Androshorts: The Arse man

I had a great day with them and I still remember that as being one of the first days I began to realise the joy of being a Mummy.

Tom returned at gone eleven on Sunday night and of course couldn't get in. His mates cheered and jeered as it was obvious that his key didn't open the door and I had indeed changed the lock.

He thumped on the door as his mates laughed uproariously; I know this as I was sat in the bedroom window in my nightdress with the lights off. I left him just long enough for the message to be driven home by his mates piss-taking as much as his inability to get through his own front door.

I left it just long enough and turned on the bedroom light and then the hall lights, and finally the porch light. I opened the door slowly and folded my arms. This led to whoops of joy from his mates and eventually the cabbie realised they weren't helping and drove away.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" he slurred, obviously still the worse for the booze he'd drunk.

"Difficult for you was it?" I said, "Difficult to get through the door? I put my hands on my hips and gave him both barrels. "TRY GETTING THROUGH THE DOOR WITH BAGS OF SHOPPING AND A CRYING BABY WHEN YOU'VE ONLY HAD FOUR HOURS SLEEP IN 36!" (Confession - that was far from the truth, I'd spent the last 36 hours at Mum and Dad's and they carried in my shopping and had only left a couple of hours ago - but I wasn't going to let this twat know that).

I slowed down and pointed an accusatory finger at him, "Then tell me how tough it was for you for the three minutes your mates were laughing at you."

"But..." he started, trying to work up a similar venom. Sadly Tom just didn't have it in him.

"I'm going to bed," I said shaking my head in disappointment, "if you can make it upstairs please do so quietly, Nicky has only just gone down."

I stomped upstairs - quietly.

The alarm went off at 0645 and Tom had a hell of a hangover. I let him enjoy it. Nicky didn't let me down either and screamed his head off while I was in the shower.

"Can you call in sick for me..." mumbled Tom staring blankly into the bathroom mirror, his face a garish pale green colour.

"What?" I snarled, "In the mood I'm in? What do you think I'll tell your manager?"

He thought about it, stared at his reflection for a few moments then threw up in the toilet.

I took pity on him and rang his branch and told them he must have picked up some stomach bug while in Europe over the weekend. The lady taking the message said that she didn't doubt it for a second and she'd watched his progress via his Facebook page.

Shit; ah well, I did my best.

He spent most of that day in bed and went to work the next, returning at almost 6pm in a foul mood.

"What did you tell them yesterday!?!" he snarled.

"What? What did I tell who?"

"EVERYONE IN THE FUCKING OFFICE!" he snarled, swinging an arm and knocking over a vase, "everyone knows I couldn't come to work yesterday because I was still pissed! Frank was fuming!" He folded his arms and turned half away from me, his standard action when annoyed with me. "I know you were cross because I chose to go away for the weekend with some mates, but what kind of revenge do you think you'd get for telling them I was still pissed! I pay the bills as well you stupid bitch!" he yelled at the top of his voice; Nicky started to cry.

I picked him out of his bouncy chair and hugged him, tears running down my face now.

"WELL?" he shouted at me, pushing his forehead against mine, so hard it almost hurt.

"I lied to them Tom," I hissed back at him, "I told them you'd picked up a stomach bug while in Europe," my voice broke as much with suppressed fury as fear, "I put MY good name on the line for you, FOR YOU! I work for the same fucking company!" I shouted back. I hugged Nicky, cradling his head and whispering sweet nothings into his ear and rocking him gently and getting my breath back for my second go. "But I spoke with Kirsty, you know the one you like so much? Well she told me she'd been following your progress on Facebook! Well you know what? I had a look as well and the ten of you certainly pushed the fucking boat out didn't you?" Tom's face went from a flushed angry red to a sweaty white. I fussed my mobile from my back pocket and threw it at him. "Check Tom! Check and see why everyone knows you were pissed and not off with a stomach bug." I caught my breath, "and I hope the women you were buying drinks for and dirty dancing with were good fun; well more fun than the old ball and chain sat at home looking after your son!"

"I..." he stuttered.

"Don't fucking blame me for not covering your stupid, arrogant, ignorant, immature fucking arse when you plastered your debauchery across the World Wide Web for everyone to see you selfish twat! I now know why Kirsty thought it was so funny that I didn't seem to know what had gone on."

Hugging Nicky and ran to our bedroom and put him in his tiny day bed while I sat down and wept.

I heard him walk upstairs; he stopped at our bedroom door.

"Alexa, I'm sorry."

"You should be," I said wiping my face with my sleeve.

"It was just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing," he said.

I turned to face him.

"Don't you ever do anything like that to me again," I said.

"I can't go out with my mates again?"

I stood, hands on hips again, "No you fucking idiot," I snarled at him, "Don't you ever force your face against mine and shout at me, especially when our son is in the room, and don't you ever... call... me... stupid!" I tapped his chest with each word.

He stalked away to the bathroom like a naughty boy caught out.

That week our relationship changed; we'd both seen sides of the other person that neither of us liked. He was under the impression I was going to be a squeaky stay-at-home 'yes dear' Mum like his had been, and I thought that all Daddies were as good as mine.

It went from bad to worse, we stopped having sex, cuddling, moving to separate chairs rather than up close on the sofa and eventually stopped even kissing each other, and the writing was on the wall. After a few months we finally went our own ways, and he settled to pay towards Nicky's upkeep. To my parents joy Nicky and I moved back in with them until I'd raised the deposit on my own place. To this day Nicky has his own room there and a permanent welcome from Nanny and Gramps. His welcome at Tom's parents wasn't quite so welcoming and God forbid I'm ever late picking Nicky up from them, they tell me exactly to the minute how much over I've been - I kind of get the feeling they begrudge Tom's time with him.

I had to reduce my hours at work so the management post I'd been trained up for was not really an option anymore. I was a qualified mortgage advisor so the part-time post my branch had was a life saver.

A few years passed and things settled and I took out a mortgage on a two bedroom maisonette and Nicky and I had a great time; Tom had him one weekend a month rather that every other weekend and one evening a week and if I'm honest I much preferred it.

I didn't have much time for dating or much of a desire to either. I had a few feminine electrical items that served to keep me happy from an emotional perspective and they lived at the bottom of my underwear drawer.

My undies drawer was well stocked; since Aunt Nicki bought me my very first balcony bra and string panties I'd had a thing for underwear. Pretty, sexy, lacy, brief - whatever the type, it never failed to turn me on. If I had time in the morning I'd would wear stockings; either hold ups or with a suspender belt.

Don't get me wrong it wasn't every day as I still had me and Nicky to get up and out the door each day and many times it was just as easy to drag on tights. In the summer mind you I just shaved my legs and let my natural dark skin do the work for me. Life was fun.

At our branch we had a security visit from head office; it turned out that there had been a whisper from the police that someone was planning to raid the place and they worked with all of us to make sure all was secure and safe. I was replaced by an undercover police officer as was one of the girls. I was sent home but learnt the next day that the back office had cops in black uniforms looking like the SAS with machine guns sat around drinking our coffee.

After a few months the excitement faded and the police left. We were left with a 'security man' from head office. He looked the very last thing you'd expect for a security man, and confessed that he only did security work when he wasn't acting.

Steve, was about five or six years older than me, slim in a wiry kind of way and had a great sense of humour. He said that he had graduated from RADA ten years before and had worked pub doors and shopping precincts to pay the bills. This was based on a particular form of unarmed combat he'd learned from a mate at his chosen college. He didn't explain what that was.

When Steve was out of work as far as acting went he was employed by the firm on three month contracts, and he was also trained to do all the other work in a branch and was an excellent greeter, and assisted customers with all of their wants and woes and had many of the little old ladies that came in each week wrapped around his little finger. That also went for some of the older female staff as well. The suggestion was that, what with him being a rather camp actor and his wonderful way with ladies, he was gay. He never confirmed or denied it.

He was sweetly cheeky and made pleasant comments about all of us, particularly the way we dressed. He noticed I was wearing stockings one day and complimented me on wearing them, saying that blokes really appreciate that kind of thing.

"What do you mean appreciate?" I said, standing by him at the terminal in foyer.

"As my old grannie used to say, it's always nice to look, so long as you never touch without permission."

"Really?"

"Really." He grinned, "She also used to say it didn't matter where you got your appetite so long as you eat at home."

"In English?" I said.

"In English, it's really nice to look at an attractive person and appreciate all the effort they've gone to, so long as you take that appreciation back home to the love of your life."

I turned to one side brushing my hands down my hips so the little studs were visible against the tight mid-thigh skirt I wore for work. He looked to my rear and the obvious line of my lacy shorts cupping high on the cheeks of my firm arse. I looked round and saw that we weren't observed and sneaked the hem of my skirt higher to expose the lace of my stocking tops.

"There," I said, "That'll keep you and by implication your partner happy for the night won't it?" I felt just a little bit saucy thanks to this innocent attention I was receiving.

"There isn't one," he whispered, "but please, don't stop what you are doing on my account."

My cheeks flushed and I will confess I felt a faint stir within the depths of my dampening pussy.

That was the start of it. He checked me out every day and I let him, occasionally lifting my short skirt a fraction so he could see my stocking tops.

He'd look me up and down and each morning would quietly tell me what undies I had on and whether he approved. I think after so long on my own I just soaked up the slightly naughty attention. I gave as good as I got though, at least I thought I did.

I made a quip about him being an 'arse man' and he replied in his camp tone that I'd gotten that right. I guessed that not only was he an 'arse man' that he was in to men's arses. Again, he never confirmed or denied it, and our banter continued.

One morning, a particular couple came into the branch and we all and I mean ALL took a collective sigh and mouthed 'here we go again'. We all tried to guess what today's particular drama would be.

"You there!" shouted the woman, a blonde, at Steve who was already dealing with a customer.

"If you'd like to take seat, I'll be with you directly," he smiled. He'd obviously not met the O'Connells before.

"I don't have all day," she whined.

"Well the quicker I finish helping this lady, the quicker I can get to you, please take a seat."

"I have another appointment!"

"Well perhaps you might like to come back afterwards, I'm sure we can still help you out."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," she snarled. Oh fuck here we go, an O'Connell melt down. I was sat at my desk in my cubicle and just finishing with a customer. This was not going to end well. Steve, a professional to the last, carried on with his other customer apologising for the interruption.

"My wife was talking to you!" shouted Mr O'Connell. He had the same 'acquired' tone that Tom had and it never ceased to annoy me, and anyone else that heard it.

I looked through the glass walls and saw that Steve had just smiled, mouthed 'seat' to the man and nodded at the chair and went back to his computer screen and his customer.

Mr O'Connell raised his hand with his pointed finger, started poking Steve in the shoulder and shouted, "Don't you dare..."

Next thing Steve was flying across the banking hall and crashing into the 'smiling uniformed lady' cardboard standee display every bank has and knocking leaflets all over the place. I leapt to my feet.

Steve stood up slowly rubbing the affected shoulder,

"Call the police, I want that lunatic arrested!" he shouted. Mr O'Connell looked at his raised hand his mouth flapping.

"But..." he stuttered looking surprised and shocked.

Gemma, one of the cashiers was on her desk phone while the assistant manager was locking the front door. Mrs O'Connell had abandoned her husband, still stood like an idiot looking at his hand, and she was demanding that the door be opened.

"The second the police get here Mrs O'Connell, not before." He snarled.

"But my husband..." she tried to bluster her way through, "that's his business not mine. I'm sure that if he offered..."

"We take assaults on our staff extremely seriously Mrs O'Connell!" shouted the assistant manager in a voice none of us had ever heard before.

Next thing our local Bobby was tapping on the glass already with his notebook in hand.

Steve was sat on the seat holding the side of his head, the imprint of which was set in the standee for good. The lady customer holding his hand and alternately cooing at him and sneering at the O'Connells.

Names were taken, a copy of the CCTV was burned onto a CD that the officer took with him. According to the manager it showed Mr O'Connell shoving Steve by his shoulder, and Steve who was off balance anyway fell with a crash.

The O'Connells were asked to leave the branch and the area manager that had been called said that he'd be contacting head office and would be closing their accounts forthwith, and using their limited cash in one account to clear the debt in the other.

They both tried to remonstrate that they were valued customers and would take their business elsewhere.

"Excellent," snarled the Area Manager in a way we never could, "custom like yours we can do without. The door is right there."

I had no more appointments for that afternoon and offered to drive Steve home, but he said that he'd just step outside for a breath of fresh air and a coffee he'd be fine. The Manager said I should go with him.

Sat in a booth in Costa with a Latte ten minutes later he finally smiled.

"That felt good," he said sipping at the lip of his cup.

"What? Being thrown across the room like that?" I said surprised.

"Aaaah," he sighed picking up his cherry and white chocolate muffin, "glad you were impressed."

"Impressed? Steve what do you mean?"

"Mr O'Connell, or Mr Connor as he was called when he used to bank with the Maidenhead branch, is a wrong 'un; him and his appalling wife got a mate of mine disciplined for just doing her job."

"You know them?"

"From a distance. I was working at Maidenhead doing this kind of thing and they did that kind of thing. Stormed about the place demanding special attention and special privileges. I expect that when the Area Manager digs a bit on their accounts he should find out all about it. I've emailed the fraud department already." He grinned.

"Was that why he pushed you over? Did he recognise you? What if..."

"Darling Alex," he beamed at me, "he barely touched me sugar, I'm an actor remember?"

"So... the falling down, crashing into the display."

"Did it come across Darling?" he said trying to sound like a terrible overly camp actor, "I was aiming for abused and assaulted bank teller standing up for his dignity;" he pulled his hand across his fevered brownd dramatically, "did you feel it Darling," he leaned across the table, "Did you FEEL it?!" He grabbed my hand pitifully, "I was awful wasn't I? Wasn't I Darling, you can tell me? Be honest Darling," he wept dramatically, "for pity's sake be honest!"

I bit my bottom lip in the realisation of his revenge, grinned and sipped my coffee,

"You twat!" I shook my head at him.

"When you're good, you're good ducky, don't forget it. Our secret though Alex, OK?"

"Safe with me Mr Olivier."

"Thanks," he said, "I wouldn't have done it, but I really hate bullies. I had a hard time from them at school." Being gay I guessed that he would have.

"Me too," I said, "I was fat, frumpy and spotty and had a squint when I was at school. I hate bullies as well."

"The lovely Alex frumpy? That I struggle to believe."

"Back in the day Steve, this is all relatively new." I waved a hand down by body.

"Oh!" he said in a very camp manner, "I nearly forgot, daily report; boring bikini panties and white lace balcony, I hope they match Darling?"

I nodded and finished my coffee,

"Touché Mr Olivier!"

Other than some initial discussion about the downfall of the bloody O'Connells the next day was no different and I could almost feel his eyes as he visually undressed me to check out what undies I had on that day.

I would change the style each morning, I will confess that I even tightened my white blouses to show what bra I was wearing, even throwing in 'all in ones' or bustiers and he'd pass me folded paper notes with his best guess as to what I was wearing that day just to add to the secrecy. He was normally right.

I'm still amazed that at no stage did this feel slimy or unpleasant. I liked looking at his great and muscular body that he worked out at the gym to maintain, but didn't 'fancy him' because I was so convinced he was gay. One warm summer morning I went without tights and as I dressed Nicky in his school uniform my mind went to what I was going to wear that day. Slipping out of my dressing gown I put on my white bra, my white blouse and sifted through my panties for something different, and I could find anything special; I ignored my big full briefs I kept for when I was on.

What wouldn't he recognise...

Nothing! I would wear no underwear at all and undid my blouse and took off my bra and just pulled on my skirt feeling the shiny silky lining caress my bare buttocks as I walked around and drove to school and then to work. I'd have to keep my jacket on and buttoned though, which was a bit of a bind. I wasn't convinced that my dark nipples wouldn't show through the white material of my blouse.

"Good morning Steve," I said as I came through the staff doors and into the main banking area, last in by virtue of my childcare requirements.

"Good morning Alex," he said looking me up and down.

I smiled and could see some minor confusion on his face; he grinned and told me that my nine thirty was early and he'd settled them both with a coffee and as soon as I was ready he'd send them in.

"Thanks Steve, just let me power up the computer."

He watched me, paying strict attention to my bottom as I leaned over the desk to switch on the PC monitor and the laser printer.