Five Images Of Exhibitionism
Torture
They knew the new Head of Division would be announced at the dinner that night. They knew they were both in the running, and they both wanted the job badly. But Tess had seen the look in his eyes for days now, and she had every intention of taking advantage of it.
They had danced around each other for years, she and Harry. Fingertips brushing his upper arm; careless and yet purposeful pressure from his thigh on hers. She was ready for the dinner early, in a long black dress slit almost to the top of her leg, and when he answered the door he hadn't yet dressed. He had a white hotel towel around his waist and as far as Tessa could tell, he was wearing nothing else.
Tessa had known for a while that she would some day sleep with Harry. Tonight seemed like the right time. One of them would be Division Head, the other wouldn't. Tessa had never shied away from using sex to get what she wanted. Most of the time she had fun while doing so. And she knew she could give men a good time. If she was the lucky one tonight, she could have Harry on a string from now on. If she wasn't -- at least they'd have a history. More to the point, there would be something to tempt him with later on. After all, calling in favours was part of the job.
Tess went in to dinner that night on Harry's arm. He had watched her get dressed again, and knew that she had left her underwear in his room. She reminded him at intervals during the evening: bending from the waist to give him a generous view of her cleavage, brushing up against him, making sure that the curve of her breast touched his arm, emphasising the slit that ran the length of one leg whenever she shifted in her seat. She watched his eyes and was gratified to see that they rarely left her. They danced, once, before the announcement, and she made no effort to keep his hands from wandering. She whispered in his ear about their pre-dinner activities, and laughed when she felt the effect of her words.
There was a delicious freedom to it: a frisson of pleasure, knowing that he knew that she was accessible and yet impossibly inaccessible. To keep him from getting over-confident, Tessa flirted for a while with Jean Garwood. The woman was destined for great things, probably in politics, and Tessa had no intention of letting a potentially important contact slip away.
When the DG made the announcement, Tessa was respectably by Harry's side, wearing a mask of calm congratulation. Harry kissed her once on the cheek and said something, low, about joining her later, before he was swept up among the rest of the top brass. The entirely male top brass. The security service was an old boys club, but Tessa at least had a foot in the door. Harry wouldn't forget her completely. Tessa had made certain of that.
Jean offered Tessa her company for the evening. They left the ballroom together, a blush spreading over Jean's face as Tessa whispered in her ear. Tessa made sure Harry saw them leave.
Control
Tess had an eye. It was what made her such a good operative. She could see when a blank face was protection rather than reality, when a quick mind was concealed behind unthreatening geniality. This job was all about being able to think on one's feet; to read glances with the same skill as one read reports. Tessa could see when other people had those skills, and she could read people well enough to determine whether they would be receptive. It was why she had been detailed to recruitment.
Recruitment wasn't where it all happened, though. The recruiting department was far more about research and the occasional direct appeal. Operatives would come across potential recruits in the field and recruitment would do the background checks before approval to approach was given. Which didn't exactly use Tessa's skills. There were direct recruitment programs -- done subtly of course -- through the universities. And there was training, which was a fertile ground for all sorts of things.
Tess had an eye for high flyers, and Tom Quinn was going to fly high in this organisation. She'd known that since the first time his name crossed her desk. He was one of Peter's -- a high flyer himself. Tom was bright and enthusiastic, and even in training his leadership capabilities stuck out a mile. He had already demonstrated his abilities of single-minded commitment already. In Tessa's mind, Tom was due for a little relaxation.
It was almost disturbing how easily led the boy was. She'd been working on him for a while of course, but it should have been harder to get him up on the roof with her. A spy should think more before getting into compromising situations -- but then, men tended to think only of their own gratification. It was a biological reality that gave women more than one advantage, no matter what game was being played.
'Did Peter ever bring you up here?' she asked as they stepped out onto the roof.
'Should he have?'
Archness wasn't seen as a virtue by some people. Tessa wasn't some people. 'It's not part of the regular recruitment procedures, certainly. But I thought you were special.'
'You'll have to ask Peter about that,' replied Tom. 'Or check my files.'
Tessa backed him against the wall, her pelvis covering his. She smiled. 'Aren't you the cocky one?' She pushed in closer.
He barely smiled back. 'I gather you'd like to confirm that.'
He didn't mind that they were on the roof, in the open air. He didn't even mind that it was broad daylight and that anyone with a good set of binoculars in the nearby high-rises would get an eyeful. She led, he followed, and a good time was had by all.
Tessa stored up the knowledge gained -- of Tom, of his likes and dislikes -- for use or exploitation in the future. That handy little biological advantage had never failed her yet.
Power
Good relationships with the Americans were paramount. The United Kingdom -- and especially MI-6 -- liked to think that they had the upper hand. But Ian Fleming wrote his books a long time ago, and the world had changed. You couldn't sideline the United States any more. Much of the time, the task was to follow their orders without admitting that you were doing so, either to the CIA or to one's own masters. It's easier to play that game if you have a good relationship with the people involved. Tessa knows she has a good relationship with the CIA London Station, because Christine Dale is spread out on her sofa, her legs stretched out wide, begging for Tessa's fingers and tongue.
Christine looks down her long nose at MI5. She doesn't mean to, but it's been trained into her. Tessa has always thought Christine a poseur, but a beautiful one. Desirable. The content of a less-than-straight-woman's dreams, with her long blond hair as straight as a ruler and her perfect little body. Christine can be demanding, but that -- like her superiority complex -- is simply a product of her training.
Tessa had known Christine ever since she first arrived in London. She has never before known Christine to be openly flustered or unsure. They've all been working desperately since Tuesday afternoon when the news came through: on Wednesday morning Tessa met with Christine and tried to ignore the smudges on her cheeks where tears had been. CIA operatives didn't hug. Which was fine, as neither did Tessa. She put a hand on Christine's arm in a show of friendship.
On Thursday they spoke by telephone. Christine yelled down the line about information MI-5 hadn't passed on soon enough, and Tessa retorted coldly. On Friday Tessa was officially designated as the liaison to CIA London Station. MI-5 raided a mosque at CIA's request and arrested the mullah. Tessa gratefully ceded dealing with the press to the relevant department and watched part of London burn.
On Saturday Tessa met Christine in the lobby of the CIA's offices. Security had been tightened already, which was an achievement for a place that had previously been fairly well secured. Tessa wasn't able to go upstairs, so instead they walked along the banks of the Thames. Christine walked slowly. The sleepless nights were beginning to tell on her. As they said goodbye Tessa brushed her arm against Christine's breast and trailed her fingers along Christine's waist.
On Sunday Christine phoned Tessa on her mobile phone. Tessa gave Christine her address, and had wine waiting when she arrived. She could have saved the trouble of chilling the wine and getting out glasses: Christine kissed Tessa almost before she was inside the door.
The sex was desperate: Christine clutched at Tessa as though she were drowning. She strained against Tessa. She offered herself up in return for comfort and a few moments of forgetting. Tessa gazed at Christine's beauty spread out before her. From Tessa's living room, the plate-glass window showed all of central London. Christine, lying on the sofa, open and begging, was on show to the whole city. Tessa smiled and Christine cried out.
Fantasy
Tessa spent a long time cultivating Samantha. It was painstaking work, gaining her trust and admiration during training, setting those little hooks of suspense. Sam wasn't in it for the thrills -- she was in it because she was good. But she was still at that stage where fiction and reality hadn't quite separated: she still thought of spying as romantic and exciting. She would learn in time -- they all did.
Tessa didn't think she would ever quite understand the tendency to hero-worship. She hadn't understood it as a sixth-former, when the junior girls had flocked around her in awe and admiration. The fawning and giggling had grated on her nerves, but like everything in her life, she worked out how to exploit it for her own gain. Her school life became the richer -- and the riskier -- for it, and she carried that with her when her schooldays were over. So when Tessa saw that certain light of awe and interest in Sam's eyes, she knew how to play the situation.
She played on Sam's idealistic ideas of the Service. The world Sam was entering was so entirely alien and fantastic that she was willing to accept almost anything. Even the idea that Tess would take a new recruit out on a picnic alone, with a real wicker hamper and a tartan picnic blanket. An afternoon together in the sunshine -- a deliberate seduction scene that Sam never quite picked up on until the moment that Tessa leaned towards her.
Sam pulled back, and for a moment Tessa wondered whether she had completely mis-calculated. Sam was far too important to Tessa's long-term plans to lose her over an attempted kiss.
'I've never...' said Sam, and then added hurriedly, 'which isn't to say I find it disgusting or anything. I don't. It's just, I've never really thought about it, is all.'
Tessa was tempted to try to kiss Sam again, simply to stop her prattling. But before she could, Sam leaned forward to kiss Tess instead. The kiss lasted a little while before Sam pulled back again. This time she wasn't surprised. Instead, she spoke in an analytical tone. 'Well, after having a chance to consider the topic... I have to say I like it. I think I'd like to try some more.'
There was an adventurous gleam in Sam's eye, and Tessa knew she had succeeded. She slipped her hands around Sam's waist and then one hand slowly glided up. The sun was warm on their skin, and the picnic hamper was kicked out of the way to let Tessa spread Sam out on the blanket. There were birds and breezes and flowers, and Sam giggled at some times and sighed at others, and then turned to Tessa with an energy that almost unsettled her.
Tessa had never intended for things to progress this far. She needed to gain Sam's confidence and trust, and she needed to keep Sam's admiration. Lust and longing worked just as well as any other method Tessa had considered. She needed to build the world she wanted Sam to believe in, and if that world involved trysts in the open air, then it was all the more convincing.
Pleasure
Zoe began as a conquest. She was young and naïve and undeniably beautiful when she joined B section. Through her work in recruitment, Tessa knew Zoe's background and decided that the young woman was unlikely to be offended by her advances. Zoe was almost shy at first, blushing when Tessa tried her favourite techniques: casually brushing against her, leaning over to display cleavage. Tessa bought Zoe drinks at Section gatherings and praised her work in front of Harry and Tom.
Zoe was a slower, more careful conquest than most. Tessa usually tired of the chase quickly: with Zoe she remained intrigued for all the months that the younger woman kept her waiting. There was the added element of pursuing someone with whom she was working every day: not merely a trainee or distant colleague, but someone whose desk was across the room from her own. Someone she saw arrive at work in the morning and leave in the evening. Someone whose change of mood Tessa could gauge by whether or not she was drinking tea or coffee.
One day Tessa told Zoe, in confidence, about the blind spot at the junction of the corridors. A week later Tessa met Zoe in the junction by coincidence. Tessa took advantage of the moment and kissed Zoe. She kissed her twice, then went through the other door and got back to work.
A week and a half later, they were both in the corridor. This time Zoe kissed Tessa.
Zoe's gaze began to drift more often towards Tessa as she sat at her desk. They began to leave work together, with the excuse to the others of coffee or shopping or the theatre. They were careful never to arrive together the next morning.
It was more than a month before Tessa left a note on Zoe's desk. They met in the corridor junction -- Zoe was almost giggling from nervousness until Tessa slipped her hands under Zoe's blouse. They knew each other well by now. They knew each other's bodies and reactions, and the possibility of discovery only heightened the excitement. Tessa slid a hand beneath Zoe's waistband, and one of Zoe's hand's cupped Tessa's breast. They knew each other's vulnerabilities and pleasure points, and if anyone had been walking near the corridor, they might have heard muffled groans.
Even after their romp within the inner sanctum, Tessa was still captivated. That was when she realised that Zoe was different. She never acknowledged the realisation to Zoe; never named the feelings or thought about the consequences. They went to movies, arriving separately and sitting together in the back row -- they met each other accidentally while shopping at Harrods, ate dinner together, and shared a cab that stopped at only one address.
All that stopped after the meeting on Hampstead Heath. After she'd been forced out of MI-5, it was better that Tessa didn't keep in touch with Zoe. Zoe's loyalties turned out to be to the country and the service rather than to Tessa herself. The world turned out to have a sense of irony.