New Balls Please (Ball Games #3) Page 3

  I finish the liqueur coffee. It went down a treat. I feel all zingy inside.

  In the shop, I buy a pair of cropped black leggings that show off my calves, one of my best features, and a tight tee. My boobs and ass look amazing and I thank the Lord for my gym membership. I sweep my hair up with my hand to imagine it in a ponytail. Yep looking good, Ms Evans, looking good. I pretend to swish a tennis racket and slap the changing room wall by accident. ‘Fuck.’ It’s made of plywood and the whole thing shakes and rattles.

  'Erm, are you okay in there?' the assistant asks.

  'Fine. I'll be out in just a moment.' I reply, shaking out my hand. For heaven's sake, Dora, don't destroy the shop. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough already.

  Back at the villa, I unpack my shopping and sit on the small sofa which looks out over a patio. In the distance is a pond. Geese and ducks waddle right up to the glass door and at one point a squirrel sits on the table. It’s hard to believe this place is only an hour from the bustle and pollution of the city. Placing a call to book into the evening spa, which starts at five pm, I grab my Kindle and relax and read for an hour.

  After making a sandwich for lunch and enjoying another cuppa, I decide that I need to let my food digest and then get out for the walk. I've had a read so what shall I do now? I head into the bedroom and search through my case to see what I actually packed in my rush to leave. There must be something I can do. Did I bring my colouring book? I spy the cellophane-wrapped packet and pick it up. I remove the wrapping as if the contents will bite.

  I purchased this set of Ben Wa balls about three years ago. Do you know what they are? Basically, it's a string with a couple of balls on it that fit inside your vagina. I was intrigued by that scene in the Fifty Shades book and walked into the sexy store in Meadowhall and bought them. Then feeling foolish, I'd thrown them at the back of the wardrobe and that's where they’d stayed.

  Until now.

  I stare at the plastic packet. Inside are two plastic pink and white balls on a string. They are attached to each other by a thin piece of the plastic or latex or whatever it is. There are instructions for use on an enclosed leaflet, but what exactly are they supposed to do?

  Fingers crossed that I can get Wi-Fi access, I place the packet on the bed, get my phone and search Google.

  Okay. So for a start they can help control urinary incontinence, so if I get no other satisfaction from them, I might manage to wear a pair of pants without the liner that catches the trickle of piss leaking out of my body on occasion. Bloody children, destroying my vag.

  You can keep them in all day. Gosh.

  It helps to tighten up your vaginal muscles so you can have stronger orgasms. Hell yeah, that would be nice.

  Some people say they do nothing. That it's as exciting as a tampon. Oh dear, that would be disappointing.

  Don't use the proper Ben Wa balls first. They're tiny and hard to keep in. That's okay, mine seem like the beginner's version. They're larger and have the string. How the fucking hell do people keep those marble sized ones with no string inside? They must fuck pencil dicks for practice, or pencils. I shudder.

  Now, what do you do with them when they're in?

  I read on.

  Sit in a rocking chair. What? Yes, we've all got one of those handy. Who's using these balls? Grandmothers while they're knitting or telling stories?

  Tug of War. Hold them in with your vaginal muscles and then try to pull them out. I cross my legs as tightly as I can. My poor vagina. What do they want me to do to you?

  Practice by keeping them in for ten minutes a day. That seems manageable.

  Go for a walk. Oh...

  I open the packet and extract the balls. On the packaging, mine are described as Luv Balls. They are pink with a white pattern and resemble two lots of swimming goggles stuck together and packed to resemble boiled eggs. The instructions say to wash them first, so I head to the sink and douse them with a liberal amount of fairy liquid. I can't get out of my mind that I don't know how these got into the packet. It may have been via machinery, or it could have been a worker, therefore, they aren't going anywhere near my private parts until the stranger’s DNA is wiped off of them. I dry them off and hold them in my hand. This is too weird for words. At least a vibrator is supposed to resemble a knob. Here I'm basically going to fuck hard-boiled eggs.

  I head back to the bedroom part of the villa, get under the duvet and read a few pages of a dirty book to get me in the mood. The instructions said to use lube, but I wasn't expecting to need it on my minibreak so I don't have any. I need my natural juices to assist. Placing the Kindle to my side, I raise my knees and drop them apart, trying and failing to stop the image of a smear test from entering my mind. Holding the looped string at the end so I can't lose them, I try to push the first ball in. Vagina says no. I'm clamped shut like an uncracked pistachio shell. The egg is going nowhere.

  Oh, vag, it’s not as wide as Tim's dick so what's your problem?

  The problem is my vagina does not want a boiled egg in it.

  I tell my mind that once this is inside the eggs will bounce together and I'll have a great time. After a few minutes, I relax enough to get the first one in. Carry on, woman. The second is half way there. I stop. I have half an egg still outside. I've become a chicken.

  One final, deep relaxing breath and they’re in. I sigh with relief. The little-looped string is outside, so it’s rather like having a weird shaped tampon inside. Slowly, I stand up so I can feel them bounce together. There's no sensation, other than it feeling like I have an oversized tampon inserted. Motion. I need motion.

  I look around the villa and spot the vacuum cleaner. Maybe they'll move around if I do a spot of cleaning? Ten minutes later, the floors are pristine but my vagina is still asleep. It said to take them out after ten minutes but no chance. After all the effort to get them in there, I’m not giving up yet. I can't be doing it right. It’s time for the walk.

  One thing I am nervous about as I begin my walk around the village is the hope that my vagina is clamped around the balls and string and I'm not going to birth the eggs on my woodland walk. I can imagine having to explain to a child that they are the pretty egg shells of a Big Tit, the big tit being me for trying to walk around with them in, as they depart my vagina and roll onto the floor.

  Still there is nothing but the vaguest sensation of them smacking together. I recall one of the Google articles which said they can always be used as a cat toy and wonder if our Camille's Bob would get more use out of them than I am.

  The smell of the pancake house I stroll past is gorgeous. I’m about to head inside when I spot the manmade beach area and see the kids swings. There's a spare one. Shall I give it a go? It's the nearest I'll get to a rocking chair.

  As I make my way over to the spare swing, I can see other parents eyeball me. A few stand next to their swinging children. Why can't I go on one? Where does it say it’s only a children's play area? Oh, over there near the path. Oh, well, it’s only going to be a minute before I find out the balls are no use whatsoever. I smile at a parent next to me.

  'It's years since I went on a swing.'

  The woman awards me a polite smile.

  I take a seat and use my feet to start the motion. As is usual when I’m nervous, I start to talk bollocks to the stranger next to me.

  'My daughter's twenty-one so I guess it'll be about twelve years since I went on a swing. They should open playgrounds for grown-ups, shouldn't they?'

  The woman nods and looks around, then at her child. 'Come on, Harriet. Let's get those pancakes now.'

  I'm left on the swings by myself.

  I use my feet to launch myself, pick up motion and smack. The balls come together with more force, kissing each other like balls on a snooker table.

  Oh, my.

  Another parent comes over with her two children and the kids fight over who is having the free swing. The mother looks at me, her glare clearly indicating that as a grown up, I should get off the
other fucking swing.

  She hasn't got a prayer.

  I kick my feet on the ground, swinging faster and faster. My smile gets bigger as the rocking does its work. 'Swings are so much fun,' I shout at the angry mother whose lips pucker even tighter.

  'Wheeeeeeee.'

  My face is flushing but as excited as I’m getting, I'm still in a children's playground. I jump off the swing with a playful bounce my interior finds delightful and skip the whole way back to my villa. My crescendo reaches as I walk through the doorway and collapse on the sofa. Wave after wave of pleasure passes through my body.

  I sigh in bliss and keep my eyes closed for a few short moments. As nice as it was, it was far too much effort and I won't be inserting a Ben Wa ball or Luv Egg ever again. As I open my eyes with the intention of going to the loo to extract the balls and clean myself up, I come eye to eye with a duck outside the patio doorway.

  Can ducks have knowing stares? Feeling embarrassed, I make my way to the loo.

  Chapter Five

  Camille

  I gaze around my busy play centre Kid Zone and find it hard to believe that next month it will have been open for a whole year. Not a bad achievement for a twenty-one-year-old. A week on Friday, I'm twenty-two. I wanted to go out for a meal with my boyfriend Dylan and the family, but I'm not sure what will happen now, parent wise. Dad still won't budge and texted me this morning to say he's called the bank and shut down Mum's credit and debit card. They’ve always been close and now it's like parents at war. Don't get me wrong, they've quarrelled like any couple does, but this… it seems serious this time. My mum may have gone too far.

  After lunch, my friend Beth comes through the doors of the play centre. Her cute curly haired son beams at me.

  'Hey, Trey. Hot chocolate?'

  'Yes, pease.'

  Now he's three, Trey spends his mornings at nursery, meaning that Beth has had time to devote to her new online business selling children's chocolate bars. It's taking off and is a job that works perfectly around having kids.

  She puts her bags down on one of the tables and hands me a white carrier bag full of chocolate bars. Of course, I stock her chocolates here. The bars shaped as teddies, hearts, and footballs, sell fabulously. After yet another argument about me paying her (she doesn't think I should because she gets to use the centre for free), I shove the money into her bag and tell her to shut up. She loses the argument every week when I say ‘but the money isn't for you, it's for Trey.’ She can't argue with that.

  I bring a coffee over to her table and seat myself on one of the other chairs.

  'How are you then? Good weekend?'

  'Yeah. I took Trey to Clifton Park and he had a go on a few rides. It was nice. You?'

  'My mum absconded to Center Parcs and my dad refuses to fetch her home.'

  Beth almost spits out a mouthful of coffee. 'What?'

  I fill her in on the details.

  'So, any ideas on how to sort the parentals?'

  Beth raises her eyebrows. 'Yeah, cos I'm wonderful at relationships, aren't I? I can see why you'd think I'd be able to help.'

  I stick my tongue out at her. 'You've got parents haven't you? What would you do if it was yours?'

  'My parents are dull. They go to work, then sit at home and watch TV all night. They kid-sit Trey every Friday night. It's all a boring routine.'

  'Safe though.' I sigh. 'Whatever’s going on in my mum's mind, I don't know.'

  'Have you called her?'

  'No. My dad has but apparently she's not answering.'

  'Well, try her phone now.'

  I chew on my lip for a bit. 'Okay.'

  While I press the keypad to connect to my mum's phone, Beth grabs a local newspaper from further up the table.

  'What?' My mum's tantrum voice echoes down the line.

  'Mum. At last. Dad's been trying to phone, but the connections been off or you haven't answered.'

  'Well, I thought you could all see what it would be like without me, seeing as none of you were bothered when I was actually at home.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'Thursday night? No phone calls from my children to see how I am. It hurt, Camille.'

  'We did ring you. Dad put your phone on quiet so you could sleep. He knew you'd been up all night coughing. He just forgot to tell you.'

  There’s a pause. 'God, that man is stupid.'

  I feel tension in my jaw. 'That man was looking out for you, to make sure you got the sleep you needed.'

  There's another pause. 'So is he going to call me then?'

  Now there's a pause on my end.

  'Well?'

  'Err, no, Mum. He's offended that you've left him and spent the holiday savings.'

  'Oh.'

  'He's also called the bank and stopped your credit and debit cards.'

  'He's done what?'

  I have to hold the phone away from my ear because the shouting is so loud.

  'That complete and utter bastard. After all I've done for him? Right, well I'm staying here for the rest of the week. I've got to go, Camille, my new friend has just come out of the changing room. If you see your father tell him if he doesn't reinstate my cards, I will never give him oral again.'

  'Lalalalalalalalala. Mum, I am not going to say that to him. Oh my God, that's so inappropriate. You've scarred me for life.'

  'How are you anyway? You and Dylan okay?'

  'Great, Mum, thanks.'

  'Only I can highly recommend love eggs. They take a bit of getting used to—'

  I need bleach for my ears. 'I've got to go, Mum. I'm glad you're okay. Please ring Dad and sort out this nonsense.'

  'Sorry, Cam, but no. The ball is in your dad's court.'

  The line disconnects.

  Beth looks up from her paper. 'That went well then?'

  'Yup. All I am after that call is psychologically disturbed. She recommends love eggs if you’re interested.'

  Beth bursts out laughing. 'Oh my God, your mother. Actually, I might have to buy some, seeing as I'm not getting any.'

  I scan the page of the newspaper Beth has open.

  Golf lessons at Rother Valley Country Park.

  'Hey. Are you thinking of getting Trey lessons?'

  'Wh-what? No. I was just looking.'

  I drag the paper over. 'Gosh, I remember your dad taking you to golf matches when you were younger.'

  'Yes. If only I'd been the son he really wanted. I used to enjoy it. Quality time with my dad. University and Trey put a stop to all that, though.'

  'You ought to go again. Your mum would sit, wouldn't she? Your dad might like to get out of the house.'

  'I doubt it. I think his arse is stuck to the sofa. That's part of my past now. I'm not interested anymore. Trey is my focus.'

  'These lessons aren't that expensive, though. Can Auntie Cam pay for him to go?' I stare at the picture of the Instructor, Leo Coleman. Dark chocolate skin, shaved hair, muscles on muscles. 'Fuck me. I think I'll have lessons.'

  Beth pushes the paper away. 'I'm sure Dylan would have an opinion on that. Thank you for the offer of lessons for Trey but I have enough to juggle each week as it is, without trips to Rother Valley.'

  'Fair enough.'

  I glance at my friend and think about everything she has to do. All the responsibilities she has as a single mum. There's been no significant other and while I understand her reluctance, with Trey's dad being a total loser bastard, it’s a shame she can't have some hot loving to make her days sweeter.

  Beth tilts her head at me. 'I'm off to play with Trey in the ball pool… you're giving me that look.'

  'What look?'

  'The everything can be solved by the love of a good man look. I'm glad you're loved up with Dylan, but seriously, I'm okay as I am. Go greet your customers and give them your lovesick face instead, it's making me want to bring my coffee back up.'

  I blow her a kiss.

  Though I’m busy with work, my mind constantly drifts off to wonder what my mum
is doing at Center Parcs. I don't like to think of her there by herself with limited cash. I'd sub her some money but I think it's better she runs out and has to come home. She’s so stubborn. I wonder how much money she has on her? Knowing my mum, she'll be reading a survival guide and working out what to go forage in the woodland. It'll be pigeon pie for tea.

  My phone beeps. It's Dylan.

  My dick is a heat-seeking missile. Expected time of entry to Planet Camille?

  I text back.

  I'll be home for seven. Prepare for launch.

  Chapter Six

  Tim

  Going to sleep in an empty bed and then waking up alone the next morning isn't a strange thing for me. I've always let Dora go off on minibreaks with her sister, Miranda, and so for one or two nights it's quite normal. Usually, I'd ask our Tyler if he wants to go down the pub for a game of snooker and a few pints. This time, though, I'm in the house alone, Ty having moved out a couple of months ago. I painted the kids’ rooms after they'd left as directed by Dora and now they are both spare rooms. She wanted them that way in case Cam or Ty stayed over. Something they've never done and are never likely to do.

  The alarm goes off on this Monday morning and I sigh as I consider having to throw off the duvet when I’m comfortable and warm. I wonder what Dora will be doing while I earn. Bloody enjoying herself with our savings, earned by myself as the full-timer. Do you know what? Fuck it. I'm not going. I switch the alarm forward to eight-thirty and fall back to sleep.

  When the alarm goes off, I call work and tell them I've got Dora's virus and can't make it in. After a period of thinking, ranging from anger towards my common-law wife and daydreaming of a bachelor pad, I finally get up, get some breakfast and then set to work. I get the loft ladders down because while the cats away...

  By early afternoon, I’m admiring my old hi-fi equipment, my record player and vinyl that had been consigned to gather dust in the eaves by Dora. They are out of their boxes and in the second bedroom. This room is on the no-neighbours side of our semi-detached and is now my music room. There's no wife to stop me and I'm making this my own. I remove the vases and other ornaments from the shelves and get out my screwdrivers. A few adjustments and the shelves fit my vinyl on them. A fitting use, rather than a place for the shit Dora buys. I appraise the room and nod my head. There are going to be some changes around here. I stick the ornaments in one of the dusty old boxes and place it in the other spare room. She can have that one. This room is mine. It’s my money that pays most of the bills around here anyway.