An Ex-Con and a Lady

'The benefits of having no kids is nobody to make a mess, either,' she commented.

'No,' I agreed. 'Just the dogs.'

'Did you want kids?' she asked curiously. 'Do you still want them? You're still young enough. How old are you, anyway?'

'Thirty-eight, and no, never wanted them. First asked for a vasectomy when I was twenty-two, finally got a surgeon to agree when I was thirty-four.' I reached for another slice of meatlovers. 'I'm not the sort of person who should be having kids.'

'You seem alright to me,' she replied lightly. 'You have a job, a house and a car.'

'A long history of incarceration, mental illness and no knowledge whatsoever on how to raise a kid,' I corrected.

Her face paled. She didn't know about the jail time. I raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say 'what did you expect?', even though I'd known she hadn't guessed. She was too much of a good girl. That's why she needed to leave, before this went any further. I knew that if she stayed, I wouldn't be able to help myself. I'd start telling lies, and omitting facts, and doing whatever I needed to secure her affection. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't. No. No, no, no.

Therese's attitude noticeably cooled. I didn't blame her. If anything, I admired her all the more. A woman should know what she's worth and not settle for anything less.

She left shortly after, and I thought 'well, that's that. You'll never see her again'. It sucked, and it hurt, but it was for the best. I got on with life as best one can when they've realised they can't even kill themselves properly, only maybe this time, I was feeling a little better. Therese's interest had given my self esteem a little boost, and I felt not quite so worthless and forgettable.

I was horny as fuck, though, so on Sunday, my only day off, I went to a brothel. I give zero fucks about what people think about paying for sex, because for me, it's a lifesaver. It keeps me away from normal women, thus reducing the temptation to try and find a relationship, by giving me human touch and sex, two things I don't ever seem to be able to get enough of.

I've always been wary of developing feelings for a working girl, so I frequent a few different places and always try to pick a girl I haven't been with before. Sometimes the women are good at what they do, and I come home peaceful and feeling rested, others, like that Sunday's escort, leave a little to be desired.

I'm not shy about giving instructions. I'm paying for a service, and I like to receive what I want. Namely, I want her to suck me off, I want her to fuck me, and then I want to lie in bed and cuddle. I'm happy to talk while cuddling, so long as she has something sensible to talk about, but I do not, under any circumstances, want to hear any sexy moaning or anything during sex. Just shut up and stay quiet while I do my thing with you.

When I was with a proper woman, and by that I mean one who was motivated to have sex with me for reasons not relating to money, I wasn't so fussy. Whatever happened, happened. With a regular woman, whether it ended with me being jerked or sucked or fucked was irrelevant, because sex was a game we were both enjoying. When I'm with a prostitute the fun and spontaneity is missing, so I need to have rules and ideas and expectations.

This whore, 'Yasmin' or whatever the fuck her real name is, just wouldn't shut up with the moaning, which resulted in me getting two blow jobs and no sex. Can't talk with your mouth full, can you? And afterwards, when all I wanted to do was lie down and enjoy the remaining twenty minutes, she fidgeted restlessly, annoying the living bejesus out of me. I was almost tempted to ask her how much it would cost to handcuff and gag her.

Ah well, we can't all be good at our job, can we? Whores are only human, after all.

I went home, mowed the lawn, and thought of Therese. Therese could have fidgeted and sighed and squirmed impatiently after sex, and I wouldn't have been annoyed, not in the slightest. But I knew Therese wouldn't be that way. I knew instinctively that she was the kind of woman who could lie there in the aftermath, naked and sticky and satisfied, and doze off to sleep with a man. The sort of woman who would wake you up after a few hours later and tell you it was dinner time, but instead of making something to eat, the two of you would fuck once more, before ordering something in, or making up a stack of toasted sandwiches.

I wished, not for the first time, that I hadn't hit Sofie. If I hadn't, I could have had a relationship. But I did, so I don't. I've no one to blame but myself.

~~~~~~~~

The hospital was calling me, over and over and over again, demanding I go and see their shrink. I kept refusing. I hate shrinks. I can't think of anything more perverse than telling some uppity cunt about all the shit I've lived through, while they pick over the ruins of my life and try to guess where things went wrong.

The whole fucking lot went wrong, cunt. The whole fucking lot.

Needless to say, I ignored the phone calls. I went to work. Walked my dogs. Saw a few prostitutes. Tried to forget that from hereon in, it was just me, myself and I. I'd decided to do away with the idea of suicide for a while. It obviously wasn't something I was good at, and after every suicide attempt, there was always shit I needed to catch up on.

It was just a pain in the arse having to organise for the rescue to look after the dogs, and to work my butt off for the boss when I was back out of hospital again so he didn't think I was taking the piss, and to have to clear out the soured milk and mouldy bread from my fridge and pantry after it had been left to fester and rot for a week. Suicide is truly one of those activities where if you're not confident you're going to do it right, it's best not to attempt it at all.

Five or six weeks after I last saw Therese, fate threw us together again.

I work for a small business that specialises in home renovations, so I was used to doing a fair bit of travel and a wide range of work. When the boss sent Sam and I off to Carindale to do some work on a townhouse, I did think to myself 'that's where Therese said she was from', but didn't dwell on it too much.

The townhouse was more a triplex than a town house, and being one of the end buildings, it had a good amount of land around it. It was probably ten year's old, and at the stage where things were getting a little tired. Sam and I had two jobs; firstly, to fix up all the little things - loose cupboard hinges, rotting fence palings, a troublesome washing line - and, secondly, to help the owner pick a new paint colour and paint the walls. All up, the boss guessed three to four days work for the two of us.

I don't know whether Therese or I were more surprised to see each other. I pulled her aside and asked her as discreetly as I could if she'd prefer the boss send someone else along to do the job. I could thoroughly appreciate why she wouldn't have wanted an ex-con in her home.

'I don't want to make trouble for you,' she said brightly. 'Are you happy to be here?'

'Yeah, sure.'

'Well, thanks.' She smiled at me, the same smile I remembered from hospital. 'I appreciate it. Seeing your house made me realise I really needed to get some renovations done. I've been meaning to do it for the past year, but kept making excuses.'

Sam came over to see what the problem was, and Therese and I both lied and said we'd run into one another in the past. We walked through the place, making note of the jobs we'd been sent to do, and promising to leave her a few paint samples for her to assess.

'No, you just choose something,' she argued. 'You know what you're doing. I don't.'

'We'll need you to sign off on it,' Sam pointed out. 'Otherwise, you could turn around and claim you never agreed to it.'

I gave Sam a dark glare. He's a good worker, but he has a habit of talking to clients as if they were idiots. And, granted, some are, but he doesn't need to work so hard at getting everyone off-side.

Theresa wasn't overly offended. 'Fine,' she agreed. 'I'll sign whatever you need now, so you can get started.'

Some people micro manage every step of their renovation. Others will hand the whole kit and caboodle over, fully aware that it will end up costing more and taking longer than they'd hoped, but in return anticipating a stellar result. Therese clearly fell into the second category. Having procrastinated long enough, she just wanted us to get to work.

We started work the Wednesday morning, and should have been done by Friday afternoon, but Sam ended up falling sick on Thursday night. Therese's house was in a mess, so I told her that if she didn't mind, I'd be around Saturday to finish it off. She agreed, which in turn made the boss happy, because he hates anything running over schedule.

Therese went out on Saturday morning to do her shopping. She came back around lunchtime and offered to make me lunch. I agreed, and after she'd finished unpacking and cooking, we sat down to eat together.

'What do you think?' I asked her, gesturing to her house.

'Love it.'

'Really?'

She nodded. 'Really. I never would have picked those colours. And I really like the wallpaper in the rooms upstairs. Never would have guessed that wallpaper would look good.'

We ate in silence for a minute. I gazed at her, but not really in a pervy manner - at least, I hope not. More just thinking about how nice she looked, in her dress and sandals. Classy, but not over-dressed. Just perfect, really.

'How is everything going?' she asked, referring to my suicide attempt.

'Better, I hope. Kinda just realising that killing myself's not my forte, so I should probably just make do with things.'

'Probably just as well. This place wouldn't look half as good if somebody else did it.'

I laughed at that, and took another bite of chicken pesto pasta. 'It's nothing. Just practice, and a lot of experience.'

Therese regarded me carefully. 'What did you do to land yourself in jail?'

'Which time?' I asked bluntly.

She winced. 'Start with the worst offence.'

'Why? So you can decide how far you're willing to lower your standards?' I pushed my plate away. 'That's what you're doing, aren't you? Figuring out if I'm worth it or not. Well, let me save you the trouble. I'm not. And even if I was, I'm not interested. You don't know what I've done in the past.'

She flushed a bright red. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, no.' I waved my hands helplessly. 'Don't be. We get on really well with each other. I like you. I really do. Just...no.'

Neither of us ate. Neither of us spoke. She was humiliated, and I was angry at myself. I shouldn't have let her make me lunch. Why did I keep doing this, giving her hints that I liked her, only to shove the cold hard facts of my life in her face every time she responded? Bullshit. It was bullshit.

'Here's the thing,' I said eventually, leaning over the table and holding her gaze. 'I've gone to jail for possession with intent to distribute, numerous assault charges, including the time I smacked the shit out of an undercover cop who tried to fuck me over, firearm offences, driving a stolen car...a few parole violations...but that's not all.

I'm twitchy as fuck. I cleaned up for a few years. I had a girlfriend, Sofie. Loved her to bits, lived with her, the works. Everything was fine until one day she decided to surprise me by jumping out at me as I was walking from my car to the front door. She scared the shit out of me. I broke her nose, her cheekbone, and fractured her arm.'

Therese stared at me, as if waiting for me to continue.

'That's it,' I told her. 'Do you understand now?'

She shook her head. 'Yes and no. Did you know it was her when you hit her?'

'Of course not. I'd never hit a woman intentionally. But you can't go through life with that sort of reflex, can you? You can't hope that you never get startled again, because you might, and next time, you might hurt them even more.'

'How did she react?'

'She said she was sorry,' I replied awkwardly. I stared at a scratch on her dining table, trying to ignore the horrible knot of regret I felt. 'We went to hospital. She got patched up, the police came and questioned me, and I went home to think about what had happened. Everyone has their line, Therese. Mine was no hitting women. I hit her anyway, though, so I did the right thing and left.'

'Did she want you to leave?'

'No, but people don't always make the right decisions for themselves. I made the decision for her, to keep her safe. She wanted children, too, and I'd already made my mind up that I didn't want any, so there was that, too.'

Therese didn't quite understand. 'But you didn't hit her on purpose,' she repeated. 'Lots of people's first reaction would be to protect themselves if they felt they were in danger. It was instinctual, right? And the police obviously didn't feel you had a case to answer, and Sofie wasn't angry...'

'Therese, if you'd seen the expression on her face, and the amount of injury I caused her, you wouldn't find it so forgivable,' I argued, troubled that she wasn't comprehending what I was saying. 'Sofie ended up with a plate in her cheek. She had two weeks off work. I didn't 'get surprised and hit her', I 'was scared shitless and belted the crap out of her'. Took two seconds to do that damage. Two. Imagine if it was in the dark and I didn't realise it was her? I could have killed her.'

She didn't respond.

'Do you understand now?' I asked.

'No. Going to jail for the offences you mentioned is far worse than hurting someone out of fright and instinct. To be honest, I don't even see accidentally hurting someone as a problem. But dealing drugs, having a gun... those are issues, aren't they?'

I laughed humourlessly. 'I guess so. Probably less of an issue in my mind, though, because those days are behind me, but I'm worried about instincts, because I can't control those.'

'Why are you so confident you won't commit another offence?' Her voice was curious, not mean.

'I'm careful. I don't even associate with anyone who's up to no good. I keep to myself.'

'That's why you don't have friends or family,' she stated.

I nodded. 'Exactly. I know what I'm like, Therese, but enough is enough. I won't put myself in situations where I'll make bad choices, or hurt people, or get myself hurt.'

'I don't think you're half as bad as you think you are.'

'I think that's a very naïve thing to say.' I smiled at her, to show her I meant no hard feelings. 'If I'd lived another life, was a better person... things would be different.'

She nodded. 'You're a strange man, you know that?'

'I've been called worse things.'

~~~~~~~~

When we'd finished eating she came and helped me finish off my work. I told her not to bother, but she insisted, and truth be told, I both appreciated her help and enjoyed spending the time with her.

We talked a bit, about dogs and work and her kids. I asked her about her relationship with her husband, out of curiosity, I guess, wanting to know how a normal relationship worked, and she told me. She said she'd met him when she was twenty, and he'd always taken care of her. She'd never really had to stand up on her two feet. Between her father and Greg, she never had to worry about a thing.

'We grew apart, Greg and I, as we got older,' she explained as we tidied her lounge room. 'But I was so incompetent, so needy, that he obviously felt trapped. And I didn't want a divorce. I never would have wanted a divorce. I felt marriage was for life.'

'Did he ask for a divorce while your parents were alive?'

'He suggested it, once or twice, saying that it might be the best thing to do. I shut him down, burst into tears, ran home to Mum and told her. I trapped him, without ever intending to. I mean, he was working for my father, and Greg had put in a lot of hours and effort, as had I, on the basis that one day we'd inherit it. If Greg left, he was throwing it all away. My father didn't waste any time telling him that, either.'

I asked what the business was. She told me it was two part; a popular restaurant on the North side of Brisbane, as well as several commercial buildings that were leased to a variety of tenants.

'Sounds like there was a fair bit of money floating around,' I remarked.

'Sometimes. We were all quite asset rich, but cash poor. That was why Greg had to wait until my folks died to inherit, and to really get his 'pay out'.'

'But he felt entitled to the lot?' I guessed.

'He felt entitled to more than half,' she corrected. 'Don't get me wrong; he really helped grow those businesses, but at the end of the day, when he was doing the growing, he was an employee. It was his job to help Dad expand. It didn't make him entitled to a wage plus the inheritance, if that makes sense.'

'Gotcha,' I agreed.

'Neither Greg nor I were ever entirely in the right. We both made mistakes.' She stopped what she was doing and gazed at me. 'All the same, I'm glad he pushed for the divorce. I'm glad I tried to kill myself because when I woke the next morning, I realised that I could no longer rely on other people to bail me out and look after me. I had to grow up, and be responsible for myself. I should have walked away from my marriage when Greg told me he was unhappy. If I ever have another relationship, I won't make the same mistakes. I'll remember that both my partner and I deserve to be happy.'

'You reckon you have enough self esteem to throw in the towel if you're not being treated right?' I asked.

All of my resolve to tell this woman to go had dissolved. Being so close to her, spending the afternoon working with her, breathing in her scent, and just admiring her for who she was meant any and all morals were flying out the window. I wanted her. And if she answered my question correctly, I knew I'd take her.

'Yes.'

'Good.' I said.

We were almost finished with the tidy-up, so I stopped what I was doing, walked over, and took her into my arms. I don't kiss whores, for the same reason that they don't like to kiss their clients, so my kiss with Therese was the first I'd had since I said my good-bye's to Sofie almost ten years ago. It felt good, really good, to be with someone who wanted to be with me.

Her body was warm and soft, and she's almost as tall as me and only a few kilos lighter, so it was like standing next to a physical equal. She felt wonderful, soft and yet firm, and she smelt incredible, lightly perfumed, but still carrying her natural scent. I stroked her hair and her back, and breathed in deeply, committing everything to memory, as we kissed.

Her hands stayed on my hips for a bit, before she started to relax a bit. The tension of the first kiss was evaporating, and transforming into curiosity. She traced her hands over my stomach and back and bum, her touch firm and appreciative.

I tilted her head back and kissed her jaw and neck, suckling on the flesh hungrily, holding her in position with one hand on each of her shoulders. She made a quiet, desperate noise, and I could hear myself chuckling. She tried to wriggle back a bit, but I gently held a hank of hair and kept her neck exposed, continuing to bite and suck the delicate skin, while using my free hand to reach behind her and unzip her dress.

In a move that would have made a movie star proud, I managed to easily unzip her dress, and push it off. She made some comment about the fact that she would have put on nicer lingerie if she'd known this was coming, but I ignored it.

Fancy underwear is nice, but it's what's underneath that you want to see, isn't it? And I didn't need any assistance with my libido, if anything, I needed to be careful not to go too fast. My cock didn't need to be told what the game plan was; I had a cracking hard-on and all I could do was hope that my heavy cotton drill work pants were preventing it from being too noticeable.