Six Flavours of Sin Read Online Free Page B

green eyes, and is sunnier than margarine. We climb off the bike at Alan's new digs. A rambling house in Durbanville.
    I’m hauled straight to the homely kitchen to help Kristy with culinary preparations for the gang. Gary pisses off outside to smoke a joint with Alan. (Male bonding.) I hear a voice yell from beyond the open kitchen door, "Woman, be a doll and bring us a few cold ones!"
    Kristy looks at me, "Woman?"
    I laugh, "Yeah. It's my pet name." All that's missing is my leash.
    I do as I'm ordered. The men are watching the new puppies playing in the immaculate yard. Lording it up, doing nothing. As I walk back into the terra-cotta tiled kitchen, a full glass of chardonnay is pushed into my hand by a knowing Kristy. She makes me feel at home. She brings sanity back into my life. She giggles and gossips. Oh, and she's allowed to spend her own money.
    Lucky bitch .
    She breaks every rule, and puts on ‘Don't want no short-dicked man.’ Her favourite song, (Alan's age must have rubbed off on her.) She never stops telling me how amaaaazing Alan is in bed. The downfall of many a good woman is how good her man is in bed. Call us shallow. Or stupid .
    Gary walks in with towering Alan, and glowers at Kristy, "Who put this crap on?"
    Alan walks up behind her, giggling like a teenager. Dope can do that to you I hear. He starts fondling her cleavage and I watch her cheeks turn puce. " Alaaaan..." she objects shyly.
    Then we get blasted with more AC/DC. I can see why Kristy thinks Alan is hot. He is reminiscent of a younger Val Kilmer, but at least six-foot-five, with a very sexy mouth. (Have you ever seen a Michelle Pfeifer mouth on a man?)
    A happy Gary strolls back through the kitchen with the other sidekick. Charl has arrived: Creepy Charl, with his imaginary chin. His mouth just slopes off into his neck, it freaks me out.
    His cheekbones are non-existent which makes his face look like a fish, streamlined for swimming, it makes his eyes look freaky, and his nose too large for his face.
    And off they go for joint number two. I'm happy and while the day away with a vivacious Kristy. We end up sitting in the lounge on their burgundy leather couches, surrounding a very costly oriental carpet. They're into this stuff and can tell you about pile, the oils in the wool maintaining lustre and strength ... I zone out and suck on my smoke and drink my wine.
    I watch the three men walk past the lounge to the bedrooms, and wonder what the heck is going on. I stand up and walk, a tad unsteadily, over wooden floors to Alan's bedroom. Gary blocks the door, "Woman! Hey baby! You shouldn't be here. We're doing guy stuff."
    I like him in this mood. I wrap my arms around his waist and whisper, "I'm horny." It's true. Red wine turns me into a whore.
    This is one thing I don't like about Gary. He never believes a word you say. He has to check. He moves my waistcoat, and sure as atoms, they're standing to attention. He smiles and gives me a wink, "We'll go in a bit." He turns me and THWACK. "Off you go."
    Humiliated, I walk to the bathroom. I smell all of Kristy's perfumes and envy her budget. Then I sneak back out and peek through the tiny gap made by the bedroom door hinges. Alan is snorting cocaine. I fear that I'll get caught, so tiptoe back to the lounge, sit down with a very intoxicated Kristy, and light a smoke before downing my 2006 Simonsig Cabernet. I feel like crying.
    A very cheerful Gary swaggers into the room. I watch him advance, seductive to my hormones, in his black leather waistcoat and porcelain white shirt, exposing his strong, tanned, kissable neck. He flops down next to me, shamelessly ensconcing his hand between my legs. Kristy is way past the point of caring about decorum.
    (Why do parents pay for private schools anyway? If this bunch is any indication of money well invested.) Alan walks in with Charl, a bottle of shooters in each hand, "Let's drink."
    Coinage it is. Some games never get old. I never get any better at them