The story of Elaine, Jackson and cuckold james - Chapter 6

Beginnings for Elaine

Chapter 6 – Beginnings - Part One

That fateful Wednesday proved to be pretty boring at work and I spent most of the morning looking at figures that barely moved. Botswana was quiet again; Charlie was pretty much running the Central African currencies by himself and I had time on my hands. Once again I could daydream about Elaine and Jackson; I thought about that vision I had witnessed under the beach tower and Elaine’s sudden increased interest in, shall we say, being a mucky little cow with me; it was a side to her I had seen rarely but I had to admit I had enjoyed.

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.