“Why have
you been following me?”
“I wanted
to see who you were meeting. Again.”
“The same
guy as yesterday. His name is Desmond. We enjoy each others’ company.”
“Yes I’ve
noticed Dear. In fact you like it so much that somehow your bikini seems to
magically fall off whenever you are together.”
“That’s well
spotted little man. Perhaps you should stop spying on your Wife?”
“Sorry!
But there are some things in this world a cuckold will not do.”
 |
“You know
I would Dear. You only asked me to get me going and humiliate me in front of
your new Lover.”
“Would you like
to see him lift my skirt and pull my panties down?”
“Same
question. Same answer My Love!”
“Would you
like to see him undo my blouse and stroke my breasts?”
“I’ll
tell you what my sweet little Whore. Shall I just strip you naked and offer you
to him like a good cuckold should?”
“Oooh! Cucky
wants to see his Wifey banged by a big Black Man.”
“Hell yeah!”
It's the kiss that tells a cuckolded husband that his Wife wants to make love with her Master and to eventually bear his child.
Chapter One - Scott
What do
you see when you look at my wedding picture? Am I a bride glowing with love and
expectation of a happy life ahead with her new
husband? A shy young woman who has just made the deepest commitment of
her life, looking at the beautiful gold ring that now binds her to the man she
loves? If you had those thoughts in mind you would be right – but not in the
way that you think. You see, my name is Mary and I have a tale to tell about my
life, my loves, and my wedding day, and beyond.
As a
young girl, Mark (My Boyfriend) and I had grown very used to each other as we
had both attended the same Primary, and then High Schools. We were inseparable
as a teenage couple, and were known to everyone, kids and grownups, as ‘M&M’
or ‘Mark and Mary'. Mark was a responsible teenager but I, on the other hand, had
been sampling the pleasures of coitus with older (mostly married) men for months before the question of real sex between us entered into our young
heads; however when I say OUR heads, what I really mean is MY head.
As a teenager, I had blossomed into a pretty young woman with normal sexual
desires that I was having increasing difficulty in suppressing. My Mother – as
Mothers do – knew exactly why I was so often out late and arranged to put me on
the birth control pills; just as well really, given the number of men who enjoyed
my soft and willing young pleasures.
“If
you're going to do it, make sure you are protected,” she said to me as we drove
home together from the doctors. She was very caring that way.
It was
always going to be Mark who would be my future husband, even though he knew
that I dated other men, so at the age of nineteen I decided that we should
have sex. It was tender and short lived in the back seat of his father's SUV while
in darkness at the far end of a large superstore parking lot. A week later we
did it again (same place, same SUV) whereupon it became a regular, but brief, affectionate
few minutes between us. I loved Mark, and still do, but even in those early
years I knew that he would never be the dynamic heart-throb of a young girls
dreams. He was steady, loyal, faithful, and was perfect husband material, so when
he got down on his knees one night I said yes and we begun our long engagement,
after having agreed that we should wait until we were fully certain.
Mark and
I had maintained contact with our friends in the small town where we lived and enjoyed
a good social life where there were parties at each others’ houses, meet-ups at
the local bars, and social interaction at the various sports clubs. I, played
in the local Women's Lacrosse team whereas Mark played Soccer. Sometimes the
parties could become a little ‘exuberant’ and it wasn't unusual for some of our
friends to become drunk, amorous, aggressive, or all three and at the same time;
but mostly they were happy events that made the long winter evenings in Canada all
the more tolerable.
Mark and
me were very much a part of this happy group and it was not unusual for me to
be standing in a party of intimate friends of both sexes, drinking, chatting,
laughing, and even flirting a little with each other. Mark, on the other hand,
became more and more retired from my gregarious friends and preferred to sit
with the quieter ‘hangers on’ group. And amid all of my ‘gregarious' friends
was a boy called Scott.
Although
I loved Mark, I was flattered that Scott was attracted to me and always made it
his business to be close to me in the bar or whatever party we attended. Others
in the group could see what was happening but, instead of warning him off from
pursuing me, they encouraged him. Subsequently Scott made his first move on me one
night in one of the bars we had made one of our regular watering holes.
I had
worn high heels that night and, with one or two drinks inside me, being
slightly unsteady on my feet I stumbled sideways into Scott's waiting (and very
willing) arms. He held me close to him and maintained his grip on my waist even
though we both knew that I could stand on my own. Everybody knew in that bar
that night that the dynamics of my relationship with Mark had changed. I also
knew that my fiancée, sitting in the rear of the bar, could see Scott’s arm
around my waist and his left hand resting casually on my round bottom, but he
did nothing. In the mirror to the rear of the barman, I could see that his face
was blank, with unmoving expressionless wide eyes that belied the slight tremor
in his hands. So I put my own arm around Scott's waist and pressed closer to
him.
Mark said nothing as we drove away from bar and I thought it wise not to speak of the what and the why I had cosied up to Scott. Nevertheless we made love that night but, unusually, only after he had lifted my skirt up and buried his tongue into my sticky wet pussy. It was just moments before I climaxed violently against his sweet handsome face, but it was Scott's that I saw in my imagination.
All week, as I sat at my desk typing up reports for my Boss, Mr Wakefield, I thought of little else but Scott. It wasn't as if I liked him that much. He was kind of brash and loud, but he was handsome, well dressed, always smelled fresh and clean - he was sex on legs. And he had made it clear that he thought I was too.
Friday
night was party night at my best friend Jenny's house. Her parents (mad fools) had
caught the train to Vancouver to stay overnight so us teenagers had the place
to ourselves. Being eighteen (just), I loved to dance and as usual it was us
girls who gyrated to some music (Oasis) in the middle of the floor of the
living room while the boys looked on and drank beer – Mark and Scott included.
As the
dance wore on, more and more boys joined their Girlfriends and I was almost the
last one dancing alone when I felt a touch on my shoulder. It wasn't Mark – it
was Scott who wanted to join me on the floor. I feigned surprise but I was glad
it was him because Mark is a terrible dancer and, well, because it was Scott.
As we
circled I swept the room with my eyes searching for Mark only to see him
sitting in one of the chairs holding a beer with that same dead look on his
face. Once again, he said nothing and did nothing to stop Scott moving in on
me, which he did with some skill and charm; so I was relaxed and happy when he
reached out and pulled be gently but insistently into his arms as Jenny put on
a slow sound track and lowered the lights.
I had a
choice between pushing him away and making light of his audacity or I could
wrap my arms around his neck and press my body hard against his. I gazed over
at Mark, looked directly into his eyes searching for a response from him and
saw none, so I chose to mould my breasts and hips into Scott's muscular chest
and burgeoning groin.
Mark
conversed with nobody that evening. He just sat and watched as Scott and I
moved together as one in that dimly lit room, and neither did his expression change
when Scott stroked and cupped my round bottom with his wandering hands. It
might have been my imagination, but when I tilted my head back for Scott to
plant his soft lips on my own, Mark shifted in his seat to rearrange his pants.
And that was the moment that I realised that my fiancée – the man who I would
one day marry – accepted my dalliances with Scott. And the little protrusion
from his groin meant something else was going on behind those soft brown eyes
of his.
“Shall we
go somewhere private,” Scott said breathlessly into my ear after we had
regained our composure.
“Okay,” I
replied, “but not for too long. I don't want to upset Mark.”
Scott
smiled but made no comment as he led me out of the house down the nearby alley and to a place where it was dark and
secluded.
“And I
don't want to go all the way Scott,” I said, suddenly fearful that he was
expecting me to have a full sexual encounter with him.
“That's okay Mary,” he replied, as he opened my blouse to reveal my bra and big breasts, “I have a fiancée too. But we can have some innocent fun can't we?"
 |
| "... But we can have some innocent fun can't we?" |
Scott was as good as his word. We kissed, fondled, and found each other's most intimate parts with exploring hands and fingers, but not once did he suggest full penetration. Not even as I stroked his hard and thick member or when I was breathing heavily and moaning with pleasure as his middle finger found the ‘G Spot’ in my vagina and went to work with dedication and enthusiasm.
I was happily
holding Scott's head against my left breast as he sucked delightfully on my
nipple, when I saw something move in the dark, close to a nearby woodpile less than twenty feet away
from where we two young animals were exploring each other's bodies.
Instinctively I knew who it was and just moaned a little louder at Scott's intimate
fondling, kissing, and fingering. ‘Enjoy looking at your future wife,’ I
thought to myself. And with that thought I realised that my prospective husband
had appetites that I did not fully understand.
We were
at our usual parking spot and Mark had already kissed me, when he pulled his
head away and asked the question that would change our lives forever. He knew
that his question was going to disrupt our comfortable little relationship, so when
his voice trembled I knew that my fiancée was tense and dreaded what could have
been my answer.
“Do you
like Scott?” he asked.
“Yes!” was my honest reply. “He's fun!”
“Has
...... he? ......” he stuttered, but couldn't finish the sentence.
I knew
what he was asking, and he deserved an honest answer.
“No. We
just like to mess about That’s all,” I replied. But I needed to ask him a
question and put his mind at rest. “Are you jealous Mark? There's no need to be.
Scott is an asshole, but a sexy asshole.”
“I
watched you with him,” he said quietly, and in such a manner that it was clear
to me that it was not in any sense, an accusation.
“I know!”
My response silenced the both of us, until I continued, “I saw you while Scott
was kissing my breasts.”
“Let's
say it the way it is, can we please Mary,” Mark said – It was a request not a
directive. “He was sucking your titties and he had his hand in your panties.
And while he was doing that, you were stroking his cock.”
“And did
you enjoy the show?” It was a question that was loaded with implications for
him, me and our future.
“I was
happy that you were having a nice time,” he responded, but we both knew that it
was a prevarication.
“Answer
my question Mark! We've known each other long enough to have no secrets. You
must be honest with me if we are to have a future together.”
I had previously
seen his little penis standing out from his pants when I had been with Scott,
so I was unsurprised by his answer.
“It
arouses me,” he said, and then added, “and frightens me at the same time.”
I thought
it was time for a little fiancée on fiancée intimacy as we sat in the rear seat
of the SUV. So I deftly unzipped his pants, reached in and found his little
rock-hard penis.
“There's
no need to be frightened my Sweetie,” I said as I unhooked my bra with my free,
non stroking, hand, “we shall marry one day but in the meantime I just want to
have a little fun.”
My naked
breasts always calm Mark when he is upset, and my pressing his face down onto
the breast where Scott had sucked my nipple did just that.
His voice
was muffled when he asked the question that many cuckolds have asked throughout
the history of mankind. “Mary,” he said as he pulled my panties aside, “would
you tell me if you were ever unfaithful? I mean really unfaithful – going all
the way?”
As I guided
his ‘little man’ into my welcoming vagina I told him, “I don't have any plans to
do that to you Mark. Not even with sexy Scott.”
“But will
you tell me?”
“I swear!”
I replied. “But there is a promise I want from you.”
He was starting
his gentle thrusting against my groin and the feel of his penis moving in and
out of me was reassuring, familiar, and comforting.
“What's
.... that?” He was close to ejaculation.
“I want
you to go down on me.”
The sight
of me being with another boy and the thought of what I could do with him had
had a profound effect on Mark. He seemed to desire my dominance in our
relationship and, after his penis had erupted his semen into me after three
short spasms, he lowered himself down onto the floor of the vehicle and put his
mouth on my vulva.
He did
not recoil from the sticky warm seed that oozed from my vagina and neither did he
complain. He was compliant and submissive in the devouring of his own salty
cream and worked assiduously at cleaning my groin; as I looked down between my
legs I knew that I had Mark just where he wanted to be. And I loved him all the
more for it.
 |
| I had Mark just where he wanted to be. |
Scott and
me continued to flirt, grope, stroke, and generally have little sessions of non-penetrative
sex in front of my fiancée after stealing away from parties and bars to find empty
rooms, alley ways, and other dark areas hidden away from prying eyes; all except
Mark's of course. And after each liaison, I would give him the relief that he
needed and he would willingly pay homage to my wet and slippery womanhood. But
nothing ever remains the same, and Mark's and my lives were about to change
dramatically.
During my
short time working for Mr Wakefield, I had graduated from just using a
typewriter, to word processing, spreadsheets, data bases, and electronic diary
operation. Much of the theoretical learning of Information Technology I had
done at home, and it was because of his encouragement that I felt comfortable
to apply for a Personal Assistant position with our head office across the
other side of town.
The
interview with Human Resources took five minutes after I had been shown where
my office would be and had sat at the PA’s desk. On quick inspection, it became
obvious to me that the previous PA had not used the IT, and had managed by a
combination of ‘Post It Notes' and a cheap diary that was all but unreadable.
“How did
she manage?” I asked the HR Manager, after I had powered up the desktop computer
and brought up some of the resident software packages. “There’s nothing on
here.”
His face
was noncommittal when he replied, “Terri had other qualities,” and said nothing
further.
I guess
that my ability to switch on a desk-top PC had sufficiently impressed my future
employers because I was asked to start work on the following Monday. “And then
you can meet your new Boss – Mr Gregg Jorgensen,” he said.
That
night, a Friday, saw Mark and I attending another party together and, I must
admit, I had celebrated my new job a little too enthusiastically - with bourbon.
As usual, Mark retired into the background, Scott moved in on me with his arm around
my waist, and within the hour we were getting hot and heavy together in one of
the small alcoves at the back of the house, while Mark stood by the door
outside.
Scott and
I had found a lot of pleasure in exploring each other's bodies and we had discovered
the physical delight of sliding the head of his big hard rod along my vulva and
across my clitoris. With our underwear down around our ankles we kissed,
caressed, and moaned with lust just loud enough for Mark to hear through the
door because we both knew he liked to listen to his future Wife enjoying
herself with another young man.
He would
later claim that it was his idea, but he was just being gallant. It was me who
opened my legs wider than usual, and it was me who guided the beautiful purple
round head to the entrance to my vagina. And it was me who whispered in his ear
to, “Push gently!”
“Hell!” Scott
exclaimed, “are you sure Mary?”
“Very!” I
replied, as I eased myself down further onto his manhood at the same moment as
he pushed upwards. My opening stretched and into my vagina it popped; the head
of his cock was now fully inside me - it
felt so nice to be invaded In this way. And the loud breathy gasp that I released
was one of pleasure and surprise.
Slowly,
so as not to frighten or harm me, Scott slowly pushed upwards until his member,
that was twice the length and width of Mark's, was fully inside my welcoming
tunnel of love.
“Do you
.. want me to ... Mary?” he stuttered into my ear as he readied himself to start
driving himself to a climax inside me.
I knew
what he meant and what he wanted. “Oh God Yes!” was my immediate reply.
Slowly at
first, Scott moved inside me, causing feelings of desire and excitement to
course through my body; feelings that I knew Mark could never achieve even
though we loved each other. I did not love Scott, but at that moment as his
athletic young body and well sized rod did their work on my soft and yielding
body and mind, I could have convinced myself that I did.
Gradually
he picked up the pace of his thrusting while I just hung onto his shoulders groaning
and screaming in delightful orgasm after delightful orgasm. I knew that Mark
was just the other side of the door listening but he did nothing although I
knew that he must have heard us. But me and Scott were enveloped in the moment,
so fleeting thoughts of my fiancée were soon out of my mind, especially as my
young lover was increasing his pace.
 |
| ... fleeting thoughts of my fiancée were soon out of my mind |
We reached
our climax together. His manhood jumped and kicked inside me as his seed
flooded my vagina in spurt after spurt of warm ejaculate in those same moments
as I shook, moaned, and shivered in a final mind blowing orgasm that swept over
me.
Scott was
sweet to me and asked if I was okay as he eased his nice big but softening
member out of my vagina. All I could do in response was to kiss him and tell
him that I was, but I was lying. I was not okay – I was annoyed that such
feelings had been denied me by Mark, and I wanted more of such loving. I wanted
a man who could do that to me, and I wanted more of it.
Mark had
said very little as we had driven away from the party and I kept a guilty silence
until we had parked up in our usual spot. I held my breath for a moment and,
plucking up courage, I said, “You remember that I said the I would tell you if
I was unfaithful.”
Mark
nodded and looked back at me with wide, scared eyes.
“Scott
and me went the whole way tonight Mark. I'm so sorry!”
“You mean
that Scott had you?” he replied
I started
to cry but managed to say, “Yes. I'm so sorry! But you did ask me to tell you.”
Mark
looked away, clearly hiding the humiliation in his eyes and said, “Stop saying
you're sorry Mary. We both knew this was going to happen one day.”
Mark had listened
to Scott and me making love and now I had admitted it to his face, and still he
was with me in the SUV and I had received no words of condemnation from him. I
was still a young woman, but I was beginning to realise that my fiancée was
different from other men. Mark remained silent and my sniffling continued
unabated until I had calmed myself to ask the question that would define our
future lives together.
“Mark! Does
the idea of me being intimate with Scott excite you,” I asked, suddenly
remembering his tiny erection when he had watched us together the week before.
He was
silent, and didn't reply.
“Mark!
Answer me! I just had sex with Scott, and I loved it. How do you feel about
that?” I cried.
“You love
him?”
“What?
No! I love you,” I replied to the question that showed his weakness. “But please
answer my question.”
“Are you
still going to marry me Mary?”
“Yes! If
you still want me?”
“Of
course I still want you Mary, but I'll accept anything as long as you still
want to marry me,” he replied, “And yes! It does excite me to hear you making
out with Scott.”
“I begged
him to put his big rod inside me tonight Mark, and I'm going to beg him again.
Does it turn you on to know that the fluid from his big heavy balls is still
leaking from me?” I asked him, knowing that I was close to his admission that
he did. But I was still taken aback at his immediate response.
He pushed
me back along the large seat of the SUV and, after pulling down my panties, he
buried his face into my wet pussy. And started to lick the salty cream that was
still oozing from my groin.
“I think
you have your answer,” he said, looking up after a few seconds of cleaning the
sticky deposits on my vulva; only to return again to his unmanly cuckold duty.
Gregg
Jorgensen was already in his office by the time I arrived (on time) for work on
the Monday morning and was waiting for me with a warm smile of welcome. He was
a tall bearded man with dark hair and glasses who looked through them with ice-blue
intelligent eyes that I was to discover could reflect warmth, humour and when
necessary uncompromising hardness.
“Charlie
Wakefield rang me last week and told me that you are very good at Information
Technology in the office,” he said. “My previous PA – Terri – was very good but
it wasn't her thing. But she was very good at other things.”
I liked
him immediately. He was intelligent, good humoured and empathetic with me and
the rest of his staff who, like me, adored him the more I got to know him. But in
those first few months of working for this vital and lovely man, ours was a
business-like relationship and there was no indication of the direction it
would soon take.
Scott,
Mark and I had continued our three cornered relationship. Scott and I had
graduated from stand-ups in a cupboard or behind the wood pile, to long nights
of loving in whatever bed we could find. Mark, had also graduated from the meek
accepting fiancée, to a hands-on cuckold who would seek out or pre-arrange suitable
places for us to hide away. Our friends also knew of our arrangement and were
now starting to refer to us as the ‘Happy Trio’s, or just Scott, Mary and Mark,
which reflected their understanding of the hierarchy of our relationship.
Clearly they saw me as the dominant part of the relationship with Scott as my
Lover.
We were
lying naked in bed one evening when Scott said to me, “My fiancée Miriam is
coming back to town Mary. Her parents are moving back from Calgary to open up a
shop in town.”
“What
does that mean for us?” I asked, as I continued to stroke his heavy manhood
back to life after the sex we had both enjoyed previously.
“No more
of this I guess,” he replied as I opened my legs wide to welcome his hard rod
back inside me.
You stand
there and watch as she tells him to ‘Come by tonight while cucky’s on night
shift. In fact come by any time whether he’s here or not.“
And you know
that he will because you can see the passion in their eyes and when you come
home tomorrow morning your loving Wife will now belong to a far better man than
you. But it was always this way for a weak cuckold, and it always will be
so.
"Shall
I send it?"
"Yeah!
Why not? Your hubby knows you're entertaining me doesn't he?"
"Oh
Nigel knows I am one of the White Mistress Wives. But he's getting a bit
suspicious that it's always you that calls for my services."
"What's
so suspicious about that? You're gorgeous and I love spending our long nights
together with you."
"Maybe
he thinks you're looking for something more."
"Like
what?"
"Would
you buy me if I went for the White Mistress Auction?"
"You
know I would."
"And so does Nigel."
The natural world has always favoured the better male to mate and impregnate the females; and so it is with Black Masters and cuckolds' Wives.
Every cuckold sees that smile and knows that it will be another lonely night for him. It means that HE is back in town and has called her.
All cuckolded husbands understand that when his wife is the Mistress of a better man than he, that there is nothing he can do to stop nature taking its course. And what could be more natural than a potent male mating with the pretty young Wife of a lesser man.
 |
| Beginnings for Elaine |
It had all started when I had worked in a large bank in the City of London. As a single man, who was quiet by nature, I liked to take my lunch alone and disliked all that ‘let’s go to the pub’ crap that my contemporaries needed; besides I preferred wine or coffee. Hence each lunchtime saw me in a local coffee house with a sandwich, an expresso and a copy of the Financial Times. I was, the typical quiet man in the corner, in a sober suit, minding his own business that is until one day.
“They’ve run out of brown sugar. May I have some of yours please?” I looked up from my FT and there she was – Venus, Madonna, Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe and Raquel Welch all rolled into one; that is, in a ‘regulation’ grey trouser suit, white blouse, sensible glasses and just the slightest touch of a Cockney accent. I just stared. I couldn’t help it, because nobody ever talks to the man in the corner do they?
“The sugar?” Her smile was one of kindness, but her eyes sparkled in wicked amusement because she knew she had made an immediate effect on me. But like the oaf that I felt, I could only mumble and point to one of the two bowls on the table (one for white and the other for brown sugar).
“Sorry,” was my reply, “you caught me unawares. Please take the bowl.” And from that incongruous start we chatted, found that we had plenty in common (I thought) and thereafter met every day to discuss the merits of banking, football (she was and still is an Arsenal supporter – silly girl), her friends, my friends (a very short conversation) and whatever took our fancy. It was also becoming very clear that she looked forward to our lunchtime meeting where we shared our sandwiches, opinions and intimacies; similarly, she had become very important to me – yes folks, I was in love with Elaine from the very first moment. And she? She had a ‘live in’ Boyfriend called Nathaniel (Nat).
Nat, it turned out was a black boxer from that famous pub in the Old Kent Road that had run stables of famous British boxers since before the war. He was a fierce fighter with a reputation for badly hurting his opponents; he was however, devastatingly handsome (even his scars made many a pair of knickers wet) and liked to play the field when he was not in training. Elaine was his ‘Woman’, as he called her and as one might expect of such a thug, he did not like others showing an interest in her. Elaine, I found out later, took all of this in her stride and never complained – such was her devotion to him.
Although I did not know the guy, I had seen him in the newspapers I could see the attraction and I must admit there were times in the dead of night that I could visualise that monster of a man between her open legs. Even though I had fallen in love with Elaine, the very thought of him powering his manhood into her gave me unfamiliar feelings of arousal. As much as I wanted her, I couldn’t shake those imaginations from my mind. Many nights would see me awake with delicious images of her with Nat – maybe kneeling before him with his thick manhood between her luscious red lips, sometimes her riding his shaft screaming in orgasm as her breasts bounced and his dark hands clutching the orbs of her pretty round arse cheeks. But most of all, the delightful image of a frenzied Elaine, on her back on the bed with her knees up by her ears as her Lover powered deep into her with violent thrusts that always culminated in a roar of triumph as his cock streamed floods of semen deep into her. This image never failed to elicit a similar response from my own meagre offering of a penis – always I came and always I felt good, not dirty or perverted, just happy; happy for her.
 |
| My Image of Elaine with Nat |
For nearly two years we met in that coffee house and as time went on I noticed that Elaine was slowly losing the bright spark that she had when we had first met. One day it all came to a head when she seemed a little distant and became a little fractious when I asked her if everything was alright at home. I became fearful that our daily meetings were starting to bore her, so I plucked up the courage to ask her
“Oh God No James! You are most definitely not a problem for me. But can I be frank?” I nodded, dreading what was coming next due to the tears in her eyes, “Nat has heard about our daily chats and has become a little jealous. I’ve told him we are just good friends but I don’t think he believes me.”
“Do you want to stop our meetings then Elaine? If you think it is affecting your relationship,” I gulped as I tried to stifle a sob, “Perhaps we stop seeing each other.”
“Do you want to Jim?” That was the first time she called me Jim. “If you do I’ll understand, but I do not want to stop. You are the nicest bloke I have ever met, so sod Nat. I will not be denied your friendship or anyone else’s for that matter.” I had seen little signs of her strength of will before, but that day I saw what Elaine could be like when she needs to assert herself. And I, dear reader, was so impressed by that resolve that I myself made a resolution not to let this wonderful creature out of my life.
It was maybe just a couple of weeks after our conversation that Elaine failed to meet me in the coffee bar, although not totally out of the ordinary she would usually phone me at work if she was indisposed or having to work. But on that day there was nothing. I phoned her desk at the bank where she worked and was told that she had called in sick – even so I was a little worried that I had not heard from her. The following day she did not call and the day after that; but it was that Friday that all hell broke loose.
I saw the empty table and felt that deep sadness that people feel when they realise that they are now on their own. “My usual please Anton,” I said glumly to the big Scottish-Italian guy at the machine, “I see I’m on my own again.”
He looked at me and gave me a very odd look as he pointed to the back of the Café. “Noo Mate. She’s sat over there. She’s already taken her coffee and she asked me to send you over straight away. You go. I’ll bring your coffee over.” I started to move away to join her in the darker end of the Café when Anton whispered, “Jimmy! I think there’s something wrong with the wee Lassie. I think she’s been hurt.”
I nearly fell arse-over-head on some spilled coffee as I rushed over to where she was sitting but I didn’t care, all I could think of was my Elaine (that is how I now thought of her – and still do for that matter) who had been hurt. “Christ! Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. I thought…….”
“James please Luv! I’m O.K. There’s no need to fuss. I just hit my head in my kitchen that’s all.” Pulling her glasses away from her face she showed me the yellowing bruise in her left eye. “It was an accident, and I was laid up and couldn’t speak for a couple of days. That’s all. No worries eh!”
“Bollox you were!” I exclaimed. “That’s a punch. Who hit you? I’ll kill the bastard!”
“Aye and you’ve been kicked too Lassie,” came Anton’s quiet Scottish voice beside me as he placed my coffee down, “that’s why you limped to your table just noo.”
The tears trickled down Elaine’s face as she told us the story. “It’s because of you James. Nat is jealous of you. He thinks we are having an affair. He was told by a friend that he saw you and me going into a hotel, but he doesn’t believe me.”
“That was when this place closed for refurbishment. We went to the Mayfair for afternoon tea.” I replied. “Surely he doesn’t think that I am your sneaky Lover.”
“You’ve never met James. You could be a big hunk for all he knows.” ‘Thanks Elaine for letting me know that I’m not every girl’s dream’ I thought to myself.
“So this is the bastard you’ve been spending time with. Scrawny little shit ain’t he!”
We all swung round to look at the open door to the Coffee Shop. It was Nathaniel. I recognized him immediately. And for the first time in my life I felt the red mist of anger.
They tell me that I shouted, “Hit a woman would you? You big lump of shit.” But I cannot remember too clearly. I can recall however taking a swing at him that skidded off the side of his head, and then I saw the biggest fist I had ever seen in my life heading towards my head. I am told that I went down like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey Jim. Come back to me. He’s coming round at last doctor.” I knew who was speaking although I couldn’t focus properly. I knew the perfume and the voice of the woman I adore. I tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come.
“Don’t try to speak you silly, brave bugger! Quite a stir you have made James. Did you know that Anton used to box? He knocked Nat out flat; the police and ambulance were called and they’re both at the police station. Oh yes! And the press have got the story. The ‘Evening News’ headline says ‘Lovestruck Wimp Attacks Professional Boxer’. Darling you’re in the paper.”
‘Oh Shit! My boss is going to love this. So much for the family friendly bank! He’s going to kick my arse right out of the door when he hears this.’ Those were my thoughts when she gave me the news; and I wasn’t wrong. Mr Bullingdon (Saint Bully as we called him) my God fearing brown nosed manager arranged for me to go across to their Canary Warf trading floor because of the publicity. But that was a month or so after my fight, if you could call it that, with Nathaniel.
