Wild Fiction

Rebecca rearranged herself next to the cheese. She unwrapped the Carr’s water biscuits and then the Cambazola. ‘Mmm, yummy,’ she said spreading the cheese on the biscuits with her fingers. ‘This stuff is delish.’ She made another biscuit with cheese on it, lent over, and stuffed it into the author’s mouth. ‘Isn’t this just the best cheese ever? Cambazola is my all time favourite. What do you think?’
The author nodded back at her, his mouth full and chewing.
‘That Cava’s made me a little tiddly,’ Rebecca said stretching herself out on the grass next to their picnic and closing her eyes. Her skirt rode up her long slender legs revealing the bottom of her panties. The startling white of her underwear juxtaposed against the hairless brown legs. The author swallowed his mouthful of cheese and biscuit and took a swig of champagne to wash it down. Rebecca wriggled her back against the grass making herself as comfortable as possible.
The author could feel a swelling in his pants. He moved over to where Rebecca was lying and lay down next to her. He put his arm over her and ran his hand down her body and onto her legs. She murmured and continued her beatific smile at the sky with her eyes closed. He ran his hand inside her legs, up to her crotch, and slipped his fingers under her panties.
‘No,’ she said taking his hand in hers and pushing him away.
‘Why not, I can feel you want to, you’re all wet.’
‘Don’t, I don’t want to, you’re making me do this, you’re controlling me. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to. Please don’t’
The author moved his leg over hers, pinned her arms above her head, and moved his hand back to between her legs.
‘Don’t,’ she said. She was wriggling as hard as she could to get out from under him. Her face was pale and the white’s of her eyes glistened through wide eyelids. Her breathing was short and fast as she squirmed and struggled. ‘I’m going to scream,’ she said. ‘If you don’t get off me and let me go I’m going to scream.’
The author released his grip on her and rolled away.
‘How dare you,’ she said sitting up her face now flushing bright red. ‘You know bloody well what’s happening between Conrad and me and now you try to do this. I also know that you did everything you could to keep Conrad and me apart but you were never able to. You knew that it had to happen between Conrad and me and you made the readers wait. You drew it out for far too long. You bastard.’
The author looked away from her and stared at a path in the distance. A woman was pushing a pram along it. Every now and then she stopped, leant forward with one arm, and adjusted something inside the pram. Probably tucking in a tiny blanket or adjusting a small hat.