The Exhibitionists by Michel Faber

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The Exhibitionists by Michel Faber

The Exhibitionists He needed this; God, how he needed this. It had been almost a whole year since the day Julie came home unexpectedly while he was having sex with Katie. For about thirty seconds on that histrionic afternoon, he’d entertained the fantasy of being like Picasso, who (according to a biography he’d once read) would stand back in macho amusement while two jealous women rolled around on the floor fighting over him. Instead, Julie and Katie had both dumped him, and one of them (he would love to know which of the bitches it was) had stolen his phone and contacted all the numbers stored in it, telling everyone that he was scum. Even his bank manager, sister and mother got messages warning them never to fuck him. Since then, he seemed to have lost the seduction knack. Every woman he tried to chat up said she could smell that he only wanted her for sex. He didn’t know whether they meant ‘smell’ literally or metaphorically but, just in case, he washed frequently and used heavy-duty deodorant. He dressed in style, and was still exceptionally handsome. He had a high-paying job as a Human Resources Manager, was well-read and interested in culture. Really, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to persuade some posh babe to take her knickers off for him, other than that he was a creep. Then finally he met... what was her name again? He would remember it in a minute. Something foreign, like her facial features and accent. But here she was, sitting opposite him in the Royal College of Art café, and he could tell that she was up for it. She’d chosen the red sofa, to match her low-cut red dress. Her nipples were perched on the neckline, poised to jump out. She had about twenty kilos of immaculately tousled black hair, which must surely have been augmented with hair extensions but looked bewitchingly natural. ‘Your hair is amazing,’ he said. She ran her red-nailed hand through it, hard. Holy mackerel, it wasn’t a wig! What a voluptuous mane! ‘Do you wish to touch it?’ she said.

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