The Pleasure Quartet Read Free Page A

consequence.
    All of the food and drink created at the Ball was unlike anything else that we might ever have tasted or would ever taste and consequently the recipes were exotic and heavily guarded. All we
would need to do is supply the labour, peeling, cutting, chopping and stirring. It was believed that each dish would be imbued with the particular flavour of the person who prepared it and so the
Ball selected only a few trained chefs to supervise the catering. All the other kitchen staff were chosen based on the vibe that they would be likely to pass on to the diners. A combination of
personality, enthusiasm for the event and sexual libido. All things which Joan had advised the organisers Iris and I both intuitively possessed in abundance, each in our own way.
    With the invitations secured, there was nothing else to do besides find our way there. Joan had declined to attend, stating that she preferred the memories of her youth to whatever inferior
adventures her worn-out body might now be capable of.
    Iris had convinced her father to loan her the car. She had little experience of the open road but had learned to drive as part and parcel of her employment at the motor dealership and the
necessity of opening up and closing down the shop and bringing the vehicles in from display outside to the secure workshop indoors.
    We had little idea of what might be required in the way of costumes, but from everything we had heard about the ball I guessed that any of the daringly short, brightly coloured shift dresses
that Iris and I usually wore to parties wouldn’t do. A brief note that had accompanied the formal invitation advised us that we would be provided with clothing appropriate for our work in the
kitchen and would then be expected to change into something more suitable once our duties had been completed and were free to enjoy the rest of the evening’s entertainment and would also be
expected to attend a ceremony which would occur at dawn.
    The drive was long and slow. Iris was cautious behind the wheel and well aware of the eruption there would be at home if she caused any damage to her father’s prized
Valiant. The vehicle was so roomy and she so petite that she could barely see over the steering wheel and anyone coming the other way might have suspected that the car was somehow driving
itself.
    At my insistence, we stopped just west of Kaitaia to swim in the sea.
    I had never been able to understand the concept of a bathing suit. I always wanted to feel the lapping of salt water all over my body and particularly on the parts of my skin that a bathing suit
usually covered. So, as soon as we had traversed the desert-like dunes that led to the ocean, I tugged my blouse straight over my head without even bothering to undo the buttons and slipped my
skirt and undergarments down and over my ankles, tossed them aside and ran straight for the waves, not the slightest bit concerned whether my naked form was or was not visible to any bystander.
Iris followed soon after me, though she stopped to carefully fold her dress and place it neatly over a bit of driftwood so that it would not crease or be covered in too much sand.
    My heart drummed in my chest as I watched my friend walk nude into the water. She had small breasts, her hips jutted out only slightly from her waist, and she had the long slim legs of a wading
bird. She was different from the majority of New Zealand pioneering stock who were mostly a hardy and rugged lot, accustomed to physical labour and rude good health. My friend’s slightness
evoked a protective urge in me as well as a lustful one and when she entered the water and was close enough to touch, I took her hand and pulled her into an embrace and our naked bodies tangled
together in the waves. We laughed and splashed and kissed beneath the salty waves until the cold forced us to swim back to the shore.
    By the time we reached the Cape it was just beginning to grow dark. There were no buildings