Puzzle

Kevin turned over in bed and, as unwelcome semi consciousness forced itself upon him, he became aware of the soft, feminine warmth of the deliciously naked body lying with its back to him. His hand began to explore the exciting curve of the hip on which it had come to rest. The woman sighed softly, encouragingly, and his hand explored further. “Oh, yes please; just take me,” she whispered hoarsely and turned to lie flat and available beside him.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” Kevin agreed eagerly and then, his level of consciousness improving, he suddenly yelled, “Shit!” and sat bolt upright in bed, closely followed by the woman next to him, who instinctively reached out and flicked on the bedside light.

“Kev!” Beverly exclaimed, horrified.

“Shit!” Kevin repeated, as brother and sister-in-law both grabbed at the duvet and pulled at it simultaneously in an effort to cover their nudity. “What the hell are you doing here, Bev?”

“It’s my house – my bed!”

“No it… Shit!”

“You said that, several times,” Beverly pointed out, quickly sliding out of the bed with her back to her brother-in-law and slipping on her robe that was fortuitously nearby.

“Nice bum,” Kevin said, almost from habit.

“That’s not funny,” his sister-in-law snapped.

“Sorry.” Kevin looked momentarily contrite and then frowned deeply. “But how the hell did I get here? I swear I went to bed in my own house a hundred miles away – with Sandy! I remember looking at her lying there all sexy and desirable and I wanted to … well you know … but she was asleep and so I … well, anyway … shit!”

“Do you think you could stop saying ‘shit’ for a few minutes?”

“Sorry,” Kevin repeated.

A thought struck Beverly. “And where the heck is Doug?”

Kevin leered at his sister-in-law. “How the hell should I know? I’m not my brother’s keeper. Anyhow, I wouldn’t tell you, even if I knew – blokes together and all that – but I don’t, anyway.” Kevin leered some more. “It’s not my fault if you can’t keep your bloke in your own bed,” he added, spitefully – and then wished that he hadn’t. “Sorry,” he repeated yet again.

Beverly shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, for God’s sake; stop being sorry and just explain all this.”

“I can’t,” Kevin admitted, somehow feeling extremely inadequate because of the fact. “Maybe it’s a time-warp or something,” he suggested.

His sister-in-law stared contemptuously at him. “Yeah, right. And I suppose you expect someone to beam you up to the ‘Starship Thingy’ any minute now.”

“Well I don’t know, do I? Have you got any better ideas?”

Beverley had to admit to herself that she had not, but that was not something she was about to share with her brother-in-law, if she could avoid it, and for some minutes they both puzzled silently over what seemed to be an insoluble contradiction. Beverly wondered briefly whether her brother-in-law had secretly harboured a desire for her that she had never guessed at, but she soon dismissed this since she prided herself on knowing him pretty well and he had in any event seemed to be genuinely as shocked as she was to find himself in bed with her. Somewhere about that point she remembered her reaction to what she thought was her husband trying to turn her on and had to quickly hide the flush that came to her cheeks as she recalled her wanton response. “I’ll make some coffee,” she said to Kevin, who merely grunted in response. “Nothing unusual there, then,” she thought, with a faint grin.

Meanwhile, Kevin was sitting on the bed, still wrapped in the duvet and thinking hard in an attempt to find an answer. Was it possible that she held a secret lust for him? He considered the likelihood of this, but had to dismiss it as ludicrous – they had quite a good relationship of sorts, but she had always regarded him with mild disdain and would almost certainly have made some extremely derogatory remarks about his manhood had she accidentally seen him naked in less scary circumstances. He was just coming round to the idea that, although he thought of her almost as his little sister and rarely missed an opportunity to be sarcastic at her expense, he had always thought of Doug as being more than a little lucky to find such an attractive wife who also gave every impression of being pretty sexy with it, so maybe he had felt subconsciously drawn to her and that had caused … He gave up at that point since being beamed up or down still seemed to be involved somewhere along the line. “Perhaps I’m just going nuts,” he thought, hopelessly and with more than just a dash of fear.

“Are you coming down for this coffee?” Beverly called up from the kitchen.

Kevin gathered the Duvet around him and stumbled downstairs, almost tripping and falling at least twice on the way.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” his sister-in-law scolded him, as he entered the kitchen. “Why didn’t you get dressed, or at least put Doug’s robe on? It’s hanging in the bathroom; you must have seen it there often enough. I don’t know, you live in a dream sometimes.”

“Sorry,” Kevin said contritely, yet again. “I looked for my clothes but they weren’t there anywhere and I never thought about the robe.” He took a sip of coffee as Beverly glared at him. “Ugh!” he exclaimed, “Surely you could manage to remember by now that it’s two sugars for me.” Moments later, his eyes opened wide and he caught his sister-in-law by the arm. “THAT’S IT!” he almost shouted.

“What is?”

“What you said – this must all be a dream.”

“Nightmare more like. How can it be, anyway, we’re both in it?” Beverly countered.

“Yes, obviously, but one of us is a figment of the other’s imagination – if you see what I mean.”

“It’s not my dream, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t dream about you – not my slob of a brother-in-law – yuk!”

“Well I wouldn’t be dreaming about sleeping with you, I can tell you. Anyway, I love Sandy to bits.”

Beverly decided she might have been just a tad too unkind to her brother-in law, in the current circumstances, and relented somewhat. Grinning teasingly she said, “Oh, go on with you, you know you fancy me a bit, deep down.” In an unnervingly husky and very sexy voice, she went on, “If I’m honest, in another life, I expect I might well have fancied you too.” Her steady gaze gave Kevin no hint as to whether she was joking or not and, before he had time to take her more seriously than she intended, she suggested, “We could both pinch ourselves at the same time and see if we wake up. If we don’t say anything to each other afterwards, we’ll never know whose dream it was anyway, will we?”

Kevin considered the idea and nodded uncertainly, knowing there was a flaw in it, but unable to identify what it was. “Okay then,” he said, eager to try almost anything to resolve the situation, “On the count of three, then. One … two … three!”

*****

Moments before that, Heracles had affectionately leaned over the shoulder of Aphrodite and told her, with mock severity, “Sometimes, you can be every bit as spiteful as that awful woman Hera.”

Aphrodite, goddess of love and passion, stared defiantly wide-eyed into the blue eyes of her fellow god and the smallest hint of a wicked grin refused to be entirely masked at the corners of her beautiful mouth, however hard she tried. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, still maintaining her pretence of innocence, but betraying far too much worldliness to succeed in fooling anyone. The grin broadened just a little.

Heracles picked a piece from the jigsaw puzzle the goddess was doing. “You know perfectly well that this piece doesn’t belong where you’ve put it – it belongs over the other side, where it was originally, with that bit there,” he said, snapping the piece back into its correct position.

Kevin found himself awake and standing beside his own bed, looking down at his own wife asleep in it. “Phew,” he murmured, almost silently. “Thank heavens it was just a dream.” Then he pulled a face. “God, I think I need a beer or something to get rid of this awful taste of coffee without sugar… ugh!”

Knock On My Door

There was little about the situation that was especially remarkable and Chloe had largely ignored it at the time. Later, though, by early evening, a nagging little voice in her head wondered casually if that had been entirely wise. The man, in so far as she had taken much notice of him, had been quite well dressed, clean shaven and had the appearance of just another regular sort of guy. In fact, as far as she could recall, he had probably been quite handsome and certainly well muscled. Yes, definitely well muscled. A faint smile crossed her features. Thinking back to her brief view of him sitting on the low wall in the shopping mall, she guessed that he was probably about her age, or perhaps a little younger – maybe about twenty years old or so. For some reason of which she was unsure, she had the impression that there was something about his manner that was quite furtive – or was he just shy, which she had to admit she normally found attractive? He had looked away, pretending to concentrate on something non-specific in the distance as soon as she had caught him staring at her, but there was no way she could tell why for sure.

Chloe was, in any event, used to being stared at – particularly by men. She wasn’t exactly beautiful, or even pretty in the conventional sense. Nevertheless, she was extremely striking and attractive and had a good body that she knew many viewed as being “athletic”, or in the latest terminology, “fit” and there was something else about her too – a natural sensuality – a desirability that seemed to make men’s pulses accelerate without either her, or them, consciously doing anything to cause it. Yet this occasion involving this young man had been just a touch different in some vague way,. She had no idea why that was so, but it bugged her that she couldn’t figure out the reason… unless, perhaps… maybe it was because of the other feeling she had that she had seen him before – maybe several times – in the past and possibly staring at her in the same way. It was all very unsettling…

…and then, later still, had come the voicemail message on her phone, which had of course been left to vainly demand attention whilst she was in the shower. In the message, she could hear someone breathing, but that was it. Nothing more. Her attempt to discover the identity of the caller resulted in a declaration that there was “no number” attached to the message and, inexplicably, she again thought immediately of the young man. Once more, she had no idea why that should be so, but she dismissed the idea and muttered, “Damn perverts!” to her empty apartment with apparently mild annoyance, as she quickly put on a robe instead of wandering confidently around her home for a time with nothing on, the way she often did after showering. She was aware of displaying what she saw as a degree of silly weakness and that too annoyed her. “Damn!” she repeated.

A short while later, however, it was approaching seven o’clock on Saturday evening and Chloe was meeting her friend, Becky, in an hour for a drink and then they were going to eat at the latest Chinese restaurant that was so popular in town and after that… well, they would see how they felt about going on to one of several clubs they both liked. She took her time dressing and applying her makeup – as she usually did – and it was close to five minutes to eight when she grabbed her bag and left her apartment to walk the fairly short distance to the bar where the young women were meeting, arriving her customary five minutes late. Why was that, Chloe wondered, idly? Why did she always seem to be a few minutes late for everything, however, early she started?

Nevertheless, since she walked to the rendezvous, it was not until Chloe decided that it was her turn to buy the drinks, that she discovered the loss of her purse. “I know it’s not at home,” she complained to Becky. “This is the same bag I had this afternoon when I was shopping. I know I didn’t take it out at home.”

“You must have.”

“No. I got in and put it on the side where I usually do and the only thing I took out was my phone.”

“It might’ve dropped out then.”

“When?”

“When you took your phone out.”

“I suppose…” Chloe agree, doubtfully. “I don’t think so, though. I’d've noticed “

“Are you sure that’s the same bag?” Becky suggested, pointing to the handbag and trying to be helpful.

“Of course I’m bloody sure,” Chloe snapped and then added quickly, “Sorry. Sorry, it’s this damned guy’s got me all on edge.”

Becky was instantly intrigued. “O-o-o-h yes… What guy?”

At that point, over another drink bought by Becky, Chloe was trapped into explaining some of her, in her opinion foolish, fears to her friend. “I know it’s silly,” she concluded, “I’m just being paranoid, but I can’t get it out of my head. I mean, he couldn’t have taken my purse from where he was – thirty feet away – could he?”

“He might have stolen it earlier,” Becky volunteered and then wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself.

“Why hang around if he’d got what he wanted?”

“Dunno… unless he was sort of…”

“What?”

Beck shrugged her shoulders and then looked nervously into Chloe’s eyes. “Er… Stalking you?” she said, eventually.

“What? Oh, come on, Becks. Why would he steal my purse, then?”

“Well… you know – for information about you… What do you keep in your purse?”

Chloe stared at her friend, uncomprehendingly at first. “Er… money and a credit card… and my driving licence… I’m not sure. Stuff I might need, I s’pose.”

“Anything with your address on it?” Becky inquired, keeping her tone as unconcerned as she could manage.

Chloe stared at Becky again, in shock this time. Then she seemed to shake herself. “No. Not that I can recall.”

“That’s okay then.”

“Why?”

“Well… you know…” her voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders again. The she decided to elaborate. “You hear about identity theft and all that stuff – as well as women being tailed and raped and murdered and stuff.” She stopped abruptly when she saw the dismay on Chloe’s face. “I’m not saying in this instance… I mean it’s not…” her voice trailed off again.

“Jeez!” Chloe breathed, almost inaudibly, and then there was a brief silence from both the girls until Chloe came to a decision. “I need to go home and check if the purse is there or not.”

They both walked – almost ran – back to Chloe’s apartment, but after searching fruitlessly for nearly half an hour, it became plain that she had been right and her purse was not there. “It’s been stolen!” Chloe declared emphatically.

The next thing, of course, was that the two young women disagreed over what to do about the loss. Becky was all for going straight to the police and telling them the whole improbable story. Chloe felt that this would be a waste of time as well as embarrassing and that the first thing she should do was to cancel her credit card – if only she could find the number. “It’ll be on the bank’s site on the internet,” Becky told her.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll look in a minute.”

Following another short period of awkward silence, Becky wanted to know, “Look… If you’re not going to the cops, or going to do anything else positive, are we going out now, or what?” …and that’s when the argument really began, resulting in Becky leaving in something of a huff after five minutes or so.

Chloe sat alone in her apartment, close to tears, but also mad as hell – it was all the weird guy’s fault. “Damn him!” she muttered.

Presently, she was still seated in her living room, the TV on, muted and watched with unseeing eyes that were looking into infinity, when there was a seemingly hesitant tap at her door. At first she didn’t consciously register the sound and then, as it was repeated, she leapt up and ran to her front entrance. “Becks. I’m so sorry. It’s…” she began, as she opened the door and then stopped, her mouth open and her attractive features frozen into a look of horror. She physically felt the blood drain from her face as blind panic gripped her and her immediate thought was, “Oh God! Have I just opened the door to my killer?”

Chloe continued to stare at the young man from the shopping mall, as he stood on the landing in front of her open door. She wanted to slam that door shut as hard and as fast as she could, but her muscles refused to obey and she remained transfixed. “He’s quite handsome,” she thought, idly. Her next thought was even more stupid, or so she felt, but it nevertheless wandered aimlessly through her mind at what seemed like a snail’s pace. “Perhaps dying won’t be so bad at the hands of someone who isn’t ugly.” But her next notion shocked her when, again with something approaching detachment, she considered, “I wonder if he’ll rape me?”

That last idea seemed to serve to bring her back to some kind of reality and, for the first time she noticed his outstretched hand. He held something and he was speaking. What was he saying? Chloe tried to focus her mind. She listened – concentrated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do, so here I am.”

“What d’you mean?” she demanded, suddenly angry. “What’s your name?” Then she thought, “For God’s sake! Why do I want to know that?”

“Mark.”

“What mark?”

The young man looked uncomfortable – and, not unreasonably, confused. “My name’s Mark.”

“And what’s that?” She wanted to know, pointing at Mark’s outstretched hand and, for the first time, looking directly at it and trying to make her mind focus properly.

He withdrew the hand. “You are Chloe Weston, aren’t you?”

“You know I am.”

“We-ell… I thought I had the right address. Maybe not. I… I don’t know.” The young man took a piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it briefly. Then he proffered it to Chloe.

“This is mine – my writing. Where did you get it?”

Mark appeared to be on the verge of panic himself and his hand shook as he held it out once more. “I’m sorry. This was a very bad idea. Just take the wallet – please. Look, I’ll leave it here on the doorstep, shall I? I… I… er… I really have to go.” He made as if to put the object on the ground, but Chloe snatched from him and stared at it.

“My purse!”

“Yes. I said… Everything’s all there, I imagine. I picked it up as soon as I saw it and… er…” Seemingly ever more flustered, he repeated. “Look – I have to go. Sorry. Sorry…”

A quick search through the purse showed that everything was indeed intact, as Mark had claimed – all except for the forgotten note of her name and address that she had placed in the back slot of the purse-wallet when she had first moved to the flat, a few weeks previously – the note she now held in her other hand! “Oh, my god!” she murmured.

Mark was at the top of the stairs and about to begin his descent when Chloe grabbed his arm and pulled him back, turning him partially towards her. “No! Please! I’m sorry. Won’t you come in? I… um… didn’t understand at first. Please. At least let me offer you a coffee for your trouble.”

Mark stared at her for a moment before finding his voice, “Sorry. I… er…” He stopped and then, appearing to summon all his courage from who knew where, he nodded. “Oh… Okay then. Thanks.” Then he added. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble… I mean I…”

Chloe smiled for the first time since they had met – for some hours in fact. “No trouble at all,” she told her visitor. “It’ll be my pleasure. Trust me. It really will.”

Over the next nearly an hour, Chloe slowly confessed much of her unfounded fear at seeing him, both at the shopping mall and at her door. She even told him what Becky had said, incidentally mightily playing up the part her friend had in making her afraid of heaven knew what. “How wrong could I have been?” she asked with a wry smile.

It transpired that, in the mall, she had pulled her phone out of her bag and the purse had dropped out too. Mark had at first thought it was a piece of rubbish and hadn’t realised what it was until she had left and he had gone across to pick it up and throw it in a bin for her. “I know it was ridiculous, but that’s how it seemed at the time – that I was doing something for you…” In fact, eventually, he sheepishly blurted out that he found her so attractive that, having no idea how he might approach such a stunner, as he put it, and against his better judgement, he had the idea that the purse was a good excuse to perhaps meet her. “I’m so awful at getting to know women,” he admitted. “For some reason I get tongue-tied the minute I try to strike up a conversation with girls and I just… you know – screw it all up from the very start.”

“You’re not doing so bad right now,” Chloe pointed out.

“Oh, no – I’m fine once I’ve properly met them – well, fairly fine, at least. It’s that initial few minutes that I mess up the worst. Whatever I say sounds stupid – well, it usually is something stupid.”

“So, you figured this looked like a golden opportunity, then?”

“I thought so – at the time,” he agreed, grinning ruefully. “Sorry.”

“Was it you phoned me earlier?” Chloe asked out of the blue.

Mark grinned sheepishly again. “Yes. ‘fraid it was. Your phone number’s on that bit of paper as well – on the back. That’s a bit dodgy, by the way – all that information together with your card and all that.”

“Oh, I’m not putting it back in the purse – believe me!” She smiled again more or less to herself this time. “Still, without it wouldn’t have met, would we?”

“I guess not.”

“So? Why no message?”

“Ah, yes… Sorry. Same old problem I’m afraid. The moment I heard your voice I froze. I just hung up in the end. Sorry. It was very rude of me I know, but…” He spread his hands helplessly. “It’s just the way I am. I hate my stupidity, but I don’t seem to be able to help it – and when it’s a woman as gorgeous as you, I seem to be even worse. I really am so sorry to have scared you, though. I just didn’t think and…”

As Mark continued to apologise profusely for frightening her and being such a wimp and all the rest, Chloe smiled to herself yet again, but just a little wickedly, and put a CD into her player before pushing ‘play’. Grinning now, she returned to Mark, put a finger to his lips and told him, firmly, “Hush… Listen!” as Katie Melua’s voice softly and slightly plaintively filled the room…

I’m sittin’ in the window of a street cafe Watchin’ you walking by each day, It seems that you always wanna look my way Hey, you can’t deny, boy, You’re such a shy boy. So good looking you seem to be But you’re too tongue-tied to say hi to me, You could make it happen so easily Woah, I’ll tell you why boy, ‘Cos I’m looking for a shy boy

When it got to the third verse, she looked directly into his eyes and very deliberately held his fascinated gaze…

Most guys advertise By making eyes and telling lies If you only knew, You could make your dreams come true All you gotta do is ask me to

After that, Mark had no idea how they came to be in each other’s arms and swaying to the music by the time the song got to…

Some guys act a bit too sure And maybe you’re thinkin’ that less is more But Honey, you still gotta knock on my door Hey, just try boy, And you could be my boy

Chloe stood on tip-toe and whispered into Mark’s ear, “See? You knocked on my door…”

Her lips softly brushed his and it occurred to him that maybe he’d missed something entirely and perhaps this crazy and oh-so-sexy woman had actually pushed him down the stairs outside her home and there was a heaven after all.

He also hoped fervently that he wouldn’t wake up any time soon and find it was all just an exquisite, if rather weird, dream.

Honesty Is The Best Policy?

Later, she would be astounded at the events that followed, but for the moment Cathy was more surprised at her own attitude to the man’s words, rather than what he had said. After all, they had only just met. Well, at least it couldn’t be much more than half an hour or so ago since they had struck up a conversation from adjacent tables outside the café in the small French town not far inland from the sea, on the Cote D’Azur. He was a fellow Brit, but had lived in France for some time and even had a slight French accent at times, which she found quite intoxicating. He was tall and tanned and very handsome with kind blue eyes that nevertheless seemed able to stare right inside her and into her thoughts. He was older than her – just about the age and type of man she fantasized about in fact.

The man, Richard, had moved to her table shortly after they had struck up their conversation and now he had said that; came straight out with it! Okay, so she had just spent the last several minutes going on about men only wanting one thing from a woman and asking why they couldn’t just be honest about it and she had even been foolish enough to ask him, “For instance: why are we talking like this? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to have sex with me,” he had replied, quite simply and without the least embarrassment, or even much apparent emotion. Her mouth had opened to speak, but she couldn’t find a reply in time and he had gone on, “Well, that’s not entirely true, I suppose. Yes, I do want sex with you, but I think I’d probably prefer to make long, lazy, really sexy love to you.” He had grinned then. “But just sex will do.”

Finally, she found her voice. Defensively and not a little angrily, she began, “How dare… damn… I mean I haven’t…” she glared at him. “Do I have any say in this?”

“Not really,” he replied, with a charming smile. “You just said you wanted men to be honest and you asked what I wanted with you. It’s not all I want, but at this moment it’s the main thing I want, so I told you. What you want is probably entirely different, but you didn’t mention that. I simply answered your question – honestly.”

At first, Cathy stared at her would-be lover in disbelief. Then she realised that, inexplicably, she wasn’t really the slightest bit offended by what he had said. In fact, a thrill of anticipation had run down her spine when he first said it. The thrill had ended up somewhere between her legs. “Shit,” she murmured almost inaudibly under her breath.

“Sorry. I didn’t catch that,”

“Thank God,” Cathy thought. Aloud, she said, as nonchalantly as she could manage, “Nothing. No, I was just thinking about something else. Sorry.”

The charming smile returned to her companion’s mouth. “It always seems to me that women say they want men to be honest, but what they really want is for men to think and feel differently from the way they do, which is of course impossible. So, when we do our limited best to give them what they actually want, they complain we’re being dishonest.”

“Hmm,” Cathy pursed her lips, deep in thought before telling him, “There’s a flaw in that argument somewhere, but I’ve no idea where and I suppose you might be partly right, at least.”

“Well, thank you for that. That doesn’t mean you feel the same at all, by any chance, does it?”

“No, I… are you taking the mickey?”

Richard’s face showed deep hurt and amazement, which surprised her – until she saw the grin that he couldn’t quite hide at the corners of his mouth. “Just gently,” he admitted. “What I don’t understand is why any woman would be surprised or upset to discover that a man wants sex with her. Surely it’s a compliment of sorts if a man finds her desirable, whatever she may feel about him. It’s perfectly natural and I’m sure women want sex just as much as men do anyway.” Cathy was lost in thought again, so he went on. “I told you what I want, just as you asked. I wasn’t being rude or presumptuous. I don’t expect you to have sex with me, or do anything about it at all, although I do think there is some kind of chemistry between us, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied rather absently and with unguarded honesty.

“You see? I like that: when women are simply honest about sexual feelings too, but that seems even rarer to me than men being up front about what they want.”

“Hmm,” Cathy repeated, feeling it was time she regained the initiative. “Actually, I’ll be even more honest then. I wasn’t particularly shocked when you said you want sex, it was quite exciting in fact, and my body still hasn’t stopped telling me it needs attention.” Richard smiled a little and raised one eyebrow, but refused to show any more surprise than that at her statement. “Of course,” she went on, “whether I decide to satisfy that need with you, or by some other means not involving you, remains to be seen.” She stared directly into the sexy blue eyes of the man seated opposite her, smilingly challenging him to disagree.

A quite wicked smile replaced the gentle amusement on Richard’s face. “So, it’s possibly worth my while to make an effort here? I might, after all, actually get the sex I asked for, if I play my cards right?”

Cathy still held his gaze, but the smile accompanying the challenge in that weakened. “You might,” she agreed. “You never know – always assuming you were telling the truth in the first place and you really do want to.”

“Oh, I want to all right,” he said with an obvious lack of guile, “I just didn’t think there was much likelihood of it – at this stage of our relationship anyway.”

“We have a relationship?” Cathy asked.

“We’re discussing going to bed together. Wouldn’t you call that a relationship of a kind?”

Cathy grinned. “I suppose so,” she nodded.

“Talking of, which … could we go into a little more detail about your body’s needs, darling? Er… if I may call you that.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Yes, we can discuss your needs, or yes, I can call you darling?”

“Both – as long as we can also talk about you and your body.”

“No problem at all. I’d love to talk about my body in relation to yours.”

“Hmm,” said Cathy, yet again, and then noticed a young man at a nearby table leaning back in his chair and trying hard not to look as if he was listening to their fairly explicit conversation. “Shall we go somewhere a bit more private to discuss this further?” she suggested.

“Certainly, if you want. My place, which is nearby, or your place, wherever that is, or somewhere more neutral, like a hotel, or there’s a even park about half a mile down the road?”

“Your place is fine. But don’t think that means I’m agreeing to anything.”

Richard grinned. “Of course not.” He paid the bill and they stood up, but before they left, he took her face in his hands and put his face very close to hers before becoming extremely earnest for a moment. “Look,” he said, “I know we’re joking around – not that I’m not serious about wanting to have sex with you – but I really mean this: I have never even particularly wanted to do anything with a woman that she didn’t want too. So, ‘no’ means ‘no!’ OK?

Cathy nodded. “Thank you, but I kind of guessed that, or we wouldn’t be going back to your place.”

Since neither of them wanted to appear too eager, they strolled lazily along the sunlit street for the few hundred metres until they were in front of the entrance to some obviously very expensive apartments. “Top floor I’m afraid. I hope you don’t mind lifts,” Richard apologised.

Cathy shook her head and, a minute or two later, gasped as they entered what Richard had omitted to mention was actually the penthouse apartment. It was tastefully, if lavishly, furnished. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s there, or en-suite in the bedrooms -  main one – there,” he told her, pointing to the doors, as he went to a large drinks cabinet, opened a bottle of red wine, and poured them both a generous glassful. Cathy went to the main bathroom, feeling that the one in his bedroom might indicate too clearly how ready and willing she really was – as if he didn’t know already. When she returned, he handed her the glass. “Now, about your needs, darling …” he said, with a rather wicked grin.

“First, I’d like to talk about yours, if you don’t mind,” she countered. “In fact, I’d rather like to hear about the specific part that is of paramount interest to a woman in my situation.”

The grin broadened. “Okay. What do you want to know? It’s not enormous, but a little bigger than average, or so I’m told. I’m not circumcised, but it looks quite desirable – again, so I’m told. Oh, and, naturally, I’m very clean and shower several times a day.”

“I didn’t mean … Oh, balls.”

“They too are OK, should you want something else to play with – yet again, so I’m…”

“So you’re told! Yes, I get the picture. But that’s…”

This time Richard interrupted her, finally relenting. “OK,” he said, “I know: you don’t want to discuss my physical masculinity, you want to know what I’m going to do with it, or what I hope you’ll to do with it. Right?” Cathy nodded. “Well, I’m the same. Much as I like to talk about your body and imagine what it looks like (although I’m sure it’s as beautiful as the rest of you), what I really want to know is what gives you the most pleasure? What do you really enjoy? What absolutely does it for you?”

She shuddered. “I think the answer to that just at this moment is probably – you.”

Richard smiled. “Will you take a chance and come to bed and let me make love to you, then?”

Whether it was the wine, the man, or the situation – perhaps it was just her hormones, or maybe she was just carried along by the game they were playing – Cathy had no idea, but she hesitated for only a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly and  then standing up, to take his hand and lead him towards the bedroom.

But their lovemaking was not quite as he had expected it to be, for she took charge and did things to him that he had neither the will, nor in truth any desire to try to stop her from doing. Afterwards, as they cuddled naked together in each other’s arms, he cautiously said, “You’re unbelievable! Fantastic…”

“But…”

“But nothing… well, not really… except…”

“Except – what?”

With some difficulty, he returned to being totally honest with her, “Well… don’t misunderstand me – I wouldn’t give that experience up for anything, but I guess I most wanted to give you pleasure – instead of just to receiving it like that. I mean I…”

Gently, she interrupted him, squeezing and hushing him. “I enjoyed myself and, in any event, do you have to be somewhere else in the near future?” she whispered into his ear.

“Well … no, but…” he replied, briefly puzzled.

She grinned and slid off the bed to stand, hands on hips and legs slightly apart – an extremely erotic vision looking down at him. “Okay then, I’ve had the cream, are you going to offer me coffee – while you recover?” She bent over and briefly kissed the object of her so recent undivided attention. “Well, while this recovers at any rate.”

Richard laughed. “My pleasure.”

“Oh, I know, but mine too, like I said…” She paused to give a wicked little grin. “And much more to come for both of us perhaps, I think.”

Richard took her hand and they strolled from the bedroom, through the living room and into the kitchen. Easy with each other and their mutual nakedness, he made coffee and poured them each a cup. “Mmm,” Cathy murmured, “I do love proper coffee.”

“Oh me too. I know just what you mean. I hate the supermarket stuff back home.” Richard agreed. They sipped at their drinks and then he said, out of the blue, “Christ, you’re gorgeous.”

Cathy smiled. “You ain’t so bad yourself, fella. ” She smiled as she nodded at his groin. “And as for that… mmm to that too.”

He grinned. “I must admit I was nervous at first. I didn’t know enough about what you like – didn’t know how far it would go… you know…” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

She put a hand on his arm and stood on tiptoe to kiss him affectionately on the lips. “I know,” she said. “That’s sort of part of why I wanted to do that first – so you’d know I’m not exactly the inhibited type – honesty between us – right? I’ll tell you if something’s not okay for me, but there’s not much I don’t enjoy, except pain – giving, or receiving. I’m just not into that!”

“Nor me. I couldn’t hurt you anyway, no matter how much you wanted it.”

“I know!”

Cathy cuddled up even closer to her man, wriggling herself against him so her nipples rubbed against his chest and he could feel the swell of her breasts, amongst other parts, pressing into him. “You’re delicious,” He whispered.

“You’re a hunk,” she replied, softly and then giggled appreciatively as she murmured just a little triumphantly, “Uh, huh! Something’s happening.” She wriggled harder against him and whispered into his ear, “See? That’s being honest! Like I said at the start - honesty’s the best policy!

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow!

Wrapped in a blanket because the meagre heat from the electric fire barely managed to take the chill off the room, Angela stared out of the window. She was getting worried. The snow had started to fall much more heavily again, although the strong winds that had piled it up earlier in the day had dropped, but the snow itself showed no sign of abating. The weather forecast on TV had not helped either – promising as it did, a full twenty four more hours of the same. She was in serious danger of being snowed in at her cottage in the beautiful Lake District, which was not good. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem – in fact she had sometimes quite looked forward to the isolation when it had happened before; she was used to it. Single and enjoying her own company at times, she was also used to being alone and mainly worked from home anyway, in her normally cosy house, but on that occasion the boiler was broken and she had neither hot water, nor central heating.

“Damn!” she muttered to herself, knowing full well she should have arranged for the repairman to call the previous week when the problem first occurred. However, she’d had to go down to London on business and, as usual, had stayed in her tiny flat in Hampstead, telling herself she would sort things out when she returned home. Now it was too late! There was no way the maintenance company would send an engineer along in that weather and he probably wouldn’t get to her even if they did. She’d telephoned, of course, but the not very helpful schoolgirl at the other end had told her, “No way, luv. Not till next week at the earliest.” Apart from the fact that she had no desire to be anyone’s “luv” at that moment in time, let alone some seventeen-year-old female’s, the utter disinterest in the girl’s voice had annoyed her, but it had been little worse than she expected.

Recalling this, Angela sighed and turned resignedly from the window to go through to her large kitchen and make coffee – at least it would be warm! She shivered. “Damn!” she repeated. “Damned boiler!” It was when she was just pouring herself a second cup, that she heard what sounded like a muffled knock at the front door. “Who the hell…?” she murmured rather testily and, since releasing even a tiny bit of the limited warmth she had in the house was not something she wanted to do, went very reluctantly to see who it might be.

She opened door only part way to reveal a man in a hooded, snow covered coat and wearing thick gloves… hence the muffled nature of the knock. “Sorry to intrude,” he began. “I’ve got a bit of a problem and I wondered if you’d be unbelievably kind and help me out.”

Angela at once found herself in a quandary. Admittedly the man was well spoken and, from the little she could see under the hood, appeared quite interestingly handsome – he was perhaps in his mid thirties. Her dilemma, though, centred on her need to keep heat in the house and yet he was a stranger and not someone she would immediately invite into her house. The desire for heat won. “Come in. Don’t stand out there freezing.”

“Er… thanks.” He frowned. “You sure?”

“The bloody boiler’s on the blink and heat is pouring out this doorway. Come in, or go away!”

The man stamped the snow off his feet and shook himself and then stepped into the cottage. “Thanks,” he said as he pushed the hood back from his head to reveal a shock of blond hair, a disarming smile and the fact that he was not just handsome, but extremely handsome. “Sorry about this,” he added and then stuck out his hand to be shaken. “My name’s John and I’ve not long moved into the next house two miles down the road – Badgers Den.”

“What? Brian’s old place? The nice old man who died a few months ago?” she asked, taking the proffered hand.

“That’s it. Brian Morgan. My dad.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Then she added, “It really was such a shame he died. I really liked him.”

“Yes. He was great… but we both knew he was likely to drop dead any time. Weak heart for years.” John explained.

“Doesn’t help much though, does it?”

“Not really – no.”

Angela drew a deep breath. “Oohhh – so you’re the Johnny he was always talking about?”

John grinned disarmingly. “Guilty, I guess.”

For the first time since she’d returned home the previous day, Angela smiled. “Oh, you needn’t worry. He never had a bad word to say about you.” Reluctantly, she let go of the hand that held hers. “So what’s the problem?”

“What? Oh, yes – my problem. Yes, well it’s a bit of a cheek I suppose, but the battery on my cellphone’s flat as a pancake, the in-car charger’s bust and the road’s totally blocked a quarter of a mile further on from here.”

“The phone’s there if you want to use it.” Angela waved a hand in the direction of a telephone sitting on a small table just inside the tiny entrance hall. “Angela, by the way – Angie.”

John grinned again. “I know.”

“Oh? How?”

“I have my spies.” The grin broadened. “No, actually, Dad told me a lot about you – what a gorgeous young woman you are and all that. His description wasn’t even close though.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh no! Quite the opposite. Stunner might have been a better description.”

“Oh, right.” She commented, disbelief in her voice. “You can see that, of course, wrapped in this blanket and shivering like crazy, the way I am.” Angie waved at the phone again. “Like I said, there’s the phone anyway.” She turned and began to walk back towards the kitchen. ” You want coffee?” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ve not long made it.”

“Ooo, yes please – if it’s going – black, one sugar.” He paused and then called out to her. “Actually, what I really wanted was to charge my own mobile phone. I’ve got the mains charger here with me. If that’s okay?”

Angie returned with two cups of coffee, both black. “Sugar’s in this one,” she told John, handing a cup to him. “There’s a socket over by the phone – over there.” She pointed to the table she had previously indicated. “It’s underneath it. The table that is.”

John plugged in his mobile phone to charge and checked it was working right. “Thanks. An hour should do it – half an hour at a push.” He hesitated and, as further explanation seemed required, he continued. “With the road blocked like it is, I’m going to have to leave the car and walk. It looks pretty tough and I could maybe get trapped. It’d be a bit stupid to wind up stuck in a snow drift  without at least some means of contacting people – especially now it’s getting dark.” The grin returned. “So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Angie frowned.

“One, I feel lost and alone without a mobile phone – silly I suppose, but it’s habit – and two, I wanted to meet the gorgeous creature Dad told me so much about.”

The smile appeared again. “Oh, right. I see. You were really just checking out the local talent then?”

John shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. “Well, like I said, not only, but sort of. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to know, though. Glad I did too.”

“Really?”

“Oh, definitely!” Yet another grin lit up his features and then he became serious. “So, what’s happened to your boiler?”

It was Angie’s turn to shrug her shoulders. “No idea. It just stopped working and I didn’t get it fixed when I had the chance. Now I’m stuck with it till next week at least.”

“What sort is it? Gas?”

“Yes – and it’s not long been serviced, either.”

“You tried re-starting it?”

“Why?”

“Maybe the pilot light just went out.”

“What pilot… whatever?”

John sighed. “Show me where it is, eh?”

“In the kitchen.” She led the way and then pointed to a cupboard in the corner. “In there.”

John opened the cupboard. “Balanced flue combi,” he murmured. “So the back of the cupboard is an outside wall?”

Angie nodded and then said, “Yup,” as she realised he wasn’t looking at her.

“Oka-ay.” John fiddled around for a while. “It won’t re-start. You got a Philips screwdriver?”

“A what?”

“A screwdriver that looks like a cross on the end.”

“There should be a toolbox in there somewhere. I’ve no idea what’s in it, though. There’s a light by your right shoulder by the way.”

John flicked on the light and searched around on the floor. “Ah… at the back,” he said and then continued. “You fancy making us some more of that superb coffee?” He removed his coat. “It might not be very warm in here, but it’s a heck of a lot colder outside,” he commented, by way of explanation.

Briefly, Angie eyed the muscular physique that his expensive shirt failed to hide. “Strip off all you like,” she told him and then regretted it, since she had known him for perhaps half an hour, rather than the half a lifetime she was beginning to feel was the case. “Joke,” she explained.

“Oh.”

Just when she had finished making the coffee, she peered into the cupboard as John was replacing a cover on the boiler. Amazingly, she could see the reflection of the blue flame. “You got it going!?”

“Uh huh. Let’s hope it keeps on working.”

“What was wrong?”

He hesitated. “Unless someone’s been poking around in there,” he eyed her questioningly, “the guy who serviced that hadn’t got a clue.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Well… that or he didn’t bother to do the job properly at all.”

Angie stepped forward on an impulse and reached and kissed her saviour on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so-ooo much!” was her heartfelt exclamation.

John grinned. She was beginning to love that cheeky grin. “Entirely self interest,” he assured her.

“How so?” she queried, smiling too.

“Well… I need to stay a while to make sure it gets up to temperature and then restarts automatically, which means I get the company of a delicious female who makes wonderful coffee for a while longer and… maybe… just maybe… if the house warms up enough in time, I’ll get a peek at you not wrapped up in that goddamned blanket before I leave.”

Angie gave him a funny look and, on another whim, allowed the blanket to fall open and then drop to the floor.

John stared and gave a low whistle. “Now that’s more than worth a bit of maintenance work, for sure.”

Angie blushed slightly. “What? In this bulky old sweater?”

“Oh yes. No doubt about it.” He hesitated and then, just a touch nervously, he added, “You fill it beautifully – if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Angie giggled. “I don’t mind at all.” A thought occurred to her. “You want a proper drink? A beer, or a brandy, or something?”

“No, I’m dri…” He stopped. “No, actually, I’m not driving, am I? I’m going to be walking. So, yes… a very small brandy would be absolutely wonderful.” Another grin. “Extremely warming.”

Two and a half hours later, John stood up. They had talked and talked over a couple more drinks – mostly about his father and the area – somewhat isolated and yet friendly, with an old fashioned sense of neighbourliness. “I’d better be moving,” he told his attractive companion.

“There’s no hurry is there?” Angie asked, frankly and without thinking. Then it occurred to her. “Oh, sorry. You’ve probably got someone who’ll be wondering where you are. Do you want to phone ahead?”

“No. No, there’s no one. I live alone like you – according to Dad that is. But the heating seems fine now and I’m going to struggle to get past that blockage… it’s right in that bit with steep sides going up into woods and I think there’s a tree down in the road that’s been buried by drifting snow.”

They went together to the door and Angie was immediately horrified when she opened it. “You can’t go out in this!” she told him.

“No choice!”

“Why?”

“What else am I going to do? It’s either manage the walk, or try to drive back to town tonight – if I can even get the car out of this lane. I don’t fancy that one little bit!”

Angie eyed him thoughtfully. “You could stay here,” she suggested hesitantly.

John gave her an odd, sharp, questioning look.

“I have a spare bedroom,” she explained, quickly.

“Well… I don’t… I mean… Are you sure? It’s not…”

Angie put a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s open a bottle of wine, shall we? Red or white?”

John only hesitated for a moment more. “Red,” he said, decisively. “If that’s okay?”

Back in the living room, Angie passed a bottle and corkscrew to John. “You open it, please,” she said. “It’s getting pretty hot in here at last and I’m just going to get into something a bit more suitable than this heavy jumper.”

When she returned, wearing electric blue silk… well… pyjamas he presumed it was, he was sure she had quickly showered and she wore makeup. “Phew! That’s better,” she admitted. “I’ve put clean towels and a robe in your room. If you want to shower, there’s an en-suite in the room.” She laughed. “The robe’s a man’s one – not one of my girly ones.”

“Thanks.” He handed her a glass of wine. “Nice wine,” he commented.

“Glad you like it… I haven’t got any male clothes though, I’m afraid.”

John smiled, but said nothing for a minute or two. “I’ve got a bag of sorts in the car – if I can get to it in the morning.”

“I can wash and dry your stuff overnight, if you want. “

“No. No – thank you all the same, but it’s okay.”

Angie put her hands on her hips and insisted, “Go upstairs, get your kit off and throw it down. I’ll stick it in the machine.” When John hesitated, she added, “The robe’s perfectly decent!”

John sighed. “Okay, okay. I might as well shower while I’m at it then.”

“It’s the room at the left. The one with the door ajar. Throw your clothes down the stairs first, though,” she called after him, as he made for the stairs. “Right?”

“Right,” he called back.

Just for a moment, Angie wondered if everything was going too fast, but he was a nice man, a decent man, she assured herself – and she was only putting him up for the night in her spare room. She poured another glass of wine.

When he came back downstairs, she had to admit he looked good in the robe. She pushed her long dark hair – as dark as his was blond – back from her forehead. “Something to eat?” she asked. When he declined, she persisted. “I’ll stick a frozen pizza in the oven.”

Two more hours later they made for their respective bedrooms. “Night,” she said. “And thanks again.” She kissed him quickly again on the cheek. “Sleep tight.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, hoarsely.

In the morning, Angie turned over in bed and couldn’t stop herself grinning. “Pretty comfortable for a spare bed, isn’t it?” she asked the beautiful blond man lying next to her.

Marianne

The indigo sky of the horizon darkened to black overhead where faint wispy traces of high, shadowy clouds finally dispersed and the emerald and diamond stars began to appear. The majestic, flaming beauty of the sunset was suddenly just a memory and Marianne’s pulse quickened a little in spite of the best efforts of the warm Mediterranean waves to soothe her, as they gently kissed and caressed her feet. A brief flurry of breeze tried to be warm, but it contained an element in it that was chill and made her shiver, causing the tiny, soft, blonde hairs on her tanned, naked body to stand erect in response to the temporary drop in temperature. Her nipples responded in the same way and a small thrill of recalled passion ran through her.

Marianne turned and walked back a few steps up the beach, bent easily to retrieve the thin dress from the sand and slipped it over her lithe form where it clung to her shape and did little to hide her beauty from the prying stare of the stars. “Bastard,” she murmured under her breath. She smiled faintly, noting, not for the first time, that in spite of all the years she had lived on the Cote d’Azur with her mother, whenever she was angry, she thought and spoke in English. It was something that always annoyed her mother, that automatic return to the language of her early years in England, when her father had still been around.

“In French!” her mother would often scold her, but these days she would only smile and continue to do just as she wished. No one, not even the mother she loved, was going to tell her how to live her life now that she had turned eighteen.

Deliberately sticking to English, she would reply, “I’m an adult now and I’ll swear in whatever language I like.”

As she bent to pick up her sandals, Marianne thought she heard a sound in the darkness at the back of the beach and her pulse speeded up once more.  For the first time she realised just how late it had got and how isolated and vulnerable her situation was. What had been warm, inviting and romantic less than an hour before, now had a new feeling to it and there was unseen and unspecified menace in the darkness that surrounded her, threatening to engulf her. Nervously, she peered into the gloom at the back of the beach and, as a brief, lone cloud drifted away, allowing the cold beauty of the moon to brazenly display itself, she could just make out the entwined figures of two lovers, to the right of a large sand dune, engrossed in their own desires and oblivious to her presence, or perhaps they were just consumed by passion and cared nothing for whoever might observe their lovemaking.

The salty dampness of tears that she refused to release stung her eyes and she repeated, “Bastard. I’ve waited for you.”

What hurt, or perhaps more accurately, annoyed, Marianne the most was that she had known all along that she was hanging on to a fantasy. Her mother had told her so, but, of course, this had only strengthened her resolve to believe that he would come back, just as they had promised each other three summers ago. She was beautiful now, where she had merely been pretty, three years before. Blossoming womanhood had completed what had only been hinted at before and all the local young men wanted her, but she remained aloof and unavailable. Not for her some local stud. She belonged to her artist, Jean-Pierre. Six years her senior, he was her first and only love and she shivered again as she remembered the fuss there had been, when a relative had spotted his portraits of her, naked and wanton, in a small Paris gallery. Jean-Pierre was a good artist, brilliant perhaps, and the raw lust staring out from the eyes of a fifteen year old in his paintings was far too knowing for the family to accept.

They had been lovers, that was obvious from the paintings, and her yearning expression, the fire in her eyes and the openness with which she clearly wanted the man who was painting her were all too obvious to pretend there was anything left of innocence there. If she, or he, had been even a little more subtle, then the family could have buried their heads in the sand of the Cote d’Azure and been pleased that he was so clever and their Marianne so pretty. As it was, he had been literally run out of town and she had been virtually caged for a while, until she appeared to have accepted the situation. For three long years she had secretly pined for her lover and waited impatiently for her eighteenth birthday, when he would return as they had agreed and meet naked on the beach at sunset, close to the dunes where they had first made love.

On the evening of her eighteenth birthday, Marianne had come down to the beach, as she had done this night and every night for the past three weeks. By the third night, her mother had guessed what she was about and tried to warn her that she was living a dream, but she had refused to discuss the matter, except to say, “I’m an adult now and I’ll do as I please.”

Fearful that her daughter might run off to Paris and who knew what dangers with which she could not cope, her mother had just shrugged her shoulders and sighed, understanding far more of the pain and anguish her offspring was suffering than Marianne even dreamed she could, for the young always believe it is they who have discovered love and sex and pain for the very first time.

Another sound startled Marianne as she strolled along the beach towards home, lost in thoughts of passion and betrayal. The moon was a little higher in the sky now and she could pick out the shadowy figure of a man to her right, behind the dunes. The beach was narrow at that point and she had little choice but to walk close to where she had seen him dart away. Her heart leapt at the idea that it might be Jean-Pierre, but her head and some sixth sense told her it was Andrew Southbury, the seventeen year old son of a couple of well-to-do ex-pat Brits, who lived in a big old villa just outside the village. She quickened her pace a little since the Southbury lad gave her the creeps. She found the way he was always furtively watching her unpleasant, although she was not in the least fearful of him and regarded him as a pest, rather than any kind of threat.

Perhaps it was imagination, she thought, but she could feel his eyes burning into her as she made for the steep, uneven path that led down to the secluded beach from the village. In fact, she could imagine him licking his lips in some fantasy of anticipation of the delights her body held in store, but not for him. At the very beginning of the narrow path, she suddenly found her way barred by another, slightly older youth with whom she was vaguely acquainted. He smiled, but it turned into more of a leer. “Hey, what is ze ‘urry, Engleesh?” he asked. “Stay an’ ‘ave some fun with us, eh?”

This one did make her a little nervous and she felt obliged to explain more than was necessary. “No, thanks, Andre. I’ve got to get home. I’m late. I, er … forgot the time.”

Suddenly, she latched on to the “us” in his remark and was instantly aware of Andrew Southbury coming up behind her. His hands clasped her waist and then slid round to her breasts. “Aw, come on, baby. You know you want it and your artist bloke isn’t coming back,” he said in a whining tone. “We’ll give you a good time.”

“No thanks – and get your filthy hands off my tits.”

Andrew kept his hands where they were and began to squeeze harder. “Aw, baby. That’s not very friendly, is it?”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Marianne was much stronger than she looked and grabbed Andrew’s hands, pulling them away with relative ease. She spun round and brought her knee up hard into her assailant’s groin. He screamed in pain and swore, nastily, calling her names she did not like at all. She reached out instinctively to slap his face, but such was her fury that she clawed it instead. Then she made to run back onto the beach, but the older youth grabbed her from behind. He almost missed her and caught hold of her dress instead. Marianne was not about to hang around and wrenched herself free, but the flimsy dress tore and remained largely in Andre’s grasp.

For precious moments he stood transfixed at the sight of Marianne’s naked form running away in the moonlight. “Christ,” Andrew breathed at last, now that breath of any kind was returning and the sick feeling in his stomach was abating just a little. “She hasn’t even got any knickers on.”

Andre smiled nastily. “It is ze nudist beach. You ‘ave seen ‘er before like this, you say.”

“Yeah, but this is different. Wow!”

“Come on,  my friend. We get ‘er, yes?”

“Not half. Christ. I want her first.”

Andre repeated his nasty grin as they began to give chase. “We see who goes first. Maybe I let it be you, eh?”

Marianne sprinted for all she was worth towards the dunes where she had seen the lovers, but they were gone. “Shit,” she breathed, her chest heaving. For a moment she considered trying to hide, but she knew they would find her. A shout from one of them to the other warned her not to delay any further and she sped off once more, following the only other route the lovers could have taken off the beach – towards its far end where it was possible to climb over a rocky outcrop and thus up to the lane that wound out past a couple of farms, before it turned back on itself and ran into the far side of the village. She raced on along the beach.

Spurred on by long repressed lust, the two youths were close on Marianne’s heels by the time she reached the rocks and it was then that she regretted kicking off her sandals in order to sprint faster on the sand. She bounded on to the rocks determined to ignore the pain that immediately assailed her bare feet, but, moments later, her left foot caught a sharp piece of rock and was badly cut. With a cry of pain and fear, she fell, cutting her thigh as well as she did so.

Then they were upon her. The older and stronger Andre grabbed her arm and dragged her, stumbling and in pain, back from the rocks and onto the sand. He leered unpleasantly as he pulled her arms above her head into a prone position in the shadows on the beach and then dropped down, pinning her arms with his knees. “Okay Engleesh. Now you get it. I think I let my young friend ‘ere go first. Then you get ze real man’s cock after.”

“Bastard! Arsehole!” She screamed, and began kicking out at Andrew, who was at her feet and removing his trousers.

The younger youth stared at his prize and then at his swollen groin, where she had kneed him. He winced. “Christ it hurts,” he told Andre.

Andre snarled. “Get on with it, if you are going to do it to her, or I will go first.”

“I’m… trying. It’s…”

Andre grinned, undid his belt and zip and, very close to Marianne’s face, began to masturbate. “You ‘ave ze one minute, or I take your place. You like what you see ‘ere, Engleesh? I ‘ave very nice big c… Merdre!”

Andre never saw the owner of the boot that struck him in the side of the head. At Marianne’s feet, Andrew stood with his mouth open and his hands still at his inoperative groin, until the fist smashed into his face and fireworks exploded in his head.

Marianne rolled around into a kneeling position and then leapt to her feet, ignoring the pain in her leg. Then she flung her arms around the neck of her saviour. “Oh, Jean-Pierre,” she murmured excitedly in his ear. “I knew you would come back to me.”

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2002 all rights reserved

Perchance to Dream

Jake opened his eyes and, as sleep-blurred vision reluctantly focussed, he stared up at the clouds in the night sky. There was something odd about the scene that his normally sharp brain refused to register. Raising himself up on both elbows, he shivered and was a little irritated as he realised how chilly the balmy midsummer evening had suddenly become. Vaguely, he wondered how long he could have been asleep.

A break in the clouds allowed the moon to briefly shine at full brilliance and Jake was mildly surprised by how big and orange it appeared. Glancing quickly around, he frowned, for he did not recognise the meadow in which, basking as he had been in the exceptional warmth of the late evening sun, his eyelids had earlier become heavy and then finally closed. The moon disappeared again behind the slow-moving clouds and then, no more than half a minute later, reappeared, but now it was somehow smaller, no longer looked the least bit orange, and more strangely yet, it was way over towards the west. Jake blinked and rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. “What the hell?” he murmured, his frown deepening and furrowing his brow way beyond his hitherto remarkably untroubled twenty eight years.

Feeling suddenly unsure of almost everything, Jake got up, brushed perfunctorily at the back of his clothes and started towards home. The frown returned as it seemed to be much further in the dark than it had been getting there in daylight; and where was the gate he had climbed to get into the field in the first place? Peering ahead into apparently deepening gloom, he stumbled on some loose rocks or stones and stopped at once, staring wildly around him in gathering bewilderment that was rapidly approaching panic. Once again the clouds parted momentarily and cold fear gripped him as he made out the unmistakable reflection of moonlight coming from the surface of the sea, far below him, beyond the very edge of the cliff on which he was standing, no more than a small step from a long fall to certain death. “It can’t be,” he breathed, stepping hurriedly back from the brink on which he was perched, for the sea was more than a hundred and fifty miles from the meadow where had fallen asleep, only a short while ago.

Nervously, his heart pounding, Jake turned and slowly began to retrace his steps. After a hundred yards or so, he became aware of a deep rumpling sound behind him and the ground beginning to shake beneath his feet. Turning rapidly, his eyes full of fear, he peered into the gloom and could just make out movement in the distance. Bewildered, he continued to stare until he realised the movements were getting closer and the noise louder. Suddenly, incredulously, he understood and turned once more, breaking into a run, the cliffs continuing to fall away at an alarming rate behind him. “Earthquake!” was all he could think of by way of explanation while he ran headlong.

Presently, just when he thought he could run no further and the crumbling ground behind would finally catch and swallow him, Jake became aware that the noise had given way to an eerie silence and the ground no longer shook below him. At about that time the sky at last cleared somewhat and the huge orange moon bathed the area ahead in an other-worldly glow. Jake was hardly able to take advantage of the increased clarity of vision for some minutes. Bent double, with hands resting on knees that trembled weakly, his chest heaved desperately in an attempt to draw breath through a throat that was raw from the effort it had sustained and into lungs that screamed their pain at him. Finally, as his breathing eased and heart rate slowed to bearable, he stood up and surveyed the scene before him.

As far as Jake could determine, he was in the middle of a small field almost surrounded on all sides by a dark and forbidding forest. A distant movement silhouetted against the great disc of the strangely coloured moon caught his eye. Clearly it was a bird, but its motion appeared odd in some indefinable way. As the bird got closer, he realised that it had originally been further away than he had thought and was thus much larger than he had assumed. It grew steadily in size until he could make out a bizarre flying creature that looked like a cross between a giant bat and a huge lizard. Suddenly, its harsh, squawking cry loudly shattered the silence that had descended. Then it was only a short distance away and he saw, as it swooped directly towards him, that its appearance was as ugly as its call and he froze momentarily. His gaze focussed on the evil talons extended towards him and his blood turned to ice. Jake turned and ran for his life once again. The creature’s huge claws flashed out as it overtook him, slashing at his back and trying to grip him. He wrenched himself free and felt the claws gouge through shirt, skin and flesh, but at least it failed to hold him. Still exhausted from his previous exertions and now injured, Jake was unable to run very far or fast before he stumbled and fell face down in the damp grass of the meadow. He turned agonisingly onto his back to face the huge birdlike creature swooping in for the kill and, as it landed its crushing weight on his chest and he smelt the stench of its vile breath on his face, he passed out.

Jake fought off consciousness for as long as he could, but it eventually overwhelmed him and he opened his eyes to see his beautiful fiancée, Laura, smiling down at him. She was kneeling astride him there in the pale moonlight in the meadow and, the evening being so warm she wore only the thin dress that always made his pulse race. In an effort to wake him, she was alternately shaking him gently and kissing his lips, at which times he could feel the yielding softness of her very desirable body pressing down on his chest. He raised himself up on both elbows, just as he remembered doing earlier.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him some more. “Fancy falling asleep like that! I was worried about you.” She cuddled him even tighter and giggled seductively and Jake realised with relief that it had all been a dreadful nightmare. Then she pulled back, staring at her hands. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed in wide eyed alarm. “Jake! What happened? There’s blood all over your back!”

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2004 all rights reserved

The Enchantress of Hadd

In a distant time that was long before time itself as we know it, the most powerful nation on Earth was the rich and fertile land of Hadd. In fact, that great kingdom was renowned for many things, not least for the amazing beauty of its women – and there was one woman who was so beautiful that she seemed to cast a spell on men wherever she went. Indeed, many women swore she was an enchantress and the less charitable among them called her witch. Idrynn, for that was her name, possessed hair that was such a deep red colour that lovers often swore it had burnt their fingers as they sought to stroke it, or their lips as they fearfully kissed it, as they felt she had commanded them, although none could recall her actually uttering any such order aloud.

Nevertheless, few men would not willingly have died for the chance to spend even one passionate night with Idrynn. They dreamt of staring into her emerald green eyes with their hazel flecks that were rumoured to flash in firelight and of allowing their gaze to drift over the soft, exciting curves of her naked body where they hoped they would sate their lust. Many did die too, in fights that started when one hopeful suitor believed another was about to gain advantage over him in his quest for her favours. It was even rumoured that women who had spent a night in her company would never bed a mere male again. In this case too, though, no one could say for sure, although many men and women alike knew someone, who knew someone, who knew of such a lover.

Idrynn lived in a magnificent villa, in the very centre of the capital city, Gyrn, with it’s grand central square and its multitude of imposing villas with their gleaming spires and domes and, of course, its shops that were legendary throughout Hadd for the luxury of their goods.

Idrynn’s villa had a large and beautiful courtyard that was hung all around its balconies with exotic flowers and the floor of which was planted with shrubs and more flowers. There were stables in an adjoining building to one side and an arbour and tryst house to the other. All this surrounded a large and ornate fountain, exquisitely decorated with carvings of nymphs and handsome knights enjoying the pleasures of the flesh in the manner that was customary here. In Hadd, very few women were prepared to marry and throw away a life of pleasure and enjoyment to be with just one man.

It was into this capital city of this fairytale kingdom, full of rumour, magic, mystery and intrigue, that Aarin rode one day in late summer, fully five thousand years before the Egyptians began to even dream of pyramids and Pharaohs. Aarin was used to the effect he had on a place when he arrived. Indeed, he enjoyed it. Blond, blue-eyed, handsome and athletic, yet not in a fine way, but rugged and very muscular, he was an absolute mountain of a man and no one, man or woman, could ever find the inner strength to ignore him.

Heads turned as he passed and made his way to the house of Raag. It was a relatively modest villa, when compared with the others on the square, but it had an air of solid quality about it somehow and it also had one other very desirable feature – it was next door to the villa of Idrynn.

“Welcome Aarin. I expected you a week ago,” Raag called joyfully, as he ran out to greet his visitor. He turned briefly to his servant and indicated the gateway to his courtyard with its stables. “Open up, man.”

“I met a woman – in the next town, on my way here,” Aarin said and grinned.

Raag chuckled. “Oh, I see. I’m surprised you got here at all then. I told you our women are beautiful, didn’t I?”

“You did indeed.”

“Come. Bathe and change your clothes and I will have food prepared.” Raag waved his hand in the direction of his servant. “Droog will stable your horse.”

“See that you take good care of my beauty, Droog.”

“Yes, master. May I know her name?”

“She is called Fair Wind, but I just call her Beauty, most of the time.”

“With your permission, master, I too will call her that. It is most appropriate and will comfort her in these strange surroundings.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. You have it – and I will reward you well if she is happy in your care.”

“Thank you, master.”

Once Aarin had bathed, shaved and changed into clean finery, he came down the grand marble staircase and into the main living area. A table was set with many exotic foods and fruits and Raag greeted him enthusiastically. “My, my, Aarin. You look splendid. So splendid and handsome in fact that I’m sure the beautiful Idrynn would favour you. What a woman she is. You must have heard of her.”

“Oh yes. She is the stuff of legends by all accounts. She’s spoken of throughout the land – and beyond.”

“No doubt. No doubt at all. Would you like to meet her? She lives just next door to this house.”

“Really? Which side?”

“The magnificent villa to the left of this one. You came past it the way you came in. I saw you approaching.”

“Ah. That one. Hmm…” It seemed to Raag that Aarin would add more to this short comment, but he remained silent.

“Well. I can introduce you tomorrow, or even tonight if she is alone, which is rare. Shall I get Droog to find out if she’s in and alone?”

“If you care to. I must admit I’d like to see what all the fuss is about, but there’s no rush. Is there?”

“No. No, none at all. I’ll get Droog to find out anyway. Now, do eat some more, my friend. You’ve hardly touched anything so far.”

Aarin chuckled. “You’ve hardly stopped talking so far, Raag.”

Raag looked slightly taken aback and then guffawed loudly. “You’re right. I’ll leave you to it for a moment. Incidentally, that wine there is excellent. A really superb red. Try it and see what you think.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Aarin poured a great goblet of the wine and Raag made off to who knew where. When he returned some thirty minutes later. Aarin was seated on the enormous sofa that was positioned close to the unlit fire and he was beginning to drift towards sleep.

Raag sat next to him. “I quite forgot how tired you must be, old friend. Retire for a while, if you wish. We are invited to dine with Idrynn tonight – at eight. It will be a sumptuous meal no doubt and a long evening too, for there will surely be entertainment. For you, it might just be a long night also. Eh?” Raag grinned and guffawed once more, nudging his friend in the ribs at the same time.

That evening, they dined with Idrynn, as Raag had said and there certainly was entertainment. A dance troupe of two handsome young men and three very attractive girls – all of them scantily clad – whirled and performed the most agile and sensuous dances Aarin had ever witnessed. Idrynn smiled wickedly as Raag stared open mouthed as the women gyrated and teased him and Aarin. Clearly any, or perhaps all, of the three women would have been delighted to bed Aarin that night and perhaps Raag too, or so it appeared, for one raven-haired dusky-skinned beauty in particular was plainly smitten by him.

Presently, Idrynn and Aarin began to flirt outrageously and the female dancers wisely backed off and contented themselves with the two young men of the troupe – plus Raag as well, of course. Eventually, it became obvious that the dancing, coupled with the overt sexuality of Aarin and Idrynn’s behaviour, was just too much for Raag and he made some excuse to leave them alone. Only a few minutes later, the dark-haired beauty disappeared also.

Late the following morning, much consternation and hubbub arose in the two houses. First, it was in the great villa of Idrynn and then Droog nervously woke his master, carefully averting his gaze as the delectable and very naked beauty left Raag’s bed and went to bathe. “There is no sign of either of them anywhere, master,” he stammered. “And my lord’s horse is still in the stable. So is the lady Idrynn’s also – and likewise all her carriages.”

“Well, they’ve probably gone for a walk or something.”

“Perhaps, master. But I don’t think so. The servants next door are saying that my lord Aarin is a wizard and has spirited her away.”

“I’ve often suspected he might be a wizard, but it’s much more likely that the enchantress Idrynn has spirited Aarin away.”

“Yes, master. That may well, of course, be true, but the result is the same: neither is anywhere to be found.”

“They are probably up by the Lake of Dreams somewhere, fast asleep after making love all night, both out of and probably in the water too.”

“Yes, master, perhaps. But the dance troupe say they continued talking and flirting until very late – and were still doing so when the troupe were dismissed and allowed to go to their beds.”

“They’ll turn up soon. You’ll see.”

“Yes, master.”

But the couple never did turn up.

However, it is a fact that, on bright moonlit nights, when the scent of Jasmine was in the air and love and passion were everywhere, some swore for years to come that the couple could be glimpsed making love in the courtyard of the magnificent villa, in the tryst house, or in the arbour. It is also a fact that, although no one ever discovered how, the servants were still paid and even new ones were hired … and they continued to maintain the villa in all it’s glory for more than a thousand years – right up until the fall of Hadd.

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2001 all rights reserved

Shall I Compare Thee?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Ah, my darling; I suppose I really could. Your eyes certainly turn very wet at a moment’s notice, whenever you feel the need to deceive me. You float through each day like a sensuous, flirty, summer breeze busying itself with its own activities and hinting at sultry, sweaty nights to come that, sadly, turn too quickly chilly and uninviting before their charms can be embraced. Certainly, as you sleep warm and desirable beside me, I often remain awake, yearning for the wanton ardour of past summers that I think I can recall and deluding myself that in the morning you will have the hots for me – when, in reality, even the occasional “warms” would be a welcome change.

If the truth be told, I am completely disillusioned now. I have accepted that there is no room for me in your busy heart and you’ll never deliver the warmth and passion your soft, early morning beauty promises. I know I should walk away and seek a more alluring place to stay … and yet … and yet some deceptive inner voice still tells me that, next week, next month, next year, things will all be different – better.The trouble is, I guess, I love you anyway. But then, you undoubtedly are more lovely than Shakespeare’s bloody summer’s day … if only you would at least sometimes be less temperate.

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2005 all rights reserved

The Dress

Sharon’s heart fluttered. “Damn!” she muttered to herself, with much annoyance. “Get a grip, woman – you’re twenty four, not fourteen.” She had promised herself she would not get all excited and girlish the next time she met Tony. Unsurprisingly, just as she had secretly expected she would, she was failing miserably to keep that promise. Still, she told herself by way of excuse, he was absolutely her dream man – tall, dark-haired, tanned, well mannered and with the most incredibly sexy voice, as well as being unbelievably handsome – so what did she expect of herself? “Hi, Sharon,” Tony said in that dark brown voice of his that would have been entirely at home in amongst the oak panelling and antique furnishings of a drawing room in some old and aristocratic country mansion. “How are you today? Well, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. Fine,” Sharon replied in a voice that was all squeaky and unrecognisable to her.

“You certainly look great, I must say.”

“Must you?” Sharon squeaked.

“Eh? Well…”

“Nothing. I was just…” Sharon cleared her throat, attempting to reduce its pitch by an octave or so, whilst she tried to compose herself so that whatever she said next wouldn’t sound totally banal and stupid.

“That dress certainly suits you, that’s for sure,” Tony explained, pursuing his line of conversation and apparently not put off by her odd response.

“Is it? Does it, I mean?” Sharon discovered she had managed a reduction of nearly half an octave, at least. That was progress of a sort and she allowed herself a small inward smile of self congratulation.

“Um. The colour’s really you and, being so delectably short, it shows off your great legs to perfection.” Tony grinned a little wickedly. “Mind you, your bottom looks fabulous in the trousers you normally wear, so every silver lining has a cloud, eh?”

He chuckled briefly at his own joke and Sharon felt weak and thought for a moment that she might well collapse in an ungainly heap on the floor. “Don’t be so bloody stupid!” she told herself. Aloud, she said, “Why thank you, kind sir. I’m glad you like my legs – and my bum.” God, was that bold of her, or what?

Tony frowned. “Sorry, was I out of line? I meant it as a compliment, but perhaps I…”

“No! No, I liked it. I really did. You can say anything you like, like that,” Sharon interrupted him quickly.

Tony smiled. “Okay then. Then you won’t mind if I say you have the most beautiful auburn hair and green-brown eyes and the sexiest mouth I’ve seen in a long time?”

Breathlessly, Sharon murmured, “Not at all,”

Tony Chuckled. “I think perhaps I’d better wait till I know you a bit better before I go on about the bit in between.”

It was Sharon’s turn to frown, but in puzzlement.

“The bit in between your lower half and your face,” Tony enlightened her.

“Oh, my tits,” Sharon giggled. “Sorry, my … bosom.”

“Um,” Tony grinned again. “Oh, all right then, for the sake of completeness – you have lovely tits too. In fact, you’re gorgeous all over.”

Sharon couldn’t believe it. They’d worked together for six months now – well, not actually together, but in the same company and they had met almost daily, although they had never said more than half a dozen words at a time to each other before that day. Perhaps she should have worn a dress before then. Mind you, she had argued interminably with herself before finally deciding to take all her small amount of courage in both hands and put it on that day. It was quite short and strappy and made of a fairly soft, silky material that clung in all sorts of places that terrified her. Now, she was glad she’d been reckless. Not that she didn’t occasionally wear fairly revealing clothes, but that was usually of an evening, on the rare occasions when she had a date of some sort, or went out with her friends who were mostly younger than her. Plus, of course, she did normally wear trousers and, even if they did show off the shape of her bum, as Tony had pointed out, she still felt more covered up and somehow less daring. It was certainly true that the dress had made her feel different about herself in some way.

She came back from self-analysis just in time to catch the final, vital, sentence of what Tony was saying, “… sometime. What d’you think? Just a drink, or a meal. Whatever you fancy. ” He grinned again. “I promise to behave myself – no hanky panky.”

She was stunned for a moment. Her? He was asking her for a date? Quickly, and for once with remarkable mental agility that she normally only wished she possessed in such circumstances as this, rare though such events were, Sharon managed to pull herself together. She was very conscious that her nipples had begun to tingle and were prominently straining to say ‘hello’ to the man in front of her, through the thin material of her dress. Nevertheless, instead of becoming still more flustered, as she normally would, and only slightly breathlessly, which even she realised was actually quite alluring anyway, she announced with a warm and becoming smile, “Of course. I’d love to, but only if you take back the promise.”

Tony frowned very briefly and then his eyes widened a little and his grin broadened. “Oh? Ohh! Yes, well, of course – if you put it like that. Consider my promise well and truly retracted.” His grin became something just a little more wicked, although still as charming as ever. “It was going to be very difficult to keep, anyway.”

Two days later, following a very enjoyable meal at a superbly romantic restaurant Tony had chosen, he was taking her home in a taxi. Soon after they had got in the cab, he had kissed her – tentatively at first and then much more passionately when she responded willingly. As they neared her apartment and he was kissing her neck and it was doing things to her that she had rarely, if ever, experienced before, she whispered softly, “You’re coming in for coffee, aren’t you?”

Tony pulled back and stared into her eyes, still holding her in his arms. She was flushed and very desirable and her dress had become just a little disarranged. One breast was threatening to burst out from behind the minimal protection offered by the garment. He glanced down at it. “How could I refuse,” he said, simply. Then he added, “I’m glad you made me take back that promise.” Sharon giggled, but said nothing, offering up her mouth to be kissed some more.

Indoors, they were standing in her kitchen and she made the coffee she had offered him, but they had barely begun sipping it when she moved to stand very close in front of him. Putting her cup down, she kissed him on the lips, sweetly at first and then harder. Looking up into his eyes without blinking and in a voice that was hoarse with desire, she murmured, “You can stay the night, if you want to.” A tremor of excitement ran through her as he kissed her hungrily and she felt the zip of her dress being pulled down. Moments later, he gently slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and, as he released her just a little, it fell down to rest on her hips. He caught his breath, seeing her firm, full breasts for the first time.

“You are gorgeous all over,” he murmured, his voice full of the desire that was apparent in his eyes.

“You can’t see all of me yet,” Sharon said quietly and, still holding his gaze, she shook her hips a little, dislodging the dress and revealing, as it fell to the floor, that she was wearing no underwear at all.

Tony caught his breath once more and then, without saying anything, swept her up in his arms to easily carry her through to the bedroom. He placed her carefully on the bed where she could watch, with eyes full of longing, as he calmly began to strip, allowing her to see the beautifully tanned, muscular body that she had dreamed for so long of seeing that way – naked and about to make exquisite, passionate love to her.

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2005 all rights reserved

A Full Stop

‘Well that doesn’t work either,’ Bob growled, morosely.

‘Damn,’ his pretty companion agreed, in a similarly disagreeable tone.

‘Well. That’s it. We’ve come to a full stop.’ Bob had been ready to be defeated from the start and was secretly quite glad to have been proved right about the futility of the exercise.

‘What did you do with the blue one?’ Karen asked. ‘I quite liked that one and I thought it showed promise.’ She said this more in hope of at least keeping the project going for a while longer, rather than any real belief in her words.

“Nah! It’s a bloody waste of time. I told you it would be, but you knew flamin’ better. Waste of flippin’ time. I told you, didn’t I?’ Bob glared at Karen, but she said nothing. ‘Didn’t I?’ He was beginning to shout now, but she was used to that.

Karen looked at the floor and pushed one of the rejected items around with her foot. ‘I still liked the blue one.’

With extremely bad grace and temper, Bob capitulated. However, he did feel it was essential to emphasise that she was stupid and he was only humouring her. ‘All right. If it’ll shut you up, we’ll try the blue one again. But it won’t flamin’ well work. I’m tellin’ yer!’

‘Oh, thanks Bob. We’ll just give it a go, eh? Just this once more and if it don’t work we’ll know we’ve tried and tried.’ She flung her arms round his neck and gave him a big sloppy kiss. It was intended to be a sexy kiss, but it was so hard with him that she had to do the best she could in the circumstances.

‘Get off woman! You get too carried away you do.’

‘Sorry.’ She looked at the floor once more, but there was a little smile on her lips this time. ‘I’m ever so grateful. Really I am.’

‘Yeah. Well don’t get all weepy when it turns out a waste of flamin’ time. We come to a full stop an’ I’m only doin’ this to shut you up.’

‘Okay Bob – I know.’ She paused, preparing her best conciliatory tone. The strangest thing was that she appeared to believe her next words. ‘You’re good to me – really you are. Shall I go and find it?’

‘I dunno’ what we did with it. I think I slung it in the bin over there.’

‘This one?’

‘Nah! The one by the flamin’ door!’

‘Oh – this one?’

‘Yeah.’

She poked about in the bin. ‘I can’t find it.’

‘Oh you’re flamin’ useless you are.’

The pretty girl looked momentarily hurt, her lovely blue eyes becoming misty with tears that were much too close for her liking. ‘Damn,’ she muttered to herself. She was, though, quite accustomed to him telling her how useless she was, so she quickly covered the emotion with a rare retaliation. ‘Well you said it was here and it isn’t! Look yourself, if you don’t believe me.’

Bob came over, a deprecating leer distorting his features and making him seem even more of a slob than usual. ‘Can’t do nuffin’ right!’ he growled as he passed her and gave her a shove out of the way that nearly sent her flying. He rummaged around in the bin for some time, until he cut himself on a sharp object and removed his bleeding hand quickly to suck the cut. ‘Shit! Now look what you made me do!’

‘It’s not my fault.’ Karen heard her own whining tone and despised herself. She made to take his hand to inspect the cut. ‘Here let me see.’

‘Get off.’

‘Let me see.’

‘No! Leave it be!’

‘You had a tetanus injection?’

‘Nah. Don’t believe in ‘em.’ The truth was that he was terrified of needles, but that was not something he would let her know. ‘It’ll be okay.’ He went back to searching the bin. A few moments later he pulled something out, together with a handful of dirty rags, and waved it at her. ‘What’s this then? Flamin’ Scotch mist?’

Karen stared at the object and then looked at him timidly. ‘That’s the green one.’

‘Oh, bugger! Well, it looks blue ter me!’

‘Honest Bob. It’s the green one.’

‘Well I dunno’ where the flamin’ thing is then. We’ve come to a full stop.’

‘Ohw.’ Karen looked at the floor again, put on her best devastated expression, and waited.

‘Well I dunno’ what ter do, do I?’

Karen shuffled her feet in silence.

‘Well do I?’

‘I suppose not.’ She idly pushed a reject about with her foot in a repeated movement from side to side. ‘Didn’t we put the blue one in the cupboard – because it was the best one?’

‘I dunno’. Did we?’

‘I think we did.’

Reluctantly Bob went to the cupboard and opened it. After pushing things about on the lower shelves he suddenly took something from the top shelf. ‘Here it is. In the flamin’ cupboard all the time. Why didn’t you remember before? Silly cow. Waste of flamin’ time.’

The girl waited a few moments. ‘You going to give it another try then?’

‘Well of course I flamin’ am. I didn’t spend the last hour lookin’ fer this thing to put it back where I found it without tryin’ it again, did I?’

‘No Bob.’

‘Silly cow.’ Bob began to set up the blue one to try it again. ‘And don’t start bawlin’ if it don’t work.’

‘No Bob.’

‘And another thing.’

‘Yes Bob?’

‘If this don’t work, we’re at a flamin’ full stop. Right?’

‘Yes Bob.’

Bob finished the arrangements and carefully checked his work. Karen stared fascinated as he meticulously examined everything about the set-up. He was so good at this – it was why she worshipped him.

Finally satisfied, he began the trial. As it rushed into life she squealed with enthusiastic delight. ‘See. I told you it was worth trying it again.’ Her face fell moments later though, as it died once more. ‘Oh bugger!’ she said. ‘Oh well. We tried. I suppose that’s it then. We’re at a full stop.’

‘I reckon.’ Bob was surprised that he too felt disappointment. ‘Tell you what. Let’s go an’ watch a dvd an’ you can get all sloppy.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Karen linked her arm through his. ‘Oh yes please!’

 

© Copyright Adam Frayle 2003 all rights reserved