Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02

"Oh... Did he...? Did he say anything else?"

I knew I'd worried her now. She was wondering if her lie had been discovered.

"Nothing of importance." I threw away the line.

"Graham you can come over on Saturday, I'll ring you on Friday at 7.30 and we can work something out. We need to talk."

Damn right we need to talk, I thought, then out loud, "Yes, you said. OK. Time to go. Bye."

"Bye."

I replaced the receiver. I wondered what might be going through her mind. She did not ring back, neither did she say she loved me, in fact, no loving endearments on either side - no 'darlings' or 'sweethearts'. Perhaps she was now ringing Derek to find out what he'd said. I hoped so.

"Want me to stay?" asked Zena, breaking into my thoughts.

Now there was a temptation, particularly after that conversation. Was Zena offering what Colette had offered? She was tall, as tall as I, her legs were very long, her face delicate and very pretty, her hair shiny, lustrous and jet black, her breasts pert, swelling and taut, her bum exquisitely tight and round, narrow waist, and her skin was rich brown and it shone. She was mixed Afro-Caribbean and English. I steeled myself, and as before already mentally called myself a stupid fool for refusing.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Zena, though I'd really love to, I want to have something of the high ground when this all comes out."

"I understand," she said. "You've learned from your mistake. That's good."

"Mistake?"

"Colette, last Thursday night."

"Oh yes. She told you?"

"Of course," she laughed. "We girls share everything."

"Even your men?"

"Especially our men."

She chuckled. I assumed she was joking, perhaps I was wrong.

"Listen," she said. "You're very tired and stressed. If you're willing to risk me driving your car alone, I could take it tonight and pick you up in the morning. Save you coming out."

In my present drunken state I could not drive anyway, so I agreed. She took the keys, gave me a smouldering kiss and a grope at my crotch, giggled and left. For a brief moment I was shocked and then cheered.

I went to bed, and in spite of the hollow feeling of dread and despair, fell instantly asleep.

Thursday 14 May 1970

I was up early in the morning, and was sitting finishing my breakfast in my dressing gown when Zena arrived.

"Great car!" she enthused. "Really plush. I didn't hit anything."

"Glad to hear it," I said dryly. "You're bright and early this morning, I haven't showered or shaved yet. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead. I'll read my book."

While I was in the shower I heard the phone ringing, and when it stopped I knew Zena had answered it. I gave it no more thought until I returned downstairs ready for work. Her face betokened trouble.

"Graham, that was Penny."

"Oh?" That puzzled me as she never rang in the morning.

"You've got trouble. I answered it, saying you were in the shower and could you ring her back. She asked it it were me, and when I told her it was, she hung up quite loudly."

I sighed.

"Oh dear," I said, "You know what she'll be thinking, with you answering the phone last night and this morning."

"I know," she said, "I didn't get a chance to tell her I'd just arrived, when she slammed the phone down."

"Well, I can't get in touch with her unless she phones again. I'll write her a note explaining the situation. She's got a nerve to get angry after what she's been doing."

It was a busy day at work, and successful: I found those hidden clauses in that contract, and indeed they would have been very injurious to my client. It was also good to go to Colette's for dinner and Bridge to unwind. No one mentioned my problem with Penny, but they were warm and gentle that night. The kisses were not provocative this time but kind and affectionate. Harriet had her car, so I drove Zena, dropping her off, then home alone, and went straight to bed.

--

Chapter Eight

Friday 15 May 1970

Friday was another busy day and I spent the usual Friday evening at home. Penny had promised she would ring on Friday at 7.30, but I wondered if I would get a call after what happened on Thursday morning. A weekend with her was clearly out of the question as well, not that I wanted to see her any more.

I suspected her, and she suspected me. No call. At 8.30 I left the house to meet Ian at the local for a game of darts.

Ian was an overweight round faced man. By overweight I mean obese, he was like a barrel. For some reason, and it certainly wasn't his athletic figure, he was never short of a girlfriend. Mind you, he was entertaining and very funny, the epitome of the GSOH (good sense of humour) of the present day 'partners wanted' columns in the papers. Penny and I had been out clubbing with him and his latest squeeze a few times, and Penny liked him, in fact she said she could fancy him, with a twinkle in her eye.

When I asked why, Penny had smiled enigmatically and simply said, "Girls look for different things than boys."

No, he didn't have a 10 inch cock either! I just wondered with his paunch how they had sex at all, if indeed they did.

When I arrived, there were two women sitting with him. I knew Gabby, his latest, but he introduced the other woman as Susan. The girls talked nineteen to the dozen, but Susan found time to talk with me and she was an attractive and interesting companion for the evening.

"I know you're engaged an' all," Ian said as we counted down from 301 on the dartboard (If we'd played 501 we would have been there all night), "but what d'you think of Susan?"

"Very nice, good looking, easy to talk with - yes, very attractive."

"So if we move on to her place, you'll come?" He had put on his wheedling tone.

"OK," I said patiently, "but just remember I am engaged." I wondered with a start whether I was.

He laughed with relief. "You need to sow some oats before you settle down. You've admitted she's good looking and fun. Bit older than you."

"Bit?"

"She's thirty five," he said, "that put you off?"

"No way!" I replied, "She's a lot of fun."

We did go to Susan's place afterwards and had a few more drinks. Ian drank and was driving, but I did not worry. I thought he was a good driver, and we never had an accident.

Susan met me as I was coming from the bathroom.

"I've got tickets for Tom Paxton next Wednesday at the Free Trade Hall, fancy coming?" she asked. I did fancy; Paxton was a great favourite of mine. I loved playing his stuff on the guitar.

"Love to," I said, "Would you like to have a pre-concert dinner in town? I can book."

She would like.

Monday 18 May 1970

I heard nothing from Penny over the weekend, and the post was early on Monday without a letter from her. I certainly was not going to write, but I had an idea. I wondered if this Monday would be a repeat of the first, so on a whim, I took my camera and was outside her house by 5 o"clock.

At 5.15 there they were, walking hand in hand to her house. There was a kiss at the door, her arms round his neck and his ranging over her back and bottom. I was glad the camera had a fast wind mechanism, it was, after all, top of the range for that time.

I got more pics to and from the Church, and this time they stopped in a local park and snogged on a park bench before strolling home. His hand was up her knee length skirt, and hers on his crotch. I had always thought she was quite demure. What had become of the 'no sex without commitment' mantra she was always reciting? Perhaps we should have spent more time on park benches, I thought wryly.

I didn't bother to wait once they went inside the house, but drove home. I felt depressed, she was a lovely woman, very generous, very loving. However, there was also a sense of relief that I'd caught her before we married rather than after. There was still that unhappy emptiness in the stomach, that I had lost someone I had loved dearly, but I knew I had really lost her. There was no point in trying to talk it through with her. It was the trust thing really.

Tuesday 19 May 1970

I dropped Zena at work and then got the rolls of film to the photographic shop first thing on Tuesday morning, asking them to put the date on each print, and they were ready with some extra prints when I called on the evening journey home. Zena looked at them and sighed, but made no comment.

As I sat in my car at my slot in the flats' car park and looked over them I was quite impressed with the quality. The closeups of their tongue play on the park bench were particularly clear, and it was obvious where their hands were and what they were doing. While I might have been congratulating myself on my prowess with the camera and its telephoto lens, the vivid sharpness of the images drove me deep into depression, despondency and hopelessness.

I looked forward to my rendezvous with Tom Paxton and Susan.

Wednesday 20 May 1970

On Wednesday evening over the meal with Susan I learned she was divorced with a little boy, and owned and ran a hairdresser's salon. I related my present problems and she sympathised, saying that her ex. had cheated as well.

We both enjoyed the concert.

It reminded me of the concert with Bob Dylan four years before. When he used an electric guitar in the second half, someone shouted 'Judas', and a number of people noisily got up and left. I remembered thinking that was weird. Dylan and the group played really loudly in response, which was fun though hard on the ears. All in all a brilliant concert. Tom Paxton suffered no such dissension, he was and is a master writer and performer.

Afterwards, she asked if I wanted to go home with her. The implication was obvious, even to me. I told her I had my car, and led her to some waste ground near Tommy Duck's pub. She wondered at the pub standing alone in the waste land, and I took her inside to show her the ceiling decoration. She looked up and gasped. Pinned all over the ceiling were women's knickers, all shapes and sizes. I told her that women were known to visit the ladies and on emerging hand over their used undergarments to the landlord, who would pin them up.

"No!" she said with an unbelieving laugh.

"It's not compulsory," I said, with a leering smile. She laughed. We had a quick drink and left for her flat which was over the shop she rented. She left no knickers behind, they were still on her: I saw her take them off later.

"My little boy is at home," she said. "He'll be fast asleep. I'll pay off the babysitter."

Her flat was about the size of mine, and like mine had two bedrooms. She steered me to the larger of the two.

"You may kiss me now," she said smiling, and I obliged. "Good," she said, "Again."

This time we went at it like teenagers, and in the process she cleverly removed her skirt, then with a minimal break her tee shirt, leaving her in her bra and briefs.

"You too," she said, as she unhooked her bra and slid her panties down her legs (see, I told you: Tommy Duck's loss).

I undressed quickly, and she led me to the bed.

"I'm using a coil," she said. "You can do me, but we need to be quiet."

I moved down to give her some oral attention, but she stopped me.

"Let's just do it tonight," she said. "We've both got to be up in the morning."

So we did it. She lay back, legs apart and I pushed into her, finding her moist and open. I thrust, and she lifted and sank in opposition, making my travel all the longer.

"Harder," she said, "I won't break. Maul my tits."

So I went at her hard, and she grunted her appreciation, which transposed into hushed moans of rising pitch as I squeezed her little tits and pinched her nips hard.

She pulled me on to her and gasped, "Coming! Oh, fuck, keep doing that!" followed by a little shiver and a gasp. She bit my neck hard making mewling noises and a hickey, and it pushed me over the top. I groaned, feeling the juice spurting from my prick.

I fell off her to the side, and we lay next to each other as we caught our breath for a short while.

Then she said, "Time to go."

"Now?" I asked, being used to women wanting to cuddle after sex.

"Work tomorrow. I really enjoyed this evening, especially the last bit. Paxton was good too!" she laughed, "but I have early clients from seven on their way to work."

I got out of bed, kissed her as she lay languidly, then dressed and left, feeling a little puzzled and almost satisfied. I wondered if I had performed to her satisfaction, and also how I could disguise the hickey on my neck. Thankfully it was nearer my shoulder than my ear.

I arrived home at two in the morning, and fell into bed, asleep immediately.

My feelings about Penny came and went, as did my resolution to contact her somehow. I vacillated between the need to confront her with what she'd done and get closure, and the apathy which comes from depression and hopelessness to just leave her and the whole sordid thing alone. Perhaps I did not want to face her possible reasons for what she did.

While I had things to do, and people to talk to, especially if they were attractive women, I did not feel too bad, though I wasn't full of the joys of life any more. It was when I was alone at home that the loss of someone I had loved very dearly was felt more deeply.

Why did I not contact her? Partly just acceptance of a perceived fact she found someone else more attractive (and I admit he was better looking), nearer her age and therefore perhaps a better proposition, but I now think it was mainly because I had been unfaithful before I knew of her betrayal, and the only reason for that was Colette's seduction, her devastating good looks and intense sensuality, coupled with my own sexual starvation after three weeks without even being near Penelope. In the case of my own betrayal there was no strong reason why. It was just lust for an exquisite woman who wanted me.

Into this mix there came the sex with Susan, and over the next few days I wondered why that particular liaison impinged so little on my sense of guilt.

As I thought over that event it occurred to me that on one level, having sex with Susan was disappointing and meaningless. It seemed to me to be a merely physical act. It was two people who liked each other enjoying some pleasurable sensations to round off a pleasant evening. It certainly relieved any pressing tension!

We took off our clothes, copulated, she came and I came, putting my semen in her. I had always wanted more than that. I got more than that in the incomplete sex I had with Penny. Sex with Penny seemed to sum up everything we meant to each other. I simply lay inside Penny so as not to come inside her, for she would not use any form of contraception, but the act of putting my body into her body was an interpenetration of our selves, symbolising our commitment.

My fingering or eating her, both to orgasm, was always a loving act, an act of love, as was her tossing me off manually and orally. I couldn't help grinning as I thought, she used to toss me off, now she's tossed me away. Ho, ho.

That was why I felt so much more guilty about Colette. Somehow there was more investment even with her: there was an intensity there; a raging desire to be together, rather than simply to relieve tension. Colette wanted me, and I wanted her. Susan just wanted the relief and the action. There was admiration, affection, friendship with Colette. Admittedly it was quite light hearted, and the commitment was not in any sense complete, but there was a certain investment in each other.

Whenever I went over these things, I felt a growing anger and sense of betrayal and also guilt, both. Penny had deceived me, not once but over and over, and she had lied. I had betrayed her trust once, but there was no way she could know that. As far as she was concerned, in those weeks before I went with Colette, she believed I was totally committed to her, as indeed I was, and she in turn had made a promise to me. She broke it, but it was the lies that hurt most.

I had begun to worry about her commitment after those weeks apart and her putting me off. That was no excuse for what I did, but there was at least an emotional reason why I fell for Colette's seduction.

In Penny's case, it was clear I was asking again and again to see her, she could not fail to believe I was totally committed to her. She did not want me. Why hadn't she said so?

So went the reasoning when I was alone. The arguments went on and on, and sometimes I was on the point of going to Liverpool and having a showdown, but something would come up and the feeling would go. Then it would be replaced by the usual despondency and apathy, and I let things go.

Nevertheless, each Friday and Wednesday, the days when she would usually phone, I waited at home until the time passed. Each day I would scan the post for a letter from her. Illogical but that's the way it was.

I wonder now what I was hoping for, because by then I had abandoned any hope we could be reconciled. I resented that she had not communicated in any way, though I ignored the fact that I did not write to her either. Rather childishly I thought it was her turn so why should I? I'd wait. Fool!

Thursday 21 May 1970

Harriet was hosting the bridge meeting, and the dinner and the evening went well. There was a very brief update on my situation, on the lines of 'Any news?' 'No.' 'How d'you feel?' 'OK.' Of course I wasn't.

There was also a little ribaldry about my hickey, about which I remained coy. Then it was on with the game after which I was duly hugged and kissed, Zena making to give me another hickey on the other side with a wink, and then I made my way home, feeling loved and valued by my three girlfriends.

On the floor behind the door, among the letters and adverts, was a small package. I opened it and had to sit down. It was Penny's engagement watch, sent in a padded envelope. I looked for a note, but there was none. I checked the packaging, no note. She did not even put a return address, or send it registered post, which, considering its high value, was criminal.

I sat in deep despondency, anger and annoyance. The message was simple, she wanted nothing more to do with me. As far as I knew, the only evidence she had of my bad behaviour was Zena being at the flat evening and morning, and she asked for no explanation, showing she fully believed I would have lied, and that anyway she already had someone else.

Suddenly I wanted someone to share this with. I knew that Zena was going home to her parents after the bridge meeting and was taking Friday off for a long weekend, the Monday being the May Bank Holiday. Harriet had never been on the horizon, in any case she had a boyfriend. I phoned Colette, blessing the fact she had a phone.

"Colette, I've had a package from Penny. It's her engagement watch." My eyes watered and it must have sounded in my voice. Most undignified, but the finality of the loss just washed over me.

"I'm coming over," she said. "Make some tea. Don't go the alcohol route yet. OK?"

"OK," I hiccupped.

Ten minutes later she arrived with a small suitcase. She said nothing but dropped her case and enveloped me in a tight hug. It lasted a long time, and then she separated herself and said, "Now let's have some tea."

We sat on the sofa and drank the tea in silence. I was glad she didn't want to dissect the event, after all it was clear what it meant. The watch sat on the packet on the table. She didn't try to say Penny 'wasn't worth it' or 'perhaps if you explained'. What she did was to hold my hand. She did not stroke, or caress, but simply held it.

When we had finished the tea she stood.

"Come on," she said, "Time for bed."

"C-colette, I've no condoms."

"Don't worry about that, you need someone in bed with you."