The Other Woman Pt. 01

Author's Note

The Other Woman is not the first story in the Love of a Lifetime series. At the time of publication, TOW is the third story in the series. I intend it to be a link between book two, Ghost of Timor, and the larger When Jerry Met Ali universe. TOW is not necessary reading for those who only read the novels in the series, but it will be a pointer to future reveals.

Morning

The music was always the same.

"Baby, I got sick this morning. A sea was storming inside of me!"

Camilla closed her eyes and slid her hand beneath her sheets. She pressed between her legs and remembered...

... She could barely conceal her excitement as Jeremy stood before her singing.

And it wasn't just that he could hold a tune; the man was actually talented. And it helped that he knew the words to Marvin Gaye's last hit off by heart. He must have heard or sung it a dozen times the way he was proceeding.

"Baby, I think I'm capsizing. The waves are rising and rising!"

And it also wasn't that the rest of the occupants of the apartment were also standing in the bedroom's doorway, enjoying the show. Indeed, Camilla couldn't honestly say who was more eager, her or the three other girls who were laughing nervously at the spectacle taking place before them.

"And when I get that feeling I want sexual healing!"

Nor was it that Jeremy's girlfriend, Alison, sat naked next to Camilla with a grin from ear to ear. Concealed beneath a sheet on Alison's bed, Camilla could feel Alison's bare skin on hers as she laughed and wriggled. Despite her sexual disinterest in girls, Camilla could feel a slight tingle each time their skin touched.

While she focused her attention on the singing man in front of her, her body hinted that there were new pleasures within her grasp if she but dared reach out and take them.

"Sexual healing is good for me."

No, it was neither Jeremy's singing, the crowing onlookers, nor the naked girl sitting within arm's reach of her that had Camilla so keyed up. What amazed her so much was that Jeremy could finish his song entirely while standing stark naked in front of four women.

So much of the detail of that memory was now subjective, but the one fact she would not let time corrupt was that organ. It was as clear in her mind that morning as it had been two years earlier. Not its shape or size-both had been more than perfect-but the effect that it had on her still. In her fantasy, it was there on show to all, turning her on, causing her to jill off secretly next to Alison. Or, if she was feeling especially horny, she would throw off her bed sheet and bring herself to ecstasy. The other people in the room just fading away to grey.

And then there were other times. Times when her "memagination" and fingers were not enough. On those days, she imagined herself hurling the bedsheet to the floor, leaping off the bed and taking Jeremy in the middle of that room. Sometimes she swallowed him and other times she pulled him off till he sprayed her all over her face or breasts.

And then there were times like this morning, when even an imaginary facial that was not enough to satisfy her mood. Not enough to sate her needs. On those days, they fucked. Camilla imagined all sorts of situations when they fucked in front of her friends, but in reality, it only meant one thing...

... Opening her eyes, she turned to the bedside table and opened its single drawer. She withdrew her toy from its hiding place beneath old letters and moistened it with her mouth.

"Why, Mr Holland, back so soon? Whatever could you want? You want to fuck me?" Camilla kissed the toy and lowered it under the sheet as she pulled up her nightie. Thrusting it in, she grunted, "Well then, I suppose you'll just have to..."

Afternoon

Camilla had gotten used to working long hours since she had moved to Canberra, but it took some adjustment on her part. She had been more attuned to the laid-back pace of the New South Wales mid-north coast than the political machinations of Australia's capital. But after working in the prime minister's office for three months, she no longer objected to working weekends or late nights. Her employer rewarded her handsomely for her time, and her living expenses were all but paid for, too. She was young, and for now, she was enjoying the challenge. Never a dull moment, always something new. But she knew she couldn't keep up this pace forever.

Working for the PM had been the chance of a lifetime. Her first job out of university was in a local member of parliament's hometown office. Something arranged through her father's long friendship with the politician. She was qualified as any for the lowly clerical position, but the perk was that she sometimes travelled with him on official business. On only her second trip to Canberra, a staff member of the prime minister's office retired, leaving an unexpected vacancy, and she was in the right place at the right time. Filling in as a favour, she had taken to the position like a duck to water; and subsequently offered the position full time. She agreed to stay but has a trial only. The job had nothing connected to the economics degree she'd just spent the three completing. But it was money and experience and connections, and she knew she may never get that chance again. Her trial run would be ending soon. She had been putting it off, but she had to decide about her future in Canberra come Monday morning.

The position was simple enough. Support the PM's office coordinating events and publicity. There were always foreign dignitaries to greet and press conferences to arrange. Day events were usually sober affairs, while the more exciting gatherings happened at night. That gave Camilla a chance to dress up-it was expected-and let her hair down just a little. Wine and cocktails were mostly par for the course on these nights, and she was happy to have a glass or two as a small perk of her job.

But today was an unusual one. She'd been asked to stand by the phone and wait for a call by Prime Minister Howard himself. That wasn't unusual; she had met him many times since joining his staff a few months earlier. He was a pleasant man to work for. He never raised his voice or demanded anything unreasonable. So, waiting for him to call her so she could deliver the small wooden box to him in his office next door was just a matter of walking twenty paces.

"Yes, we are ready now. Can you bring it in please?" the PM said over the phone.

Camilla had, of course, snuck a peek at the contents of the box while she was waiting. Inside was military decoration of some sort, presumably for an old soldier or a general, which the PM was about to hand to someone. She'd only been given it to hold at the last minute when the courier had turned up too late for his secretary to interrupt the PM. He wasn't a disorganised man, far from it. But Camilla did not know what John Howard was like away from parliament. She's never even given it a moment's thought. His staff had always kept his office clutter free to present an image of order and control.

Camilla picked up the box and walked into the office via a side door that linked her office with his. It wasn't "her" office-twenty people worked in there-but that was how she thought of it. Two years out of university and she was working in the office of the most important man in the nation. Sometimes she had to stop and look around to remember how remarkable her situation was. As she walked, she unconsciously dusted herself down and smoothed her dress. Always put your best self forward, she had been told, you are working for the prime minister.

As she entered the PM's office, she saw a tall young man wearing a suit. Not the old soldier she had been expecting, so it had been a pleasant surprise. She noted all the visitors who she met during these moments' appearances in the hope of a little eye-candy to brighten her day. But politics is a popularity contest for ugly people, so she found that she was more often disappointed than not. But today's visitor was different. From behind anyway. Tall, dark and with a good bum. Camilla hoped that the front side wasn't a letdown.

She'd hadn't hooked up with anyone in Canberra since she'd moved there months earlier, but she also wasn't looking. Not familiar with the city, her social network limited to the Parliament and its staff. There were good-looking men there to be sure, but as they flew in on sitting weeks and flew out again most weekends, anything more than a fling wasn't likely. She was also well aware of the danger a fling might have on her reputation in such a close-knit environment as the Parliament. But she didn't want to live like a nun either. At 25, she was in her prime. An occasional fuck shouldn't be asking too much.

So now, every time she saw a likely sort of fella from behind, she would play the same little game with herself. First, she would calculate the odds that her mystery man was handsome enough. Camilla didn't demand Richard Gere-like perfection. Just the right sort of look. She didn't a type, but she supposed she'd know it when she saw it. Usually, she calculated the odds as something less than 10%. She was conscience that she had to be diplomatic even if disappointed; better to be pleasantly surprised. So she usually didn't get her hopes up.

If her mystery man scrubbed up, then her second move was to check for a wedding ring. Parliament was full of creeps and sluts who would love you and leave you; never once mentioning the families they had hidden back in their hometown. She never had enough time to get to know everything about a person, so a glance at the left hand was her only guide.

Step three was to judge the character of her fantasy fuck. She almost never got to step three, and then they had all failed. Five minutes alone with the prime minister is more than most people ever get in one lifetime, so they rarely wasted it. Business, politics and more business. If they hadn't launched into their big pitch immediately, they were usually scrambling to mumble something when they realised they should have thought have something earlier.

"Ah, here we are!" The PM said to his guest as soon as he saw Camilla approaching. As the man slowly turned around, Camilla readied her best smile. Whilst Camilla smiled at all the visitors, she hoped that day she would not waste this one on another donor or diplomat.

When she took her eyes off his backside and looked up that she suddenly felt blood drain out of her. She recognised him instantly and by how his eye's widened; he remembered her too. How could he not? The last that they were this close together, both of them were stark naked.

"My goodness, Camilla. Are you alright?" the PM asked. "You look as though you have seen a ghost!"

Camilla froze, staring at Jeremy Holland, her former flatmate's boyfriend. The boyfriend that they had seduced into a threesome two years earlier. She learned later that they had broken up soon after and they had planned to marry. Camilla was guilt-ridden when she had heard. She blamed herself forgetting involved. Did Jeremy blame her for the break-up? How in a million years was she now standing in front of him in the one place on Earth she could not run away? She could feel herself shaking as her mouth opened to blurt out silence when Jeremy spoke first.

"Oh, Camilla and I have met before prime minister!"

Jeremy's confidence did nothing to allay Camilla's dread. What would come out of his mouth next? "Camilla had a threesome with my girlfriend and me two years ago, prime minister. She has perky little titties and gives amazing head! She also streaked naked through her apartment on a dare. You should ask her to do it here sometime. That'd liven up Question Time!"

"Yes, Camilla and I had a mutual acquaintance who studied at the same university." Jeremy said.

"Well," said Prime Minister Howard, "what a wonderful coincidence! Camilla, Jeremy has just returned from East Timor and he was quite the hero, don't you know?"

Camilla wasn't really listening to what was being said. She was still on high alert for an embarrassing anecdote to be dropped in to the conversation at any moment. But she knew that time was on her side. The PM's time was more precious than any other person in the country. He never had more than fifteen minutes scheduled for a meet and greet like this. She quickly calculated that if she could survive for sixty more seconds, then he would be gone. And then the roof caved in.

"Camilla, cancel my next appointment, would you? I'd like to talk more with Major Holland about Timor and I'm sure he would love you to join us. Jeremy, what do you drink?"

Camilla moved automatically toward a phone to call the PM's secretary. As she did, she could hear Jeremy saying in a relaxed tone, "Most things prime minister, but I haven't had a glass of red wine in six months!"

"An excellent idea! Camilla, can you please have a bottle and three glasses brought in too?"

It should have been a great honour to be invited by the prime minister of Australia to his office to drink with a friend. But Camilla's head was spinning at her sudden change in fortunes. Just twenty minutes earlier, she was idly planning her weekend while weighing up her future in Canberra. Now she found herself trapped in a polite wine-time conversation with her one-night stand and the prime minister of the nation.

The wine and glasses came in from the side office and the PM left Camilla to do the honours. She shook as she poured the wine, accidentally over filling one glass but fortunately not spilling any. She momentarily thought about swigging the extra to even up the pours, but realised how stupid that would be. First, she couldn't as both the PM and Jeremy were looking at her. Second, her lipstick would be on the glass and last, she would quickly get legless.

She was panicking; she knew it, but she didn't know why. Jeremy was being a complete gentleman. He had already steered the conversation away from the full details of their acquaintance and back to neutral ground. Effortlessly too, she thought, he must be quick on his feet.

Far from being an embarrassing and humiliating afternoon, Camilla eventually relaxed and enjoyed the conversation. Jeremy had clearly covered himself in glory in Timor. Quite the man of the moment, so it would seem. And he didn't try to monopolise his time with the PM, either. He alternated between answering any question put to him and asking one himself of Camilla. So, it was with some disappointment when the time ended. The prime minister was a busy man and whiling away the hours with a small potato was just not possible, no matter how pleasurable. So Camilla was more than happy when the PM asked her to escort Jeremy out.

"It was wonderful to see you again," Jeremy said once they walked away from the PM's office.

"Oh, the pleasure was all mine," Camilla replied. "I got quite the shock when I saw you. Quite the last person in the world I ever expected to see again."

"Yeah, I know. I want to say 'small world' but that wouldn't do it justice."

There was an awkward silence for a few moments as Camilla tried to think of something uncontroversial to say. Finally, she blurted out, "You are looking well." She almost kicked herself.

But Jeremy seemed to take it as genuine and replied, "Do you think so? I've been feeling very bloated since I left Timor. I don't think I'm used to Australian food anymore."

Bloated wasn't the word for it. Camilla had fair knowledge of Jeremy's physique and while she remembered him as quite the catch, he now appeared to be nothing short of an Olympian. Tanned, toned and stronger. Clearly, the outdoors or whatever agreed with him.

"You are kidding, aren't you?! You look amazing!" Camilla wished that she could just crawl into a hole and die.

"Really, you think so?" Jeremy replied. "It must be all this sitting around I've been doing in the last... day. Oh my god, it has only been a day since I was there! It feels like a lifetime ago. This is so weird."

They walked in silence for the rest of their brief journey to the exit. Camilla didn't know what to say and Jeremy was clearly experiencing culture shock on his return from Timor. Which was understandable. There were many war-torn or run down hell holes in the world. Places where people spend their days doing everything they can just to survive until the next. Canberra was the extreme opposite of every single one of those. A city of no violent crime, traffic, billboards or fear. There is no city on earth that on its best day could be as safe as Canberra.

When they reached the exit where Jeremy had first entered the building, he paused for a moment to look at the city before turning back to Camilla. "Thank you for walking me out," Jeremy said, smiling.

"No worries," Camilla replied. "Can I call you a taxi?"

"No, I'm just down in Kingston. I can walk from here. It should only take about 20 minutes. I need to stretch my legs and clear my mind."

"Well, take care," Camilla said. Then absent-mindedly, she asked, "So, what will you do now?"

"I need to get some food, I think. There is coffee and tea in the flat, but not much else. But I will have to find my wallet first. I don't think I've seen mine for six months."

"Wow! I can't imagine not needing money for more than a day. What will you do if you can't find it?"

"Oh, go to the bank, I suppose. There is a Commonwealth branch in Kingston."

"Ok, well... nice to see you again."

"Yeah, you too." And with that, they both turned and walked away.

As Camilla walked back to her office, she hummed quietly to herself as she tried to turn her attention back to work. She didn't have much on her plate for the rest of that day, but the way the entire afternoon had turned had thrown a spanner in the works.

As she tried to remember what she was doing before Jeremy appeared, she couldn't help but worry that she had forgotten something important. She had walked halfway back to the office when the penny finally dropped.

She stopped for the briefest moment and then she ran back to the office singing as she went, "oh baby let's get down tonight."

________________________________________

From the House of Representatives side of Parliament House, one looked out roughly south east toward what Canberrans called the "Inner-South". The area was much favoured by out-of-state politicians and graduate public servants who were unwilling or too scared to explore much further than within walking distance from their place of employment. They often clung to their notions that their home city had much more to offer them than Canberra and were universally oblivious to the hypocrisy of their position. No one had forced them to take a job in Canberra and they had chosen to stay.

Some of the oldest houses in the city filled the Inner-South. Its lineage only extended back 8o years, so traditional Canberra architecture was few and far between. What examples were to be found were confined mostly to the suburbs directly next to Parliament.

Jeremy paused for a moment under the shade of trees in the Parliament's easternmost formal garden that overlooked Sydney Avenue. It was late afternoon now and the summer sun was still beating down. Not the same energy sapping tropical heat of Timor, but in the dry climate of Canberra, the sun really burned.

He took a moment to take stock of his situation. When he woke that morning, he was in Timor, thousands of miles to the north. He was the hero of the moment, having saved a man's life and potentially prevented a war. Moments later, he was rudely bundled out of the country and expecting to be arrested for any number of minor to serious crimes. But then he was escorted to a government jet; flown across the continent in luxury; treated to a chauffeured trip to his new free accommodation; reunited with all his possessions; presented to the prime minister and showered with honours and tributes. All in the space of less than a day!