One Thing Can Lead To Another

Short Story

From under a spotlight, it's quite difficult to make out anything beyond the glare.  You can hear the audience - their murmuring and hopefully their laughter - but you can't really see them.  So during my third gig, I had no idea that one of the attendees was arguably the most beautiful woman in Britain.  (For all I knew, she could've been a burly bricklayer with no teeth.)

I couldn't miss her afterwards though because the whole comedy club turned in unison to watch her glide elegantly between the tables.  I assumed she was aiming for the toilets but, incredibly, her target turned out to be yours truly.

She stopped in front of me, tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her left ear, then shot me a dazzling smile.  I thought I'd coped fairly well under the spotlights, but caught in these headlights, I was helpless.

A year later, I still think about that pivotal day, and what I might've done differently.  In hindsight, my meeting with the heavenly stranger was actually the second key moment.  The first was when I was leaving the house earlier that afternoon.

*

Grabbing my wallet and keys from the hall table, I gave my partner a perfunctory kiss and said,

'Not sure when I'll be back, love.  Don't wait up.'

Sarah hugged me in return but then hesitated, as if she were choosing her words more carefully than normal.

'Good luck!' she said, eventually.

It was hardly worth the wait, but then she added,  

'And watch out for any adoring young fans.  Remember... one thing can lead to another.'

One thing can lead to another.  It's a curious phrase.  The obvious meaning, of course, is that there are two things, and the first thing can lead to, or cause, the second thing.  But the subtle part is that it's recursive.  So the second thing could lead to a third thing, and so on, until there's a long chain of things, with each thing leading to the next.  Then at the end of the chain... full sex.  That's the obscure part that you just have to guess at.

Now if you find yourself on the chain of things while also being in a relationship, then clearly it's a good idea to get off the chain, quickly - before the next thing, if possible.  If that's too difficult then it's vital to leave the chain before the final thing.  Otherwise, disaster.  Well, short-term happiness possibly, but then guilt, violence, shouting, separation...  The end.

So I knew what Sarah meant, but since I wasn't exactly a megastar, it seemed odd that she was already getting anxious about other women approaching me.  I was merely a novice comedian about to do my third small gig, and more to the point, I was in my fifties.

'What are you expecting to happen?' I asked her.

'Well, you know, someone might see you perform, and might be impressed...  for some reason.'

'Thanks, love.'

'That might lead to a drink,' she continued, 'which might lead to another drink, which might lead to going back to her place and, you know, ending up in bed together.'

It was such an unlikely scenario, I laughed out loud and said, 

'Don't worry, love.  There's more chance of you sleeping with Rob from next door!'

(I should explain that Rob from next door was the kind of arrogant self-obsessed cockroach who'd remained single well into his forties - not because 'all the women round here are weird' as he put it - but because he was an arrogant self-obsessed cockroach.)

Anyway, with Sarah reassured, I set off for the train station.  It was time to focus and get my brain into 'gig mode'.  Contrary to popular belief, the hardest thing about stand-up comedy isn't dealing with hecklers, it's preparing your material so meticulously that it feels spontaneous.  So I used the travel time to rehearse my joke lines over and over internally, while also trying to suppress the inevitable swarm of butterflies multiplying in my stomach.

*

Fortunately, everything seemed to come together that evening.  The audience was in good spirits and I took the microphone feeling confident.  My material was sharper too, having pruned out a few rambling sections that wilted in deathly silence on my previous attempt.

As a result, I left the stage to an unexpectedly warm round of applause and cheering and, for the first time in my short career, some whistling!  The promoter gave me a double thumbs-up from the other side of the club, then mimed that he would call me.  So I was already on a massive high when this absolute goddess walked up to me with a beaming smile and said,

'I'm sorry to bother you, but I thought you were fantastic!  Can I buy you a drink?'

I would've answered sooner but somehow she'd managed to paralyse my lower jaw.  As I pushed it closed, Sarah's words flashed like a neon sign in my brain:  Don't let one thing lead to another!  How?  Easy!  Simply make sure there isn't a thing in the first place.  X cannot possibly lead to Y if X doesn't exist.  So the correct answer would be a polite 'no thanks'.

However... as she waited for my reply, wearing a slinky black dress that clung to every inch of her perfect curves, I thought,

'Well I am quite thirsty.'

*

She ordered a beer for me and a red wine for herself, then perched on a bar-stool and crossed her legs.  In doing so, her dress rode-up slightly, revealing an extra two or three inches of smooth bare skin.  I tried not to notice (though evidently I failed).

Anyway, she told me her name was Lauren, and we had a very agreeable introductory chat, mostly about comedy.  Conveniently, she was a fan of every one of my stand-up heroes, so the conversation flowed as easily as my Kronenbourg.  As I swallowed the last of it, she asked if I fancied another one.

Now I didn't think that was a good idea at all, because then the first thing (which I hadn't avoided quite as emphatically as I'd intended) might be leading to a second thing.  So I decided to decline firmly this time.

However... as Lauren turned to lean against the bar, and her generous cleavage was framed by the stunning contours of her slinky black dress, I thought,

'Well I'm not as parched as I was...  but I am still quite thirsty.  I'll just stay for one more drink.'

Soon after, I thought,

'Well this isn't fair, she's buying all the drinks.'  

So I bought the third round.

Now it could be argued that at this stage I was already onto the third thing in a chain.  One thing was perhaps leading to another thing, in a round-about sort of way.  However, I reassured myself that chains are long, and this was just drinks - all very innocent, no need to worry.

By the fourth drink, the bar was heaving, so we moved to a booth in the corner.  Lauren shimmied a bit closer along the red velvet seat, and I could feel the warmth of her thigh against mine.  That simple touch under the table must've been a thousand times more intoxicating than the alcohol – though, to be fair, it was probably the alcohol that made me start mulling the idea of putting health warnings on thighs.

Do not drive or operate machinery while under the influence of someone's thighs.  

Always touch thighs responsibly.

I was soon returned to the present by the 'clunk' of Lauren putting her empty glass down rather more forcefully than she'd intended.

'Oops!' she said, with a giggle.  Turning towards me, she smiled her beautiful wide smile, leaned in, and whispered,

'Would you like to come back to my place and stay the night?'

Woah there!  Amber alert!  Okay, this is definitely a thing now.  Quite a big thing, and, somehow, I'm half-way along a chain of things already.  How the hell did that happen?  Get off the chain, now!

'Er, no thanks Lauren,' I said, finding new resolve.  'You've been really kind, and it's been lovely to meet you, but I ought to go.'

'Oh... that's a shame,' she said.  'Shall I walk you to the station?'

The station!  Aarrghh!  With all the distraction, I'd completely forgotten about catching the train home.  I yanked up my sleeve to check the time, and sure enough, I'd just missed the last one.  Damn it, I was stranded!  Hm...  So I was going to have to stay somewhere.   What a dilemma.  My reasoning went something like this:

Sarah and I share a joint bank account.  So if I pay for a hotel room, I'm really making Sarah pay for half of it.  That doesn't seem right.  But if I stay with a friend, it'll cost Sarah nothing.  Therefore, going back to Lauren's place is definitely what Sarah would want me to do.

So that was settled and off we went - though I was slightly uneasy now that one thing did seem to be leading to another thing with a greater sense of inevitability.

*

It was only a short walk to Lauren's flat.  After the noise of the comedy club, the rowdy bus stop, and the drunken lads spilling out of the kebab shop below, the silence in Lauren's narrow hallway seemed to heighten the senses.  I wondered if she could hear my heart thumping harder and faster than it had done for years.

We hung our coats on the wall and I removed my shoes.  Lauren kicked off her black heels, took my hand and led me into the bedroom.

'Let's go to bed,' she said.

For God's sake!  Get off the chain!  You can see where this is going, you pillock!   

But then I thought,

'Well hang on, this is a small flat, so there's obviously just the one bedroom.  It's late,  Lauren must be tired, and all she's doing is offering me a bit of space in her double bed.  What a kind gesture.'

Lauren closed the curtains, dimmed the lights, and in one fluid movement, pulled the slinky black dress upwards, over her head, and threw it onto a wicker chair.

'Don't panic,' I thought. 'She's just a bit warm.'

Then she removed a hairpin, shook out her long shiny hair and it cascaded onto her shoulders and half-way down her flawless back.

Oh.  My.  God.

Finally, she unhooked her bra, released her magnificent chest, and climbed into bed.  I did the same (though I wasn't wearing a bra).  We got comfortable then she looked me straight in the eyes and said,

'Would you like to make love?'

Aarrgghh!  Red alert!  Wah!  Wah!  Get off the damned chain, you idiot, you're nearly at the final thing!

But then I thought,

'Well hang on, don't jump to conclusions.  This might not be an invitation.  She could just be enquiring after my likes and dislikes, in a casual, hypothetical, bedtime-chat sort of way.  She might be asking, "Would you like to make love?" in the same way that she might ask, "Would you like to go to the moon?"  And if I answer, "Oh God, yes, I'd love to go to the moon", it doesn't automatically mean that we're suddenly going to leap into a rocket and take-off.'

So I thought I'd better clarify the situation, and Lauren helpfully confirmed that she was indeed proposing that we just do it there and then.

*

To this day, I firmly believe that Moses parting the Red Sea with his mind required less willpower than it took me to refuse Lauren that night.  Somehow, I found the strength to back-out by saying,

'Look, I'm really sorry Lauren.  I've allowed this to go much too far already.  You're absolutely lovely, but I'm in a long-term relationship.  And although my partner would be chuffed to bits that I've saved her a few quid by coming here, I don't think she'd approve of me being in your bedroom, let alone your bed.  So I'm sorry, but we can't have sex.'

Lauren propped her head on her palm, blew a lock of hair out of her face and said quietly,

'Well it won't really be sex.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, firstly, you'll be wearing a condom.  So it'll be risk-free.  And because of the condom, our private parts won't even touch, so it's not really sex, is it.  I'll simply be helping to hold a piece of latex sheeting in position for you.  Admittedly, I'll be using the part of my anatomy best suited to that particular task.  But in effect, I'll just be your assistant in a slightly elaborate act of self-relaxation.'

Well, that put a completely new spin on things!  Three thoughts occurred to me in quick succession.  The first was that what Lauren was proposing was absolutely fine!  The second was that being relaxed would help me to sleep, and since I'd have to be up early in the morning, that made it an even better idea!

However... my third thought was that words like 'sheeting' and 'task' and 'assistant' do tend to suck all the passion out of a situation.

Maybe the moment had already passed.

Maybe at my age, and especially after four pints of five-percent lager, I wouldn't be able to manage it anyway.

In fact, maybe it was time I just left and found a hotel, like a proper adult would've done much earlier.

*

Well... good news, I managed it!  Wow!  Thoroughly enjoyed myself.  I wasn't sure if Lauren did, but it didn't really matter.  After all, she wasn't my lover, she was just my 'relaxation assistant', and she performed her task beautifully!  Everything went exactly as she'd described and I did indeed feel very relaxed afterwards - and also happy that I'd made such a kind and obliging new platonic friend.

I was just turning over to go to sleep when she said,

'Actually, there's probably something I should tell you.'

Oh God.  When you hear those words, it's never something good, is it.  

There's probably something I should tell you: you've just won the lottery!  

It doesn't happen, does it.  It's more like, 

There's probably something I should tell you: I've just clipped your cat with the Land-Rover.

'What is it?' I said.

'Well, through an agency, your partner paid me to do this.'

While those words were starting to sink in, the first thing I felt was this tremendous wave of affection for Sarah.  How many women out there would pay for their middle-aged partners to be seduced by a beautiful young lady?  What a fantastic partner!

Then the words finished sinking in, and I just felt utterly stupid.  I'd actually believed that Lauren fancied me.  As if!  She could've had any man she wanted.  Why on Earth would she want to spend time, let alone share a bed, with me?  I was a naive pathetic old fool, and I loathed myself with every fibre of my naff being.

'I ought to explain,' she said.  'I'm what's known as a honey-trap.  Your partner was worried about you being on stage and getting attention from female admirers, and she wanted to check that you'd be faithful.'

'What?' I said.  'This was a test?'

She nodded.

'Not a treat?'

'No,' she said.

'Hang on, let me get this straight.  My partner feared that I'd be seduced by an attractive young woman, and her genius solution was to pay for me to be seduced by an attractive young woman, thereby guaranteeing the very thing she feared?...   She's more of an idiot than I am!'

'Don't be too hard on her,' said Lauren, 'it was my mistake.'

'Mistake,' I repeated quietly, like I'd just been punched.

'The agency's very strict that in honey-trap cases, there should only ever be two possible outcomes.  Either I fail to seduce you, and you pass the test.  Or, if you're just about to fail the test, I should stop you...  But I didn't stop you.'

'Why not?' I demanded.

'I...  I guess I was enjoying it...  I was playing a character... I was swept up in the moment... and...'

(I knew what was coming.)

'One thing led to another.'

(Classic.)

'And now I've failed my employer.  I've literally screwed-up!  In the last ten minutes, I've basically become a prostitute.  I'll be sacked if the agency finds out, and I need the money!'

Clearly there was a lot to unpick there, so I thought I'd better focus on the most important thing:

'You enjoyed it, you say.'

'Well, it was all right,' she said.  'I probably wouldn't do it again.'

And that, I'm afraid, is the kind of review you need to get used to in middle-age.  It was all right.  Probably wouldn't do it again.  Two stars.

Anyway, Lauren's professional concerns seemed rather more pressing than my battered ego so I tried to lift her spirits by saying,

'Don't think of it as failing your employer.  If anything, you over-delivered...   And we didn't have sex anyway.  It was just assisted self-relaxation.'

'We both know that's total garbage,' she said.  'I can't believe you fell for it.'

Oh God.  We considered our predicaments in awkward silence for a minute, then for the first time that evening, I took the lead.

'Look,' I said, 'to recover this, we're going have to be grown-ups and do the right thing.'

'What's that?' she said.

'We're going to have to lie...  You say that I passed the test, and I won't say anything about you over-delivering.'

'Okay,' she said.  'Deal.'

I spent the rest of the night on Lauren's sofa - an idea that, in retrospect, I wish I'd had half-an-hour previously.  I lay awake the whole night, feeling sick with guilt, and contemplating the wreckage of my relationship.  I decided one thing: I needed to talk to Sarah.  I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but I'd skip work, buy her some nice flowers from M&S, go home and surprise her.

*

Well, I certainly surprised her.  I caught her in bed with Rob the cockroach from next door.  Legs everywhere, it was hideous.  I was disgusted, Rob was fuming, and Sarah was mortified.  She hastily smothered her own face with a pillow, like some misguided four-year-old who thinks they become invisible when they can't see you.

Rob, meanwhile, was taking a 'Mastermind' approach to things.  He'd started, so he damn well wanted to finish.  He actually said,

'Look mate, I'm finding this a bit distracting.  Could you just wait downstairs for a bit?'

Yeah, no problem, mate!  I'll go and make us all a cuppa while you finish having a go on my girlfriend!

'Get out!' I said.  'And if you don't get out, I'm just going to stand here and start spanking your big hairy...  exoskeleton!'

'Good idea,' he said.  'I'll probably finish sooner.'

My last dreg of patience evaporated.  I scanned the room for a weapon, then realised that I was already holding one.  So I swatted the back of Rob's head with the thorny red roses I'd just bought.  That got his attention.

Once I'd whipped his thorax with a couple more forehands and a backhand slice, he fell off the bed, flipped onto his feet and reared up - giving me the perfect opportunity for a smash down the middle.  He shrieked, grabbed his trousers, and scuttled off home to his nest.

I looked down at my tearful partner.  She was now holding the bedding up to her shoulders like some kind of shield.  With all the dramatic flair I could muster, I threw the remains of the tattered flowers onto the bed.

'Shameful!' I said.

'Well where the hell were you last night?' she shouted.

'Exactly where you arranged!' I shouted back.

'You failed the test didn't you!'

'Well at least I had the decency to cheat on you with a goddess.  You cheated on me with an insect!'

I realise that, as high moral-ground goes, that was barely sea-level, but I was feeling desperate.  We'd had guilt, violence and shouting already.  How much worse was this going to get?

*

It wasn't easy, but over the next hour or so, we both managed to calm down, and slowly the truth came out.  Sarah confessed that she'd been sleeping with Rob for a few weeks.  She wasn't unhappy, and she hadn't planned it but, surprise, surprise, one thing had led to another.  The reason she'd felt so insecure about my faithfulness was that she'd already failed with her own.

In turn, I was honest about my night with Lauren.  I knew there was a risk of collateral damage and, sure enough, Sarah was furious with the agency and started writing a formal complaint.  Fortunately, I managed to dissuade her by arguing that, in fact, she'd received fantastic value-for-money.

Our relationship was a mess but at least there were no secrets anymore.  We were being completely honest with each other again, and that felt good.  It felt like a foundation.  Maybe we could rebuild something from there.

In the spirit of reconciliation, I think Sarah tried to soften the blow of her infidelity by saying,

'You know, when I was with Rob, I was still thinking of you...  You're the one I really want.'

I smiled as best I could in the circumstances.

'Who were you thinking of when you were with Lauren?' she asked casually.  

I said,

'Well Lauren actually, she was incredible.'

Unfortunately, that was not the right answer.  We were not, in fact, ready for complete honesty.

I moved out a week later.  

I'd let one thing lead to another.

Short-term happiness, guilt, violence, shouting, separation...  

The end.

Copyright © 2024 Geoff Cawood

Version 1.0 – March 19th 2024