Dear Sir,

Thank you for enquiring whether I do my own stunts. The simple answer is no. They tell me jumping a puddle is safe, but what would they know? I could slip and damage my face, and then where would the world be?

Kind Regards,

 

 

I reach over and pull one of the boxes towards me. Lifting the flaps, I look in, and see it’s crammed full of envelopes. Upending the box, I watch as a cascade of envelopes and packets fall out, flooding over the masculine surface of the desk in all the colours of the rainbow like pastel sentinels of romance and love. For someone who Dylan said hasn’t been in the public eye for a while, he sure has a lot of fan mail if this is just one week’s supply.

Something falls out of one of the envelopes and rolls towards me. I pick it up, and immediately drop it with an exclamation of disgust. It’s a cock ring, glittering red in all its silicone glory. I lift my fingers up delicately and smell them, then sag in relief. I can’t smell anything other than the faint scent of Dove soap, so thankfully it doesn’t look as if it’s been used. Picking up a pencil, I prod it delicately. Then I reach over and grab the envelope it fell out of, and pull out the accompanying letter.

After reading it, I have to fan myself. It’s pure smut on every line, and vastly entertaining, because what the author lacks in brevity, he makes up for with filth. What he doesn’t want Asa to do to him would possibly fill half a postage stamp. I push the letter back into the envelope and reach for another.

An hour later, I have a neat pile of letters and envelopes, and a strong desire to take a bath in bleach. Situated neatly next to the letters is a huge pile of the accompanying new and unused sex toys and clean underwear. The used ones I jettisoned into the rubbish basket with the help of a pair of chopsticks I found somewhat incongruously in the stationery pot.

Using the chopsticks, I prod the sex aids. They range from cock rings to prostate massagers and plugs, and there’s even a pair of Ben Wa balls, but I had to Google their use, not being accustomed to women’s sex toys.

The letters are hugely entertaining with their content, but a little worrying by the complete absence of any proper punctuation. The sheer fact I’m noticing punctuation as if I’m grading them for an exam makes me feel very old, as does the fact the last time I wrote a fan letter, it was to Howard Donald from Take That, and I’m betting I remembered semi colons.

However, as I stare at the letters and ponder what to do with them, an idea evil in its simplicity occurs to me, and I laugh out loud. Pulling the Mac Book sitting on the desk closer towards me, I enter the password and begin to type, laughing as I do so.

A while later, I sit back in satisfaction and reach over to pick up the photo resting on the desk. It’s a picture of Asa and Billy, sitting bathed in sunshine. A pool sparkles in the background, but the close up shot captures the wide, gappy grin of the little boy, the contentment in Asa’s eyes, and the ease with which they lean against each other.

“Hello.” A small voice comes from the door, making me startle and nearly drop the photo. The real-life version of the picture is standing there, hopping diligently on one foot. He’s wearing a school uniform of grey shorts and a white polo shirt with some sort of emblem on it. His little, skinny legs end in grey socks and shiny black shoes.

“Hello,” I smile. “Do you remember me?”

He gives a gap-toothed grin. “You’re the one who guessed the password. No one’s ever done that before.”

“Have you been to school?”

Still hopping, he grins at me. “All day.”

“You’re lovely and brown. Have you been on holiday?”

“Yes, we went to our house in Mallorca, and before that we went to Bados.”

“Oh, do you mean Barbados? How lovely. I’d love to go all the way around the world, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” he replies matter of factly. “I might get lost.”

I burst out laughing, and he grins widely. “Peggy says, do you want to come to the kitchen and have some cake?” He pauses. “And tea, too.”

I get up. “I’d love some cake.” I pause. “And some tea, too.”

He giggles and comes forward to grab my hand. “Come on then,” he says, and tows me out of the study and down the corridor towards the kitchen.

When we come through the door, Peggy looks up from her position at the kettle and smiles.

“Have you had a productive few hours, Jude?”

“I have,” I say smiling wickedly, and she cackles.

“I don’t want to know. It obviously might get me into trouble.”

I smile as Billy pulls me towards the table. “Best not.”

“Billy found you then. I told him we couldn’t cut the cake until you were here.”

“Ah, that explains why he was so eager.” I grin at the little boy, who has climbed onto a chair and is watching me eagerly over a gorgeous looking Victoria Sandwich. Taking the knife, I smile at him. “Better get cutting then.”

He nods his head emphatically, and watches me with dark, sparkling eyes as I cut him a small slice and Peggy and I bigger ones.

Peggy settles down at the table with the teapot and pours some tea into two huge blue and white patterned mugs, before pushing the milk jug and sugar bowl towards me. She gives Billy a glass of milk, and looks at me. “So, are you a full-time model then, Jude?”

I nod, sighing inside as I wait for the obligatory exclamations of how brilliant the job must be and asking about famous people. Instead to my surprise she grimaces. “Rather you than me, love. Sounds like a lot of hard work to me. I don’t think I could go without my cake in the unlikely event Vogue comes asking.”

“You never know,” I smile, and she laughs.

“They’re more likely to ask the Queen to do Penthouse, love.”

I gape at her for a second, which is enough time for Billy to look hopefully at me. “Do you want your cake, Jude? If you don’t like it, don’t worry, because I’ll help you.”

I laugh at his earnest face. “That’s very good of you, Billy.” I look at his empty plate. “Did you finish that already?”

He smiles proudly. “Yes, it’s all in my massive tummy.” He pulls up his shirt and looks down at his tiny stomach and sighs despondently. “I look like I’m eight months gone.”

I choke on my cake and accidently inhale some crumbs, making me cough. Peggy gapes at him. “Where did you hear that?”

He grins up at her. “Megan said it, Peggy. What does it mean?”

Peggy shakes her head quickly. “Never mind.” She looks at me. “Megan was one of Asa’s girlfriends.” She frowns darkly. “One of many.”

“Many what?” Billy asks, running his fingers through the crumbs on his plate and sucking them off noisily.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” she says briskly. “Now, go and wash your hands, lovey, and is Miss Hampton around?”

He jumps down from his chair and gives her an affectionate hug. “She’s upstairs, Peggy.”

“Well, go and find her after you’ve washed your hands, and see what she wants for tea.”

He turns to go, and I’m astonished and touched when he jumps at me and hugs me for a second. “I’m glad you’re here, Jude,” he shouts exuberantly, before running off.

Peggy smiles after him warmly. “A bigger monkey I’ve never met.” Her smile darkens into a frown. “Unfortunately for the poor little bugger, he’s been saddled with the anti-Mary Poppins upstairs.”

I laugh. “Ah, the nanny. I met her the other day.”

“Had she removed the pole from up her backside, and did she happen to be using it as a broomstick?”

“She made me feel like a cross between a sex worker and a vagrant,” I say gloomily.

“Me too, but I liked it.” We break into giggles. I feel like I’ve met with a kindred spirit.

The phone rings at that point, and as she gets up to answer it, I look around curiously. The kitchen is lovely. It’s huge and light-filled as it looks out onto the garden. It has light oak cupboards and a gorgeous slate tiled floor, but the defining feature is the hundreds of tiny copper tiles which make the glassware sparkle.

However, what draws my attention are the photos everywhere. They fill one wall, and are three deep on a big corkboard. One in particular catches my eye and I get up to have a closer look. It’s Asa and a woman holding a baby, who I presume is Billy. The woman is utterly gorgeous with long dark hair, high cheekbones and slanting green eyes, but what stands out is Asa. His arm is flung around the woman and he’s laughing, his eyes half closed and his face full of a deep unbridled joy. I stare hard at him, and then jump as I hear Peggy’s voice behind me.

“That’s Eve, Billy’s mum,” she says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I wasn’t being nosy. It just caught my eye. She’s very beautiful.”

“Was,” she says sadly, and I open my mouth to perhaps ask another question, but shut it again as her face has closed off. Tearing my eyes away from Asa’s face, I turn to her.

“I think I’d better be getting on with some more work. Thank you for the cake.”

She smiles almost apologetically. “No problem, Jude. I make a fresh one every day. Dinner will be at six, and Asa’s on his way home now.”

I think of the pile of stuff on my desk. “Oh shit!” I say, and then still. “Sorry.”

She twinkles. “Not exactly the first time I’ve heard that. Not even today. Go on, off with you.”

I scoot back to the study and examine my pile of replies and smile before wandering over to the book shelves to have a look. I run my fingers lovingly over the book spines, stopping now and then to pull an old favourite off the shelf and examine it. He has eclectic taste and the shelves are stocked with biographies and historical tomes, along with romances, thrillers and poetry. He even has what look like valuable play scripts on a higher shelf, obviously out of the way of Billy.

My finger comes to a stop and I exclaim in delight as I pull out a copy of ‘Katherine’ by Anya Seton. The old historical romance absolutely captivated me when I was about twelve, and my dad, who shared my love of history, happily spent one summer with me driving all over the country, tracing the life of the mistress of John of Gaunt. We poked our noses into old country houses and examined every inch of Lincoln Cathedral.

It’s the old paperback copy version of the one I had, and I trace my fingers delicately over the pretty woman’s face, feeling a wave of melancholia sweep over me. So many happy memories. I become aware that I’m standing, staring into thin air, and shake my head impatiently then slide the book gently back into position.

The sudden sound of the front door opening makes me jerk. It won’t do my bimbo image any good to be caught looking at books, so I make haste to get back behind the desk. As I do, I hear the sound of running footsteps, and it doesn’t take the shout of Daddy, Daddy to know Asa has arrived.

I hear a sound as if bags have been dropped to the floor, then his deep voice. “Hey, mate. That’s a big hug. Did you have a good day at school?”

“I did. Guess what? I have a girlfriend.”

“Ooh, what’s her name?”

“Amanda, but Charlie was sad because he didn’t have a girlfriend, so we talked about it and we’re going to share mine.”

There’s a short pause. “Wow, Bill. I think that’s what premiership footballers do.”

I can’t help the laugh from breaking out of me at that. The footsteps draw nearer and he appears in the doorway with Bill wrapped around him like a little monkey. I draw in an unobtrusive breath because he looks so good. His eyes are twinkling and creased at the corners, and his tanned features are full of the light-hearted joy I sensed hints of the first time I met him. However, just like then, as soon as he sees me behind the desk, his face chills. It would be subtle in another person, but it’s unmistakable in someone who obviously has such a big personality.

It clears however, as Billy grabs his face, squishing and pulling it to look at him. “Jude’s staying here, Daddy. That’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“Lovely,” he says faintly through pursed lips, laughing as Billy hugs him. “Has Peggy made scones?” Asa asks him, and when the boy nods enthusiastically, he laughs. “Okay, let’s go and get some.”

“With Jude, Daddy?”

The slight hesitation solidifies my resolution, and I smile at him, making it seem careless and a bit vapid. I’m actually heavily channelling his stepbrother, but he’s not to know. “I’d love to, but no scones or tea for me. I have to watch my figure. I’ll have hot water and lemon instead.”

Billy looks slightly confused as he saw me eat a huge piece of cake earlier, but thankfully, he just kicks down from Asa’s arms, and runs off shouting for Peggy.

I smile at Asa again. “Sooo many calories in tea, Asa. Good grief, I’d have to do an hour on the treadmill if I drank too much of it.” I get nearer and whisper, “Far better to just have vodka. It’s a clear liquid.”

He rolls his eyes and walks off, entirely unaware I’ve only just got started.

Peggy is bustling about when we enter the room, obviously starting to make dinner, and the whole kitchen smells sumptuously of wine and garlic. I inhale deeply feeling my mouth water, and then make myself look tragic when Asa looks at me. God, I hope I’m not eating with him a lot, because I’ll end up with a lot of late night visits to McDonalds if I have to leave food on my plate to satisfy my image.

I take another sniff. The irony is that I love food, and I’m what Dylan classes as extremely irritating, because I can eat anything I want and not put on weight. I work at my body, don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t do my job without paying attention to how I look, but I’ve never been a lettuce leaf and ten hours at the gym type of man. Thankfully, my restlessness translates well to swimming and running, and I add a weights routine so I’m not too lean. I sniff again and Asa looks at me in query, so I make myself smile.

“Peggy, even the air has calories in here.”

She shoots me the same startled look as Billy gave me earlier, and Asa’s stare intensifies, before Billy grabs his attention by showing him a letter from school. When he’s not looking, I shoot a wink at Peggy, and as comprehension dawns, she gives a raucous chuckle. When Asa looks up in query, it’s to find both of us looking anywhere than at each other.

I settle down at the table and watch surreptitiously as he lopes over to Peggy and gives her a big hug. She ruffles his hair, and it doesn’t take the softness in their expressions to know this is a close relationship. Moving away, he settles down in a chair opposite me, and drags Billy onto his lap with a lot of squealing and tickling.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. His hair is swept up into a scruffy man bun today, and with his faded old jeans and simple navy jumper, he’d look like a college student if it wasn’t for the wrinkles around his eyes. Becoming aware of someone watching me, I look up and flush as I catch Peggy’s knowing look. Shaking my head at her chidingly, I drag the plate with the scones on it towards me. “Shall I do the honours if you’re busy, Peggy?”

Asa stills imperceptibly. Shit. If I was Dean I’d never think of someone being busy, because the whole world exists to make me happy. Instantly throwing on an earnest look, I say painstakingly, “It’s better that I give these to others who are less concerned with maintaining their figures.”

Peggy suppresses a smile by rubbing her lips, as I pointedly pass the plate with a loaded scone to Asa. “Enjoy,” I say, but just as he takes a mouthful of it, I add in a doom-laden tone, “Oh my goodness, there’s six hundred and seventy calories in that. Can you believe it?” I hesitate as if worried and then add earnestly, “Of course, if you didn’t take such ginormous bites it would be fewer calories.”

Peggy makes a choked sound and turns back to the stove. Asa shoots her a suspicious look, but it rapidly becomes glazed as I become the calorie whisperer, and enumerate every calorie in the kitchen. The only person interested is Billy, who leaps about the pantry, pulling out random boxes of food and asking me to tell him how many calories. I’m becoming glazed myself, as the whole subject has got to be the most boring thing I’ve ever discussed. The only reason I know so much in the first place, is because Dean once challenged me to do this in the kitchen at home, and every wrong answer I gave meant I had to suck him off. Even so I’m starting to make things up, and I’ll get found out soon, so I get to my feet.

Asa, who has given every appearance of a person who is asleep with his eyes open, comes to with a jerk.

“I’m going back to the study,” I say happily. “I’m rearranging the books by the colour of their spines. It gives the room a much artier vibe.” Asa chokes on his tea, and I smile sunnily. “See you later.”

I’m nearly at the door by the time he recovers. “Hang on,” he says slowly. “What about the work I gave you to do?”

“Done it,” I chirp. “All sorted.”

“Hmm, I think I need to see for myself.”

“Okay, if you must,” I say happily, hearing his footsteps behind me. We make it to the door of the study without incident, but just as we get there, I pause to manoeuvre around a pile of Batman figures that Billy’s left, and not seeing them, he walks straight into me. I give a startled ouf as I put my hand up to save myself from face planting with the wall. For a long moment I can feel his whole big body against me, and the incredible heat he gives off. I stand immobile, held static by the astonishing wave of desire spreading through me. I inhale slowly, trying to regain control, and take in the warm scent of amber and lavender which seems to cling to him. I move to stand back and then still as I feel the unmistakable length of a rock-hard erection pressing against me. I suppress a groan, because I now know the shadows in that picture didn’t lie. He does have both heft and girth.

Then, in the next instant I feel cold air, as he jumps back like a startled cat. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t know you were going to stop.”

“No -” I stop and clear my throat. “No need to apologise.”

We walk silently into the study, and by the time he’s seated, the customary challenging and slightly disappointed expression he usually has with me has returned to his face. He sits back, the soft leather creaking cosily, and looks at the neat piles of letters and sex toys. For a second, his lip twitches, before he returns to his imperturbable self. He pokes one long finger at the pile of letters I typed earlier. “What are these?”

“Replies to your letters,” I say brightly. “I thought it only best that you acknowledge receipt of the items. They are your fans,” I say piously. “They deserve recognition.”

He looks dubiously at the brightly coloured objects, before saying recognition, dubiously. Then he gives a firm nod. “You’re right.”

“I am?” I’m not even faking the surprise on my face at the moment.

“Yes,” he nods. “I shouldn’t ignore letters like these, no matter how deeply perverted some of them are.”

I roll my eyes. “Deeply.” I pause. “I kept the toys, as you see. None of this pile appear to have been used.” I look him up and down vaguely. “Just in case you’re caught short.”

Caught short he mouths, and then shakes himself like a big dog. He looks at me challengingly. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I lean back in my chair, occupying myself by looking along the shelves while he pulls the first reply towards him. I have time to spot four more books I want to read before I see him stiffen out of the corner of my eye, and I smile inwardly.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is this?” he mutters, then drags another letter towards him, and then another, until he has paper spread everywhere and a death threatening stare levelled at me.

I make myself smile sunnily. “Everything okay?”

He stares at me, something working behind his eyes. “I don’t know, Jude. These are very -” He hesitates, “unusual replies. Let’s see if I can find the ones that really caught my attention.” He pulls one towards him and reads aloud. “Dear Sir. Thank you so much for your kind letter and the attached cock ring. Unfortunately, I will be unable to wear the said item as the hole is far too big for my tiny penis. If you wish to purchase anything like this again, it may be worth asking the distributor whether they do sex aids in much smaller sizes. I am attaching a signed photograph, and send it with my best wishes.” He looks up. “It’s signed yours sincerely, which -” He trails off, obviously speechless.

Inside, I’m hugging myself with glee. Outwardly, I look confused and a little impatient.

Looking at me, he shakes his head and pulls another one towards him. “And then there’s this one. Dear Sir. I found your description of what you wanted to do to my body highly erotic, but also a little distressing. Please don’t worry that your words upset me. No, it is more to do with the fact that I suffer from premature ejaculation, and would be unable to get through your laundry list of activities without embarrassing myself within the first two minutes.” His voice trembles on this part, then firms as he carries on reading. “I beg you to look elsewhere for more virile men than me, and wish you luck in your endeavours. I am attaching a signed photograph, and send it with my best wishes.”

I have a giant laugh threatening to come out, but I manfully suppress it as he drags another letter over. “Finally, we have your lovely letter to this lady. Dear Madam. How very kind of you to enclose a prostate massager. Unfortunately, I will be unable to use it because my mistress, aka mummy, will not allow it, and my gimp suit doesn’t allow a great deal of unrestricted movement, anyway. I am attaching a signed photograph, and send it with my best wishes.”

He throws them down on the desk, and I look at him, smiling winsomely. “She really did sound like a nice lady, and she managed to spell your name properly which a lot of people didn’t.”

There’s a short, stunned silence, and then to my amazement, he throws his head back and starts to laugh. It’s a big booming laugh, rich and wonderful, and I gape at him as it carries on, until finally it peters out and he’s left rubbing tears from his eyes and chuckling. Finally, silence dawns and he sits back, a smile still playing across his lips.

“Jude, I want to thank you for the biggest laugh I’ve had in ages.” He looks at the letters and starts to laugh again, but then manfully stops himself. I smile widely at him and he seems caught on my face, examining me as if I’m an exhibit in a museum. The silence stretches and lengthens too far and yet not far enough, as he runs his gaze over my eyes and lips and I feel as if they’re his lips, trailing heat and desire.

Then Billy shouts Daddy enquiringly and runs into the study, and the moment dies away, leaving only a faint sizzle in the air. Unobtrusively, I rub my hands down my jeans, drying the damp palms. Then I count down from twenty and think about Angela Merkel, who’s my go to in stopping an erection. Don’t judge me. You need these methods if you model underwear.

“Hey mate,” Asa smiles.

“Daddy, I want to tell you -” He stops suddenly, and I realise with horror that the pile of sex toys on the desk has caught his attention. It’s not a surprise, as the manufacturers persist in making them in shiny, sparkly primary colours. “Oh, Daddy,” he says in awed delight. “Is that a magic wand?”

Asa’s slow on the uptake, but when he follows Billy’s gaze to the prostate massager, he jerks. “Don’t touch it,” he shouts, and goes to grab it as Billy is reaching out. Unfortunately, instead, he knocks the massager to the floor, and even more unfortunately, it’s enough to activate the switch because it starts to vibrate madly.

Silence falls for a brief, precious second as we watch the sex toy jiggle and bounce on the carpet, until finally I reach down and turn the switch off. Then Billy stirs. “Oh Daddy, it shakes about. Pleeassse can I have it?”

“No,” Asa snaps at quite a high decibel, looking slightly panicked.

Billy looks at him in wounded puzzlement. “There’s no need to shout, Daddy.”

“Sorry, Billy,” he mutters, and its oddly charming to see a six foot five giant cowed by a three and a half foot, five-year-old. “You can’t have it because -” He falters. “Because … because …”

I take pity on him. It’s too painful otherwise. “It’s a wand for adults,” I interject, thinking hard. “Because we can’t have real ones.” I’m gathering steam now, right or wrong. I look at Asa for a contribution, but it’s obvious he has nothing. “We can’t have real ones because we might hurt our wrists when we shake them, so we have ones that vibrate for us.” The last bit is faltering, but goddam it at least I stepped up. I cast an impotent glare at Asa, who incredibly looks like he might want to laugh really hard.

“Okay,” Bill immediately says sunnily. “Can I have one of them when I grow up?”

“If you’re a good boy,” Asa says briskly, and lifts him up, holding him upside down and at arm’s length, distracting him by tickling him.

Under cover of the noise I say, “Only good boys get them?”

He stares at me, looking very much like he either wants to punch me or kiss me. I’m not sure which, to be honest, and the moment vanishes. Putting Billy down when he begs him, he looks towards the little boy as he runs out of the library. Then he shakes his head.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he finally says slowly. “So far today, you’ve offended some core members of my fan club, enlightened me on the calorific content of every morsel of food in my house, and introduced my son to a prostate massager. I don’t know whether I’m looking forward to or dreading what you’ll come up with next.”

Dread it, I think evilly as I watch him leave the library, and in my head my soundtrack is a villain’s laugh.