You may share the labours of the great...

The Lion’s Share

You may share the labours of the great, but you will not the spoil.

“Something is rotten in the state of Aesop’s Playground.  There is trouble amongst the Young Venatrix.”

I scanned across the pub looking for the foursome who called themselves by the latin name for huntress, they were all in the pub, all four of them, but they were not sitting together as they always did.  Martha had brought them up as she knew a story. I knew she had something to say, James knew she had something to say but neither of us were going to ask for the story without first teasing Martha by neither being interested or dismissive.

I am not sure if anyone other than the three of us remembered them calling themselves the Young Venatrix.  Many of the patrons at Aesop’s Playground talked of Club 18-30 holidays, though I hear it is not as popular with the young these days.  I love the idea of Club 18-30 though I was not lucky enough to partake when I was of the age. I think of it as debauchery in a place where no one will remember.  Debauchery without the stain, I should remember that line to try to work it into the conversation. Rose, Bea and Grace had planned a holiday to Magaluf, Sally, I believe, joined in the party at the eleventh hour.  Rose, Bea and Grace had talked excitedly and predatorially of the men they would be devouring on holiday. I think it was Rose who had declared she would be the venator of young men in Magaluf, and Martha who corrected her latin.  A comment that was lost on all but James and me.

“Perhaps they fell out in Magaluf.”

I had meant it as a simple statement designed to stall the conversation but I misjudged.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw James shaking his head as Martha took my comment and ran with it.

“Yes, and you would never believe what it was they fell out over.”

I tried to think of another way to stall the conversation but no witty comments came to mind that weren't crude.

“Boys?”

“Yes, the spoils of Magaluf.”  

James was still shaking his head at my ineptitude when he finished the game.

“And pray tell how they fell out over the spoils of Magaluf.”

Martha got a distant look in her eye and began her story.

“I have had to reconstruct this story, so you will understand if some of the details clash with the narrative.

“The four arrived at their destination in the same spirits they left our company.  They laughed and coaxed each other into the mood to do what their bravado had said they would.  They strode from bar to bar, dancing, drinking, laughing, each one of them as loud as the other.  Each one an equal hunter.

“I won’t try to replicate the mood of Magaluf, their descriptions fitted with the image portrayed by late night tv.  Instead I will give you the four events, four events for four venatrix; it could have been fair but it was not.

“Imagine this, four pretty women dancing, carving and turning their way through the dance floor filled with available possibilities.  Some of the prospects shrink from their approach but one, one beautiful young man, is brave enough to step into their circle. He is bold enough to take them on.  Sally said she was wearing a loose short yellow summer dress, she swished the skirt out as she rocked her hips and the young buck liked it. He came up behind her, his groin pressed into her buttocks, his hand slipping around her thighs.  His touch light on her legs, drawing erotic sensations as he approached her snatch. The lightness of his touch assured her the next step was her choice, but perhaps she was a bit hesitant, perhaps there was a small gap between her and the confident young man as Rose slipped between them with a word to Sal: She was queen of Magaluf, hers was the first choice. Sally watched with dismay as the young buck seemed not to notice the change as Rose backed him to the edge of the dance floor.  Her bum pressing his groin, his fingers slipping beneath her knickers and she kissed him over her shoulder. Her crotch grinding into his hand as, kisses forgotten, she orgasmed in the shadows at the edge of the dance floor.

“Now imagine this if you will, four pretty women getting something greasy to eat, but this being Magaluf the greasy food is not as it is in our cold town.  There are seats outside, the people at the different tables, indeed in adjacent restaurants, are joining in the witty banter of these four feisty women. Bea is showing her prowess, verbally cornering a beautiful stallion, enticing him to exposing himself but perhaps she was a bit hesitant, perhaps there was a small gap between her and the fine young stallion for just as she is about to reach down for him a hand snakes between her and the stallion with the words in her ear: he is mine as the arbiter of Magaluf.  Well, Bea steps back into the suddenly quiet ranks of drunk party goers munch their burgers and shrimps watching the Rose sucking the stallion’s cock.  And Bea, she looks down at Rose’s skirt riding up over her bum thinking how much she would enjoy slapping the exposed skin. But instead she waits quietly for Rose to finish while eating her cold chips.

“For a third time I ask you, imagine this, four pretty women strolling along the promenade, the lights of the nightclubs on their left the dark of the beach on their right.  They are jovial, they are playful, they are teasing all the young men who come their way. Grace is particularly playful with her easy light touch leading first this young man then that until one bright young bull slips back onto the sand.  Grace steps down onto him, her fingers exploring him, her lips encouraging him until he was excited and ready to perform. But perhaps she was a bit hesitant, perhaps there was a small gap between her and the young bull for just as she is about to take her service, Rose edges between them, her knickerless crotch sliding up to his expectant mouth and a word in Grace’s ear: he is mine for my part of the chase.  Grace watches as the young bull continues, somewhat less enthusiastically, she imagines, to perform until Rose steps away from him satisfied.

“And for the final time, I ask you to imagine four pretty women strolling rather quietly at the end of the evening towards their apartment.  They are somewhat dishevelled, somewhat intoxicated and somewhat tired. They still manage to flirt with all passers by, male and female, until one silverback joined their group for the walk.  Four flirting women are hard to resist so in no time the silverback is in their apartment, led towards the bedroom by Rose with a word over her shoulder, spoken with a twinkle of laughter but I am not sure it was meant to be funny: I would like to see one of you dare lay a finger on him.  The three pushed the two beds together in the other room, sharing their space in silence, listening to the overly excessive sounds of sexual intercourse from the next room.”

James guffawed, adding in a quiet voice.

“Seems like Rose fancied herself the lion’s share.”

Martha smiled.

“Yes, Bea even said to me she could share the chase with the great Rose but not the spoils.”

I looked from one to the other, Rose, Grace, Bea and Sally.  Each of them seemed none the worse for their adventure.