Lorna

When I was growing up I certainly didn’t think for one single minute about going to work for a real estate agent. I mean, how many people do? I can hardly imagine little boys and girls gazing hopefully at “For Sale” signs or dreaming that if they wish and work hard enough they too one rub shoulders with solicitors and potential buyers or negotiate asking prices. Get real. But it was my first job out of university and I was pretty excited all the same. And, by way of consolation, I had been lucky enough to land a slot with a fairly prestigious outfit. Sanderson, Miller and Smith did not exactly deal with two up two downs or dingy bedsits. No, with these boys you are talking the top end of the market. They handled the sales of some of the most expensive properties in the swankiest parts of London; studio flats in the Docklands or Islington, palatial mansions in Richmond, Putney and Chelsea, you know the score. So, although it wasn’t my career of choice (and definitely not one that I wanted to pursue long term) I felt that I was driving a Mercedes rather than a Mitsubishi.
First day nerves were, as ever, pretty strong. Anyone that has ever started a new job will tell that it’s always the way and I was ready for it. Its all about familiarity really, or lack of it. I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me. They were all very nice though, very welcoming and I felt that, given enough time, I would fit right in and make a good go of it. It seemed like a young company as well, lots of boys and girls within my age bracket, many of them like me, probably dreaming of bigger and better things. Lorna, the girl who greeted me for example, was lovely. She was very slim and pretty, a real London “it” girl who wore the kind of elegant black Prada suit that I could only dream of buying, at that point anyway. As I sat waiting to meet my new boss, she chatted away to me about nothing in particular in a very posh “home counties” kind of accent and seemed totally unpretentious. It really put me at ease. I liked her straight away.
Mr Sanderson of course, whose office I was taken shortly after my arrival, was part of the company’s old guard. But then he was the Managing Director and owner, a thirty year veteran of the property game. I liked him as well. He had interviewed me for the job and was very genuine. And he was certainly no lecherous old man trying to surround himself with bimbos for his ego’s sake. His office was adorned with family photos and he appeared very settled and in control of his life. That said, I was still pretty nervous as I sat opposite the desk from him that first morning, my legs crossed very firmly, an untouched cup of coffee on my lap.
“At this stage Claire,” he said, thumbing his neatly groomed mustache, “The only piece of advice I would give you is to take your first few days easy. Don’t blunder around like a bloody fool trying to impress because you will only succeed in making yourself look stupid. I’ve seen many a young person sweep into this office and try to reinvent the wheel in their first week, talking a lot of nonsense and the like, and they always come a cropper. Just watch and observe, and the ins and outs of this game will start to become second nature. Do that and you will do just fine. You’re an able girl and you’ve got plenty of time to make your mark.”
“Thank you Mr Sanderson.” I replied. It was probably the soundest piece of advice I’ve ever heard.
“Good.” he said, rising from his chair, “Now. Normally I make it my business to take every new recruit out to dinner on their first day. Today unfortunately is a bit difficult. I’m tied up with lots of meetings. Therefore, a very nice young lady called Lorna is going to treat you to a bite to eat. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I said, hardly in a position to disagree, “I think I’ve met her already.”
“Probably. Blonde hair, talks nineteen to the dozen. In any case I’m sure you’ll have lots more in common with her than an old fool like me.”

After my brief induction with Mr Sanderson, I was reintroduced to Lorna and my first morning was spent with her showing me all the basics. You know the type of thing, how to use the computer system, where the fax and coffee machine were, where the best delis were located and so on. The rest of the office was very busy and the phone never stopped ringing. It was a good sign, because I liked having lots of work to do and couldn’t bear clock watching. At about one o’clock Lorna and I headed out into Covent Garden for lunch. She made a beeline for one of those chain restaurant/wine bar type places, enthusing about how excellent the food was. I was still quite untalkative at this stage, even though Lorna did her best to make conversation. However, after a glass of wine I felt sufficiently relaxed to let go a bit and soon we were getting on very well. I didn’t order much, just a Caesar salad, and Lorna had the same. The wine flowed and flowed and our lunch hour got longer and longer. It was a hot day and the streets of Covent Garden were packed with the lunch time crowd and tourists. As I surveyed the scene from the luxury of our outside table I must admit that I rather liked this kind of lifestyle. Lorna gaily puffed her way through Marlboro Lights as we talked about ourselves.
My own life story wasn’t that eventful, and I didn’t have that much to tell her. Life on a farm, nice parents, then university , couple of so so boyfriends, noone special at the moment, and that was about it. Lorna on the other hand was very exciting. I discovered that she was my age; twenty two, and also like me had gone to UCL, though I hadn’t known her at University. She was a History graduate (first class with honours I might add) and was saving money to go and do some kind of internship in the States. Her mother was Argentinean and had been a second string pop singer in her native country the 1970s, whilst her father was a merchant banker and had played rugby on the wing for the famous Harlequins club. She had been educated at Benendon, a prestigious (and very expensive) girls school in Kent, hence her rather posh, hoity-toity accent. Because of her mother, Lorna also spoke perfect Spanish and had lived for the first six years of her life in Buenos Aires. Other than playing the flute, which she had done to competition standard, it seemed that one of her main passions was horses - she had two which were stabled at her parents country home in Cheltenham. That was one thing I did have in common with her, for having lived on a farm I had done a bit of Gymkhana and point-to-point racing in my time, although not for a good few years. She had been with Sandersons for about eight months and enjoyed it immensely.
“It’s hard work. But very rewarding. We deal with the house sales for quite a few famous people too. I showed Geri Halliwell round a place once.”
“Wow,” I said.
“By the way,” she asked, lighting up another ciggie, “Where are you living now?”.
“With the same people I was at college with.”
“In the same house?”
I nodded.
“Whereabouts?”
“Hackney.”
That word didn’t seem to agree with Lorna.
“No, no, no.” she protested, “That simply won’t do at all. Listen, my flatmate moves out on Saturday. Got a new job in Manchester. Why don’t you take her place?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Move in with me silly. Be my new flatmate. Listen, its a wonderful place in Pinner. Only forty minutes on the tube. Lovely bedroom, big kitchen and lounge. All new furniture. And of course, it helps that my daddy also happens to be the landlord, so the rent is very reasonable. We go halves on bills of course.”
I was flattered by Lorna’s gesture, but it was too much. After all, I hardly knew the girl.
“Thanks Lorna, you’re very kind, but I’ll stay where I am.”
Lorna leaned back in her chair and took a long deep drag of her Marlboro. She looked at me through narrowed eyes for a while and I hoped that I hadn’t offended her, “Have it your way. But face facts, you can’t be a student forever. You’re in the big wide world now. The offer stays open but the room won’t be available for long.”
“Thanks.” I said, genuinely touched.
Lorna glanced at her watch and yawned. She shook the last few drops of our wine bottle into my glass and then said, “I think its time we headed back, don’t you?”
Lorna settled the bill courtesy of the company Visa and we began to make our way rather unsteadily back to the office. She linked her arm around mine as we walked and I though I wasn’t really into girly stuff like that, I felt sufficiently familiar with her not to want to move it. We then spent a rather a subdued afternoon trying to avoid doing any work, although that was much easier in my case since I was new. I felt very sleepy in those long hours to five o’clock I made the decision that I wouldn’t be doing any more lunch time drinking for a while. I also thought hard about Lorna’s offer. Her words had rung true in a way, it was time that I moved on. I was getting rather tired of the whole student thing, the dirty dishes, noisy stereos late at night, the arguments over milk and bills, queuing for the bathroom in the morning and the rest of it. The decision was eventually made at five minutes to five, and I just managed to collar Lorna as she was getting her coat on to go home.
“That’s wonderful news!” she beamed, “You must move in straightway!”
“Okay.” I replied, rather excited myself, When?”
“Why not Sunday? As a special treat I won’t charge you any rent till the end of the month!”
With that my new found friend skipped out into the warm London streets.

I spent the rest of the week getting to grips with my new job and making preparations for the big move. My housemates were slightly puzzled by the suddenness of my departure and a bit annoyed that I hadn’t found a replacement, but apart from that took it fairly well. The big day eventually arrived and my dad came down with a van to help me shift everything. I didn’t have that much stuff so it was fairly easy to get everything in. Lorna was there waiting for us when we arrived, dressed in a tracksuit ready to lend a hand. The apartment building was a converted Edwardian house with ivy clad, whitewashed walls. We were on the top floor. The flat was more than I could have hoped for, spotlessly clean and decked out in brand new furniture. My room was bigger than anything I had lived in before and overlooked a pretty flower garden. The whole process of unloading was fairly painless and after buying dad a quick spot of lunch I set about getting my new room just as I wanted it. The previous tenant had left it in good shape, but I have always been picky about how things are arranged, and spent a fair bit of time relocating furniture. At about four o’clock Lorna popped her head round the door.
“Getting on okay?”
“Yes thanks, couple more hours to go and I’ll be right.”
“Excellent. Listen, I thought you and I might go out and hit the town this evening to celebrate your arrival. There’s a great club I know...”
“No, Lorna, I’m shattered as it. I really couldn’t.”
Lorna seemed disappointed, but did not try to force the issue, “Oh well, there will plenty of other times.”
“Of course there will.”
I continued arranging my things throughout the early evening. Lorna stopped in before she went out to say good-bye. I have to say she looked amazing, (though a girl like her would have looked beautiful in a sack cloth). She was wearing very tight faded Moto jeans and a sleeveless white top which revealed a thin slither of tanned belly. I saw that it was pierced with a tiny diamond stud. In one hand she was clutching her mobile and a packet of Marlboro Lights.
“Hope you have a nice time.” I said.
“I will. Still not too late you know?”
I smiled, “Good-bye Lorna. I’ll see you in the morning.
I finally finished at nine and spent the evening watching television before taking a bath. I read for a little in bed and then dozed off, still excited about the novelty of the move. I totally forgot about Lorna.

I slept well until about four am, when I was awoken by the sound of the front door closing. There was some giggling, and then a dull thud as something was knocked over, followed by a loud “Sshhh.” I could hear feet on the landing and then Lorna’s voice again. I lay for maybe ten or fifteen minutes deciding what to do. I suppose in the end it was a mixture of curiosity and downright nosiness that lead me to get out of bed to investigate. The outside landing lights were off but Lorna’s bedroom light was shining through the gap in the door. As quietly as I could I approached and peered through the crack.
The room looked a bit of mess, clothes strewn all over the floor. Lorna was lying on the bed, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling, a look of dazed delight on her face. I must admit that she had an amazing body naked, in every way fulfilling its curvy promise while clothed. I watched as a well muscled back writhed before her, a dark head buried deep between her legs. Lorna was very vocal and moaned loudly as the stud pleasured her with his mouth. They switched positions after a while so that the man was lying on his back.
I now had a better view of him. He was a good looking, Latin type, somewhere between Enrique Inglesias and Andy Garcia with slicked back hair and a slim, muscular body. He had some kind of weird tattoo on his shoulder and wore beads. I’m no great judge of measurements, but I was slightly taken aback by the size of his cock, a tanned, rigid effort of about eight inches, characterised by prominent veins and a shiny purple head. Certainly bigger than anything that had ever come near me. Lorna moved herself on to her knees beside him and leaned forward, her long hair obscuring her face. She took his impressive erection around her hand and went down on him, taking the swollen glans of his cock between her lips. To begin with, she was slow, deliberate and delicate, like a little girl wanting to make her favourite flavoured lollipop last as long as possible. I could see that her flute playing background had placed her in good stead. Then she began to bob up and down faster and faster and the guy ran his hands through her hair, his face one broad ecstatic smile of snowy white teeth. Involuntarily, I moved my hand down between my legs, and felt the inevitable warm sticky sensation around my vagina.
Then, still on all fours, Lorna pulled away, and shifted around on the bed so that she was now facing the door. I stepped aside, a rush of fear running through me, not sure whether or not I had been spied. I toyed with the idea of going back to my room, but by now I was entranced, and could not make myself do it. Don’t get me wrong, I was reasonably experienced, and certainly wasn’t a virgin, but I had never seen other people having sex before in my life, and I was curiously entranced. I moved back to look again. Lorna was still facing the door, but was looking in another direction. Her beau was now making love to her from behind, his hands tracing patterns on her buttocks, his thrusts controlled by powerful hip and abdominal muscles. He and Lorna were still very loud, and I at once thought of the neighbours. Lorna was squealing with pleasure now and groaned, “Oh Jesus fuck me hard. fuck me harder you stud, give it to me, come on!”
As the stranger’s thrusts quickened, I found that my hand was caressing my clitoris to match his movements, and I could feel warm juices dribbling down my inner thigh. Heaven forbid, I was imagining it was me there on that bed, that it was me this gorgeous specimen was screwing the living daylights out of! I felt suddenly ashamed. Me, that nice farmer’s daughter from North Dalton! Then with one last mighty heave the Latin hunk plunged into Lorna for all he was worth and let out a loud war cry, his facial expression a study of agony and pleasure rolled into one. He collapsed on her back panting heavily, his torso soaked in sweat whilst Lorna rested her head against the sheets with a kind of dreamy smile. She looked like the cat the got that had got the cream. Or should that have been the cat that got creamed? I was by now very close to my own orgasm and simply had to keep going. I felt so sexy, I closed my eyes for a second and....
The next thing I knew a stark naked Lorna was dancing past me through the door on her way to the kitchen.
“Oh hello Claire,” she said brightly, “You okay?”
I could have died with embarrassment.

The next morning I sat in awkward silence as Lorna merrily ate her cornflakes. I presumed that her lover for the night had long since departed. When she had polished off her second round of toast she looked at me and smiled;
“Its nothing to be ashamed of you know.”
“What sorry?” I mumbled weakly.
Lorna poured herself some tea, “Watching other people. When I was about fourteen or fifteen I used to love it when my older sister brought boys home. I would watch them screwing in her bedroom while my parents sat downstairs having their dinner. Sometimes I hoped that she would get caught. I think I learned a lot from watching her.”
I noticed that Lorna took particular delight in that last remark.
“She didn’t mind?”
“Dunno. Not too sure if she was aware I was watching.”
I poured some tea of my own, “How long did you know I had been there?”
“Oh from the beginning.” she said matter of factly, “Why do you think I left the door ajar?”
I was speechless for a moment, “You mean...”
“Exactly. Living with me you’ll have to get used to seeing guys coming and going, so I thought it best to bring you up to speed straight off. Then if you don’t like it you don’t have to stay.”
“I see.”
Lorna could sense my embarrassment, but said nothing.
To fill the gap I said, “Will you see that guy again? The one you were with last night I mean?”
Lorna almost choked on her tea, as if it was the most absurd question anyone had ever asked her.
“Him? You must be joking. Don’t even know his name. Just someone I picked up at the Paramount. Good dancer though, great hip movement. That’s why I chose him”
“So it was a one night stand?”
Lorna looked at me with amusement, “Claire. Please.”
I was starting to feel very foolish but for some reason persisted, “Aren’t you worried, what people will think?”
Lorna shook her head. The air was now thick with my naiveté.
“Look Claire, get real. This is 2002. Girls do it all the time. And why? Because we can. And yes, one day I want to meet the man of my dreams and do all the luvvy duvvy stuff, be blown off my feet, marriage and kids and all the rest of it. Just not yet. While I’m young I want to have fun, and if that involves picking up random men and having sex with them, then so be it.” She glanced at her watch, “Oh God is that the time? We’ll be late for work.”

The next couple of days went by very uneventfully and Lorna and I didn’t have that much contact. During the week she tended to be very focused and often brought lots of work home with her, mostly specs of houses that were coming on the market or trade magazines where she had spotted a useful article. Wearing spectacles, she would sit in her pyjamas on the sofa pouring over this information for hours, imbedding it into her subconscious. It was easy to see why she was good at her job. She was also quite a healthy person all told; she rarely drank or smoked in the flat and ate sparingly. When her work was done she usually disappeared to the gym for an hour or two or went for a run in the local park. For my part I tried to follow her lead at work, but she was a tough act to match and it was all still a bit much for me. On the Thursday morning, she bounced over to me and announced that I be going on my first house tour with a client. I wouldn’t actually have to do anything, rather just watch and make mental notes. Experience really. Even though my role would be minimal, I was very excited and the hours till it was time to go wouldn’t pass quickly enough. Then come twelve we were ready to depart, and we left the office armed with various files and bits of paper about the house. As we made out way to one of the pool cars Lorna looked at me;
“Our client is rather famous by the way.”
“Really?” I said, “Who is it?”
“Jeff Wilson. Have you heard of him?”
I raised my eyebrows. Heard of him? Course I had heard of him! Jeff Wilson was one of England’s best soccer players in years and at that moment the darling of the tabloids. He had just returned to his native country after a highly successful four year stint at Spanish giants Real Madrid. North London side Arsenal had stolen the player from under the noses of Liverpool and Manchester United and signed him for an undisclosed fee in a blaze of publicity. At 29 he was in the form of his life and was hotly tipped to be England’s next captain. Unlike most footballers he was urbane, articulate and thoughtful and had numerous business interests outside the game. He was also different to most players in that he had actually written his own autobiography, a highly successful book which had lifted the lid on several issues including crooked sports agents and a highly publicised drugs scandal. He had divorced from his wife about a year previously and had since dated a string of glamorous girlfriends, including two TV presenters, a pop star and a Versace model. Robin, my little brother, idolised Jeff Wilson and his bedroom wall was plastered with posters and newspaper cuttings. I immediately thought of maybe asking the star for an autograph when we met - if the situation seemed appropriate of course. Robin would be so excited, and not a little jealous.
“That’s amazing.” I gushed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, “I’ve never met anybody famous before.”
Lorna shrugged, “Told you we deal with the great and the good. Its no big deal though. Every client is a good client, whether they’re Jeff Wilson or Joe Bloggs.”

After about a forty minute drive, we arrived at the house, a huge detached building in the middle of a very well heeled suburb of Richmond. Our client was already there when we arrived, waiting patiently in his BMW convertible. He stepped out of the car to greet us. He was even better looking in the flesh than on TV, around six foot, short brown hair, blue eyes, quite chiseled. Great skin and teeth too, the rewards of doing exercise for a living and being able to afford Harley Street dentists. He was dressed in what looked like a Saville Row suit, a very classic look and tailored to perfection. So much for the stereotypical meathead professional sportsman with no class.
“Hello Mr Wilson.” said Lorna, beaming her trademark Hollywood smile, “We spoke on the phone. This is my colleague Claire. She’ll be helping me show you round.”
“Hello.” said our client, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“And you.” I replied, deigning that this was not the time to mention autographs.
“Well,” said Lorna, consulting her file, “Shall we go inside?”
Jeff smiled and gestured us forward. “Ladies first.”

The house was like nothing I had ever seen. It was the height of luxury, how the other half live. Everything, from the door handle to the carpets, the stereo to the wallpaper were the very best. I worked out that I would probably have had to have worked for about twenty years before I could afford something like that. I was also very impressed with Lorna. She knew the spec of the house inside out and was always on hand to answer any questions our client had.
“What do you think so far?” said Lorna after we had visited several rooms.
Jeff continued to gaze round with a critical eye. He did not come across as one given over to speedy and ill thought out decisions. He nodded and turned to face us.
“Its pretty close to what I’m after. Certainly the best of all the properties I’ve seen so far.”
“That’s good news...” began Lorna.
“However....” he interrupted, “I’m not sure about the asking price. It’s about ten thousand more than I’m prepared to pay for something of this size and in this location. How negotiable are the owners?”
Lorna looked uneasy, “There has been a lot of interest. I’m not sure if they are accepting offers any more. Two buyers have been turned down already.”
“I see. Let’s finish the tour and then we can discuss things like that in more detail.”
With that he turned and walked away. Lorna shot me a concerned glance as our client disappeared through the door.
We moved into the dining room, an elegant affair adorned with an antique dresser and a magnificent 12 person dinner table. Then, as we were examining our surroundings, there was a noise, a mobile phone. Lorna and Jeff looked at each other with innocent expressions, and then in my direction.
“Er, its me.” I said, a rather sheepish look on my face. I retrieved the offending article from my bag. The name coming up was that of my former housemate Natalie. I cursed myself for having left the bloody thing on, very unprofessional given the circumstances. I glanced at Lorna for signs of disapproval. I pleased to see that she wasn’t at all pissed off we with me.
“I’ll get rid of them.” I mumbled.
“No, no.” said Lorna, “Take the call, it could be something important.”
“You sure?”
“Oh yeah. You don’t mind, do you Mr Wilson?”
Jeff shook his head, not seeming to give a damn either way.

I went outside and talked to Natalie for about ten minutes. Mostly inconsequential stuff about some gear I had left behind and what I still owed on the bills. When I had finished my conversation I went back inside the house to meet up with Lorna and Jeff again. I checked all the downstairs rooms but they were nowhere to be found. I wondered whether they had already left, but then I realised that that was impossible because Jeff’s and our car were still parked outside. In any case they wouldn’t do something like that and would have had to have walked right past me when leaving the house anyway.
“Lorna!” I called, peering up the stairway, “Where are you?”
There was no reply so I climbed the stairs. After a fruitless search of all the upstairs rooms I came down and sat in the lounge, completely mystified. I sat for a couple of minutes wondering what to do. I was getting rather worried and was just on the verge of calling the office when I noticed that the French windows were slightly ajar. Silly me. Lorna must be showing Jeff around the garden.
I pushed the doors open and went outside. The garden was very well kept with a wide expanse of lawn and some pretty flowerbeds and well pruned shrubs. The patio area was impressive, adorned with a collection of fine garden furniture and had one of those fancy barbecues built into the wall. I could still not see Lorna and Jeff anywhere so I made my way across the lawn towards the greenhouse at the bottom of the garden. There was a pleasant smell of spring petals in the air and a black and white cat darted out from behind a bush in front of me as I walked. The lawn seemed to go forever but eventually I reached the greenhouse. The door was open and I could hear faint noises from within. I was starting to put two and two together. Rather than go in, I made my way around the side and peered in through one of the glass panes.
Inside there was a long sturdy trestle table, presumably used for potting plants. Everything on it had been cleared away. Jeff was lying on the table, his shirt unbuttoned and his trousers around his ankles. Lorna was sitting astride the footballer caressing his chest, her back to me. She was naked except for her blouse which was also unbuttoned and flapping around her torso as she rocked up and down on top of our client, her bum cheeks jiggling energetically as she rode his prick. Her bra and panties hung from a nearby cheese plant like some bizarre set of Christmas decorations, though I noticed that her Prada suit had been neatly folded and placed out of harm’s way. The nation’s hero was reaching upwards to cup Lorna’s breasts as she gyrated above him, groaning loudly.
I turned away for a moment, and stared back at the house, completely astounded. This was ridiculous! The girl was an incorrigible nymphomaniac! All those years at a girls school had turned her into a deranged, sex obsessed man-eater! Here was I thinking that I might just pluck up courage to ask the country’s finest soccer player for an autograph for my ten year old brother, and here he was signing his name in Lorna’s pussy with his cock.! On a more serious note, I was outraged by my colleague’s total lack of professionalism in her desire to satisfy her own personal lusts and for a moment considered reporting the whole thing to our boss Mr Sanderson. After all, we were being paid to do a job and I’m sure he would not exactly endorse this kind of Behaviour. As before, that didn’t stop me looking back though, nor did it prevent me from sliding a hand inside my own blouse to caress my breast. The opposing forces of reason and libido were fighting a ferocious battle again and it was hard to say which was winning.
While I had been turned away Lorna had rotated herself through 360 degrees so that she was now in a reverse cowgirl position, still squatting above her lover but so her ass was facing him. Going “round the world” I believe they call it. She was completely naked now, for the blouse had been discarded and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She was moving faster and faster, and Jeff’s hands clutched her buttocks tightly as his prick flashed in and out of her dripping pussy with jackhammer speed. Like the true professional he was, I noticed he was wearing a condom, probably a very wise move for someone in his position, or anyone’s for that matter. Lorna was evidently enjoying herself and grinned with the same smug satisfaction of some rich school girl whose daddy had bought her that longed for pony. In fact, she was a rich school girl and daddy had probably bought her several ponies.
“Oh yes Jeff, you’re so good!” she crooned, running her hands over his muscular thighs, “Score with me, come on! Do it for England!”
By this stage, although I was completely focused on their frenetic coupling, I became wise to the uncomfortable awareness that I wasn’t the only one watching. The far end of the greenhouse backed onto another garden. One of the glass panes was missing and from the corner of my eye I could see two teenage boys in school uniforms, presumably on some bunk from class, peering at the show through the gap with open mouthed expressions. I supposed that they were learning more from watching this than any number of GCSE biology lessons or furtive go’s on their parents internet connection. I decided this was enough for me. The whole thing was turning into an absurd kind of freakshow and I wanted no more part of it. I stole quickly back across the lawn, the sound of ecstatic groans ringing in my ear.