Mistakes

"Tell you what: why don't you just fuck off and keep out of my life from now on. You're nothing but trouble. I don't need this."

I stood, drained my pint and left him sitting there. I walked home and put the whole thing out of my mind.

Who am I kidding? I seethed all the way home and all the rest of the evening. I'm still not clear at whom I was directing my anger, or why I was angry at all. I think it was the feeling that I'd been used, then cast aside and then blamed for the whole thing. It wasn't clear to me which of the two of them had used me more!

Really who am I kidding? It was the loss of Rachel as a companion and her obvious growing affection for me. My affection for her was already fully grown!

However, that wasn't the time for rational thought, so I conveniently forgot that I invited Rachel to all the 'events' to which I took her.

It triggered the memory of the last parting with Rachel. She would miss me? She asked me to kiss her, and that kiss was not a kiss between friends but lovers, but we were not lovers - or were we? Whatever it was, it was wrong. As an advert used to say as its strap line, 'Naughty but Nice'.

Rachel and I talked and talked, we shared experiences of a wide and deep nature. We held hands, walked arm in arm, and of course there was that kiss that promised but would never deliver. Can you be lovers without sex? Were we in fact more lovers than many who only seek sex with each other? Interesting questions. I did not want to look too far for an answer: I felt guilty enough already.

Well, I was not about to go pining after that particular lady love. Move on; it had been a very pleasurable interlude, but now time to get on with my life. Let's face it I was used to that: the really beautiful, stunning girls never put out for me, but there were plenty who came close in looks, and would.

--

CHAPTER TWO

So it was back to work in earnest, having loosened my grip a little to entertain Rachel, and back to flirting with girls in clubs and those from other companies with whom we had dealings or socialised. Yes, I did take out my frustration on the willing and appreciative bodies of one or two pretty women. They howled out their climaxes so it was obviously not one-sided. They seemed to leave the flat happy and with 'that look' next day.

Two months went by and autumn was on the horizon. I think it was the first week in August, a Saturday. Deirdre was a well built blonde with whom I had seemed to hit it off, and who was with staff from another company at a meet at the local pub. She had been willing to return to my place the night before, where we had eventually got to sleep early in the morning. She had been athletic and voracious, very affectionate and indeed insatiable. Just how I liked them!

I awoke with my chest pressed against her formidable twin assets, and with my hand over a soft, generous and pliable buttock. Needless to say I was hard and it pressed against her stomach.

She stirred, opened one eye, grinned and gasped, "Oh no! Not again!"

However, her lustful look, her roving hands over my bottom and her enthusiastic grasp of my willing and urgent penis belied her comment, and we fell into a clinch where she enfolded my cock within her lithe thighs, pressing me into her furrow and working gently to and fro.

"Oh yes!" came from her lips.

This (I meant my penis) could only go one way, I thought excitedly.

I thought wrongly as it happened.

At the moment of entry there came a long ring at my doorbell. Perhaps it would go away, I thought as I moved keenly to enter her further.

The bell did not stop ringing. I withdrew the half inch I had progressed.

"Fuck!" mouthed Deirdre.

" 'Fraid not!" I said, getting out of bed, my prick waving in the air as I donned a dressing gown over my naked body, and went to the intercom.

"Yes?"

Sobbing.

"Who?"

"Oh, Roddy!" came the anguished cry.

It was Cassandra, my 'little' sister. I pressed the button and heard her clattering up the stairs. I opened the flat door. She didn't like lifts.

"Cassie, what the-"

"He's dumped me!" she wept, "this morning! Fucked me last night, then this morning said he'd fallen out of love. We needed to move on with our lives. The Bastard!"

She swept past me into the kitchen, where she put the kettle to boil - a practical girl even in grief, our Cassie.

"I need tea!" she explained, "and breakfast. And help to move my stuff out of the bastard's flat."

This was not an unusual occurrence. Cassie had an unerring knack of picking handsome wastrels, users and liars. With her good looks I often wondered why she could not do better.

This was not the moment to deliver a little sermon on her deplorable lack of taste in men. I went to make the tea, while she sat at the kitchen table, sniffing.

"Tissues on the side there," I said, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. Then I went back to Deirdre while it brewed.

She had put on her micro skirt and tee shirt, without underwear as far as I could see, and that was pretty far.

"Who?" she asked diffidently. "Girlfriend?"

"Sister," I replied. "Cassie. Got dumped this morning."

"Oh, poor little kid!" she said.

This was amusing, since Cassie was twenty two, and Deirdre about twenty three. My bed partner didn't wait for correction, but sallied forth to the kitchen to administer woman to woman solace.

By the time I was shaved and dressed, the two of them were deep into some sort of female therapy involving a good deal of slating the male half of the race. Apparently we were 'all the same' and 'bastards', and they were 'better off without' us. I shrugged and made them toast for breakfast.

Over the simple meal the two chatted about their love-lorn lives and I kept quiet, refilling their mugs and providing more toast until they were both satisfied.

"Roddy?" Cassie said in that wheedling tone I knew so well.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can I stay with you for a while? I don't want to go back to my flat. I need company."

"Of course. You know my place is yours whenever you want to stay."

"Thanks." She came over and kissed me, smiling with gratitude.

Cassie was no trouble, and in other circumstances was always fun to have around. She more than pulled her weight round the flat and was a superb cook, which talent she always insisted on using to the full.

So I went shopping for food and household goods, while Deirdre went with Cassie to Colin's flat to collect her things. Cassie had phoned in advance and Colin said he would be there.

"What a prat!" exclaimed Deirdre, when they returned and Cassie was in her room unpacking, "staring at my legs the whole time he was talking to Cassie. I told her she was well rid of him - pervert."

"Dee," I chided her, "In a skirt that short, and with your legs, no man is going to be looking anywhere else! You did put your knickers on before you went, didn't you?"

She giggled and flipped her skirt to show her nakedness, "I hate wearing yesterday's knickers," she explained. I had a fleeting thought that Colin should not have been so lucky after what he did to Cassie.

Then Deirdre took her leave, giving Cassie a hug, and me a prolonged hug complete with a smouldering kiss before going on her way, throwing the comment over her shoulder that 'we must do this again sometime'.

I agreed, she really was a lot of fun.

"She your latest?" asked Cassie, coming into the hallway.

"Just a friend," I said.

"Yeah, and then some!" scoffed Cassie. She obviously felt a lot better already. "She's nice," she added.

I said nothing.

So began three weeks of house sharing with my sister. She was very good, doing more than she needed to: cooking meals, waking me with tea in the morning, even doing my washing!

In return I took her out at least once a week. We went to a gig by a band she liked and another time took in a play and a concert. I remembered how alike our tastes are - she is very musical and is an accomplished pianist.

Towards the end of the three weeks, life took another unpredictable turn: three events.

The first was on a Thursday at the end of August. I had arrived home after work to find Cassie already cooking something with an Italian aroma - oregano figured, and garlic, and did I detect bacon or ham?

"Smells great!" I greeted her.

"Carbonara," she said.

I went to get changed and showered, and returned on her call that dinner was ready.

"Visitor this afternoon just before you arrived," she said.

"Mm?" I responded, deeply into the creamy tagliatelle dish; she really is a great cook!

"Some woman," she said. "One of your 'friends' perhaps? Looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her. She obviously didn't know me."

"Oh?" I replied, looking up from my meal as an invitation for her to continue.

"She looked surprised to see me, then said she had wanted a chat with you, but that it didn't really matter; not that important. Then she turned and walked away."

"Didn't leave her name?"

"No. Brown hair, very pretty face, slim, nice coat, really good legs. Business suit underneath the coat, I think."

It didn't ring any bells, as I mentally trawled through 'women I have known'.

"Well, if she really wants to talk, she can phone or come back," I said.

The matter dropped, we went on to other things.

The second event seems unconnected, but I think it affected my state of mind later in the year, due to the stress it brought. The CEO, Declan Briggs, called me to the office and introduced a woman who exuded power and dress sense, Deborah Wheeler by name, and a big wheel in a large transport company, Transit International Uk Ltd.

"Call me Deborah," she said shaking hands. I told her to call me Rod. Seemed a fair exchange, big wheel engaging with smaller cog.

"We have a problem, Rod," she said, "and you were recommended to us after some work you did for Pilbream Brothers, which Ann Roberts assures me was quite brilliant." It transpired that Mz Roberts was their IT guru.

She then outlined what they needed. There were two arms to the company, an import/export arm and a goods transport arm with a fleet of trucks mainly operating in the British Isles.

They had software which kept tabs on goods being moved in and out of the country from origin to destination, and also controlled all aspects of the trucking arm.

For much of the business the two aspects were separate, but there were areas where things overlapped, accounting for instance.

Where one of their own trucks crossed the channel and drove through Europe, that would be covered by the transport side, but would also be covered by the export side. Data had to be entered twice, which was where mistakes crept in.

The company which supplied the software could not seem to find a comfortable way to bridge the two sides smoothly: the programme would often crash. Deborah had secured release from that firm and had come to us to see if we could fix the software.

We discussed the job at some length, and I made arrangements to visit their headquarters to see the system working.

It turned out to be a massive undertaking, and would take weeks of long hours. It would provide me with a good number of headaches, but as Declan pointed out, this would be worth more than all the jobs we'd done over the past year put together. It could also lead to a contract to provide them with more efficient software packages in the future.

Having seen the system in operation, I could not immediately begin to see ways of solving the problem, but being an obstinate soul I reckoned we could give it a go. So we began on one of our biggest projects. I think the stress involved contributed to my state of mind nearer Christmas.

The third event occurred two weeks later on a Friday. I was deep into the software's code, evaluating its structure which was clunky, and so was engrossed in the screen of my larger monitor. I was vaguely aware of a commotion outside my office, and some shouting.

So when the door crashed open against the wall, I simply said "Gently!" without looking up.

Did I say I was wrapped up in the problem? Well, I was quickly unwrapped.

A hand pulled my shoulder away from the screen and before I had time to react, I was punched hard under my eye, which knocked me off the chair and slammed my head against the wall. I was dazed, and saw a blurred Gary. He was coming in for the kill (figuratively speaking - he was no murderer).

However, he was frustrated in his endeavour by our security guard Tom, who had followed him from the front door of the office block. Tom had Gary's arm up his back and another arm round his neck. Tom was big and strong, bringing to mind a solidly erected outside WC.

I remained on the floor while Gary shouted at me as he tried to pull away from Tom, who thankfully wasn't letting go. I rubbed my cheek and eye; I would have a shiner tomorrow.

"What-?" I began.

"You bastard!" he yelled. "You stole my wife!"

Now for what follows, it is important to understand the layout of our workplace. It is an open plan cavern divided into shoulder high cubicles, with two large double glazed glass panelled offices off, side by side. I had one of these, with an array of electronic equipment along one wall, simply because I needed silence to discuss with clients the more complex problems they had with their systems and anyway, sod it, I'm a director! All the really complex problems came to me, which is why I was paid so well.

The other office was taken by the Head of Sales and Marketing, Harry Dreckson. The girls and boys in the main office worked flexibly, following up sales orders, handling minor problems (plug it in!), acting as a call centre (How may I help you?) and doing secretarial work. Some worked on code, debugging etc. and some of the code workers were really brilliant. I would need them shortly, though I had not as yet collected a team for the project. I was still at the assessment stage. We are a happy bunch.

It meant that the occupants of the outer office could see Harry and me at work, and now my door was open they could hear as well. Most of them were now standing up to get a better view.

"I haven't seen you or Rachel in, what is it, over three months! What the hell are you going on about?" I retorted, still rubbing my face. Damn, it was bloody painful! I got up, righted the fallen chair and slumped onto it; I was still a little dazed.

"You turned her against me!" Gary was still yelling and struggling with Tom.

"I did no such thing!" I replied hotly. "You begged Rachel and me to have sex - to cuckold you. We told you that you were taking a risk, but no, you had to go ahead. Whatever has happened since between you and Rachel is no concern of mine."

"She's divorcing me!" he was still loud, oblivious to his audience. "She's left me. And don't come the innocent with me, you're the reason she's going. You turned her against me - she told me all about what you did."

"Well," I said, "It was your idea wasn't it? She and I would have a good time, and then she would tell you all about it?"

I could see the glances exchanged between the staff and their broad grins. This would fuel the office gossip for weeks! X rated stuff, this!

"But you cheated!"

"Cheating is going behind your back, Gary. You knew all about it. Damn it, you organised it and she told you the gory details - it was part of the plan."

No one in the outer office was working now, phones went unanswered.

"No! I didn't know all about it," he was still very loud, still oblivious to the audience who were now giggling among themselves. "You both cheated - you didn't have sex - Rachel confessed. You went to concerts and plays and things. You enjoyed yourselves. She told me. No sex at all!"

The staff broke into loud ribald laughter at that. This was getting better and better, there were some 'high fives'.

I was not laughing: Rachel had betrayed our little plan, hence my incipient black eye.

"That's immaterial," I objected. "You wanted all the emotions and eroticism of being cuckolded. You got them: you weren't short changed. You believed we had sex, and you got off on it. Rachel told me you were wild in bed when she got back and told you what you wanted to hear. We just held to our principles and deceived you, but you got what you wanted from us! From what she told me, it did wonders for your sex life."

"Oh, no you don't!" he snarled, "You can't get away with that! You had a plan didn't you? You were sly - you took her to all the things I don't like going to and she does. You wanted her for yourself and you played the long game. You refused to have sex with her, so she wanted you more, and you gave her a good time while pretending to be virtuous and helping her to keep her marriage vows. You bloody hypocrite! Well, you've got what you wanted. She doesn't want me any more, she says-"

Here Gary stopped and seemed to realise that we were not alone. That was true, for apart from the entire office as an audience, two large policemen had arrived and cuffed him. They marched him out of the office with Tom in tow, and as the outer door closed the place erupted in gales of laughter and enthusiastic applause!

I smiled, rather embarrassed at the attention. Our first-aider marched me off to try to mitigate the damage to my face, and eventually I was allowed to return to the programme I had been worrying over before the interruption.

However, I could no longer concentrate. Perhaps it was delayed shock, but my mind would not let go of the strange conversation that followed his attack.

What had he said? I had planned to seduce Rachel by not trying to having sex with her? Playing the long game? Made her want me?

Did I really do that? I was not aware of having a plan to seduce Rachel; she was always unattainable. I was delighted to take her out and entertain her, but try to take her from Gary? No.

Did Rachel think I was doing those things? I thought back to our meetings. Oh crikey! The kisses - surely for Gary's benefit? But not the penultimate kiss, and that last kiss, that was not a fond friendship kiss, was it? It was full on passion!

Hell! Was I so naïf? Yes I was! There was more going on than I thought, and I never saw it. I remembered being puzzled by that last kiss, but I never thought...

Be that as it may, she went back to Gary, and that was in May. What was happening during the intervening three months? They weren't having rows the whole time, surely.

If she'd told him the truth early on, he wouldn't have waited this long to come and punch me. If she'd just recently told him she was divorcing him, it could hardly have been to do with me; if she were worried at his reaction, she would have phoned me, surely?

What a mess! I didn't like the idea when Gary first suggested it in the pub all those months ago, but neither did Rachel. That's why we met as we did. He did get what he wanted. She did want to teach him a lesson by pushing the boundaries, and sure enough she got him to finish it. That's what she wanted: to get back to their normal married life.

So we went out together. So what? What were we supposed to do? Sit in my flat staring at one another for an hour at a time? We went out to relieve the tension. To be sure she gave me erections, but she had always done that in my masturbatory fantasies.

She was very, very sexy, but she never laid a finger anywhere near my prick and I never touched any erogenous part of her body. Even with that last kiss we were careful, at least I thought we had been. That last kiss was a turn on for both of us, and that's why I walked away without a backward glance but with a raging forward erection.

So ran my thoughts. Confused, vacillating, unsure. I realised I was struggling to avoid the obvious thought, that at the time I had fallen for her. However, that was over four months before, she had not been in touch and I had forgotten about it until Gary made his appearance. She was divorcing him, but had not come back to me. She didn't care for me at all; I was useful at the time. I was always out of her league, and water under the bridge, though I wasn't sure that water, even when flowing under a bridge, belongs to a league.