my legs. I was even developing breasts. My Mum was just as suspicious of my new body as I was. She didnt want to have to deal with my burgeoning womanhood at all. I guess seeing me this way mustve brought back all the turmoil of her own troubled chrysalis. It was far less uncomfortable for her to just sweep it all under the carpet/ carry on treating me like an eight year old. At this point I didnt really know WHAT I was. Nature was trying to tell me I was a woman but my Mother was still insisting I was a wee girl. Shed prove this to me by picking the subjects I was to study at school/ choosing what clothes I should wear/ telling me what friends I was allowed/ laughing at my schoolgirl crushes. One time when I was 12 years old Mum called me into her room. She sat me down at the stool in front of the white dressing table and brushed the tangles out of my hair. Shed come to realise that my adolescence wasnt just going to go away. She might as well enjoy it. So she put a few kirby grips between her lips and started pinning my hair on top of my head. *Very sophisticated* she said when it was done. *You look just like Audrey Hepburn.* She grabbed for her make-up bag. She was enjoying this more than I was. This was all new to me. Id experimented with lipstick in the bathroom a few times but it was strange to have my Mother slap on all this foundation/ blusher/ eye-shadow and nail varnish. She squirted each of my wrists with her expensive perfume and said *What do you think?* I looked at my reflection. Id grown older by about four years. *I feel funny* I said. My mother smiled. *Youre at a funny age darling.* I blinked and hesitated. I could feel my heart thumping. *Janice got her period last week.* Mum nodded but I could see a deep blush rise in her cheeks. She dropped the perfume on the floor/ picked it up/ put it on the dressing table and went out of the room. I sat there chewing my lip. Staring at my strange reflection. Feeling deserted. Later that evening Mum tapped lightly on my door/ came in/ handed me a box of Tampax without a word and left/ pulling the door gently shut behind her. It was like she was saying *There you go Rachel. Youll just have to get on with it.* A few months later - when my own period finally arrived - I bled all over the linoleum carpeting in our bathroom trying to put the tampon in. I dont think Ive ever felt more alone. Mum was happy to play stupid games and dress me up like some doll but any mention of menstruation - a REAL symbol of my approaching womanhood - and she just clammed right up. She was more scared of my body than I was. And now here I am. The peak of my sexuality. Its time I learned to love this body. In fifteen or twenty years time the smooth skin will stretch and sag and wrinkle. My hair will turn grey. *** (IN HER MIND SHE URGES) Lying alone in the darkness of the guest room she often recalled those squirming leather-clad bodies bound and chained down there in the dungeon. Severine imagined herself strapped spread-eagled and naked face-down on the rough wooden table - her breasts squashed beneath her body - begging for just one more crack of the whip. Each night she tossed and turned/ aching to feel Clays rough hands smacking hard against the soft flesh of her buttocks. She silently willed the wicked American to burst into her bedroom and thrust his erection into her mouth or bury his face between her thighs. In her mind she urged him to lick her roughly/ without any delicacy/ to squeeze her breasts and buttocks until *** (GETTING OLD) *What you doing?* I jump and spin around. Gavins head is peaking out from under the quilt. *Nothing* I mumble. *I was just going to tidy up some of this mess.* Im aware of him watching me as I bend down and start scooping my clothes into a bundle in my arms. Gavin yawns and grinds the ball of his hand into one eye. Smiling cheekily he pats the bed beside him. *Its cosy in here.* Laying the pile of clothes down on top of the dresser I climb back into bed. He reaches his arms around me and I snuggle into his warmth. *Youre beautiful Rachel. You know that dont you?* I look up at him. *Dont talk rubbish.* *You are.* He grins and kisses my shoulder. I draw back. *What is it?* Puzzled by my reaction. I can feel my stomach knot. *Why do you say stuff like that?* *Its true. I think youre beautiful.* *You talk a lot of shit sometimes Gavin.* He frowns and sits up. *Whats up with you?* Sullenly: *Nothing.* *I dont understand you Rachel* he says. *Youve got no confidence in yourself.* I shrug my shoulders. *Why do you always put yourself down like this?* Im silent for a long time. I listen to the clock ticking and the traffic moving down below. *Im not a very nice person.* *What do you mean?* *Im dead.* *Eh?* *Ive got nothing inside me.* Im expecting him to laugh and crack a dirty joke but he just strokes my shoulder/ looking kind of worried. *Rachel. Why you being so morbid?* *Dunno.* *Is it me? Have I done something wrong?* I laugh. He looks so pathetic that I say *Nah. Course not. Just me being a miserable cow.* I kiss the end of his nose and lay my cheek against his chest. *I guess Im just getting old.* Rachel's Fire: 05 (THE SEDUCTION OF SEVERINE HEART) Severine Heart smoothed her hand over the black lycra mini-skirt and took a deep breath before entering the hotels foyer. She always got a little nervous before interviews and this was her biggest assignment yet. It was important though that she remain calm and professional. Even if the interviewee WAS Clay Corby/ devilish frontman with Californian rock band The Hawkline Monster. Before heading into the lounge - where Clays manager Caroline Moore had arranged for them to meet - Severine made a quick stop at the ladies in order to check her appearance one more time. As she stared into the mirror at her unblinking blue eyes/ the smooth peachy cheeks (now burning up with anticipation) and her red shoulder-length hair she carefully reapplied her lipstick/ a blushing-pink gloss which she had always loved because it seemed to make her lips glisten seductively. Severine frowned at her reflection. Her legs were trembling. *Pull yourself together Woman!* she muttered. *Dont want him to think youre some kind of hysterical teenager.* She squirted her wrists lightly with her favourite French perfume/ dropped it back into her hand-bag/ straightened the black jacket and headed out. ~~~~~ In the hotels plush lounge Clay Corby sat drinking malt whisky with his manager Caroline. It was almost nine pm and after this final interview of the day he would be free to enjoy himself. *So who am I talking to now?* *Ive already told you darling* said Caroline. *A young lady from Harmonize magazine.* *Is that some kinda teen-girl thing?* Smiling she shook her head and squeezed his leg through the black leather of his jeans. *No silly. Its a popular magazine for modern women. Theyre going to put you on their cover.* As Clay knocked back the remains of his drink he noticed the exquisite redhead who had just entered the lounge. She peered around the room/ giving him ample opportunity to admire her long toned legs and the curves of her hips. *** (CUT-UP no 2: NEVER HEXED) The descent of lips required smooth mixing. Waxy hearts stealing our tongues. Dressing for sentimental screws but never hexed by borrowed bats. *** (ANONYMOUS) Severine Heart lives in a novel called *The Seduction Of Severine Heart* by Rebecca Breton. Rebecca Breton is - in a sense - just as much a fiction as the lusty protagonist of that book. A pseudonym. A falsity created by the novice author to keep her foray into lascivious writing hidden from fragile elderly relatives. The novel was published in paperback by the Manchester-based feminist workers-cooperative Saskia. As well as producing works in the Romance/ Historical and Feminist Classics categories/ this company publishes erotica under the Saskia Erotik imprint. Target market: professional women aged 21 to 40. *The Seduction Of Severine Heart* was the eleventh book in the series. Novels in the Saskia Erotik series have dark blue covers which feature moody tinted photographs of embracing lovers. *The Seduction Of Severine Heart* is graced with the naked charms of a pretty redheaded woman and a rugged muscular man with thick dark hair and a little Beatnik beard. The camera has captured the couple sharing a passionate kiss in a large sparcely furnished bedroom. Both are naked/ standing pressed together at the forefront of the shot. From the lighting it would appear to be mid-afternoon. The woman (playing the part of Severine Heart) rests a hand on her partners bare leg. Out of focus at the back of the room stands a Gibson Les Paul style electric guitar. Flicking to the end of the book you notice that Severines amorous odyssey has been captured within 212 pages of black print on recycled white paper. *** (THE DARKNESS IN HER) Severine Heart sat in the hotel lounge/ silently gazing into Clay Corbys dilated pupils. She squeezed her legs tight together/ struggling to keep her breathing under control: so intense was her state of arousal. The explicit detail of Clays groupie tales coupled with the deep hypnotic tone of his words had unleashed something wild in her. She imagined the rockstar brushing their glasses from the table/ lifting her up onto the polished wood/ hiking up her lycra mini-skirt and snatching down her underwear: gasps from the hotels respectable guests as he unzips/ gripping his long member in one hand/ grabbing for her breasts through her blouse as he penetrates her hot centre. The idea seemed so degrading that it thoroughly delighted the darkness in her. She began to ache for his touch. Willing Clay Corby to part her legs under the table/ run his fingers up between her thighs to the damp crotch of her panties. She did not care about all those other people in the room. If necessary she would grit her teeth together/ hold the palm of her hand tight against her lips to suppress the noise. All she wanted was that final release. But as she sat there - wondering how she could possibly communicate this need to Clay - he got to his feet/ shook her hand/ smiled and said *Its been a pleasure talking to you Severine. Maybe one day Ill tell you about the Parisian girls.* The young journalist watched - disbelieving - as Clay Corby strode off out of the lounge. He cant just leave me here like this she thought as she rose from the stool. He must realise the state hes worked me into. How can he be so cruel? Throwing the dictaphone into her handbag she hurried to catch him but as she pulled open the door and peered into the hotel lobby she saw that he was gone. This was unbearable. Like an itch she could not scratch. She had to find some way to release these *** (THIS SUM HAS BEEN RECOUPED) that Rebecca Breton was paid 2000 pounds advance against royalties for the penning of those 212 pages (awarded in two instalments: half on signing the contract and half on publication). Once this sum has been recouped she can expect to receive a further seven and a half % of the retail price on each subsequent book sold. *** (LOVE IN A CONFINED SPACE) Within minutes Severine was locked alone in a clean disinfected toilet cubicle with her mini-skirt hiked up around her waist and the crotch of her panties pulled to one side. She smoothed two fingers up over her flushed pink labia towards her clitoris. Yes. Began stroking the area around its hood. Lubricating it with steady circular movements. She imagined that these were Clays large fingers working on her. Moaning and sighing. A few beads of perspiration forming on her top lip. With her other hand Severine unbuttoned her blouse so that her naked breasts were freed. These were now so swollen with desire that she could see the dark blue veins lying just beneath the flesh. She squeezed and pulled and twisted each nipple until it stood out thick and hard. With her other hand Severine unbuttoned her blouse so that her naked breasts were freed. These were now so swollen with desire that she could see the dark blue veins lying just beneath the flesh. She squeezed and pulled and twisted each nipple until it stood out thick and hard. Severines movements were restricted in this small cubicle - buttocks grinding uncomfortably against the closed lid/ knees knocking against the walls - but she did not care about these distractions. She just wriggled and writhed. Edging ever closer towards her glorious fate. Two wet fingers circling the engorged vessel of her dark passions. Frantic and wild. Yes. Imagining Clays tongue probing her most intimate of parts/ seeing him crouched naked on the floor/ his head moving between her thighs as he licks at the root of her pleasure. Oral caresses. Yes. His hand stroking her now. Parting her tender lips. Fingers pressing into her. Slippery strokes as his tongue swirls over that divine organ. Clitoris burning up under the rhythmic attack of her wet fingers. His wild tongue. Yes. And then it happened: knees shuddering / body snapping forward. Those initial sparks (that seemed to start deep in her womb) flaring outwards into scorching flames that lapped through her body/ engulfing her/ consuming every inch of her being as she climaxed in a violent explosion of light and heat. Severine slumped backwards/ breathing deep as the tension left her limbs. Yes. For a long time afterwards she just sat there/ eyes closed tight/ struggling for control of her breath as she curled and uncurled her toes in her shoes/ playing gently with her breasts and enjoying the contractions pulsing through her womanhood. Once the final few spasms were over she opened her eyes and blinked/ the intensity of the orgasm sharpening all of her senses. Severine breathed in the musky scent of her sex and felt a sleepy warmth spread throughout her body. She could not believe what she had just done. Masturbation had always been a solitary pursuit which she indulged in whilst alone in bed. She had never before felt so turned on that she was forced to love herself like that in such a public place. Normally she would have found such an idea embarrassing - maybe even a little repulsive - but in her recent state of heightened sensuality it had seemed the most natural and obvious thing to do. Meeting Clay Corby had had a strange effect on her. Without even laying a finger on her he had somehow worked her into such a state of arousal that - for a time - she had lost all restraint. It was as though he had been able to see through all of her defences - all the layers of inhibition - to the very core of her being. This darker more sensual area of her personality had been left unexplored and untapped for so long that it came as a shock to have Clay immediately hone right in on it. Yes. And if this was how Severine reacted to mere words what would become of her if Clay were to kiss her/ hard fingers stroking over her soft body? As Severine Heart buttoned up her blouse and straightened her panties and skirt she wondered if she would ever find out. Rachel's Fire: 06 (JANICE) Look back twelve years. 1987. I was a nobody. Just this shy wee virgin. I was 18 years old and I wanted to be a punk. I wanted to be a punk and I wanted to get laid. Everyone I knew claimed to have been living the carnal life for at least the past two years. My best friend Janice - this kooky black girl with spiked hair and a delicate little stud in her nose (years before this was fashionable) - said she did it when she was 14. My only vaguely sexual experience so far had been a quick snog with Bethny Dochertys over-weight brother Gary. This didnt quite live up to all my pals*s tales of unbridled passion with assorted hunks so Id also invented The Groping IncIdent. The Groping IncIdent had reputedly taken place with some dreamy guy Id met on holIday in the Highlands when I was 16. I had a fully developed plot/ indepth characterisation and even photographic evIdence (an out-of-focus picture of me hugging my cousin Philip the previous Christmas). Of course nobody bought any of this but it was better than no story at all. So. Friday night. Janice and I are in my untidy wee bedroom in our underwear trying on things to wear to the party. Ive taken down the lampshade and a bare red bulb now hangs from the socket above. The whole room blazes scarlet. My newest punk compilation is playing loudly from the cassette player over there on the dressing table. *Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment* by The Ramones. Although it was Janice who introduced me to punk rock she is quite indifferent to it. Its nothing important to her. Just another way for her to annoy her Dad along with smoking pot and staying out too late. Meanwhile Im utterly obsessed. My life is drastically changing. Im experiencing so many new adult things and punk rock seems to be the focus for all this. Raw and wild/ just like my emotions. *Can you no ask your Mum for mair cola?* asks Jan nodding at the Bacardi bottle. She absentmindedly scratches a nail beneath the knicker-elastic at the top of her leg. Weve just about finished the Bacardi off and theres nothing left to mix it with. I shake my head. *None left.* I pick her leather jeans up from the bed. *Can I try these on Niece?* Jan nods/ puts the bottle to her lips and knocks back her head. Straight Bacardi. She splutters/ wipes her mouth and offers me the bottle. *Nah.* I shake my head and zip up the trousers. *Youre a fuckin girls blouse Rach. Jen up* she snears in mock disgust. *I feel sick.* Jan shrugs and gulps back the remains of the alcohol. *You ARE sick girlie.* *Whats this like?* Ive pulled on a huge baggy black woollen jumper that reaches down to my knees. *Its awright* says Jan without looking up. She is very carefully and delicately applying pink nail-polish to her big toe. Pogoing across the room - GABBA-GABBA HEY! - I swipe the brush from her fingers. *Piss off!* she squeels. She is laughing. *Daft bitch.* I pick the bottle of polish up from the floor and begin to paint my own nails. Jan is now pulling on my pink dress. She always looks so confident and striking. Men are terrified of her. *Wish we had more money* I say. *We could do to get another half bottle for the party. Dyou not think?* *Theyll have plenty booze there* says Jan who is rummaging about in her handbag. She brings out a tiny bottle. *Have you ever tried rush?* She stares unblinking into my eyes. *Its pure radge.* *What is it?* *Rush. Amyl Nitrate. Wee James gave us it.* She proceeds to unscrew the lid and puts the bottle up to her nose. She holds her left nostril shut/ breathes in deeply and smiles/ quickly covering the bottletop with her thumb (presumably to prevent the fumes from escaping). Her pupils swell right up like shes in cartoon love. *Its fuckin barry. Like an orgasm. Try it!* Im not keen on the idea but Jan always makes me try things at least once. *Mind n keep it covered* she warns. *Is it dangerous?* Im scared. *Probably.* Realising I could well change my mind about the whole deal she quickly adds *Nah it cannae be. They use it for folk wi dodgy hearts.* I take the bottle and follow the procedure. Almost immediately after breathing in the strange fumes I can feel or hear my heartbeat speed up and start thudding loudly in my chest. A great rush of blood fills my head. In the mirror I can see my cheeks darkening as they flush. The music seems to swell up. It vibrates through me. Screaming and grinding. *Bodies* by the Sex Pistols. My head rolls backwards. Covering the top of the bottle I shut my eyes. Jan is chuckling away to herself at my expense. *Its like a fuckin orgasm eh?* Rachel's Fire: 07 (STREET INDEX) a ABBEY LANE EH8 ABBEY ROAD DALKEITH EH22 ABBEY STRAND EH8 ABBEY STREET EH7 ABBEY HILL EH8 ABBEY HILL CRESCENT EH8 ABBEYMOUNT EH8 ABBOTSFORD COURT EH10 ABBOTSFORD CRESCENT EH10 ABBOTSFORD PARK EH10 ABERCORN AVENUE EH8 ABERCORN COTTAGES EH15 ABERCORN COURT EH8 ABERCORN CRESCENT EH8 ABERCORN DRIVE EH8 ABERCORN GARDENS EH8 ABERCORN GROVE EH8 ABERCORN ROAD EH8 ABERCORN TERRACE EH15 ABERCROMBY PLACE EH3 ABINGER GARDENS EH12 ACADEMY LANE LOANHEAD EH20 ACADEMY PARK EH6 ACADEMY STREET EH6 ADAMS WELL EH13 ADDISTON CRESCENT BALERNO EH14 ADDISTON GROVE BALERNO EH14 ADDISTON PARK BALERNO EH14 ADELPHI GROVE EH15 ADELPHI PLACE EH15 ADMIRAL TERRACE EH10 ADMIRALTY STREET EH6 ADVOCATES CLOSE EH1 AFFLECK COURT EH12 AFTON PLACE EH5 AFTON TERRACE EH5 AGNEW TERRACE EH6 AINSLIE PLACE EH3 AIRLIE PLACE EH3 AITCHISONS PLACE EH15 AITKENHILL EH11 ALAN BRECK GARDENS EH4 ALBANY LANE EH1 ALBANY STREET EH1 ALBANY STREET LANE EH1 ALBERT PLACE EH7 ALBERT ROAD EH7 ALBERT STREET EH7 ALBERT TERRACE EH10 ALBERT TERRACE MUSSELBURGH EH21 ALBION PLACE EH7 ALBION ROAD EH7 ALBION TERRACE EH7 ALBYN PLACE EH2 ALCORN RIGG EH14 ALDERBANK GARDENS EH11 ALDERBANK PLACE EH11 ALDERBANK TERRACE EH11 ALEXANDER DRIVE EH11 ALFRED PLACE EH9 ALLAN PARK CRESCENT EH14 ALLAN PARK DRIVE EH14 ALLAN PARK GARDENS EH14 ALLAN PARK LOAN EH14 ALLAN PARK ROAD EH14 ALLAN STREET EH4 ALLAN TERRACE DALKEITH EH22 ALLANDALE EH13 ALLANFIELD EH7 ALLERMUIR COURT EH13 ALLERMUIR ROAD EH13 ALLOWAY LOAN EH16 ALMOND AVENUE EH12 ALMOND BANK COTTAGES EH4 ALMOND COURT EH4 ALMOND COURT EH16 ALMOND GARDEN EH12 ALMOND ROAD EH12 ALMOND SQUARE EH12 ALMONDBANK TERRACE EH12 ALNWICKHILL COURT EH16 ALNWICKHILL CRESCENT EH16 ALNWICKHILL DRIVE EH16 ALNWICKHILL GARDENS EH16 ALNWICKHILL GROVE EH16 ALNWICKHILL LOAN EH16 ALNWICKHILL PARK EH16 ALNWICKHILL ROAD EH16 ALNWICKHILL TERRACE EH16 ALNWICKHILL VIEW EH16 ALVA PLACE EH7 ALVA STREET EH2 ALVANLEY TERRACE EH9 ANCHORFIELD EH6 ANCRUM BANK DALKEITH EH22 ANCRUM ROAD DALKEITH EH22 ANDERSON PLACE EH6 ANDREW WOOD COURT EH6 ANGLE PARK TERRACE EH11 ANGRES COURT DANDERHALL EH22 ANN STREET EH4 ANNANDALE STREET EH7 ANNANDALE STREET LANE EH7 ANNFIELD EH6 ANNFIELD STREET EH6 ANTIGUA STREET EH1 ANWORTH VILLAS EH12 APPIN TERRACE EH14 ARBORETUM PLACE EH3 ARBORETUM ROAD EH3 ARBUTHNOT ROAD LOANHEAD EH20 ARCHIBALD PLACE EH3 ARDEN STREET EH9 ARDMILLAN PLACE EH11 ARDMILLAN TERRACE EH11 ARDMILLAN TERRACE LANE EH11 ARDSHIEL AVENUE EH4 ARGYLE CRESCENT EH15 ARGYLE PARK TERRACE EH9 ARGYLE PLACE EH9 ARGYLE STREET EH6 ARGYLL TERRACE EH11 ARNISTON PLACE BONNYRIGG EH19 ARNOTT GARDENS EH14 ARRAN PLACE EH15 ARTHUR PLACE EH6 ARTHUR STREET EH6 ARTHUR STREET LANE EH6 ARTHUR VIEW CRESCENT DANDERHALL EH22 ARTHUR VIEW TERRACE DANDERHALL EH22 ASHGROVE MUSSELBURGH EH21 ASHGROVE PLACE MUSSELBURGH EH21 ASHGROVE VIEW MUSSELBURGH EH21 ASHLEY DRIVE EH11 ASHLEY GARDENS EH11 ASHLEY GROVE EH11 ASHLEY PLACE EH6 ASHLEY TERRACE EH11 ASHTON GROVE EH16 ASHTON VILLAS EH15 ASHVILLE TERRACE EH6 ASSEMBLY STREET EH6 ATHOLL CRESCENT EH3 ATHOLL CRESCENT LANE EH3 ATHOLL PLACE EH3 ATHOLL TERRACE EH11 AUCHINGANE EH10 AUCHINLECK BRAE EH6 AUCHINLECK COURT EH6 AUCHINLECKS BRAE EH4 AVENUE RICCARTON EH14 AVENUE ROAD DALKEITH EH22 AVENUE VILLAS EH4 AVENUE WEST RICCARTON EH14 AVON GROVE EH4 AVON PLACE EH4 AVON ROAD EH4 AVONDALE PLACE EH3 *** (THAT SKIRT) This morning I stood there on the corner staring up at Byrons flat. There was a light on in what I assume was his sitting room. It gave me a strange tingle just knowing that he was in there. What was he doing? Was he naked? (What kind of a bunny-boiler am I? Is this how stalkers are born?) After five or ten minutes an expensive looking blue car pulled up beside me. I peered through the stained glass. Puzzled. There was a whirr and the window rolled slowly down. A youngish guy in a dark suit was staring out at me. He had a terrible little moustache and was looking me up and down with a strange expression. Fear I think. *Hiya* he said. *Hello.* *Uhm. What do you... ahem... what do you... how much is it?* Oh my God. *You couldnt afford me honey* I snapped and started walking up the street/ my cheeks flushing in embarrassment. But then I began feeling guilty. I didnt want the poor guy thinking I was snubbing him cause he was ugly or anything. I turned back to say something but the window was already rolling back up. The tires screeched and he tore off like some donut-munching copper in a 70s show. Dont know what made me wear that skirt today. Rachel's Fire: 08 (THE PARTY) 1987. 18 years old. Janice and I walked (or rather staggered ) all the way from my Mothers house - taking turn about to carry the bag of records - past all the shops and pubs and down Leith Walk until we eventually arrived at Leith Links. *Where are we going?* I asked. *Were nearly there* said Jan irritably. *You said that ages ago Niece.* I could tell she was lost. *Shut up!* I was dressed in her leather trousers/ a baggy black jumper/ black leather jacket/ black shades and black shoes. My hair was tied back into a girlish pony-tail. Jan had allowed herself a little more variety in her choice of colours. Her hair was spiked up and she had on a red and black Minnie the Minx jumper/ black miniskirt/ red boots/ black handbag and crimson lipstick. She looked like an angry bumble bee. (Id wanted her to wear my cute new girlie-pink dress but tonight she was feeling *pure punk*). *Ken what we should do?* asked Jan/ stopping to flick something from my cheek. *Eh?* *I should pack in the hairdressers and we should fuck off to France or something. You know: go buskin n that?* *Maybe.* I was getting used to hearing all her schemes. Nothing ever came of them. *Im gettin pretty good on guitar though eh?* *You need to practice more* I said. *But Im doing no bad eh?* I nodded and we continued to stagger slowly along. I could hear something now. Music. *There it is* said Jan/ pointing triumphantly in the vague direction of the noise. I was starting to realise I didnt feel too great. My stomach was raw and I had the worst migraine I could remember. I wondered whether it was something to do with the amyl nitrate. The idea panicked me. Maybe I was about to have some kind of *medical episode* and sprawl dead at my best friends feet. *I dont feel well.* I said. Niece pulled abruptly on my arm. *Youre awright. Cmoan!* When we arrived at the house she walked straight in and I followed. The place was a mess. There were crisps and empty beer cans all over the floor. I was led into the kitchen and introduced to Sharon the birthday-girl. Sharon the birthday-girl looked ill. There was a huge long-haired biker trying to undress her. Sharon either didnt care or was too drunk to notice. Seeing us she pulled away from the man. She shrieked/ flinging her arms around Jan. *Hiya Niece honey. How you daein?* Jan hugged her and pointed at me. *Thats ma pal Rachel.* *Hiya* giggled Sharon flinging her arms around me. I hugged her back. *Happy Birthday.* Jan led me through to the sitting room. I put the bag of records down by the hi-fi and sat cross-legged on the floor amongst a bunch of stoners. Students. I noticed that one of them - a kind of vaguely attractive blond guy - was skinning up a joint. He had everything he needed (Rizla papers/ fags/ lighter and a fat brown lump of hash wrapped in cellophane) balanced on a record sleeve on his knees. Pink Floyds *Shine On You Crazy Diamond* was blaring from the two expensive looking speakers on the wall. *They were shite after Syd Barrett left eh?* I mumbled towards the blond. He looked a little put out and kind of half-shrugged one of his shoulders. This was obviously one of his favourite albums. I slumped down into myself. Jan grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and sat down beside me. Taking a quick swig she handed it to me and I slugged back/ wiping the back of my hand over my lips as I gazed around the room. I watched the people dancing/ arguing/ kissing/ talking/ smoking dope and laughing. Flashing lights and wild colours. Shadows swinging round the walls. The blond was heating the lump of hash with his lighter. The smoke wafted across into my nostrils. I already felt a horrid churning sensation in my stomach. The vomit began to rise in my throat. I swallowed it back and got shakily to my feet. Jan looked up at me and I slowly shook my head. My brain seemed to be swelling and pressing hard against the inside of my skull. I quickly left the room. The birthday-girl was sitting on her biker friends knees on the stairs. She looked as ill as I felt. *Wheres the... wheres the toilet?* Sharon pointed up the stairs. *First door.* A thought formed in her drunken brain and she suddenly scowled. *Who are you?* *Im Janices pal. Rachel.* I didnt have time for all this silliness. Sharons face lit up. *Aye? Is Niece here like?* She giggled. *Im sooooo happy. All ma wee pals are here.* The hairy geezer was licking her ear. I quickly pushed past the pair of them and climbed unsteadily towards the bathroom. There was someone inside. Some fat pissed-up guy was lying snoring in the bath. He seemed grotesque to me at this moment in time. Quite astonishingly ugly: greasy ginger hair matted to his forehead/ his bare podgy feet resting crossed between the taps. Before Id even got to the toilet the vomit was rising in my throat. I threw up the lid and dropped to my knees just as it all hurled out of my mouth into the pan. This happened four times before my stomach was fully emptied. *You awright hen?* came Gingers voice echoing from the bath tub. *No* I said/ wiping my mouth with a length of white toilet paper. I took off my shades/ put them in the inside pocket of my jacket and rubbed my eyes. My stomach muscles were sore from the exertion/ my throat feeling like it was being stripped by acid. I got to my feet and stood for five minutes or so at the sink/ splashing cold water on my face and round my neck then brushing my teeth with the cleanest looking of the three toothbrushes on the window-sill. This made me feel a little more human. As I descended the stairway I noticed a nervous looking little guy who was moving things from the kitchen out the front door. Sharon and her hairy man-friend had disappeared. I drunkenly stood and watched him for a while going backwards and forwards with stuff. On his final journey he came through from the kitchen with a toaster/ an iron/ some ornaments and a pile of records. *Hey thats mine* I said/ pointing drunkenly. The man looked at me/ handed me my Damned LP and left the house with the rest of the loot. I didnt even think to stop him. Through in the sitting room I noticed that Jan was chatting up some punky looking guy on the couch. I cheerfully gave her the finger. She laughed and carried on talking so I wandered over to the hi-fi/ put my Damned album down with all the rest of my records and had a look through Sharons collection. Human League. ABC. The Eagles. Haircut 100. Eric Clapton. David Bowie. I took out the Bowie album and looked at the sleeve. *Hunky Dory*. Id heard this a couple of times at my Aunt Janes house. I wasnt sure I liked the music but Id always thought he looked beautiful on the sleeve artwork: long golden hair and pale feminine features. I snatched the Led Zeppelin album that was playing from the turntable and stuck on side one of *Hunky Dory*. Near the end of *Changes* this tall scruffy guy with dark brown hair down to his shoulders appeared from somewhere and started throwing peanuts around the room. The floor was soon covered. He hurled some playfully at me and I grabbed a handful of twiglets from the dish on the floor beside me and threw them in his general direction. He continued his onslaught and I retaliated with force/ however I was at an unfair disadvantage due to the poor aerodynamics of twiglets and finally surrendered. *Did you notice the wallpapers upside down?* he said as he wandered over. I studied the wall. He was right. For some reason the floral paper had been pasted with the flowers growing down instead of up. *Youre wrong* I said/ shaking my head. *Its the room thats upside down.* *Too many drugs my dear* he said/ shaking a stern finger at me. I picked up the rectangular clock from the the mantle-piece and turned it upside down. My new friend grinned and nodded. *Actually youre probably right. Its the room thats wonky.* He proceeded to accompany me on a tour of the house during which we turned a television/ a radio/ several cups and a small coffee table upside down. When we returned to the sitting room I stuck side one of *Hunky Dory* back on and sat on the floor beside him. *Whats your name?* he asked. *Rachel. You?* *Byron.* *Byron? Cool name. Is that for real?* Byron nodded. He didnt seem to know what else to say so we just sat there silent and nervous despite our drunkenness until *Quicksand* came on and I realised I was going to have to make a move. I was hot for him. *Are we going to dance Byron?* He raised an eyebrow and nodded. We got to our feet and he put his arms around my waist. I placed my hands on his shoulders and we danced slowly with each other like a couple of 1940s waltzers. I could smell his musky aftershave up close now/ feel his body warm against mine. I stroked my fingers through his hair and looked into his eyes: a darker brown than his hair. I felt weird. Dizzy. Out of focus. *How old are you?* he asked. *What do you think?* He shrugged his shoulders. *16? 17?* *Im 26* I lied. He raised an eyebrow. My poker-face disintegrated into a grin. *Nah! 18. You?* *19.* *Ancient* I said. He began to slowly move his face towards mine and we kissed. His mouth opened slightly and I felt the tip of his tongue push between my lips. I allowed them to part so that he could explore my mouth/ running his tongue over my teeth/ the roof of my mouth/ circling my tongue. His hands stroked up my back/ down over my waist and hips. He clasped my buttocks. I held him tight and hungrily darted my tongue deep into his mouth. After a while he drew away to catch his breath. I smiled and he began to kiss the side of my neck and upwards towards the lobe of my ear. I could feel his erection pressing against my leg. I giggled and gingerly moved my hand down to touch it through his jeans. It felt so hard. Looking up I realised with mild embarrassment that half the people in the room were watching us. Niece sniggered and made a vulgar fucking gesture with her fingers. *Piss off!* I mouthed. Byron grinned and led me by the hand out of the sitting room and up the stairs. We tried a few rooms but they were all being used for various acts of teenage debauchery. The only space left was the bathroom. My fat ginger pal had obviously been evicted from the bath so Byron and I were alone together. I unbuttoned the top of his jeans and pulled down the zip/ his erection all bent out of shape/ struggling to escape. With both hands I took hold of his waist-band and yanked his jeans down far enough for it to spring out. It stood up straight and pointed accusingly at me: thick and pink and covered in veins. I stroked the soft brown hair at its base/ took hold of it between three fingers and thumb. This mysterious new toy was warm and soft but when I squeezed it it felt as hard as Blackpool rock. I kissed Byron full on the lips. His eyes closed. Pulling back his foreskin I watched in wonderment as the fat purply-pink bulb appeared beneath/ a thin slit at the tip. I couldnt keep my eyes off the thing. It looked like it was going to burst. Id never seen a proper erection before. Only the soft flaccid wee things in films or old Greek statues. I began wanking him enthusiastically. *Not so fast* he said/ his eyes snapping open. *What?* *Dont do it so fast.* He took hold of my hand and moved it slowly. *Sorry. Did I hurt you?* *No but its much better like this.* He took his hand away. I held his poor cock with a much kinder gentler grip and began pulling softly on it/ fascinated. Byrons fingers stroked up under the big black jumper and caressed my goosepimpled skin/ stroking down my back/ over my waist/ round to my belly and slowly upwards. He worked his fingers into the cup of my bra/ eased my little tit out on top of it and began pulling and twisting the nipple. (For some reason this made my mouth feel dry.) I continued to wank him while he kissed my lips and my neck and then moved his hand back down over my stomach towards the zip of Jans leather trousers. He unfastened the button at the top and pulled the zip down. I could smell leather. Byron dragged the trousers down far enough for his hand to squeeze awkwardly into my panties/ slipping under so he could cup my pubic mound. One of his fingers poked into the wetness briefly and then came out to search for my clitoris. Circling. Kind of like how I liked to touch myself in bed. I was just getting into the rhythm of his movements when he stopped and moved his mouth in close to my ear. *Are you on the Pill?* I felt the tightening in my stomach and deep down inside. For a dangerous few seconds I thought about saying *Yes* but I gave into reason and shook my head. *Do you not have any johnnies?* He shook his head and I blinked at him unsure how to proceed. Byron smiled: *Maybe another time eh?* (Was he trying to tell me he wanted to see me again?) I slowly masturbated him/ drifting into a strange drunken haze as I watched my hand moving on his cock until a change in his breathing snapped me out of my dream. His whole body became rigid. *Im coming* he said. Byrons eyes flickered shut and white goo dribbled out of the thin slit in gentle spurts/ running out over his foreskin. It looked like silky white shampoo. I was a bit disappointed actually. Id expected it to spray out in fountains up into the air like the spray from a furiously pumped water pistol. Thats the way it always happened in Nieces dirty books: squirting out of the guys *big hard twitching cock* all over the heroines face and breasts/ leaving her degraded and happy. Something warm landed on my foot and I jumped and let go of him. Byron pulled his hand from my underwear. *Sorry*. He was looking down at the blob of sperm running into my shoe. I shuddered/ pulled it off in disgust and grabbed for some toilet paper. I wiped my foot and dabbed my shoe dry. The trace of slime trickling over my skin was all sticky/ horribly jelly-like. Byron was embarrassed. He zipped himself back up. I slipped my breast back into my bra/ sorted out Jans trousers and finally said *Dont worry about it. Im not going to freak out or anything*. Byron was looking at me strangely/ kind of sad but smiling too. *Youre so beautiful Rachel. You know that?* I almost fell over in shock. Nobody had ever said anything like that to me in my life. Not even my Mother or Janice. Byron brushed a hand through my hair. *Im not just saying that. I think youre incredible.* He planted a wet kiss on my lips. *Youre so funny.* He kissed me again. *Pretty.* And again. *Smart.* I felt those words deep in my belly. They seemed to radiate through me. Their warmth caressed the backs of my knees. *But... but you dont even know me. Youre drunk.* He nodded. *I know. Im completely wrecked. But I still think youve got the sexiest eyes Ive ever seen.* I studied his face for a hint of mockery but he was serious. Thats the moment I fell in love. We stumbled from the bathroom and headed hand-in-hand down to the sitting room. The party seemed to be over. There were a few people crashed out on the floor. *Boring bastards* I said drunkenly. Someone tapped me hard between the shoulder blades. *Where the fuck have YOU been?* I turned around. It was Janice. She was furious. I giggled. *Ive been lookin everywhere for you* she snapped. *Why? What is it?* *We have to go now* she said. *Eh?* *Ma Dads waiting outside.* I frowned/ puzzled. *Whats he doing there?* *I phoned him you daft bitch. Hes gonnae give us a lift hame.* *Already?* My heart sinking. *Its four o clock in the fuckin morning Rach.* Byron tickled a finger over my cheek. *Ill walk you back later if you like.* *Nah. Better go.* I was staring into his eyes. So deep and brown. *Here.* I got my lipstick from my jacket pocket and lifted his t-shirt so I could write my number across his smooth stomach. *Phone me tomorrow.* Jan was laughing at us now. *Daft bastards. Thatll smudge off on his t-shirt.* I pointed at my friend. *This is Jan. But we call her Niece.* *Hello Niece* said Byron. He was studying his belly/ mouthing my number to himself as if trying to learn it by rote. *And this is Julie* I giggled/ draping an arm over Byrons shoulders. *Isnt she just adorable?* *Hello Julie* said Jan/ grabbing my wrist and pulling me towards the door. *Hey! Wait till I get my records!* Rachel's Fire: 09 (BATH) I look out clean knickers/ bra/ socks/ t-shirt and jeans/ take them through to the bathroom/ fold them neatly on the chair and turn the radiator to three. There is a spider crawling slowly across the bottom of the bath. I turn on the hot tap. As the water hits it it curls up into a tiny ball. *Sorry* I say as I watch it disappear down the plug-hole. Unrolling the white rubber mat I stick it to the bottom of the bath and put the plug in so the tub begins to fill with hot water. Into this I pour a lidfull of *Cinnamon Heat* oil. When the bath is three-quarters-full I run the cold water and swirl it all around with my hand/ causing small tidal waves. Satisfied that the temperature is just right I turn both taps off and climb in/ easing myself into the bubbly water/ leaning back so the warmth engulfs my body. I can feel my muscles relax and before long the tenseness in my neck and shoulders begins to disappear. Grabbing the face cloth and the bar of soap I wash myself: lathering my neck/ shoulders/ arms/ breasts/ belly/ crotch and legs. *** (NEVER MIND THE POLLOCK) INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. BEDROOM. EVENING. 1996. RACHEL BABYLON lies across her bed carefully cutting a photograph of feminist pornstar turned performance artist Annie Sprinkle from a book about Angry Women. In this photograph (by Eric Kroll) Annie Sprinkle poses as 1/2 Slut and 1/2 Goddess with tassles on her breasts and a sex-toy clutched in each hand. RACHELs bed is covered in the debris of her efforts to put together the latest issue of her fanzine *Venus-In-Flares*. The rest of the room is in just as much of a mess. There are books/ shoes/ knickers/ t-shirts/ jeans/ bras/ skirts/ tapes/ vinyl-records/ CDs/ stockings/ blouses/ cosmetics and coins scattered across the floor. The walls are covered in posters of bands she admires. Noisy 90s girls and 70s artpunks. In the corner of the room sits a battered old Epiphone semi-acoustic guitar/ paint-splattered like a Jackson Pollock. *** (SHOWER-HEAD) I turn the shower on to a steady cool flow. Laying right back in the bath I direct the shower-head at myself. As the cold water sprinkles over my breasts my whole body goose-pimples. My nipples grow thick and hard. Catching the shiny bath-chain between my toes I pull out the plug allowing the bath to empty enough that my pubis is exposed to the air. As I release the tension on the chain the pressure from the escaping bathwater pulls the plug back in situ. Pressing both feet up against the wall either side of the taps I buck my hips upwards and move the shower-head down my body until the cool spray is showering directly onto my sex. *** (THE PORN ISSUE) INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. BEDROOM. EVENING. 1996. Once the Annie Sprinkle photo is cut out RACHEL BABYLON squeezes glue on to the back and places it carefully on the cover of her fanzine above a large handwritten slogan *Sluts & Goddesses - the Porn issue*. Beneath this in smaller printed letters: *Annie Sprinkle / Lydia Lunch / Susie Bright + frank interview with Samantha Hellfire*. Glancing casually across at the alarm clock on her bedside table she notices that it is now after 9.30 pm. She is late. She reaches over to the cassette machine on the floor next to her bed and presses play. TITLE AND CREDITS BEGIN as the song *Amplituden* by New York boy/girl band Guvner blares. *** (MONTAGE) INTERIOR / EXTERIOR. EDINBURGH. NIGHT. 1996. Shots of RACHEL BABYLON frantically hurrying around the room/ trying on clothes/ putting on her make-up/ checking her appearance in the mirror and replacing the guitar strings on her electric guitar. These are interspersed with a montage of images showing the excitement and danger of Edinburgh at night. Finally - when she is ready - RACHEL heads out of her flat clutching her electric guitar case in one hand and a plastic carrier bag containing guitar leads and effects pedals in the other. The last shots of the title sequence are of RACHEL BABYLON hurrying through the darkness of a cold Edinburgh night towards a trashed-up bus shelter. TITLE AND CREDITS END *** (THE BURGUNDY FLOWS COLD) she tips the bottle of wine once more so that a stream of blood-red liquid runs down over your pretty white belly round her fingers---your legs shaking in your calf-length boots as the burgundy flows cold & sticky over your *** (WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THE SOUNDCHECK?) INTERIOR. BUSY EDINBURGH PUB. EVENING. 1996. RACHEL BABYLON pushes through the crowded bar with her guitar case and carrier bag towards a small stage which is set up with microphones and stands/ amplifiers/ speakers and a drum kit. The rest of her band LOVE ME BY PROXY are already on the stage tuning up instruments and sorting out their equipment. The band are: ~KERRIE CREOLE - voice and guitar (Wild looking American in her mid twenties with long fiery-red hair) ~SAMANTHA HELLFIRE - bass. (Striking blonde Scot in her late 30s. She is KERRIE CREOLEs lover.) ~TROUTmask - drummer (Scottish slacker-dude in his early twenties: ripped jeans/ stoner eyes/ goatee-beard) RACHEL BABYLON clambers up onto the stage. Her friends are obviously irritated. KERRIE CREOLE: *What the fuck happened to the soundcheck Rach?* RACHEL BABYLON (as she removes her guitar from its case): *I know. I know. Im sorry.* She attaches leads from her guitar through a yellow distortion pedal into a Marshal amp. The amp buzzes noisily as she switches it on. KERRIE: *Theres a guy from a label here tonight. Did you know that?* SAMANTHA HELLFIRE (hating the tense atmosphere): *I did mention it to you Rachel.* RACHEL (shrugging shoulders): *Aye I know. I fucked up.* *** (THE TENSION ON THE CHAIN) Rachel Babylon turns the shower on to a steady cool flow. Laying right back in the bath she directs the shower-head at herself. As the cold water sprinkles over her breasts her whole body goose-pimples. Her nipples grow thick and hard. Catching the shiny bath-chain between her toes she pulls out the plug allowing the bath to empty enough that her pubis is exposed to the air. As she releases the tension on the chain the pressure from the escaping bathwater pulls the plug back in situ. Pressing both feet up against the wall either side of the taps Rachel Babylon bucks her hips upwards and moves the shower-head down her body until the cool spray is showering directly onto her sex. *** (THE SNEERER) INTERIOR. BUSY EDINBURGH PUB. EVENING. 1996. RACHEL BABYLON straps up her guitar and stands before her microphone staring nervously out at the audience. The pub is packed and there is a bad atmosphere. RACHEL (into mic): *Be gentle. Its our first gig.* A nasty looking guy at the bar sneers. SNEERER: Show us yer minge then! RACHEL is visibly shaken by this. TROUTmask and SAMANTHA HELLFIRE also seem unsettled. The SNEERER and his friends laugh riotously. KERRIE CREOLE is furious. She grabs for SAMANTHAs microphone with one hand and her bottle of beer with the other. KERRIE (screaming into mic): *Come up here and fuckin say that! Ill stick this up your ass you little prick.* SNEERER is taken aback by KERRIEs vicious retort: not used to dealing with such an aggressive woman. His friends are mocking him. The easiest way out of the situation is to join them in laughing. RACHEL BABYLON - relieved that the tension has dissipated - looks directly into the camera and shrugs her Rachel's Fire: 10 (THE FIRST TIME) I can still remember the first time he fucked me. Its so clear to me even now. Two weeks after Sharons party. Mum was working late at the hospital and Byron and I were drinking dry cider and talking and listening to Bob Marley. After a while it just seemed right so we stumbled through into my bedroom and lay on top of the bed/ kissing and fumbling in the darkness. I laid my head on the pillow and felt his hand move up my thigh. Under my skirt. His fingers sliding to you know where. Touching me through my underwear. *Youre wet* he said. I was so embarrassed. *Sorry.* He laughed. *Well dont apologise.* He was smiling sweetly/ dark eyes gazing into my soul. Thats how it felt. I thought I was going to burst into schoolgirl tears right there on the bed. All these silly emotions. *I love turning you on Rachel.* Oh my God. The way he said that. I could feel his knuckle moving against the soft flesh of my thigh/ the tip of his finger parting my labia through my underwear. Closing my eyes for a moment as Byron followed the shape of my sex/ running his finger up between the folds towards my clit. Dampening that white fabric with my arousal as it drew tight between my pussy lips. He circled two fingers over my clitoris and I writhed my buttocks on the bed feeling those first stirrings. Eyes open. *Thats nice.* The air around me cool and fresh against my skin. Inside though I was burning up. Sparked into life like Mary Shelleys monster. Byron crawled up the bed so he could kiss me on the cheek. *Oh dont stop.* (Did that sound desperate?) He drew back and hiked my skirt up to my waist. With one sudden movement he dragged my knickers down as far as my ankles. I giggled and tried to kick them off over my feet but I still had my shoes on and the elastic was getting tangled up in the heels so he gave them one final tug and dropped them onto the floor. His hand tickling up the inside of my thigh/ one finger parting the lips/ slipping inside. Oh my God. I could feel Byrons finger circling around/ poking me/ stroking over the fleshy walls/ fucking me softly/ his palm pressed up against my pubic bone. Drawing his slippery finger out he wiped it across my belly and placed a warm palm on each of my hips. All I could see in the darkness was the glint of his eyes. All I could hear was the distant traffic. He tightened his grip and I was dragged quickly down the bed. My head was pulled completely clear of the pillow/ the back of my blouse drawn up out of my waist-band/ my hair pulled back in a tangle above me. I sniggered and he began to twist and drag and manoeuvre my body downwards until my bottom was right at the edge of the bed. I allowed my feet to drop onto the floor and opened my legs for him. *Hang on* he said patting my thigh. He got up and walked away across the room. *What you doing babe?* He didnt answer. I felt kind of exposed. Id look some fucking sight if he suddenly switched on the light to reveal me lying there/ no underwear on/ my skirt hiked up around my waist/ thighs spread wide open/ vagina gaping wet for all the world to see. Rustling and tearing sounds as he opened a condom packet. He moved between my legs and got down on his knees. I heard the sticky sound as he rolled it on and felt the head of his penis jab against the inside of my thigh. And without warning he penetrated me. I gasped: kind of surprised by how easily he had entered me. His cock felt big - seeming to stretch me wide open - but it didnt really hurt as such. Id always imagined that the first time would be more about pain than pleasure/ a proper pagan initiation rite/ sheets drenched in my virginal blood. *Byron?* *Yeah?* *Have you... you know.. done this before?* It was strange that Id never thought to ask him this yet. He looked at me a moment and then nodded/ his face a dim silhouette in the dark. *Uh-huh. You?* *Im a virgin* I said. His teeth glinted as he smiled down at me. *Not any more Rachel. I just took your cherry.* I giggled and covered my mouth with my hand/ wondering if it was bad etiquette to laugh when a man had just put his cock inside you. Byron held my hips and began moving it slowly in and out. *Is that ok?* he whispered. *Uh-huh!* I lifted my knees up and wrapped my legs around his waist. Shit. This was unbelievable. I was being penetrated. Fucked. I could feel Byrons thing sliding inside me/ hear his breath in the dark. Breathing through his nose: a nice whispery sound that made me feel warm inside. I allowed a soft moan to escape my lips and he began to move faster/ thrusting his cock hard into me then pulling it almost fully out before thrusting deep again. I was worried he might misjudge this and accidentally slam his erection painfully into my arse so I began to use my feet like a safety barrier/ drawing him back into me each time he tried to escape. The hard heels of my shoes digging into his buttocks. A nice steady rhythm like waves crashing against the shore. Byrons fingers tickled up round my waist and over my belly. Slipping up under my blouse they made their way straight to my breasts. I heard the change in his breath. Byrons large hands easily enveloped my tits. He began to squeeze and rub and fondle them as we fucked. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Harder. Harder. His body slammed against me. I was just starting to take some pleasure from the rhythm of his thrusts when he stiffened and arched his back. He held this position for a few seconds - his fingers tightening around my breasts - then suddenly dropped forward on top of me/ breathing hard. I felt hot inside/ my breasts and belly burning up with arousal. I wanted to slip my fingers down between us and touch my clit/ stroke it till I was panting and shuddering. I wanted to make myself come loudly for him/ screaming and writhing like some dirty slut in a porno video. But I was still so self-conscious/ so young. I just lay there. Fully aroused but incomplete. *You should take it out now babe* I said softly/ worried some of his sperm might leek out of the condom now that his erection was softening. Byron drew his cock out of me. I felt the tip of the johnny slip messily out over my buttocks. I thought that this was it - that it was all over now - but as I looked down through the darkness I could see his head disappearing between my thighs. My stomach tingled as he began to draw invisible designs on my lower body with his breath. I stretched my arms up above my head and curled my toes in my shoes/ sighing as I felt the gentlest breeze travel over my belly/ waist/ hips/ thighs/ buttocks/ labia and clitoris. Oh my God. The tip of his tongue touched briefly against my belly and I experienced the shock of a sudden kiss. My thoughts running wild. Dark fantasies. He teased me with a few wet little kisses to my hips/ knees/ thighs before I finally felt his mouth make tender contact with my sex. His lips pressed against me. I heard him breathe in through his nose/ inhaling my sexual scent. He kissed me with a smacking sound and I felt his tongue slip between the folds of my sex. *** (SMALL WAVES SPLASHING) Rachel Babylon presses both feet up against the wall either side of the taps and bucks her hips upwards. She moves the shower-head down her body until the cool spray is showering directly onto her vulva. Delicious tingles as her clitoris swells out from beneath its hood. As she pulls and squeezes her nipple she allows her eyes to close. The icy water sprays hard against her clit. Writhing in the bath. Moaning softly. Small waves splashing out around her as she strokes two fingers over her sex. *** (DIVING FOR PEARLS) Shit. He was going down on me. This was unbelievable. Id experienced cunnilingus so many times in fantasy but for it to actually happen for real was just mind-blowing. The idea that anyone could actually enjoy the taste and fragrance of my pussy was incredible. Id always thought that this was an ugly/ smelly/ dirty part of me and so for Byron to happily bury his face in it like this/ savour its smell and explore its textures with his lips and tongue was utterly wild. He drew his face back and looked up at me/ his lips and chin glistening in the darkness. *You know I wanted to lick your cunt the first time we met.* I felt a burning in my belly. Lick your cunt. Even just to think these words seemed so wicked. Lick my cunt. Lick my cunt. *Its nice* I said. *I thought you might like it.* Byron smiled and dived between my thighs once more. His tongue swirled over my vagina/ lapping noisily over the labia/ brushing across my clit. *Oh.* I wriggled uncomfortably. It was almost too intense there/ kind of sensitive to the touch. *Lower babe* I whispered. I felt his fingers draw my swollen lips apart and the tip of his tongue penetrated me. He darted it inside/ wriggling/ exploring. (Licking me. Byrons tongue inside me. Yeah. Licking my pussy. My cunt. Licking my cunt.) I writhed on the edge of the bed. (Licking my cunt.) I clenched my buttocks and stroked my fingers in his hair. Enjoying the warm strokes of his exquisite tongue. (Yes Byron. Lick me. Lick my cunt.) I whispered the words and felt an incredible surge of energy: *Lick my cunt.* Byron mumbled between my thighs/ his lips brushing my labia. *Lick my cunt* I said a little louder. He began licking with bolder faster strokes/ lapping at my sex like a thirsty dog at its bowl. *Uh Byron.* I tightened my grip on his hair/ pulled him deeper into me/ crushing his nose up against my pubic bone. *Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Byron. Lick my...* His tongue slid up towards my clitoris. *Uh.* I shuddered as it briefly touched that engorged bud/ imagining a bolt of blue flames shocking out across my belly to my nipples. *Yeah. Lick me there. Lick my... lick my clit.* Byrons tongue swirled. My breasts rising and falling. Nipples hard. Red. My breath going wild. And then his fingers were inside me/ thrusting deep. *Shit yeah. Fuck me with you fingers.* I tightened my muscles around them/ remembered the feeling of his cock inside me. Penetrating me. Pushing into my hot core. The tip of his tongue flicking over my clit. Flapping and swirling. Enveloping me. Fingers thrusting into my cunt. *Uh. I can feel... feel... oh fuck Byron I think Im going to...* I squeeled and arched my back/ gripping his hair in my fists as it hit me: a great shock of blue energy that burst outwards from my clitoris/ sparking across my belly and into my breasts/ crackling over my nipples/ frazzling my brain. Its current shot up through my sex to the hot core of my being. Devastating my body like a Mega-Tsunami crashing into Americas East Coast. Byron kept licking and licking but it was too much to handle/ too sensitive by now. I pushed his head away. *Oh babe. Youve got to stop. That was incredible but youve got to stop.* He grinned up at me/ his lips and chin wet with my girlie-love. *I want to fuck you again.* His cock was hard in his hand. *** (STRAWBERRY) Rachel Babylon sinks back into the icy water/ an involuntary groan escaping her lips. She lays there exhausted for a few minutes/ watching the rise and fall of her flushed breasts/ the twitching of her belly/ the shaking of her legs. Clambering unsteadily to her feet she twists the shower control to OFF and pulls out the bath-plug. In the mirror her breasts and cheeks are flushed like a ripe strawberry. Rachel's Fire: 11 (WRITING) INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. BEDROOM. EARLY MORNING. 1999. RACHEL BABYLON sits deep in thought at the dressing table with a large hardbound notepad before her. A blanket - pulled tight around her shoulders - is all that hides her nudity. She chews the lid of a pen/ trying to think of something to write in the notebook. On the floor: balls of screwed up paper which she has scribbled on and then rejected. She clutches a glass of clear liquid. Straight vodka. She is drunk. Taking a gulp of the vodka RACHEL puts the glass back down and scribbles in the pad. Frowning she angrily tears the page from the book/ screws it up and drops it with the others on the floor. Getting to her feet she stumbles - blanket drawn tight around her - to the window and pulls back the curtain a little to look out. INSERT a shot of the busy Edinburgh street below from RACHELs POV. RACHEL turns away from the window and glances at her boyfriend GAVIN who is lying snoring in the bed/ mouth wide open. RACHEL (to camera): *Arent they just the cutest little things?* RACHEL staggers to the table and sits back down. RACHEL (to camera): *Suppose youre wondering how come Im pissed out my face at...* (she looks at the clock on the dresser) *...at five in the morning with the boyfriend giving it serious zeds over there. Nothing unusual I can assure you. This is the only time I get any peace to myself.* ~~~~~ INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. 1999. RACHEL and GAVIN are sitting in armchairs on opposite sides of the room. RACHEL is scribbling in a notepad. GAVIN is bored and sulky/ looking for attention. GAVIN: *What you doing?* RACHEL (covering page): *Writing.* GAVIN: *What are you writing? RACHEL: *Just... just nothing.* GAVIN (laughing): *Youre always scribbling on wee bits of paper Rachel.* RACHEL (shrugging shoulders): *Thats what I do.* GAVIN: *Thats ALL you do.* RACHEL (scribbling as she speaks): *I watch TV. I read books. I play guitar. Get drunk. Dance. Eat. Fuck. Sleep. Shit.* (she looks up) *I do quite a lot actually.* GAVIN: *Anything that doesnt involve having to talk to me.* RACHEL: *What do you want to talk about Gavin? Football? Cars? How often you fart in your sleep?* She laughs but there is bitterness in her voice. GAVIN (ignoring this): *Can I read it?* RACHEL: *Its not finished.* GAVIN (jokingly): *I want to see what youve been writing about me.* RACHEL does not answer so he gets up and teasingly attempts to snatch the writing pad from her. She violently grabs it back. This only encourages him all the more. He thinks this is a game. RACHEL doesnt. They wrestle with the notepad until RACHEL finally snatches it from him. RACHEL: *Fuck off Gavin!* She rips the page she has been writing from the pad and tears it up. GAVIN sits back down in his armchair. He is hurt and confused. RACHEL continues scribbling in her notepad. Now that she has calmed down again she seems embarrassed by her outburst. RACHEL (voice over): *Its nice having someone to take out your frustration on. Saves having to look too closely at yourself.* *** (THE FULLNESS OF TIME) Close your eyes Rachel and imagine this. A beach. Some filthy yellow beach in Spain or Puerto Rico or or BRAZIL. Yes. Can you see it? Do you smell the sea? Feel the salt breeze caressing your hair? Good. Now picture the woman. She is dark skinned and sullen. Wild and beautiful. She sits on a crumbling wall. Her pretty hazel eyes screwed up in the Suns glare. A smouldering cigarette hangs flaccidly from the corner of her mouth and theres a bottle of something nasty at her side. She could smile so sweetly but the world doesnt deserve a smile. So she scowls. Shes just sitting there. Large breasts thrust out beneath her white blouse. Legs crossed high so no one can fail to notice the expanse of smooth dark shaved flesh stretching from her ankle to her thigh. Whats this Rachel? Are you turned on already? Your body can never lie to me. See how stiff you nipples are getting? Does it get you hot to imagine this mysterious Brazilian sat out there on her wall? She holds so much promise doesnt she? Is she waiting for you? What terrible things could she do to you down there in that filthy sand? But wait. Dont be impatient sugar. All your questions will be answered in the fullness of time. *** (CUT-UP no 46: ART ROOTS THE TIME) Can you rub it if art roots the time? Something bold and crushed by the lust. Blinking in turquoise. Never escapes your cello. *** (SPLITTING) Christ this hurts. It really fucking hurts inside. This sadness. Ive been thinking about Byron a lot recently. Dont know if Ill ever get over him. Occasionally if I smell or see or hear something that reminds me of him the pain explodes through me. Burning into every cell in my body. Devastating me. At these times I struggle to talk or move or think. Paralysed by despair. Maybe if Id done things differently wed still be together. ~~~~~ INTERIOR. BYRONS FLAT. BEDROOM. EVENING. 1989. RACHEL is 20 years old. BYRON moves towards her on the bed and kisses her cheek. She draws away from him. Shaking her head. She seems sad. Or maybe angry. BYRON sits silently. Wanting to understand. RACHEL (frowning): *Whats wrong?* BYRON (puzzled): *Nothing. What do you mean?* RACHEL gets up and turns her back to him while she undresses in the corner of the room. BYRON chews the inside of his cheek and watches her from the end of the bed. She folds her clothes on the chair/ pulls on a silky nightdress and sits back down beside him. BYRON pulls her gently towards him and they hug tightly. It is only now as he feels the moisture on his cheek that he realises that she is crying. BYRON (worried): *Whats wrong Rachel?* She begins to sob loudly. BYRON lays back on the bed and pulls her on top of him. RACHEL barely moves as the tears roll down her cheeks onto him. Eventually she sits up/ fumbles about in her handbag for a tissue and wipes her eyes and nose. She blinks and looks at him with her reddened eyes. Forlorn. Nervous. RACHEL: *Are you happy Byron?* BYRON: *Yes.* RACHEL: *Really?* BYRON (nodding): *Are you?* RACHEL: *No.* She sobs loudly. BYRON: *Well. What happened? I mean how long have you been unhappy?* RACHEL (shrugging shoulders): *Just lately. What are we going to do?* BYRON: *What do you mean?* RACHEL: *About us.* BYRON: *I dont know. What do you want to do?* RACHEL: *Do you not think we should try just being friends for a while? See what its like?* BYRON: *Is that what you want Rachel?* She nods. BYRON looks at her. He seems unsure how to respond. Lost. RACHEL offers him a melancholy smile. RACHEL: *Do you know what this is like?* BYRON: *No. Whats it like?* RACHEL: *Its like kicking a puppy dog.* They both laugh. BYRON: *You think Im a puppy dog?* They sit staring at each other. RACHEL: *Ive not found anyone else if thats what youre thinking.* BYRON: *I dont know what Im thinking. Why are you so unhappy with me?* RACHEL: *Oh baby. Its not you. I just feel like Im old before my time. We take each other for granted byron. Do you know what I mean?* BYRON: *No. What do you mean?* RACHEL (shrugging): *We take it for granted that well always be there for each other.* BYRON (confused): *Well thats a good thing. Isnt it?* RACHEL (shaking her head): *No. Its not.* (Pause) BYRON: *Do you still want to stay here? With me?* RACHEL: *It could be awkward.* BYRON: *Id like you to stay Rach. You can have the bed. Ill sleep in the other room.* RACHEL BABYLON is crying again. *** (PENDULOUS) Dont be impatient Rachel. Look at this woman on her Brazilian beach. Dark eyes. Pendulous breasts. Inviting flesh. Shes listening to the noise of the traffic. All those busy people behind her and the swoosh out in front as the waves roll in and collide with the land. Drawing heavily on her cigarette she scans the length of the beach. Over there two big black dogs are running around sniffing each others ass. And away in the distance someone walks slowly across the sand towards her. It is the skinny European girl. She often walks here on the beach. Every morning she shuffles along deep in thought/ occasionally stopping to look out at the sea. Today she is wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with dark sweat stains under the arms/ between her breasts and down the stomach. She is drenched in sweat her face burnt red in this terrible heat. The Brazilian sighs and clenches her legs tight together. So here you are my pretty. Aimlessly wandering along this Brazilian beach. Youve already spent three weeks all alone out here with nobody to talk to. If you could speak the language things wouldnt be quite so bad. Poor lonely Rachel. Every night you lie clutching at yourself in the darkness of your hotel bedroom. Imagining that you are being ravished by some gorgeous South American hunk. But where is this dreamy lover now in the cold light of day? Stopping a moment you wipe the back of your hand over your brow and gaze around at this sunbaked landscape. A stream of sweat trickles down the inside of your thigh. Over there two skinny starved looking dogs are fucking. The male is furiously humping the bitch. Its tongue hanging limply between its jaws. The boldness of these doggy lovers shocks you. They dont seem to care how visible they are. You feel a strange tingle between your thighs as you imagine human couples copulating here before you like this in broad daylight. *Must be getting desperate.* This is what you say to yourself. It seems that all youve been able to think about since you came out here is sex. Even the slightest stimulus - the shape of a bedpost the sound of the barmans voice the feel of your own skin - is enough to send you over the edge into Fantasy Land. You turn to look up into the town and notice that the Brazilian woman sitting up there on the wall is watching you. You hesitate unsure whether to stare back or look away. She points at the bottle beside her. Motions for you to join her. *You are English?* she asks stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the wall. You shake your head. *Scottish.* She seems confused but nods and passes you the bottle. You allow a few drops of the vile liquor to trickle over your tongue and the woman laughs as your face contorts. *It is very cheap* she advises. Taking the bottle from your hand she puts her lips round the neck and gulps. A few drops of liquid dribble from the corner of her mouth and you blush. The Brazilian wipes her lips and chin with the back of her hand. *Would you like to walk with me?* she asks. The empty bottle thuds onto muddy grass and rolls. You stare into those dark eyes and shrug. Might be fun to have a friend here to show you around. She seems to study you a moment Rachel. What does she see? Thick shoulder-length black hair. Melancholy green eyes. You are usually quite a pale girl but the cruel Sun has burned your face and arms turning you an unhealthy red. A crustacean scuttling from the boiling pot. You must look strange to her Rachel. Almost alien. *** (WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH?) Dec 1989. By the time Byron got home from work I was drunk and had started throwing all my stuff into my big blue suitcase. *Where are you going?* he asked. Troubled. *I cant tell you. Im meeting someone. Its been arranged.* Byron was devastated by this news: *What do you mean? Meeting who?* *I said I cant tell you.* I tapped my nose and tripped - giggling - onto the bed. *Rachel.* *Do you want to fuck me before I go? Is that what you want?* *No. Tell me where youre going? What do you mean youre meeting someone?* *Hes taking me to the pictures.* *Who?* he sat down on the bed beside me. *Im not your girlfriend anymore Byron. I can sleep with whoever I like.* I saw tears forming in his dark eyes. *Fuck off Rachel!* *Thats what Im doing Byron. Im fucking off out of your life.* I hurled some panties and t-shirts into the case. *This isnt fair. Why are you being such a bitch?* I shrugged my shoulders. *Cause its over.* *** (ACROSS HER SHOULDER) The Brazilian gets to her feet/ kicks off her sluttish red shoes - discarding them where they land - and walks bare-foot in front of you. Her peroxide hair reaches to the small of her back. Bouncing as she walks. *What is your name?* she asks. The words floating across her shoulder. *Rachel.* *Rachel? I like that. Its from the Bible no? Im Maria* she says. *Maria Helena Marquez.* You catch her up. Trying not to make it too obvious that youre watching her breasts move beneath the material of her blouse. Top buttons undone. Droplets of sweat trickling into her cleavage. Large-breasted women have always fascinated you for some reason. You glance self-consciously down at your own smallish bosom. (I refuse to be intimidated. Theyre only tits. Weve all got them.) Maria shoots you a strange look. (So why of all people did Gavin have to go and shag Leanne Nesbit? It wasnt the size of her cerebral cortex that got him so hot under the waistband was it? Shit. Dont think about that. Youll only make yourself bitter girl.) *Rachel?* *Huh?* You havent heard a word shes said. *I said I see you here on the beach every morning. You are always alone.* *Aye well. Im on holiday.* you mumble. *No husband?* Shaking your head: *Ive got a boyfriend but were not getting on too great.* Maria stops and looks at you/ lips curling into a sneer. *Men are no good. You dont need a man Rachel. They are shits. BIG SHITS.* She spits this out with the bitterness of too much experience. *Do you have a husband?* you ask. The question seems somehow comical once the words have left your mouth. You cough/ feeling strangely uncomfortable. Something about the way Maria is staring at you. *** CUT-UP no 32: PRIMITIVE TREES Imagine the scuzz. Pissing mud for dead flecks wriggling. Hard-on canvas ate primitive trees. *** (CRUMPLED) This has been a terrible day. I know Ive secretly wanted it to happen for a long time - I convinced myself that freedom would bring me happiness - but it has only brought me more pain. I just dont think I can face the prospect of being alone again. What hurts most is that I couldnt see this coming. I wasnt prepared. Todays despair arrived like a vicious punch in the stomach. Sudden. Cold. Final. It hit me before I even pushed open the bedroom door. Perfume. I could smell perfume. Her coat draped over the banister. And then all those hurtful noises. The bed squeaks. He whispers. She pants. I crumpled down onto the stairs. Sat there listening. Soaking up the betrayal. I should have walked out right then but I needed to torture myself. To feel the knife twisting in my gut. Wrenching out my innards. I pulled myself to my feet/ nervously smoothed wrinkles from my skirt and shoved open the door. I stood and watched them. Dying a little more inside with each thrust. When the girl finally saw me she jumped and self-consciously crossed her arms over her white breasts. She tried to clamber off of Gavin and tumbled over the side of the bed onto the floor. *Ouch!* Rachel's Fire: 12 (A TIGER) *Do you have a husband?* you ask. The question seems somehow comical once the words have left your mouth. You cough/ feeling strangely uncomfortable. Something about the way Maria Marquez is staring at you. Shaking her head: *I have many boyfriends but they dont know how to make love to a woman. They only know how to FUCK FUCK FUCK and fall asleep.* Youve arrived at a quiet stretch of the beach. Behind you the town is hidden by the trees. As the Brazilian touches your arm you feel a strange almost electrical tingle pass through your body. She looks into your face. Her pupils swelling. Lips moist. *Its easy to fake it. The men here are so stupid* she informs you. *Only a woman really knows how to make me come.* Lost for words. Try not to let the shock show on your face. *Have you ever been with a woman?* she asks. *What do you mean?* You know exactly what she means. *Together with another woman? Fucking her?* *No.* You say this quietly/ your cheeks burning up. Feel your stomach tightening. You look at this woman/ a cocktail of terror and longing coursing through your blood. Taking hold of your face with both hands Maria Marquez thrusts her mouth against yours. Her lips soft against your own. Her cheap perfume intoxicates you. She edges her wet tongue into your mouth and you feel the surge of electricity. But you are confused. You shake your head/ pull away. See the wicked smile curling Marias lips. She nudges you. You fall back onto the sand. *Take off your clothes* she says. *What?* *Take them off!* She is serious. *Please Rachel.* You could easily get to your feet/ shove her indignantly out the way and storm off back to your hotel but you dont do this. Instead you pull off your shoes and socks. The sand is hot against your heels. Your vagina is moist. *Hurry!* The Brazilian claps her hands together impatiently. You pull your t-shirt up over your head. Maria studies your breasts. *And the rest* she says. So you unzip the jeans and pull them down/ kicking them off over your feet. As you remove your g-string you see Marias hand moving up between her dark legs. *Now touch yourself!* she commands. *What?* The sand scratches against your body. Burning your calfs/ buttocks/ heels/ shoulders. *I want you to fuck your hand.* Maria lifts her skirt just enough for you to see that her crotch is bare. No underwear. Buried in amongst the thick raven tufts of hair her labia glisten. It surprises and excites you that your body has turned her on like this. See how she desires you Rachel? Cool breeze tingling over your skin. Stomach tightening. You rub the thumb of your left hand over your nipple and allow your legs to fall open. It is so wild and strange to be watched like this/ to be watched performing this most private act. The Brazilians dark eyes take in every detail as you slip a finger into your pussy. Tracing it up between the soft folds towards your clitoris. Maria Helena Marquez wriggles her hips gently from side to side as if dancing to some slow love song. She runs the tip of her tongue over clean white teeth and grins. The skirt rises up her thighs. Breasts wobbling as she moves. Arousal is such a glorious feeling dont you think sugar? Your whole body tingles. You ache to have every part of you touched: your ears lips breasts belly and deep inside. Can you feel it Rachel? The way your body has come alive to every sensation? You are like a tiger waiting to pounce. Opening your eyes you gaze dreamily around your small candle-lit bedroom. You watch the golden shadows dancing around the walls. Everything seems so bright. Every colour every smell every thought is vivid and clear. Your finger slowly circles - not yet touching the sensitive bud - just caressing the hot flesh around it so it moves around under its hood. All the while your left hand pinches and pulls at your nipple. Heart pounding. Toes curling. What would your Mother think if she saw you now? Or Gavin? What would Leanne Nesbit with her amazing double-D tits think of you? Would she think you were dirty? Selfish? Sad? *** (TABLETS) I feel numbness/ nothingness as I leaf through the address book and locate his number. I calmly pick up the receiver/ listen for the dialing tone (this helps to validate the realness of what Im doing) and slowly tap each button. I finally hear the metalic rhythmical purr as the phone rings. *Hello?* A womans voice. Could be a problem. Should I hang up? *Hello?* she says again. *Ehm. Hi* I say. *Could I speak to Byron please?* *Whos calling?* She sounds suspicious. *Its Rachel Kearney. My husband works with him.* My lie sounds odd to me but its designed to put her at ease and it seems to do the trick. *Byron. Phone!* she yells. Then softly - almost politely - to me: *Hes just coming.* The pause as I wait for my ex-boyfriend to take the receiver is excruciating. Finally he arrives. I can hear him breathing. *Hello?* Its nice to hear his voice after all this time. A tingle down my spine. *Its me* I say quietly. *Rachel?* He is shocked. *Im sorry Byron. I just didnt know who else to phone.* *What is it?* I can hear the note of concern in his voice. Tears welling in my eyes. *Ive left Gavin* I say. *Oh.* *I saw them together. And Ive... Ive taken some pills Byron.* He speaks slowly now. *What do you mean pills?* *Ive been really silly. I dont know why I did it.* *What have you taken?* *Im sorry for phoning you like this.* *What have you taken Rachel?* *A bottle of paracetamols.* I feel horrible as I say this. Embarrassed. I dont know whether Byron is angry/ worried or scared. *Fuck* he says. Im beginning to wish I hadnt phoned. I dont want him to think of me as unstable and needy. *What will I do Byron?* *Youve got to make yourself sick. Stick your fingers down your throat. Fuck. Make sure you keep walking around Rach. Im going to phone you an ambulance.* This panics me. *You cant. Jane works in casualty. She might see me.* *Dont be fucking stupid* he says. *No. Please. Ill get rid of them. I dont want my aunt to know about this.* *Give me your address Rachel. Were coming over.* *We?* Im confused. *Jennys a nurse.* *Is she your girlfriend?* *Yes.* *Oh.* Shouting: *Come on Rachel: your address!* Its horrible to hear him this upset over me. *Listen Byron. I dont want you to come here. I just wanted to talk to you.* *I want to get you checked by a doctor.* I cant take this anymore. *Ive not taken any tablets Byron. I just wanted to talk to you.* He is furious now: *What? I cant fucking believe you. You cant do that to people Rachel.* Im crying now. I want this to end. *I know. Im sorry. I was just confused. *** (GROWTH) I was always scared of being alone. Maybe it was something to do with that whole single parent family thing. I dont know (they blame every fucking thing on broken homes these days). Whatever the reason: I know that when Mum died I just clung all the more to Byron. It was the only way I could cope. What wouldve happened if he hadnt been there for me? He probably saved my life. Or at least kept me sane. But I know now that I hung on too tightly to him. Squeezed all the life out of our relationship. Killing whatever it was we had. I dont even know for sure that it was love (Im not convinced I really know what love is). But as soon as I saw an easy way out - Gavin Elliot - I discarded Byron. Like an ugly snake shedding its skin. *** (LETTING GO) Byron has calmed down a little. He sounds concerned for me. *So what happened with you and Gavin?* I wonder if I can still hear hurt in his voice after all these years. *I dont love him Byron.* *Do you think youll get back together?* He cant see me but I shake my head anyway. *He cheated on me. At least twice.* *Oh.* *I went round his flat and he was shagging some stupid teenager.* *Fuck. You saw them together?* *Uh-huh. Im glad in a way. Now I know I cant go back. Its finally over.* He speaks softly: *But it still hurts?* *I dont like being alone Byron. It makes me think too much.* *Just give it some time. You know youll get over it.* *Did I make you feel as bad as this?* He laughs. *Yeah. But I got over you.* I listen to his breath. Remember him holding me in bed. *Im sorry* I say. *Im sorry I made you feel this bad.* *These things happen. Dont be worry about it Rachel. I forgave you a long time ago.* *Really?* I dont know why this is such a shock to me. I feel a weight lift from me. The tears stream down my cheeks. My throat tightens. *Youve really forgiven me Byron?* *Of course.* *God. Ive wanted to hear you say that for so long. Thanks Byron. Thanks for talking to me. Just needed to tell someone how I was feeling. Sorry if I gave you a fright.* *You know you can phone me any time. You dont need an excuse. Dont need to say youve taken pills.* *Ok. Youre girlfriends very lucky Byron. I hope she appreciates you.* Laughing: *She gives me hell. But were happy. We love each other.* *Thats good.* We say our goodbyes and I hang up. Running through to the bathroom. Fingers down my throat to vomit up the tablets. As I wipe the sickness from my lips with an old face cloth I scowl at my bleary-eyed reflection. Silly cow! Rachel's Fire: 13 (SPECTACULAR) Opening your eyes you gaze dreamily around your small candle-lit bedroom. You watch the golden shadows dancing around the walls. Everything seems so bright. Every colour every smell every thought is vivid and clear. Your finger slowly caresses - not yet touching the sensitive bud - just circling the hot flesh so it moves around under its hood. All the while your left hand pinches and pulls at your nipple. Heart pounding. Toes curling. What would your Mother think if she saw you now? Or Gavin? What would Leanne Nesbit with her amazing double-D tits think of you? Would she think you were dirty? Selfish? Sad? Who cares? This is your fantasy. Who invited these people anyway? Through the haze of ochre light you watch as Maria rips open her blouse. Buttons fly out in every direction as those spectacular golden-brown orbs fall out. Firm and proud like the finest surgically-crafted Hollywood tits. Shes rubbing them with both hands. Squeezing. Pulling at the nipples. Gazing down at your goose-pimpled body she hikes up her skirt. Inserts two fingers. This is about the hottest thing youve ever seen: those two slender digits disappearing into her sex only to reappear moments later glistening with her wetness. Maria wipes the honey over her belly and breasts. Smoothing it round her nipples till theyre all big and red. Oh God. How hot is that Rachel? All you want is to be able to finally touch this woman. To suck her nipples. Push your fingers into her vagina. Feel her hot tongue between your thighs. Digging your heels into the sand (and into the bed) you twist your nipple. Pulling it out hard from the aureola. Your other hand moves over your clitoris. Rubbing hard and fast. The evidence of your arousal glistening on your labia. So wet. Feel it trickling between your buttocks. Caressing that puckered little hole like a lovers tongue. Maria Marquez stands over you now. Sandy feet parted either side of your head. She lowers herself until she is squatting over your mouth. The strong feminine scent overwhelms you. Youve never had the chance to smell another woman like this. It is incredible. *You like my smell?* she asks. *Yes.* *Do you want to eat me?* *** (DISCARDED) I was always scared of being alone. Maybe it was something to do with that whole single parent family thing. I dont know (they blame every fucking thing on broken homes these days). Whatever the reason: I know that when Mum died I just clung all the more to Byron. It was the only way I could cope. What wouldve happened if he hadnt been there for me? I guess he probably saved my life. Or at least kept me sane. But I know now that I hung on too tightly to him. Squeezed all the life out of our relationship. Killing whatever it was we had. I dont even know for sure that it was love (Im not convinced I really know what love is). But as soon as I saw an easy way out - Gavin Elliot - I discarded Byron. Like an ugly snake shedding its skin. *** (THE TURNING POINT) I Ching After a time of entropy comes the turning point. The glorious light that has been banished returns. There is movement but it is not brought about by force. Being in accordance with nature it arises spontaneously. The old is discarded and the new is introduced. Both measures are in balance with time therefore no harm results. *** (GROWTH) The fucking irony of it all is that Ive spent the last 10 years having a lousy time with someone Ive never loved. And all the while Ive been fantasising about the guy I dumped. Thats crazy isnt it? Im such a freak. Anyway. Forget about that. Forget about the past. Time to let go. I dont need a man to make me whole. (You GO sister! Haha.) This is a time for growth. A time for change. And at 3.43 am Id say its also time for bed. *** (SAPPHIC DREAMS) Maria Helena Marquez stands over you now. Sandy feet parted either side of your head. She lowers herself until she is squatting over your mouth. The strong feminine scent overwhelms you. Youve never had the chance to smell another woman like this. It is incredible. *You like my smell?* she asks. *Yes.* *Do you want to eat me?* *Yes.* *Put your tongue in my pussy?* *You nod breathlessly.* *I cant hear you* she teases. *Yes. Yes.* Your clitoris tingles. The Brazilian gets down onto her knees/ spreads her dark thighs either side of your face and lowers herself until that bush of dewy black hair brushes over your lips. You breathe in the musky smell. Run your tongue over her vulva. Lick her from her vagina to her clit. Maria groans and mashes her vulva up against your lips. *Yes. Lick me! Lick my cunt!* Your tongue darts several times between those pink folds then circles her clit. Its almost like making love to yourself. The taste. The smell. The feel of her pussy. Licking her softly at first but soon applying more pressure until you are lapping hard at the stem of her pleasure. You suck her bud into your mouth. Feel it swelling between your lips. Engorging. Maria mumbles something in Portuguese. Her legs trembling. Breathing going all out of control. Now you slide a finger into her slipperiness Rachel. Press it up against the fleshy walls. Flicking your tongue over her clitoris. Quick movements. Slip another finger inside. Two fingers slurping around in her honey. And shes grabbing at your hair. Squashing your nose up against her pubic bone as you frig two... now three fingers in and out of her pussy. *Fuck me! Fuck me you little slut! Yes. Lick me. Uh. I feel it. I feel it coming. You dirty bitch Rachel. Uh. Dirty bitch. Fuck me! Yes. Lick my cunt!* She squeals and a gush of clear fluid squirts from the hot centre of her pussy/ spraying round your fingers/ splashing over your face and trickling down your chest onto your swollen breasts. Isnt this wild Rachel? Maria is shaking/ panting/ utterly exhausted but somehow manages to crawl between your legs and bury her face in your burning crotch. She slobbers over you. Running her tongue between the folds. Furiously lapping at your clitoris. You grab her hair. Thrusting your cunt into her face. Moaning and writhing. Shes eating your pussy Rachel. Licking her dirty bitch. *Now!* You scream out and arch your back as it explodes through you. A violent shuddering spasm. The fire rages. Engulfing you. A surge of hot energy that radiates from your clitoris/ flushing through your breasts and cheeks/ flooding your pussy with its heat. Your whole body is electrified. Yes. You lie there shuddering on the bed Rachel. Toes curling. Belly twitching. Body glowing as your vagina contracts. Waves washing up over the sand. You still feel kind of hot and wild so you bring your fingers up to your nose. Smell your own cunt on them. You run your tongue over the tips. Suck them into your mouth. Enjoy the distinctive feminine flavour. Clitoris pulsing its approval. Oh my insatiable one. Are you ready for more so soon? Ok Rachel. Imagine yourself on a train trundling through some harsh snow-laden Ukrainian landscape. You are naked beneath your fake white furs and someone has stolen that bottle of vodka you brought for the journey. How will you ever keep warm now? Your breath frosts in the air. Your nipples stick out hard even beneath the layer of furs. So cold! Oh but dont cry my precious. Im sure well think of something. FIN *** AUTHOR'S NOTE: 'Go Faster!' and 'Cali4nia' are linked to this story.