A Second Chance Ch. 01

I slept well.

The next day I went to the Registrar and with the paperwork from the doctor and registered my dear sister's death. The registrar was a thousand percent professional as these people always are.

She handed me the death certificate plus a copy for the solicitors I'd been told to buy, and I left her office and made for a Coffee shop and a latte. Next it was to the funeral directors and the news that Diana's funeral was a week that day and at ten in the morning, she would have approved of that.

I rang my Boss and told him I would be back at work the next day, and he told me not to be stupid.

"Come back after the funeral dickhead," he said, but in the nicest possible way, "I don't want to see you before next Monday fortnight at the earliest."

"But..."

"Fuck off Craig!" he snapped, "You're on compassionate leave mate, and if you turn up here, I'll have you escorted off the premises!" He took a deep breath, "Mate, give yourself time to grieve look, you might be fine with it right now but... you know what I mean?"

I thanked him warmly, then headed back to the house I'd shared with Anna and collected all my clothes and a few possessions, simpler by virtue of Anna being at work still.

I was pretty sure that Diana's big house was safe for the time being, and unlikely to be repossessed in the next few weeks, and I could live there rent free while Anna and I came to terms with our new situation.

On the Friday morning I had a phone call from the firm of solicitors inviting me to their office for the reading of the will and suggesting that afternoon. I agreed.

I arrived at their office and was offered a drink, taking them up on a quite excellent Americano.

Diana's solicitor was very kind and spoke fondly of her and explained what my sister had actually owned.

As well as a large amount of cash and stocks and shares, she owned four houses including the large, detached house I was currently living in. Her untimely death meant that all four insurance policies had paid out and the mortgages would be taken care of. My canny, clever sister had arranged with this firm to ensure that everything was taken care of on her death and the copy of the death certificate I gave them.

Thanks to my sister I was now a millionaire a couple of times over, I had sudden thought,

"I've recently broken up with my girlfriend, does she have any claim to any of this?"

"How long were you together?"

"Four years, we own a house together."

"Well, she'll have a claim to a percentage of the house you share but nothing that belonged to Diana, don't worry."

"Thanks," I said.

"Here's the memory stick Diana gave me, it contains all of the information about her estate, any problems give me a call, any time."

I thanked her and headed back to my new home, ONE of my new homes.

Using the last of Di's draft email's, I sent out the information regarding her funeral, the location of the crematorium, the funeral director's details and finally adding the Cancer Research 'Just Giving' page that they had set up in her name for donations rather than flowers.

It came as a surprise to at least three of the two dozen addressees that obvious hadn't been told of her illness and death, but with promises they would be there. I also rang Anna.

"Hi Craig!" she said warmly, as she so often had.

"Anna," I said, "Di's funeral, it's next Wednesday, 10 o'clock. The hearse is leaving from here at nine forty-five."

"I'll pick you up, nine forty," she said.

"You don't ha..."

"Craig, no way are you driving to and from your own sister's funeral, NO FUCKING WAY!" She snapped at me, just as she always had done, "Nine forty Craig; your good suit, your Ralph Lauren white shirt and that Cadbury's purple tie and pocket square, Di loved that set."

She was right of course, even with the tie, and after some more buggering around with the house and finally unpacking all my clothes, I was ironing my shirt and digging out my good suit, not one that I wore for work, the one that I'd worn on special occasions, even dates with Anna.

As promised Anna arrived in her Renault Clio RS, the supermini she'd owned from new and could not be without. It crunched onto the large drive, and she stopped and stepped out. Her black midi-dress, black tights with black heels all showing off that amazing body I still had lewd thoughts about. She was also wearing the black raincoat that Di had insisted she have, the ends of the sleeves rolled back just enough to expose some of the checked tan lining, and the belt hanging loose.

Just to put the final seal on the thing she raised her black Ray-Bann Wayfarers and held her hair back with them. I really don't know if she tried to look so fucking good in everything she wore, or it just came naturally.

Still-fucking-had-it.

Only I wasn't going to have any.

"Your chariot awaits Mr Douglas," she said.

I walked across to her car and saw that she was noting my excellent turn out as well.

"Thanks Miss Walker," I said, "let's not try to race the hearse to the crematorium today?"

She wrinkled her nose at me,

"Spoilsport..." she shook her head, so her glasses fell back onto her nose, she peaked over the top of them and flashed her eyes at me, before pushing them back up.

As if on order the hearse turned into the drive, I waved, gave a thumbs-up and climbed into the super-mini. A few other cars were parked outside with Dark-suited friends and a few family members sat in them.

Our tiny cortege slowly pulled back out onto the main road, and we headed out on the route she had chosen, which in a roundabout kind of way took us past some of the places she'd grown up around.

There was the youth club she went to, then ran while at college, the girls' school she'd attended, with the new outdoor netball pitch she and a few other 'Old Girls' and former players had paid for.

Then a slow drive past our beloved Grandma's house, our second home until she passed a few years before Mum, and we were pulling into the crematorium.

The celebrant had come as a recommendation from the funeral directors and read the pre-prepared script that my sister had started to put together some years before, after a friend's sudden death in a car accident.

It was every inch Diana, and her sense of humour, her personality was all the way through it and the laughter started quite soon into it. The celebrant closed with his own thoughts, echoing the sentiment that we should all remember Diana as the wonderful woman she had been and not to weep for her,

"After all, she wasn't that type of girl," he said.

Indeed she wasn't and never had been. He closed with a recording of her favourite song and one of the few that she would dance to without getting too drunk, 'You to me are everything,' by The Real Thing, and I noticed a number of people in the assembly moving their hips just the tiniest bit.

Well done Di.

We headed to the local restaurant for the small wake arranged by the funeral director.

In our own large, well-catered room, I got to meet our few cousins and one remaining maternal aunt. There were paternal relatives somewhere of course but we'd lost touch with them after Mum set the CSA on him.

I got to meet many of her friends I'd known for years and her newer work colleagues. The event passed painlessly and quite quickly and by lunchtime most were gone, leaving just Anna and I.

"I'll drive you home," she said picking up her raincoat, "Tell you what, I'll buy you lunch."

We drove to a nearby Italian place we'd used quite a few times before and found it virtually empty.

The Lunch menu was large and interesting, and the staff were all over us, looking as hot as we did. We had a laugh about Diana, and about things that we had all done, and finally things that Anna and I had done. It was nice.

"So Craig," she said, sipping at her iced Coke, "About the house, if you can give me a few months, I should be in a position to buy you out."

I thought back to the meeting with the solicitor, and the amount of money and property I now owned. My share of our house in actual profit would be quite minimal even if we sold it and paid off the outstanding mortgage.

I looked at beautiful girl sat across from me; OK, I wasn't in love with her anymore, and I absolutely could be a total Jack-Bastard and screw her over the way she had done me. I sipped my Coke and thought about it.

Yeah, she'd been fucking that obnoxious twat in our bed, but the distress I'd seen that night and quite a few times since, she was still really upset that she'd wrecked what we'd had. She hadn't turned round and started to blame me though, for never being there, for my trips abroad without her, or accused me of doing the same.

It was simple, she was an extremely sexual girl and always had been, she'd felt horny and had screwed Sean, the superficial twat I'd spotted across the crowded dance floor a year before.

Fuck it.

"So how much do you think it's worth now?"

"A place the same as ours went for ten more than we paid for it;" she said, and sipped from her glass, "the couple we bought it from made the real money on it." She retrieved her phone to show me a page indicating what two-bed, terraced places were going for in our street based on a previous sale. It was indeed ten grand over what we'd paid for it, two years before, plus the mortgage payments, "How about I round it up to ten grand to pay you, and take over the mortgage?"

"Can you afford the mortgage on your own?"

"You remember Genevieve from my office, the planner?" she said.

"Yes."

"Well, she's in a similar predicament to me; only it was her boyfriend..." she paused and looked sad for the first time that day, "Her boyfriend did the dirty on her." She sipped her Coke again, "well she has offered to rent the second bedroom from me for a while, she's quite looking forward to it in fact."

"Fair enough," I said, and leaned forward, "Tell you what, Di left me her place and the mortgage was paid by her insurance; you have our place with my blessing, take my name off the deed, the mortgage, whatever you need to do."

"Craig!" she whispered, "you can't... you can't mean that?"

"Yep," I said simply, "you have it, I'm set with Di's big ol' place, only fair that some tiny bit of good to come out of all this comes in your direction."

"I..." she looked pale, and her voice broke up a bit, "Craig, I don't know what to say."

"How about 'thank you', that'll do it. Just a little something," I paused and raised my Coke glass to her again, "for the good times."

My last bit of revenge.

"Craig..." more tears, "thank you... thank you!" she sat up straighter, "I don't know what to say, you've been so kind..."

"So have you Anna," I said, "you were there for me and for Di when we needed you, every day for almost three weeks, call it a little gift from her as well."

"Thank you..." she gasped, and I could see she wanted to say something about 'us' again, I could read her feelings, and I guessed she so desperately wanted to give it one more try. She shook her head and cleared the thought, "I'll drive you home then!" She had the hint of tears in the corners of her eyes.

I paid the restaurant bill despite Anna's assertion, and we drove back to 'my house'. Once there she asked if she might come in and use my bathroom.

I made a coffee. I'd been a tea drinker for most of my life, but over those long days and dark nights I'd developed a bit of an affection for the dark bean that seemed to infect every corner of Di's kitchen.

She had good quality instant, she had beans that she ground fresh for her various machines, pre-ground, she even had bloody capsules.

I went with the machine, with ground coffee from a jar marked 'morning'. It was one of Di's choosing, the greatest flavour and despite everything she did have great taste.

I filled the water container and set the now empty jug under it, and it spluttered into life, filling the kitchen with a smell I'd always associated with Diana and her various homes.

I heard the sound of Anna's heels clunk on the old oak flooring in the hallway, I turned with a smile, ready to indicate that the coffee was almost ready, and there she was framed in the doorway.

"In the words of Penny, 'don't over-think this'..." said the beautiful woman, quoting one of her favourite TBBT characters, naked but for her sheer black suspender tights. I made to open my mouth, but she just held a finger to her lip.

She pushed me back against the kitchen counter, dropped to her haunches in front of me and unzipped my fly. With a practiced air, she reached into my boxers and withdrew my just hardening penis, which in moments was in her mouth.

Anna loved the 'clothed me, naked her' thing, and even though the room was warm, her nipples were hard and her large, nicely rounded boobs occasionally pushed against my thighs as she got closer.

We had both been fans of oral and on many nights, we'd pleasured each other with our mouths, generally taking turns as Anna was not a massive fan of the '69' preferring, as she said, to do her best work 'on her own'.

Her hours of practice were evident as she bounced backwards and forwards, taking me deeper and deeper until I knew she was ready for what she referred to as 'the throat fuck'. She dropped onto her knees, gripped my thighs with both hands and I heard that familiar gargling sound as she got into it.

I felt my orgasm stirring in my extremities and I knew this was going to be a good one. We hadn't had sex... no, I hadn't had sex in well over a month, and I hadn't even pulled myself off in the time I'd lived through.

I let go of the counter and put both hands to the sides of her head, my usual way of letting her know I was getting close, and she speeded up accordingly as I gently thrust in and out.

When I came it was probably one of the most extreme one's I'd ever felt, improved only by the naked fellatious woman at my feet, and the sight of her pulling her full mouth back and my final squirts of semen hitting her face, and dripping down her cheeks and chin to splatter on her chest and big tits.

She leaned back like a satisfied professional, happy in the knowledge of a job well done, licking at her fingers, then using the same to scoop the few strings adhering to her face, looking down to the mess on her boobs.

She stood up, her perfect, naked body back on display. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek and smiled.

"I owed you that one Craig," she said, "I should have done it weeks ago and a few more times, but..." she grinned, "I think I kind of made up for that." She pecked another kiss on my cheek and walked back to the bathroom and her clothes, that wonderful bare bottom of hers swaying gloriously, framed and slightly pinched by the suspenders of her tights.

She reappeared dressed, clipping her handbag closed after the make-up repair. She looked her usual sophisticated sexy self again, her naked body and that amazing blow-job ready to become part of the Anna memory bank. I'd already poured her a coffee and we stood in the kitchen drinking it, both grinning naughtily.

She finished hers and checked her phone.

"So Craig," she put her mug down on the sink drainer, "Come over and collect the rest of your stuff whenever, if there's a CD or DVD you want, just take it and leave me a note and I'll replace them, you bought most of them anyway."

"No problem," I said.

"OK," she said picking up her bag, "Craig, all the time that neither of us have 'someone'... this is just a proposal, OK?" she looked down, "We text the other with a smiley face and a question mark," She straightened up and adopted a straight face, "between nine and eleven at night, it means 'can I come over so you can fuck me'. Not every night, not every week, but just... you know..." She finished her coffee, "Just send a 'Y' or 'N' back for a response," she raised one eyebrow, "I don't know about you but some nights it's just... y'know."

I smiled at her; she had that rude look about her that just suggested sex, and strangely, nothing else.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Fuck buddies, 'friends with benefits'?"

"We'll see."

She kissed my cheek,

"See ya' Craig." She had her usual big sexy grin on her face.

"See ya' Anna," I grinned back to her and saw her to her car.

When I got back in, I saw a big red lipstick mark on my cheek, Anna was still full of devilment and I did think about the 'text sex', perhaps even getting her to come to me for a fuck wouldn't be so bad? While she was eminently fuckable, she'd had the opportunity to fuck me any night she wanted, but decided she wanted to fuck Sean as well.

And that was my clue; we lived together, we slept together, went on holidays, and did everything together, but it was still all about the sex for her. That beautiful woman, my lover, my bedmate, but she'd never been mine, not really.

She loved sex, was all about sex, it was probably the biggest thing we had in common. She'd broken my heart, said how sorry she was and had wept, but had now asked me if she could pop round and fuck me every now and again.

My ex-girlfriend just exuded sex appeal from the day I met her; I could remember the very first time I spoke to her at our last university formal. While I wasn't on exactly the same kind of degree course as most of the others there, it was dark suits and dinner jackets, and long frocks and cocktail dresses all round.

After the dinner and some awards being given out, there was a moment when the high-level apprentices received their indentures, and some prizes were given out. I received one for best electrical diagnostics graduate, and I could see the table several across from mine the gorgeous brunette finance and management graduate watching me closely.

I noticed that a drunk in a white dinner jacket had been trying to engage her in conversation before the tablecloths had been removed and the ladies allowed to rise. There was a bit of a disturbance that was hidden from us, but the white jacketed man could be seen ten minutes or so later being escorted from the dining room.

She was still watching me though.

"Oh, come on mate!" said a voice to my right.

It was Mike, my friend of three years and quite a few piss-ups, now graduated from his degree, and ready to put on the white tabs of a Midshipman and all set to head off to Britannia Royal Naval College and finish his officer training and work on some of the new high-tech F-35 fighter planes and Navy Helicopters, one of the military options I'd turned down.

"Dougie..." giggled the mostly pissed, soon-to-be-sailor, (having the surname Douglas, many of the potential officer candidates and trainees called me that.) "Haven't you noticed the hot-as-fuck finance girlie over there, she hasn't taken her eyes off you all evening; for Fuck's sake mate, don't waste it."

I stood up, loudly and obviously cheered on by the other military types in their dress uniforms, me in my DJ.

So I didn't.

I headed to the bar, and feeling 100 times more nervous than I looked, I raised my glass to her, and she did likewise. I emptied mine then waved the empty to her and pointed to the bar with raised expectant eyebrows.

She pursed her lips, stood, and walked across to me.

"Apricot vodka and lemonade please," she said getting in close to me at the busy bar, "A slice of lime if they have it."

Christ but she looked good. Her dress was tight fitting and cut down the centre to her belly button, making her shapely tits look awesome, with much of them on display as she moved in different ways and different directions. I was to find out later that everything was held in place by wig tape.

"Apricots and lemons, AND a lime slice," I said, "Part of your five-a-day as well, how noble!"

"Thank you!" she said brightly, "I never thought about it like that."