Entertaining at Home

This is a first submission to the site so all comments are welcome. I hope for constructive and appreciative but have more realistic expectations :). This is a long one. If, like me on occasions, you are looking for a 'quick fix' this is not for you. I would be pleased if fans of the longer format would cast critical eyes over what I've done and point out my strengths, if any, and shortcomings, which I am sure are legion.

*****

I sighed a satisfied sigh and rested my hands on my hips above the waist band of my jogging pants as I looked down at the black plastic bin liners which filled at least half of the spare room. They contained all of my, soon to be, ex-husband's clothes and other belongings. The house was beginning to feel as if it was, at last, mine alone. The rain on the windows provided a soothing backdrop as I pondered what to do next.

'A glass of wine and a long soak, I think.'

I smiled - you can talk to yourself when here is no one in the house - and wiped my hands on the T-shirt I had put on to do the cleaning. I felt myself frown, however, when I grazed the side of my breasts and thought about how long it had been since they had been touched by any hand but my own. It had been months. Maybe add that new vibrator to the list of evening relaxations.

I shook my head to get myself moving again and laughed as I remembered the events of the day. I recalled how livid I had been, shaking with anger, when, in my morning shower, my hand felt something strange on the surface of the soap I habitually used; something firm and slippery can always entertain. I had squinted open my eyes and through the steam and water recognised the unmistakable shape of a useless condom.

The waves of nausea which came over me as I realised what I had been stroking against myself and then the cold, hard determination to take action once I had scrubbed myself clean. The next image was that of the shock on Dave's face as I burst into his room and flung the used prophylactic at him. He had squirmed and shuffled away from me on the bed as if trying to escape a snake attack. The tousled head of his slut girlfriend emerged from under the covers; that was a morning blow job neither he nor the little tart would ever forget.

The marriage was declared over some six months previously. At the time it had been a relatively amicable decision, I remembered. The boredom, and then the bitterness, had been there for a long time. I had been surprised that when I tentatively broached the subject - I was feeling guilty about the enjoyment I had been getting from the brief affair with the office stud - Dave had admitted what I had long suspected: that he too had been playing away. Being able to lay everything out on the table and mutually reach a logical conclusion had a cathartic effect. We had agreed they would always be friends and, in fact, sealed the deal with the best sex they had had for years.

The problems built up over the succeeding months. The property market was at the bottom of it. It was agreed I would keep the house and I had arranged for the deeds and mortgage to be transferred to my name alone in a matter of weeks. Dave was to move out and get a place of his own. That was the plan. We had divided the kitchen cupboards and the fridge and begun separate lives almost immediately. I stuck to the TV and DVD player in the master bedroom - we had got it to watch porn in happier days - so Dave used the front room most evenings. We had slipped easily into a routine of cordial separateness. Polite greetings as we passed in the common areas, sharing left-overs when one cooked. I had been amazed at how tidy Dave could be when he had sole responsibility for his own mess. He took his washing to his mother's once a week.

The bitterness had rebuilt slowly. I accepted, at first, that he should wait for the right place to come along - given the state of the property market and all. I had tolerated being occasionally woken as he stumbled drunk into the house after a night out with the lads. I had tolerated the noise from the front room when he held the occasional lads' night in. The stink of someone else's perfume on his clothes left in a pile on the bathroom floor irritated, particularly as my own love life was far from satisfactory. I had never been one for one-night stands and neither of the two men I had hooked up with since the separation had lasted beyond the first date.

Our first fight after the separation happened when he broke the 'no lovers in the house' rule and I found a still half-drunk woman in the shower when I went for my bath one Sunday morning. She did not stay for the breakfast I found Dave preparing in the kitchen. I called my solicitor the next morning and asked her to expedite the divorce proceedings. The second tiff was a knock-down-drag-out ding-dong and was sparked when Dave arrived back at the house driving an upmarket sports car. The bastard had spent his house deposit on a boy toy. I had given him a month to get out and was fully prepared to change the locks If he did not.

The condom incident was a week later. That was the final straw. I screamed like a banshee and forced both of them out of the house into a suitably savage rain storm and Dave's new car. It had taken the rest of the day to get rid of the the smell of the bacon which had slowly burned in the pan as I raved at them.

I had collapsed in tears after they eventually left, but soon pulled myself together and got to work. The emergency locksmith had cost an arm and a leg it being Sunday, but the new keys on the hall table were worth every penny. I had emailed the solicitor to let her know what had happened and given Dave's mother's address for the service of papers. The rest of the day had been spent packing his stuff, none too gently. And now it was finished. I sighed again. The prospect of being enveloped in warm water, slowly stewing as the alcohol took hold, would be the perfect prequel to a marathon masturbation session.

The front doorbell rang just as I closed the taps from running my bath. I had been on my way to the kitchen to get the first glass of wine and tensed as I detoured to the door. With my hand on the latch I gave myself a moment to compose a mouthful of coherent abuse. Dave was not getting back in, not tonight, and not ever if I could help it.

'What?'

The rest of the prepared sentence - nay, speech -froze in my throat as I saw Steve's face grinning at me and I felt momentarily guilty for my aggressive tone. Steve was Dave's best mate and I had always liked and got on with him. In fact, I thought, not seeing him was one of the few things I would miss now Dave was permanently out of my life. He had a box of beer cans in his arms, but stopped mid-step as he realised I was not backing away and opening the door for him to come in.

'Er, Dave invited us over. For the match.'

Looking over his shoulder Susan saw that there were three or four more men coming down the path. Two had more beer and one carried a bottle of vodka. They were all wearing replica football shirts and she remembered Dave had said something about an international match and inviting a few people over.

'Dave's moved to his mother's, Steve. It was rather sudden. I imagine he forgot to mention it to you.'

I smiled inwardly but kept my tone neutral. Let Dave give them his version later. They were his friends after all. I noticed Jason, one of Dave's workmates, at the back of the group and got some satisfaction from seeing how wet he was getting. Jason is a prick of the first order. He had drunkenly propositioned me at each of the three Xmas parties I had been to whilst Dave worked for his current company. He is one of those people who refuse to take 'fuck off and die' as an answer.

'Well, yes, sorry to disturb you. But...'

Steve hesitated. Clearly he sensed my growing anger.

'... Would you mind if we came in whilst we arrange another taxi. We'd planned to make a night of it and it's pissing down out here.'

I reluctantly stepped back from the door determined not to be painted as the bad guy when they discussed the evening with Dave.

'Please try not to drip on the carpet. You can put your beer in the kitchen. Would you mind sitting in there whilst you make arrangements. You are all rather wet.'

That last was superfluous. They were dripping onto the carpet as they passed through the hall. It was obviously raining harder than I thought.

'I'll get you boys some towels.'

When I got back with a bag of Dave's towels (never mind, he'll be able to wash them I thought, wickedly) the kitchen was overflowing. The lads had piled their beer by the back door; it looked like a sculpture with the vodka providing the centrepiece. Steve was backed against the door obviously having a frustrating conversation with a taxi firm. I took in the three bedraggled hunks and the weasely Jason who were semi-slumped over the table. They were definitely better looking than I remember Dave's friends being. Two were dark, well-muscled and, as they started to stand when I came in, well over six feet. The third who also rose damply from his seat was also tall but slimmer than the other two and blond. I passed him the bag making sure I caught the still seated Jason with a corner as I swung it.

Steve clicked off his phone and swore before turning back to the room.

'Sorry, Susan, I didn't hear you come in. We're screwed.'

'Sorry.'

'I've called four firms and the story is the same with each one. There's been some sort of accident on the by-pass and with that and the match it'll be a couple of hours before we can get a cab.'

I made no attempt to hide my displeasure. My joy at finally seeing the back of my ex was being trampled down by these unexpected and unwanted guests.

'Well I guess I have no option but to invite you to stay then, do I?'

I could almost hear the collective sigh of relief. There were enthusiastic expressions of thanks coming from beneath the towels. They were reiterated as each in turn emerged looking drier and happier from beneath them. I handed the last towel to Steve and gestured him towards a breakfast bar stool. He was standing in a small puddle of water by the door.

'That is very kind of you. We shall endeavour to be of no inconvenience to you.'

The voice came out in a deep bass from one of the two brown-haired men. I could detect a distinct Eastern European accent behind the studied politeness. I found myself smiling down at him. He gave a small bow from his seat.

'Well, it's nice to meet a gentleman. Shall I make some coffee? Or would you prefer your beers?'

'The beer will be fine. We've troubled you enough. Thanks Sue, you're being great about this. Dave's a real prick.'

Steve looked slightly abashed. Whether it was because of his betrayal of his friend, or his unaccustomed politeness, I don't know.

'But what about the match?'

Jason whined like a little boy.

'Shut the fuck up, Jason'

That was the Steve I was used to. But anyone sticking it to Jason was in my good books.

'Is it important?'

'No. Well yes, I suppose so. First time England have been in the semis for decades. They're playing Poland.'

Steve nodded his head at the two dark men.

'We brought along a couple of sacrificial lambs.'

The five of them exchanged a few well meaning oaths.

'I was wondering where you found mates with such good manners.'

'This is Piotr - Pete - and, well we call him 'Wot', his real name is virtually unpronounceable.'

The two Poles stood and bowed as they were introduced. I shook hands with Wot and found myself blushing as Pete bent and kissed my hand as I offered it to him.

'You know Jason. Luke just started at the firm. He's from up north and I believe he has been brought up properly too.'

The tall blond followed Piotr's lead and bent and kissed my hand too. Jason just scowled at me from his seat. I saw the unopened bottle of red wine on the work top and thought about my cooling bath upstairs. I knew I was going to let them watch the game, so why not give in quickly.

'OK. But look, a few house rules. Take off those wet shoes and sit on the towels so you don't stain the furniture. Anyone spilling any beer will have their balls cut off.'

They had all started smiling at 'OK'. Piotr was translating the rest of my instructions to Wot and looked a little confused and embarrassed as he reached my threat.

'So please, if you do spill some, tell me it was Jason.'

Steve and Luke laughed, followed shortly afterwards by Wot and Piotr. Jason just kept scowling. Prick. Now Steve bent and kissed me on the cheek.

'You're a real star, Sue. I'll keep them all in order.'

Once they were ready I led them through to the front room. Dave had insisted on a massive TV. It dominated one side of the room. I closed the curtains, switched on the fire, passed the remote to Steve and nodded encouragingly as the boys spread towels on the sofa and two armchairs before sitting.

'I was about to take a bath so I'll leave you to it. Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen - I think there's some crisps - and I wasn't joking about severing Jason's testicles.'

I mock frowned as I turned and left. Steve and Luke were laughing and I heard the two Poles join in once they had had my threat explained to them. After topping up my bath with hot water I lay there listening to the man-noises drifting up from the floor below. I had never understood men's obsession with football; when I wanted to watch millionaires try and cheat their way into more millions while the world looked on and cheered, I read the financial pages. I tried to work out who was winning by the sounds drifting up from below; it was 1-1 in my estimation when I gave up.

The warmth of the water and the wrinkling softness of my hands as I washed myself all over took me to another place. A place where I was being stroked and probed by someone other than myself. Imagined naked images of Steve, or Luke, Piotr and Wot drifted in and out of my fantasy. Both hands were between my legs, fingers of my left probing for the G-spot whilst my right manipulated and stroked my clit. My panting breaths increased in frequency as I felt my orgasm building and when it came shouts and cheers from below drowned my own noises as waves of ecstasy spread through my body. I lay back breathing heavily.

There were more cheers and shouts - probably of dismay - as I hauled myself reluctantly out of the bath still shaking from my climax. I momentarily pictured myself as a slutty stripper and the cheers as coming from a panting group of punters as the last article of clothing was thrown to them from a well-lit stage.

'Stop it.'

I told myself playfully and reached for the towel warming on the radiator. I dried myself with extra vigour and mentally ran through the jobs I needed to do tomorrow to try and bring myself back to reality. 'Maybe I should have a party', I thought. Then, 'so much for getting back to reality'. I climbed into my super-soft, Egyptian cotton bath robe and hugged it around me before opening the bathroom door and, after a quick glance to see no one was on the landing, scurried to the safety of my bedroom and threw myself onto the bed.

I felt something poke me in the back as I landed. I pulled out the still-packaged vibrator which I had taken from its hiding place in my bedside cabinet as one of my first statements of my independence after getting Dave and his floozy out of the house this morning. I looked at it, shining invitingly in its clear plastic sheathing. It was the most expensive I had ever bought, the semi-realistic shaft augmented by branches for clitoral and anal stimulation. I shivered with anticipation before shoving it under the pile of pillows behind me. It would have to wait until the five guys downstairs had left.

I pulled myself upright ad to the mirror by my dressing table as I went through the ritual of drying and brushing my hair. The robe fell open in the process and as I stood I assessed my body with a critical, well, semi-critical, eye whilst applying body lotion. I liked my medium-sized tits with their small, puckered pink nipples. I pinched one appreciatively. My stomach is still flat - God bless the gym. Hips, perhaps a little too wide for some people, but everyone liked my legs. I smiled as I lathered them with the expensive unguent - my last Xmas present from Dave. A girl couldn't help but notice the glances they got, or, for that matter, overhearing male comments as she went about her life. I closed the gown again and returned to the bed, this time arranging myself more decorously.

I had picked up the TV remote and was about to switch it on when there was a tap at the door. After quickly checking that I was decent I invited whoever it was to come in. Steve's head appeared.

'Hi.'

He looked embarrassed and a little stuck for what to say next.

'Come in. And shut that door. There's a wicked draught, and I'm not wearing much.'

He shuffled into the room, reddening as he did so, and quickly stood erect with his back against it like a man facing a firing squad. I glanced down to check I wasn't flashing anything I shouldn't. I was not.

'We were wondering...'

He stopped again and looked down at his feet. I waited then nodded quickly for him to continue when he risked a quick glance up.

'Well, whether you'd care to join us. We feel guilty at imposing like this. And you've been so generous. And it'd be great. And ...'

He stuttered to a stop after the rush of words. He was looking down at his feet again. He reminded me of the first boy asking me out when I was fourteen. The image made me giggle a little.

'Sorry, I shouldn't have asked.'

He obviously took my reaction as a refusal and half-turned to escape, his hand on the door knob. Just like my first beau after his stuttered invitation.

'No, no. You just reminded me of something from my past. I, well...'

It was my turn to go red and silent. I did not really fancy an evening of football with a group of men, most of whom I didn't know and one of whom I actively disliked. But then, I had ruled out road-testing the vibrator and there was nothing worth watching on TV from what I remembered of the morning paper. So what else was I going to do? I took a deep breath.

'It's a kind invitation Steve, but really, you're all Dave's friends. You'd be embarrassed having me there.

He started shaking his head. I continued before he had a chance to speak.

'Yes you would. I doubt you're using language fit for mixed company whilst you watch and what would you say to Dave tomorrow?'

I saw him smile.

'Perhaps, but lots of it is in Polish and, be honest, it's nothing you haven't heard before. As for Dave, perhaps I shouldn't be saying this, I think he's an idiot for letting you go and the girls he's dating... Well, it's an embarrassment...'

,

After that I could not think of a reason to refuse. So I didn't.

'OK, you've persuaded me. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll be down.'

'Great. I'll warn them to moderate their language. No promises, of course, but we'll try.'

He had a relaxed smile now and was staring down at me whilst speaking. I waited for him to go, but he continued checking me out, stretched full length on the bed as I was. He obviously liked what he saw and, I have to admit, I was enjoying his appreciation.

'Off you go then. I'm not getting dressed in front of you.'

The adolescent was back and he blushed and stuttered as he opened the door saying something about looking forward to seeing me in a few minutes. I lay back when he had gone and thought about what I should wear. My sporadic perusals of up-market women's magazines offered no guidelines that I could remember as to acceptable dress for entertaining tipsy football fans at home. Casual? Smart casual? Out-on-the-town outfit? I stood and went to my wardrobe. My eyes fell on the little black dress I had bought a few months ago. It fitted, I remembered from the changing room at the shop, like a glove. I had not had a chance to wear it out yet.