Tracy and her boss, Mr. Browne, are both sad to learn that their partner in sexual adventures, James, has been headhunted by a famous actress. Mr. Browne encourages Tracy to select James' replacement. Of course, she has to interview them all, bringing her own unique approach to the table—or bed, depending on your point of view. Katashi, a Japanese post-graduate student, is first on her list.
Over lunch on a rainy Sunday in London, the three of them agreed that the best place to be on a day like this was in bed. Together, of course.
Her boys—Tracy always thought of them as “her boys” even though James was too old to be her son, and Philip, while almost old enough to be her father, quite definitely didn’t occupy that space in her life—always enjoyed her traditional style of cooking. She’d roasted some herbed chicken pieces and vegetables, with an apple crumble and fresh whipped cream for dessert. Philip had asked James to fetch an excellent Californian Chablis from his extensive cellar.
After lunch, they’d retired to the library, Philip’s favorite room. It had a warm, relaxed yet masculine feel about it. Over-stuffed, brown leather lounge furniture provided comfortable seating. Wood paneling and an eclectic selection of tasteful, yet extremely explicit, sketches adorned the walls.
I’m in heaven, Tracy thought. Two wonderful men in my life, both delightful lovers. A comfortable home. All the sex I could possibly want or need.
To her right, James stretched out in a large, well-stuffed, leather armchair, nursing a cold lager. Although Tracy knew very well how he looked without any clothes at all, she never tired of admiring the way his broad shoulders strained the fabric of his plain, white shirt. His light gray trousers concealed a neatly rounded arse and a generously proportioned prick, which had brought her a great deal of pleasure in recent weeks.
His clean-shaven face was relaxed, but remote. Tracy wondered if something was worrying him. She didn’t like the idea of one of her boys being upset about something.
Philip had positioned his wheelchair so that he could talk to both of them. He held his snifter of cognac in one long-fingered hand. When Tracy drifted into sleep at night, she enjoyed remembering exactly what those hands could do to every part of her body. He might be in his sixties, he might dress in tweed and shades of brown and give every appearance of being a conservative, English gentleman, but from the tips of his handmade dress shoes to the ends of his brushed back, thick, gray hair, he was the most erotic man she’d ever met.
He was also her and James’, boss.
Tracy slipped off her heels and reclined on the sofa with her glass of white wine.
“Another excellent meal. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Browne.” Tracy sipped her wine.
Even more pleasure soon, I hope, she thought. But James is a lot quieter than normal.
He usually contributed more when they talked about sex. While spontaneity was a great deal of fun, talking about their sex first, planning who was going to do what to whom, could be very arousing, and usually they all enjoyed it.
Yet now a slightly strained silence had descended on the room, as depressing as the dreary clouds on the other side of the window.
James cleared his throat. “I have some news.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure how to tell you both.”
“Spill the beans, dear boy. Only way to do it,” Philip said.
“I’ve been offered another job.”
Another job? thought Tracy. How could it possibly be better than what the three of them had now?
“Do tell, dear boy.” Philip’s voice held a slight edge she’d never noticed before.
“I’ve been…approached.” James named a woman, an actor once famous on both sides of the Atlantic for her roles in film and television. She had started out as a Bond girl decades earlier, and although now in her late forties, she was still a very attractive woman. Tracy had read recently that she’d contracted a debilitating disease and had thought how sad it was.
“She heard about me through one of your friends, Philip,” continued James.
“She needs your help?” asked Philip.
“Yes, she does.”
“Then go to her, with my blessing.”
Few people knew better than Philip what it was like to have an active sex drive and an imagination to match and be unable to satisfy either. Many years before, he’d been involved in a car accident and lost the use of both legs. Tracy and James looked after far more than his house.
“Thank you.” James smiled, the relief apparent in his face. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Can we go to bed now?” asked Tracy. If James wasn’t going to be part of their household for much longer, she wanted as much of him as she could get before he left.