The bell rings. You open the door and bring in the guests.
        Jake is tall and skinny. His clothes are badly ironed and his jeans hang down to his knees in the Hip Hop fashion not even males twenty years his junior manage to pull off.
        Cecile`s top is too tight, her skirt too short and her make-up too bright. Her hair looks as if she cuts it herself.
        “Remember,” you whisper in my ear. “They are nothing but props.”
        Dinner is future talk. Cecile`s ex was poor and Jake`s divorce left him skint but with the money you paid for his company they will be able to settle their debts, buy a house big enough to move in together and send Cecile’s children to decent schools.
        “He is adorable with the boys,” Cecile giggles.
        You don’t elaborate on your future plans for your purchase. Presumably fix it and sell it for ten times the current price.
        “Dessert anyone?” I ask.
        “For dessert you gals need to get undressed,” you say.
        “Yeah right.“
        I laugh but nobody joins in.
        Jake nods at Cecile. She gets up, unbuttons her blouse and drops her skirt. She doesn’t wear anything underneath. Her tummy is flabby and soft. Her breasts are tired and empty. Three kids have left their marks.
        Jake pushes a gag into her mouth and hands you a flogger with a “help yourself” gesture.
        “Position,” he says and Cecile bends over your burgundy Chesterfield.
        You flog her slow and hard. You hit her shoulders, her thighs and her ass.
        When you lift your arm your shirt stretches around your upper body and your butt makes a heart shaped imprint against your trousers.
        Cecile holds on to the backrest of the sofa. Her fingers cramp into the leather and her jaws tighten. Other than that, she doesn’t move. When her skin turns into strawberry puree she starts to cry. On her face is an expression of gratitude that puzzles me.
        You stop flogging her and touch her face.
        Then you step close to me. Your fingers brush against my lips.
        “Taste her tears,” you say. “Taste how happy they are.”
        I lean against your chest and run my hand through your hair. Not one is out of place. You wait until I lick Cecile’s tears off your fingers. Then you push me away.
        “Get the hell out of your clothes.”
        I obey. My tummy has never held a child and my breasts are firm. You don`t waste a look on them, you are too busy watching Jake release Cecile of her gag.
        “You may thank Andy now,” he says.
        She kneels down in front of you, unzips your trousers and slobbers over you like a puppy over a bone.
        “She`s got a great mouth,” you say and wink at Jake, returning his “help yourself” gesture.
        Jake touches my breasts. His hands are bony and cold. He pinches my nipples until I wince. I give him an angry look. He shrugs and glances at you. I give you an angry look. You ignore it.
        Jake pushes me down on the floor. He smells of unwashed underwear. There are stains of red wine on his trousers and his piss-colored belt is frayed around the edges. I chew him like an unwanted bubble gum and think of the sweet rock candy between your legs.
        I feel you move behind me. I let go of Jake and turn around to see you drag Cecile towards the bedroom.         Jake and I follow. It is impossible to say who is pulling whom.
        Cecile is lying on your bed. You spread her cellulite heavy legs. Standing in the door I can look straight up her shiny hole, framed by lumps of red, wrinkly skin. A damp, sour smelling tunnel of fertility. You close it with one easy thrust.
        Jake heaves me onto the bed next to Cecile. After some fumbling he squeezes inside me.
        Cecile reaches for Jake’s hand. She looks at him while you fuck her. He looks at her while he fucks me. I look at you and search your eyes for a shadow of what I see in their eyes. You look at the empty space three inches above the head of the woman you fuck because she belongs to somebody else.
        I try to remember that our guests are nothing but props but instead I remember the gratitude on Cecile`s face that puzzled me before.
        I understand it now.
        I would be grateful too if you only smashed my body to pieces.
        I would be gratful if you inflicted wounds that can heal.
        I touch my wet cheeks.
        “My tears will never taste like hers,” I say but you don`t hear.