Kinky(3)

Then, disastrously, he looks up, directly at us, and freezes in horror before opening a door and bellowing something out of it.

‘Shit!’

In my haste to back away, I fall on my behind on the pavement. The massive black door is opening, the security staff on their way out.

Tourist guy yanks me up by the elbow. ‘Come on,’ he urges, taking to his heels and running with me to the end of the street and into the council estate beyond, dodging around the blocks at breakneck speed. He has long legs and apparently superhuman stamina, and my heart is banging fit to explode from my chest by the time we hit the nearest pub and take refuge inside, me wheezing, him laughing.

‘What’s funny?’ I pant, sinking on to a banquette, staring at him.

He has a crazy laugh. He looks crazy all round. What the hell I’m doing in a pub with him after watching a live sex show I just don’t know.

‘This is funny! I am in London three hours and I love it already. Is it like this always?’

‘Not really.’ I regain some rhythm to my breathing. ‘Well, a bit, maybe. Shit, do you think they saw our faces? I work in the building opposite. I don’t want to be recognised.’

‘Don’t worry. What do you drink?’

‘I could murder a stiff vodka and tonic.’

‘Ah, vodka. I like you. Right, stay there, I buy.’

I watch him go to the bar. He has this swagger about him, and he obviously charms the pants off the barmaid, who giggles and blushes her way through the transaction. At one point he leans forwards to let her touch his moustache. What a tart. Why am I even in this pub with him? I should just go home, but I feel the need to deconstruct what just happened, and nobody else would understand, so I stay.

He comes back with two tumblers of vodka and one bottle of tonic, setting them down with a flourish. He seats himself opposite me and flashes me a crooked smile.

‘This is great,’ he says. ‘This morning I am in shitty apartment in Moscow and now I am in London pub with a nice girl. Thank you to my good luck.’

‘You’re Russian,’ I say, finding it a little odd that I’m making small talk with a man I just watched a kinky schoolroom scene alongside. Should we not maybe mention it?

He thrusts out an arm. ‘Dimitri,’ he says. He offers a hand to shake, or so I think. When I put mine in his, he raises it to his lips and kisses it. I am so undone by this that I forget to tell him my name until he prompts me.

‘Rosie,’ I tell him, somewhat reluctantly.

‘English Rosie,’ he says with a charming smile. When you look at him properly, he’s actually quite cute even if his style suggests his life is one long Glastonbury Festival. His eyes are an amazing steely blue and the moustache deflects attention away from cheekbones you could cut yourself on. Plus there’s something endearing about his enthusiasm and confidence. He has the air of a man who loves life and is determined to live it. That’s not so common in a city full of achingly self-conscious hipsters. It’s attractive.

I eye him over the rim of my vodka glass, wondering where the evening will go. It slipped out of my grasp long ago and now I feel that all I can do is let it take its own course.

‘So,’ I say, unable to avoid the topic any longer, ‘this is turning out to be quite an, er, interesting evening.’

‘Interesting, yes. I have questions. Many questions. First – what happens next?’

‘Next?’ I don’t quite understand what he means. ‘We drink our vodka?’

‘No, with those people. That man beats that girl. What are they doing now?’

‘I’ve no idea! I guess he repeats the experience with the other three.’

‘You don’t know? Don’t you watch them before?’

‘No! I’ve never seen it. It’s the first time they’ve left the blind up. That’s why I wanted to watch – because I wanted to know what was going on in there.’

‘Really? So it’s not because you are a pervert?’

I spill my vodka. ‘No!’

‘Hey, hey, calm, relax. I don’t want to insult you. I think you enjoyed the show, that’s all.’

My face flares into fiery heat. Was it that obvious? I can’t look at his sly grin, and I can’t think of an answer.

‘It’s OK,’ he says, after a few seconds of silence. ‘I enjoyed it too. Why not? It’s just a bit of sexy fun, right? Oh, now you are embarrassed. I don’t mean to embarrass you.’

One slender finger touches my cheek, brushing it tenderly. A high-voltage shot of desire streaks down to my groin. Fuck. I think I fancy this freak show of a dude.

‘This is just too weird,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t know what I think.’