Make Me Hate You Ch. 01

"Life goes on I suppose and as a famous person once said, 'that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger' and I hope at the least to have come out of all of this richer in life's experience.

I hope that you find something worth the sacrifice with him..." again, a carefully crafted dig at 'him'; at Doctor Summerville, at Rob, the bloke, the lover boy Alpha male, "...and that it wasn't all just 'a few shags'."

Which of course it probably was, even she had admitted that.

"I can only thank you for the good times," ...all of those great times, those happy memories that she had somewhat tainted... "I've posted a memory stick to your parents with all of our pictures" ...OUR pictures... "from the hard drive. It is of course up to you what you do with them, I sent them on because there are lots there with your parents and family and as a reminder that however it ended it wasn't all bad." BURN!! THAT one would need Calomine lotion!

"and please remember me to your parents and likewise, tell them thank you for all of the fun and good times, there was no Sunday lunch like the ones at your Mum and Dad's" ...fuck but he was getting good at this, "...and I won't forget them. I have stayed away from the town centre on Wednesdays as I know that's when they shop and have lunch and will continue to do so for a few weeks and you've had time to tell them."

To tell them that she had fucked him over, to tell them that she'd blown an almost five-year relationship for a few tawdry, after-work fumbles with some younger pretty boy that probably didn't want anything to do with her once the sexy-sexy, naughty-naughty risk had been removed.

"I'm taking a short break in Europe, hoping to pick up a few ideas for some more articles and perhaps get around to finishing that bloody book I've talked about for so long, so get your stuff as and when. I hope that all goes well with your career and that you find someone that meets my high standard(!) and you can start over, making new memories.

I trust that in time I'll do the same.

Regards

John."

Nothing about 'love' or even a hint at his feelings now. It had been a calculated revenge piece that had gone through at least thirty drafts - a word here, a word there - each time he sat down to it. He was a professional writer and hoped that each word had stung whatever conscience she might have had left. He still felt anger though, the letter had done little to assuage that.

He read it some weeks later and cringed at the self-pitying shit that he'd been so proud of; ah well, life goes on.

Sat in the lounge bar of a long sleek cruiser some distance from his Mum's friends but watching what was going on, he did start to feel for the want of company. This was his first holiday on his own in many years and also the longest period he had gone without sex since he could remember and being crewed up with the Golden Girls and their Golden Boys didn't make him think that this was going to get any better soon.

He had a nice long chat with Jane the female tour guide but he'd already watched as she kissed her boyfriend a long and sad goodbye before she got on the coach and her man got back into his car.

The coach drove to the St Pancras Channel Tunnel Train, flying under the water quickly and comfortably appearing on the other side for another coach trip to the cruise ship. He'd sat through the introductions and watched as the safety brief was given and collected his itinerary for the rest of the tour. It did actually look like it might be quite interesting.

Ah but what the fuck, this was essentially a long break where he could do his job, not have to pay for or cook food and if he felt like it he could have a few nights at the bar. He had an early night though choosing instead to relax in his room with his Laptop and Netflix and some excellent coffee.

He thought about Julia as he always did just before sleep, how she had always pushed her naked bottom into his groin so he could spoon her to sleep and she would sigh and purr as he cuddled and held her until sleep took them both. At a little after midnight, and probably with as much to do with the coffee as the loneliness he eventually found himself hugging her pil... no the SPARE pillow.

The second day.

He woke the next morning and stepped out onto the balcony and stretched, it was 0600 and the scenery of the Rhine drifted past, and he remembered that these were the parts fought over by the Allies and the Nazis in the closing stages of the Second World War. He stood and stared out to the remnants of a bridge that his brochure mentioned had been bombed by the Americans to stop the Germans using it then by the Germans to stop the Americans using it.

Apparently much of the superstructure was still beneath the water along with some tanks of both sides. He looked and stared and thought about his next piece on that conflict. He was a bit of World War 2 nerd and wrote the occasional article on a specific aspect that caught his attention.

He'd graduated with a first in history from The University of Lancaster to which he added a masters in journalism the next year. Since that time he had been writing pieces for the larger Sundays, lots of historical or even trade journals and was forever thinking about 'the book'. Sadly every time he sat down and started, he found that either his idea had already been covered in years gone by or as with his last chosen piece of research his thunder had been well and truly covered by Anthony Beevor's latest. He bought it on his kindle of course and it was a bloody brilliant piece of work as all of his books were - which only made it worse. He could write of course but he wanted to write as well as the masters - Beevor, Hastings, MacIntyre.

So he was staring out across the misty water and thinking about something new, something interesting and ultimately sellable.

Rhine Crossings, Operation Varsity, the Bridge at Remagen, Patton's contemptuous pissing in the Reich's mighty and strong natural defence, Patton and Montgomery's contempt for each other, Monty's occasionally disastrous self-belief and was just working up to an element of Operation Market Garden that might not have already been covered when he heard a sound behind him.

There she was, dressed in a virtually transparent silk kimono gown that hid almost nothing, certainly not they lacy underwear she was wearing. He guessed that she hadn't seen him. He stayed quiet and stayed looking out to the other bank of the Rhine.

"Oh!" there was a bit of a cross cry from behind him, so he turned making a play of seeing her almost naked for the first time.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't realise that the balconies were shared, "I'm so sorry," he covered his eyes and backed towards his sliding door. He tripped over a low lounger seat and landed on his arse. "I'm OK," he said stepping standing still with shaded eyes, and walked into his room. He rubbed his sore arse, made himself a cup of tea and took a shower.

An hour later he went back out onto the balcony, fully dressed this time and looked to see if there was a screen that he could use to separate his bit from hers. She appeared in a silk dressing gown this time.

"I think there has been some kind of mistake..." she said, "I specifically booked this room because I was led to believe that there was a lady in her late sixties next door and this kind of thing wouldn't be a problem."

"That was my mother, she err..." he looked around for the husband of the woman he watched so closely, there didn't seem to be one, "She fell and broke her hip and sent me in her place."

"Oh, well... I can't say I'm overly pleased," she said with a curled top lip and sipping from a tall hi-ball glass which he hoped contained water, especially this early in the morning.

He frowned back at her with a look that he hoped said 'what the fuck' and just stopped himself from saying, 'yeah she wasn't overly fucking chuffed about it herself you stupid bitch' instead going with "it was very last minute." He leaned back against the rail, noticing that she was right at the edge of what he took to be 'his' section of the balcony, staking a claim almost. John Daniels of a month ago would have ignored it, but he was angry John Daniels now and no way was he going to back down or change anything. His Mum had paid a small fortune for a first class room with a view, a balcony and a bar and if Mrs Big Tits from next door liked to parade semi-naked in the morning that was her problem not his.

She sipped some more from her glass and looked to be giving him a similar appraisal.

"I like to exercise naked in the morning Mr..."

"Daniels, John Daniels. My Mum is Harriet, I think the name was on the original list."

"Yes I know," she breathed out with emphasis, then paused for a deep breath, "Booth," she extended a hand, "Mrs Booth."

No first name then; ah well Bollocks to her, uppity bitch but he shook her hand all the same.

"I was raised to be a gentleman Mrs Booth," he said, "if you let me know the time you like to exercise, I'll make sure that I don't use the balcony when you're out here."

"That's very good of you Mr Daniels..."

"John..."

"Yeeeees... Mr Daniels I like to exercise between seven in the morning through til about eleven, sometimes twelve."

"So you want me off of MY balcony for the entire morning then," he sniffed, "No chance, I'm sorry but my mother paid an awful lot of very good money for this view and this balcony and I intend to use it. I'll avoid the balcony between seven and eight, final offer."

"Well!" she snapped, "That's just..."

He was still angry with the world and with sexy women in particular, and no way was this bitch going to nag him out of his little piece of cruise ship.

"OK Mrs Booth, why don't you go to the Captain and the tour guide and tell them that you want a different balcony so you can mooch around naked all morning without me seeing you."

She fumed,

"Seven and eight!?" she all but howled, "You haven't heard the last of this!"

"I'm quite sure I haven't Mrs Booth, good day to you." He leant back on his bit of rail watching the Rhine valley pass before him, it was going to be good after all.

He wandered down to the lounge and had a beer seeing as his notes told him that his Mum had paid for a cabin bar and the full drinks package; he loved European beer, always tasted so much cleaner than the English lagers and he made his way down two bottles in time to take his seat for lunch. It was splendid and he had all three courses and coffee.

As he made to stand to go back to his room he saw that Mrs Booth was having a heated discussion with the tour guide and pointing across to him, her finger stabbing angrily in his direction. He ignored her and went back to the bar for his third beer.

As he reached the halfway point on it, Jane the tour guide appeared,

"Mr Daniels, how's things?"

"Fine!" he said, "don't tell me, my neighbour is complaining that she has to share a balcony with me?"

"Yep! Says she doesn't feel safe." The uniformed girl shook her head.

"Safe? Well, she told me that she likes to exercise naked and doesn't want me to see her."

Jane saw some light at the end of the tunnel,

"What time..."

"Already tried that; she says I have to be off of the balcony between seven and twelve. I counter offered with seven till eight, no way."

"Well, I've told her that she can move to a different room but not with a balcony, there is a gym on the lower decks but, ah... not for what she wants to do." The guide sat down and rubbed her forehead, "she was telling me that she and her sister had been coming on this trip for years. Apparently she used to come with her sister and has always shared a balcony with ladies - your Mum to be exact, hence not wanting to share with you."

"Can I buy you a beer Jane?"

"Thank you Mr Daniels," she said.

"John please."

The barman passed a tall glass with foam just pouring over the edge.

"Cheers John!" she said.

He went back to room slightly happier for the four beers he'd drunk and was ready for a lie down and perhaps a few attempts at something examining the hate-hate relationship between Patton and Montgomery, he'd read somewhere a suggestion that Monty might have been autistic - bound to be something good he could draw from that. As he opened his cabin door he saw that Mrs Booth from next door was no longer wearing the summer dress she had worn over lunch but was now virtually naked in a short gym skirt that barely reached the curve of her apparently bare arse and a loose stretch of silk tied around her chest that was more of a pelmet than a bra, and was stood before his glass doors stretching in the most implausible manner.

He'd been a gym attender with Julia for at least two years and what amateurish movements Mrs Booth seemed to be doing was miles from the gentle limbering stretches and plunges and lunges that he'd been talked through at their gym.

'Their gym'; seeing Mrs Booth naked as a jaybird disporting for effect just made him think back to Julia and her perfect body and how much he missed it. The happy post-beer torpor had left him now and no way was he letting this bitch keep him from his bit of his balcony.

He took his laptop and his sunglasses, slid open his door and stepped out.

"Afternoon Mrs Booth!" he said and sat on his sun lounger.

"Ooh!" she snapped standing straight enough for him to notice that she wasn't wearing any panties under her gym skirt, was clean shaven all over and whatever her age she really didn't look that bad.

Or perhaps that was the beer talking.

"Will I be allowed NO privacy!!"

"Mrs Booth," he said opening his laptop and ignoring the virtually naked woman not two feet from him, "you were standing nearly naked in front of my GLASS DOORS. If you wanted privacy so much perhaps she should have considered standing virtually naked in front of YOUR glass doors a good fifteen feet to you left, or is it aft... no, that's the stern isn't it." His computer came to life and he continued to ignore her.

He opened his Kindle account and opened up Max Hastings 'Overlord' and then Antony Beevor's 'Ardennes' and then 'Arnhem' for good measure. If he was going to research Patton and Montgomery, why not start with the experts.

Under cover of his sunglasses he peaked to his left and saw that Mrs Booth was now attempting some kind of yoga and 'downward facing dog', sticking her arse out in his direction. It was very nice to look at and he had a good view of her pussy lips and anus - quite simply because she was pointing them at him.

His mind went back to Julia again and how she loved hands and knees sex, what she called downward facing doggie, and within moments and a short mental struggle his mind settled back to two of the twentieth century's most famous generals and not his lost love.

After a few moments, he heard an almost silent, 'oh for God's sake' as his balcony-mate stood, slapped a hand against her arse cheek, stuck out a chest that looked very good for her years and stepped back towards her room. From his position low down he caught a glimpse of a white scar below Mrs Booth's left breast that suggested to him she had at least one implant operation. That explained her great tits at least.

He watched at her arse as she stomped away; her buttocks see-sawing up and down in her silent tantrum.

Julia had a great arse - when she wore her tight blue jeans she made the act of walking look like a sexual act and her bottom would normally have any number of pairs of male eyes to help it on its way, and he felt a stirring in his loins again. He had one last view of Mrs Booth's as she bent to pick up her towel.

He got back to The Battle of the Bulge and with his screen split between Kindle and Word he began to make notes.

The clock on the corner of his screen told him that two and a half hours had passed and it was time he went back inside and dressed for dinner. The itinerary said that tonight it was a dressing up occasion; he would need to shave, something he hadn't done since yesterday morning, and dig out his lounge suit.

He liked his lounge suit; it was very well cut and made his chest stand out; it was one of Julia's favourites...

Fucking Julia!

He showered, shaved and dressed in his suit selecting his University tie just in case there were a few of the older boys that recognised that kind of thing. He went down with all of his fellow passengers and smiled and greeted them, many of the old ladies saying how nice he looked and how his Mum would be proud.

Drinks were being handed out in the dining room and he took a small sherry, even though he really didn't like the stuff. He sipped from the edge and the waiter saw his pursed lips.

Could he get sir something different, a glass of port perhaps?

Sir definitely preferred that idea and was sipping his quite excellent port within moments. He moved to the table indicated and stood waiting for the three others to join him. He was pleased to meet Mr and Mrs Bead-Smith, both good friends of his Mum and (Oh fuck) Mrs Booth.

She looked at the Bead-Smiths and smiled politely with a slight head incline of recognition, then she looked and saw it was him and tried to hide her disappointment. Mr Bead-Smith was busy taking his wife's shawl and moving her chair for her, so John thought that if he did something similar for Mrs Booth it would REALLY piss her off.

He did so of course.

"Thank you, Mr Daniels," she said.

"You're more than welcome."

Mrs Bead-Smith said what a nice chap he was and how Harriet had raised a gentleman there.

The first course was served, the wine was poured and he really started to get into the quality living that his Mum had paid for. Shit but she had good taste.

The first course was fish and was to die for, and the wine was the perfect accompaniment. Next was a great pate with freshly baked biscuits and an easy red to go with it.

The main course was beef in an almost sweet brandy sauce and he was starting to think he might not manage the puddings. He did though - it was a wonderful strudel and he even had Mrs Bead-Smith's portion after she had declared herself 'too full'.

He joked with the husband and wife and said that he hoped Mrs Bead-Smith wasn't going to pass all of her unwanted meals on to him as his suit wouldn't fit anymore.

They both laughed and Mrs Bead-Smith patted the back of his hand sweetly. There was cheese and biscuits and more port and he of course had more than his share, the almost elderly couple happy to see the young man (Even though he was in his early thirties) eating well.

Mrs Booth sat serenely making conversation with her friends the couple, leaving him out of it. He didn't give a shit. He really did think that, even factoring in Mrs Booth, another seven nights of this kind of dining would suit him very well.

After the coffee, Mrs Bead-Smith excused herself and her husband dutifully followed her. He watched as they disappeared to the bathroom for a short while then returned, stopping at other tables to speak to their friends, occasionally nodding and smiling towards him the erstwhile Mrs Booth.

He finished his wine then the port that Mrs B-S hadn't touched and felt good about himself, even with Mrs Booth to his immediate left NOT looking at him. She sank what was left in her wine glass then her untouched port.

After a while she slipped off her wrap and he could see that those enhanced tits of hers were all but on display now.

She called over the waiter,

"A large martini please," she said.

The waiter bowed and walked away, returning moments later with her glass.

He thought about standing up but wasn't to give up the table for this bloody woman and folded his arms defensively. He felt something dig and slipped a hand into his suit pocket and found a small piece of card. It was a note from Julia, one she had put in his pocket when he'd worn this suit for an interview for a commission he was hoping for and got. He read it.