Fifty Seven Fifty

Over the next few weeks every time she went to the track to train, whether it was first thing in the morning or into the evening, he seemed to be there already, single-mindedly putting in a punishing series of short speedy sprints and long enduring runs. One early morning he set up some hurdles and proceeded in knocking most of them over on the sprinting track. Then he'd set them up again and go through the exercise over and over.

Occasionally she worked herself close enough to catch him talking to someone and was surprised to hear him speak with a very clear British accent. She liked the sound of his voice and longed to speak with him but was unsure how to go about it. Jess hadn't dated for years, although she was hit on continuously, and couldn't readily drop all those hang-ups with which she screened herself. She found out his name by casually asking one of the athlete students and Jess looked him up on-line back in her office.

Apparently he was a household name in his native country, an athlete regarded as a world class talent, his career cut short by a horrific auto accident. He had taken some sports psychology courses in the UK and was completing his studies in the US as well as assisting with the coaching to help pay his way through college. Jess couldn't find any negative gossip about his dating habits, apparently lots of girls had chanced their arm and a couple of them had managed to persuade him to make up a foursome for a meal or a movie, but no-one seemed to have touched his heart in the first month or so on campus, and he certainly wasn't putting himself about.

Tim had seen this stunning willowy woman, with a waterfall of blond hair halfway down her back, running around the track. Although her frame was spare her thighs were well-developed and she had a gloriously shaped arse. When she moved she had the grace of a cat, a poise, balance, she was so graceful. How was it possible, he asked himself, to have so delightful a motion from side to side whilst propelling herself forward? She seemed to be there every morning and evening, working through a seriously gruelling training schedule.

He found out her name and looked her up on Google. She was famous, very famous. A native of Montreal, Jessica Toussaint was only a couple of years older than Tim, but she had already earned her doctorate, was the head of the history department at the college and was a popular TV personality to boot having filmed a highly-rated series about hairstyles and head-dresses in the 3rd Kingdom of Ancient Egypt. Jessica Toussaint was rumoured to have further history series in the pipeline and offers of professorships at a number of prestigious universities. Like Tim, she didn't have a permanent relationship and seemed to be avoiding even casual dating. Jess had been married once but it hadn't lasted long, ending several years before. Tim had wondered why it hadn't lasted and why she seemed shy of new relationships. Tim's most recent steady girlfriend, had declined his marriage proposal shortly after he suffered his horrific accident. He had been reluctant since to commit himself to a new relationship in the past year or so.

Their training bags happened to be about ten foot apart when they coincidentally returned to quench their thirst and Jessica had thrown down her empty plastic bottle with a curse, having forgotten to pack a spare. Tim tossed her one of his bottles and they started talking, which turned into a coffee later, a date, more dates, moving in together and a proposal accepted for a life together.

Back to the present Tim tried to tell Jessica about his stag night bachelor party.

"We agreed beforehand that there would be no lap dancers and no strippers and that I just wanted to have a few beers, I'm just not used to drinking ardent spirits."

"You are not that bad, Dear," Jess interjected, "I've only had to carry you home once." Jess was stronger than she looked.

"I was particularly tired on that occasion and besides how was I to know that American fruit punch is mostly pure alcohol with a token splash of fruit juice?"

"And did your 'stag' compatriots comply with your restrictive conditions, Hon?" Jessie smiled sweetly, knowing how wild some of these occasions were, her own bridal shower being a case in point.

"Yes and no," Tim admitted.

"In what area of entertainment or refreshment was there a significant degree of interpretational variance to your original stipulations?"

"Both areas were interpreted rather liberally," confessed Tim, looking down at his own lap.

From her sitting position on the bed, next to her husband, Jessie kicked herself further up the bed, fluffed a pillow and placed it under her armpit, she turned on her side and propped herself up comfortably on an elbow and the pillow and regarded him, saying,

"Well, I'm comfy, and ready to listen, are you going to begin at the beginning?"

Tim made himself comfortable by moving up the bed and forming a bookend image of his bride, then he started.

"There were a dozen of us to begin with, down at Tony's Tavern, where we had a couple of beers. Then we moved on to the Ramada where the other guys starting hitting tequila shots. That stuff is vile, I was persuaded to try one and you wouldn't pay me to drink that stuff ever again, I'd rather suck on a gallon of flat warm Newkie Brown! Eventually, after about half a dozen rounds we went onto a nightclub, no idea which one, where the guys had already booked a booth. That was where I think they were supplying me with boilermakers, because I was feeling more than just the usual beer buzz. I needed something to eat, to soak up the booze, so we moved onto a restaurant by which time we were down to about six of us. Howard was the organiser and, after some food and more drinks, we ended up in the foyer of a hotel where, unknown to me, they had secured a suite, with a lounge and a couple of en-suite bedrooms."

"I feel some hanky panky coming on, all this mention of bedrooms on a bachelor party. I hope you behaved yourself, Sweetheart?" Jessie said, a concerned note in her voice.

"By the time we got to the suite and I found myself on the sofa, Honey, I was feeling no pain. I was out of my head. We indulged in a few noisy rounds of drinking games, all of which I think, no, I know I lost. Then Howard said it was time for bed, which seemed perfectly natural to me, you know how tired I get when I drink a lot. So I was frog marched into one of the bedrooms and my friends very kindly helped me to get undressed."

"How did Howard get hold of your PJs, then?" asked Jessica, innocently.

"Apparently, he didn't," admitted Tim.

"They stripped you down to your underwear then, huh Sweetheart?" Jessica smiled.

"All the way down to my skin, actually," divulged Tim, a little guiltily.

"Of course they did, I wouldn't have expected anything less, all your male friends are sports coaches or jocks. I hope they tucked you in so you were nice and warm and cosy?" Jess enquired.

"Nothing to tuck in, my love, all the bedclothes had been removed, just a bottom sheet on the mattress, really."

"Good thing it's mid summer, I remember it was quite close and sticky in the city on the night of your bachelor party."

"Well, it wasn't hot in that hotel room, I was bloody freezing, the air conditioning was on full blast. I had goosebumps, all over," moaned Tim.

"Aww, at least you were somewhere safe and not stumbling home drunk in the dark," Jess observed, "So your fellow bachelors just turned out the lights and woke you up nicely refreshed for breakfast and coffee in the morning?"

"Not quite," said Tim, "They left all the lights on, full on, and then they walked out and left me in that bedroom. The last thing they wanted me to do was sleep the rest of the night."

"I don't suppose you were so drunk not to get up and turn down the air con and switch off the lights?" guessed Jess.

"You'd think so, but no, I couldn't move! They had padlocked my wrists and ankles to the bed posts with these furry pink handcuffs that they must've bought from a sex shop or something, I couldn't move much at all. I certainly couldn't get up. I lay there helpless," complained the unhappy groom.

Jessie giggled, "I suppose you were left all alone for the rest of the night, in the freezing cold with your poor cold winkie shrivelling up to nothing?"

"Not exactly the rest of the night and you know however cold it is I never shrink very much."

"True, sweetie. When did they release you, then?"

"About 9 or 10 in the morning. I'm not sure as I couldn't see my wristwatch as my wrist was still handcuffed to the bedpost."

"Oh, Honey," sympathised Jessica, "So you were left all on your lonesome all night?"

"Not ... lonesome exactly,", Tim admitted.

"So someone sat with you all night? Awww! That was nice of your pals," Jess commented.

"Er ... yes, very nice. Someone came into the room almost immediately and locked the door behind them, to keep us private."

"Your pal, Howard, I guess he looked after you, as he organised everything?"

"No, not Howard."

"James? ... Paul? ... Wayne? ... Jonesy? ... Who was it then sweetheart?"

"Not James ... Not Paul ... Definitely not Wayne, he didn't last as far as the hotel ... Not Jonesy either, unfortunately," Tim paused.

"So who was this hero who kept you company for, ohh, how long was it, seven, eight hours?" enquired Jess.

"Yes, it must have been about that long."

"So who was the hero I have to thank, for keeping you company in your hour of need when I wasn't allowed to be with you?"

"Er ... Candy," whispered Tim.

"Candy?" enquired Jessie, with raised eyebrows, "Who the fuck's Candy?" Her voice climbed half an octave.

"Candy is the girl the guys hired ... for me."

"Hired her for what, was she a lap dancer or a stripper?"

"Neither, I was securely tied flat on the bed so I didn't have a lap to dance on for one thing and as for stripping, well she didn't have to ... er ... bother with a strip-tease."

"So this Candy woman remained fully clothed throughout the time she shared your bedroom, huh?" Jessica enquired a little testily.

"She didn't actually remove any clothing in the bedroom ... Oh bugger, Jess! She didn't have to remove any clothing because she was already virtually naked. Just stockings, suspenders and five inch pumps, she must have got changed in the other bedroom."

"Oh, shit!" Jessica breathed and was quiet for almost a minute.

"Was she one of those exotic dancers, you know, the kind you are supposed to watch but are not allowed to touch?"

"Oh, well, she definitely had some moves on her but I don't think she was a dancer." Tim paused, before continuing, "And she was there specifically ... er ... to be touched."

"A hooker!" Jess exploded, "She was a damned hooker!"

"She was," agreed Tim, quietly.

"So, Honey," Jess spat, with heavy emphasis on the 'honey', "You spent all night with this hooker, then, huh?"

"Look, I tried everything I could to talk her out of spending the night with me. I said that I had an exclusive agreement with my fiancé from way before we even got engaged. I said we were due to marry in two days and I would feel too guilty not to confess everything to my bride, so she had the power to destroy our marriage before it even began. I also pointed out that I was English and that we don't do this sort of thing at all, we are far too anal for casual sex," Tim pleaded. "I told her that not only was I anal but you were Canadian, from Quebec and she agreed with me that Quebecers were probably even more repressed than the Brits were!"

"So, she accepted that this touching - whatever you precisely meant by that - was not happening, that any touching other than a polite handshake was completely out of the question?"

"Not really," Tim admitted, "She said she understood the situation from my point of view, one day when she had worked her way through college ..."

Jessica butted in then "College? What do you mean, college, when did she tell you she was a fucking young, fucking student?"

"She must've told me later when we were talking, I can't really recall, I was drunk remember?"

"Just how drunk?"

"Very, about six hours of solid drinking drunk and you know I'm not used to it, Baby."

"Not too drunk to realise how young a 'ho' she was, then?"

"OK, she was very young but she was determined, adamant that it was a done deal. Candy was a professional, paid to do a specific job or more than one job as it happens, and she was going to carry it out to the letter. She was duty bound, she said."

Jessica thought about it for another minute. "Still, paid professional or not, there's not much she could've done though, if you didn't actually respond sexually to her. I mean you couldn't could you, after all that alcohol, the freezing cold temperature and your solemn promise to me that I was your one and only. Is that right, Babe?"

"Mmmm, s'pose not," Tim muttered uncertainly.

"So your big soldier stayed nice and limp in that cold room and wouldn't get up and at 'em for that tart, right?! Right?"

"Honey, I'm a chap, our responses ... you know ... down there ... are well, quite involuntary."

"But she was a tart, a painted whore, a floozie! That would make a difference. It wasn't me, the one true love of your life, so it couldn't happen. Right?"

"Well, she wasn't you, I was drunk and kept telling myself Candy wasn't you but, honest, Hon, she did look so much like you, tall, slim, long blond hair, in great shape, she could have been your twin sister. Shit, even her face looked like you, same colour eyes, same great nose, same delicious lips. I suppose she might have had quite a bit of make-up on, I didn't really notice," Tim was digging a hole for himself and he knew it. "She was actually really nice looking, only the littlest bit tarty."

"Nice looking for a tart! and I suppose you couldn't take your eyes of her tits, huh?" Jessica was tall, slim, long blond hair halfway down her back, in great shape but had always imagined her tits were on the small side.

"Well, she was leaning over me on the bed and they were right in front of my eyes, so I couldn't help noticing them. They did look ... big." Tim's voice dropped to a whisper as he looked down, then he rallied and glared at Jess defiantly, he knew he was going to suffer and was resolved to end the agony and suffer the consequences.

"Bloody hell, Jess! They were fantastic tits and they moved and jiggled as she spoke and breathed. I mean they were right there and I was wearing beer goggles."

Tim was still digging his hole, he'd need pit ponies to get out if he carried on.

"S'pose they were much bigger tits than mine then, were they?" Jess was shaking her head from side to side, speaking through clenched teeth, everybody's bloody tits are bigger than mine, she thought.

"They looked bigger, because they were right in my face, but I think they were very similar to yours," Tim looked deep into her eyes and quickly added, "But yours are the best, my favourite handfuls, and as for your nipples, Honey, there was no comparison."

"Did you get hard looking at those fantastic but second-rate nippled tits, then?"

"Well, no ... not at first."

"So, you admit that you did get hard at some stage. What got you hard. Did she start jerking you off?" she hissed.

"No, she hardly touched me at all," despite Tim's recent shower and the cool atmosphere in the cabin, he was sweating profusely. "She started using her nails on my chest, Sweetheart."

"Nails?"

"Yes, they were long, nearly two inches and painted glossy red. She started scratching my chest lightly with the tips of her nails and smiling sweetly at me. With her hair piled high and the light behind her, the girl's face was in shadow, she could have been you, Honeypie. What could I do? Hon, my body just ... reacted."

"Yes, but it wasn't me, was it? It was some ass-crack whore! So you had a raging hard on just for this overweight, silicone-chested whore cow, with the gaudy 'slapper' nails, and she had you drooling all over her?"

"She wasn't fat and they really didn't look false." Tim's voice had fallen back to a whisper.

"Was she fit, not fat, then?"

"Mmmmm. Fit."

Jessie's eyes were blazing "What, OK fit or really fucking fit?"

"The second one," Tim swallowed hard but his mouth was too dry for saliva.

"Plain faced bitch, then, was she?"

"No, she wasn't plain, actually," Tim opined, rather too quickly for Jessica's liking.

"What was she like, actually?" with more than a dribble of sarcasm in her voice.

"Well she was pretty and young, maybe 19 or 20, still at college I think, from something she said later about working to pay her way through. Said she had lost her scholarship after some bad grades and didn't want to admit she had partied too much to her parents. She was just a nice girl forced into a situation, a bit like where I found myself." He stopped momentarily, looking his wife directly in the eye. "You would have liked her." He dropped his eyes again, he found it hard to hold her gaze, which remained hostile.

Softly he continued, "Look, Candy was really nice, blond, hair piled high, long neck, hour-glass waist, accommodating hips, shapely legs encased in black suspenders and black fishnet tights, black pumps with four or five inch heels. Nice, really nice." Tim spoke in a dream-like trance, nodding each bullet point as he spoke, then raised his eyes to meet Jessica's, whose moist eyes continued to bore into him like diamond tipped drills. He hastily added, "But in a slutty way, of course."

Jessica was drumming her right fingertips on the mattress. Tim noticed they hadn't touched for most of their exchange of words. He reached across with his left hand and cupped his beloved's right cheek, it felt cool and dry to his warm, sweat-moistened hand. Tim hoped she wasn't cooling towards him anywhere else on her desirable body.

"You are enjoying this, aren't you, you fucking bastard!" Jessica responded, "Now you're gonna tell me that whore fucked you stupid on that bed and you did nothing to stop her!"

"I did everything I could to do to stop her, Honey!" pleaded Tim, who was unable to prevent his voice rising both in octave and volume.

He retreated his proffered hand back to the mattress. "I even offered to pay her money not to do what the guys had paid her to do."

"How were you able to do that, then Hon, you said earlier that you didn't have any money on you?"

"I didn't have my wallet, the lads told me not to bring any money for drinks, food or cab home. I asked Candy to check what change I had in my pocket. It added up to thirty-seven dollars fifty cents. Then I remembered I had a twenty folded up in that little secret pocket."

"So, you were able to pay her off your whore with just fifty seven fifty? She must've been a really cheap trick-turning, drunk-banging slapper!"

"Not quite," Tim said, "Her normal fee for a trick like this this was two thousand dollars a night," he paused as Jessica's jaw dropped open, "Well, that's what she said. And she insisted that she was honour-bound to carry out what she had been paid to do."

"I'm in the wrong profession," Jess snapped, "I could earn my salary for a night's work a week. Do you think I'm worth two grand a night?" She glared at Tim, who she expected to rise to the challenge, or else!

"Every penny of three grand Hon, no probs," enthused Tim, with only the barest hint of a hesitation. "She was a babe, I admit that, but you are one unique hot piece of arse."

Taking the bull by the horns, Tim reached his left hand behind his bride's head and pulled her towards him slowly but firmly. His barely damp tongue met her dry lips, moistened them with a lick and pressed his lips against hers and urged his tongue partly into her mouth. To his eternal relief, bearing in mind the way the conversation had been going, Jess responded to his eager tongue with her own and they tongue-wrestled for a moment while their arms enveloped each other as they lay on their bed. They only ceased their kiss when they were both forced to come up for air.