You Don't Mess with Them

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I'm confronted by bad guys.
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I had to admit that it had been a good couple of days with her, days and nights actually, but was it really worth going through, what with what had just been explained to me was the rest of my life?

I had only been in London three days when I met her, most of which were spent at the National Archives in Kew pouring over records in an attempt to trace my family tree, and put to rest some of the family rumours. Yes, there were convicts in my family, despite what my Grandmother had insisted. Back in her time it was a stain on their family reputation to have to admit to a convict ancestry, thankfully that is no longer the case, and in fact it is almost a badge of honour to trace one's roots to an ancestor who was an involuntary immigrant. A couple of mine were quite famous in that they did some things that today would have seen them spend some time as a guest of Her Majesty.

I had arranged to travel to Wales to spend time going through County Records because my search at Kew had come to a grinding halt at 1837. What was to have been my last night in London for some time, became my third last night after I met her. It had been at the pub just around the corner from my hotel, I didn't own it, I was just staying there, and I had been sitting at a table sipping on a red wine and watching her having a lousy time with some stupid bloke. I didn't know he was stupid at the time, that came later when he left her on her own while he went somewhere with some tart who obviously offered him more than she was prepared to give.

She looked lost and humiliated by his actions, and I thought that she was about to burst into tears, so I went over to her. "I have a spare seat at my table, why don't you come over and take the weight off?" She said nothing but came and sat. "I noticed you having a rough time of it with that moron who left you for the tart, so I thought that I should rescue you."

"Christ, an Australian, what would you know about any of this?"

"I at least know how to treat a beautiful woman, we colonial oafs don't take a Sheila to a shindig and then dump her for some tart." I was laying on the Ocker image a little thick in keeping with her comment.

"Touché, I asked for that didn't I?" She smiled, her first for quite a while.

"I'm up for a refill, what are you drinking?" I stood and picked up my glass.

"I'll have what you're having."

"Are you sure that you're ready for an Aussie wine, this'll put hairs on your chest."

"I'll take that chance." I was back in a flash with our wine, she took a sip and didn't flinch. "This's nice."

"What, did you think I'd buy you any old piss, this is top shelf stuff this is?" It wasn't really, but then it wasn't the bulk crap that we'd been selling over here for ages, 'quaffing plonk' we call it back home, and only drink it if we're desperate.

She took another sip and sat back to get a better look at me. "Where's the hat with the corks, did you leave that back at your hotel?"

"Gees, you don't think that we all walk around with one of those stupid things on our heads do you? They're strictly for the tourists, we never wear them, why would we give the flies somewhere to perch while they're working out their attack strategy? I do come to an Akubra from time to time, but your sun over here, doesn't have the power to turn milk, let alone give you a tan. You have a lot to learn about us, just as I have a lot to learn about you, not you specifically, although that would be an area of research that I could get into. I'm trying to figure you out, you're a decent looking bird, you scrub up pretty well, yet you let some bloke treat you like shit without so much as a whimper, what gives?"

She sat there in silence for some time before she made up her mind to tell me all about it. "That moron, as you so colourfully described him, was someone that I'd been going with for six months. I thought that he was one of the good guys, but then things began to change between us. At first I thought that it was me that was the problem, but then I came to realise that I hadn't changed, he had. He seemed not to want to see me as often as we had been, and he was spending more time with his so-called friends, friends who saw him and his money as a chance of a free ride. That was what we were arguing about before he left, she had offered him some new party drug and a good time, while that was not my scene at all. As you saw, he made his decision and left me all alone."

"You deserve better, you know that don't you?" I held up a hand to stop her from interjecting. "I know, I hardly know you, so who am I to judge you? You can tell me to crawl back under that antipodean rock that I've crawled out from under, but I would never treat a woman like the way that he treated you, and if you should get the impression that I'm flirting with you, you'd be right. But I'm not doing that to get into your pants, although that prospect does have some merit, I'm doing it to try to take your mind off your problems for a while. Should you, at a later part of the evening, decide that I should be allowed into your pants, then I'd be quite happy to oblige."

She laughed, she had a great laugh, there was nothing forced about it, she saw the absurdity of my suggestion and realised what I was doing and just laughed. That was when she got into my mood. "You never know your luck, I just might let you."

"No pressure, but if you don't I might just have to end my life at the end of the evening, I leave the decision entirely in your hands." I picked up a hand (one of hers) and held it. "And such beautiful, soft hands. They look great without my blood on them."

"Are you ever sensible?" Her smile told me that she was happy being with the stupid me right now.

"Oh I can be dull and boring when I need to be, but, hey this is Friday night, back home the happy hour would be in full swing, and the cares of the world but a distant memory. There is a time and place for dull and boring, and this is neither the time nor the place, so let's just enjoy the moment."

"What is this wine, it's my turn to buy."

"If you're shouting, it's a Grange, and it's around a hundred pounds a glass. No, it's a Church Block, just tell the barman that it's on Mark's tab and he'll know what to pour. I'm Mark by the way."

"And I'm Jane, I'll be back in a second." She walked off with our glasses. I saw Pete, the barman, look over at me and smile before getting the bottle and topping up our glasses. "I should have known, he's an Aussie too."

"Pete and I go way back, we were at Uni together last year. I see that he's put his Engineering degree to good use."

"And what have you done with yours, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not as much as he has, as it turns out. I have a job to go to when the mining industry picks up. I was hired by one of the big miners for the expansion of the Olympic Dam mine, (Roxby Downs in South Australia) but the Chinese economy has pulled back and the demand just isn't there to warrant any expansion at this time, so, for the time being I don't have a job as such. The family has decided that I should make use of my free time and do some family research, so they had a whip-around and raised enough funds to keep me here for a while, and here I am, trying to make some sense out of our genealogy, without much luck."

"Have you made much headway?"

"As far as I can go at Kew, now it's off to Wales, to a place called Llanfrwog, don't ask me how they pronounce that, to see what I can find there."

"Good luck with that. So when were you planning to leave London?"

"Tomorrow as it turns out."

"Oh."

"You seem sad at that."

"That's my luck all over again, I meet someone who is halfway decent and he disappears before I really get to know him."

"Would you like to get to know me better?"

"What's the point, you're out of here tomorrow and I won't see you again."

"I could change my plans, nothing is set in concrete."

"Would you do that for me?"

"Whoa there, hold your horses, I need to get to know you better before I commit myself."

"I don't believe this, a man using the 'c' word, will wonders never cease?"

"Were you born a cynic or did you have to work at it?"

"What you see here is pure cynic stock, through and through."

"This could prove very interesting. What exactly do you do when you're not rubbishing us males in general, and Australian males in particular?"

"I work for a brokerage house."

"Do you do the actual buying and selling of commodities or currency, or do you just work there?"

"I work on the currency desk, and yes I buy and sell currency, not that I see any of it, apart from my miserable salary, we as employees are forbidden to trade in our own right, the potential for conflicts of interest and insider trading are ever present, so it's best to avoid it."

"And your former friend, does he work there as well?"

"Yes, but he works with Bonds, that's where the high flyers end up."

"I've often wondered what goes on in those places, you control the fate of countries, doesn't the power scare you?"

"Sometimes, when you see the way that some of the major powers can bear down on a smaller country's currency to put financial pressure on them is disgusting, and at times I think that my talents could be better used elsewhere."

"Like being a tour guide for my trip to Wales, he asks hopefully?"

"You never know your luck, I just might take you up on the offer."

"I was about to suggest that we find somewhere more comfortable to continue this conversation, but I haven't been able to gather the courage to invite you back to my hotel."

"Your hotel sounds like the best option, at least you don't have a flat-mate who is likely to rock up at some weird hour with her latest victim in tow, or do you?"

"Nah, nothing like that, just me on my Todd Malone (alone).

"Then it looks like your hotel then."

I said good-bye to Pete who gave me the thumbs up signal to tell me that he was jealous of my success, why I don't know, he and one of the girls that worked there were, you know. . . As hotel rooms go this was comfortable in a bland, neutral kind of way, no country mansion decorations here. "What would you like to drink? I can offer any of the standard mini-bar drinks, I haven't touched them, but I did find a bottle shop that stocked some good mid-range Australian wines, are you tempted?"

"If it's anything like what we had at the pub, then yes, I'm interested."

I selected a bottle of Serafino Shiraz because it was fairly typical of the McLaren Vale Shiraz. Jane agreed and we polished it off in quick time, time that was well spent. By the time we had finished we had become very well acquainted. "I'd offer to drive you home but I can't." I whispered to her.

"Why can't you?"

"Because I don't want to, and because I don't have a car, and because I have to admit to being a little tired and emotional, not to put too fine a point on it. I'm too pissed to drive."

"I hope that you're not too pissed for anything else."

"And what might that be?" I asked, hoping for the right answer.

"I feel in desperate need of love and affection . . ." (She was getting warm.)

"That I can give you."

". . . and maybe a little of something else." (Warmer.)

"And what might that be?"

In answer she reached across and located my cock nestled behind my pants. He woke up and took a strong interest in proceedings. (Bingo!) I got the message, and taking her in my arms I proceeded to give her a lot of love and affection with a view to the something else to follow.

"I hope that you don't think that of this as a revenge fuck, or even a rebound fuck because it isn't." She was snuggled against me, her head on my shoulder and hand on my now soft cock. "I had long given up on getting anything other than him going through the motions of loving me. It did my ego no good at all to realise that he didn't care enough for me to make the effort to give me love and affection. I noticed you when we first arrived at the pub and thought that you looked interesting, and then I noticed that you looked interested in me. If you hadn't come over when you did I don't know what I would have done."

"Does this mean that I can have the pleasure of your company for a while longer, maybe for the whole weekend?"

"It could, why?"

"If it does then I'll have to change my travel plans, and let them know downstairs that I won't be checking out in the morning."

"I think it safe for you to make the call."

"What call would that be?"

"Downstairs silly, to let them know that you won't be moving out in the morning, and to order breakfast so that I don't have to leave this bed until at least Sunday night, or Monday morning."

I kissed her before reaching for the phone to speak to reception. "This is Mark Wallace in room 506, I was supposed to be checking out in the morning, well, my plans have changed and I won't be leaving until Monday morning."

"Very good Sir, am I to assume that the young lady met with your expectations?"

"Yes, the young lady, my cousin, will be staying with me."

"You must have a very close and loving family. Good night Sir, enjoy the rest of your evening." I smiled as I hung up the phone.

"What?" Jane was puzzled.

"That guy in reception has a dirty mind, he as good as suggested that I was having a close encounter with my own cousin, very close."

"I wondered about the 'cousin' comment. Come here cuzz, I want more of you." She rolled on top of me and fed him into her pussy.

Apart from toilet breaks, we didn't move from the bed until our room service breakfast had arrived and was consumed. Jane looked better now than when I first saw her, her dishevelled look suited her, her makeup was a smudge on the pillow and her lipstick had been kissed off hours ago, but it was her body that attracted my attention, there was something sexy about the way that her pubes were matted with the product of our loving. She caught me looking at her. "What?"

"Come here you sexy person you." She came, I came, we both came, so many times that we lost count.

Sometime during the afternoon we both collapsed from exhaustion and slept. It was dark when we woke up. "I think that we should get cleaned up and find a restaurant, we need to replenish our depleted energy stocks."

"That seems like a good idea, let's see if the shower is big enough for both of us." It was, just, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly, making sure that every square millimetre of her body was scrupulously clean. She complained half-heartedly when I stopped her from sucking my cock clean. "Spoilsport, why won't you let me clean him?"

"I don't mind you soaping him and washing him clean but the other method will have to wait, otherwise we'll never get any food into us."

The meal was okay I guess, I wasn't really paying much attention to what I was eating, I was enjoying the easy manner in which we were able to talk to each other, no awkward silences, just a continuous stream of light banter that kept us laughing.

We called by her flat on the way back to the hotel so that she could pick up a change of clothes and underwear and let her flat-mate know not to expect her home before Monday morning. Whether the message sank in was debatable because Tiffany, the flat-mate, had obviously had a hard night the night before and was still feeling decidedly second-hand.

The guy on reception raised his eyebrow as we walked past and smirked at me, just to let me know that he wasn't convinced about the cousin explanation. I smiled back just to let him know that I couldn't care less about what he thought.

Somewhere between Saturday night and Monday morning, in between our very close encounters of the sexual kind, I learnt quite a bit about Jane. She was from a family that could legitimately claim a distant royal connection, 'there would have to be an outbreak of the bubonic plague of monumental proportions amongst the royals for me to have any chance of succession', and her family had a large manor house in the country that had a Grade 2 Heritage listing so they couldn't change the exterior of it without Planning Permission, and this was extremely unlikely to happen. The moron also came from a wealthy family, but their wealth was very recent and, if rumours were to be believed, from dubious sources. With his 'nuveau riche" status came an arrogance that was borderline psychotic, and he was prone to violence if he didn't get his way, although Jane had no personal experience of it, she had seen him lose it with others.

Money market volatility led to a tearful farewell for both of us on Monday morning. If it weren't for the pressure of work, Jane would have had no hesitation in joining me on my quest for answers to the Owen family. The last information that I had was that my Great-great-great grandfather was born around 1800 in Llanfrwog, and even that was problematic because he was illiterate and his application for immigration was filled in by someone else. It seemed that every second Owen born at that time was called John, while many others had Owen as their Christian name in keeping with that Welsh tradition of having the same name for both Christian and surname. What made it worse was that I couldn't be certain of his father's Christian name, in one record it was listed as William, while another it was Owen. I found a William Owen, with a date of birth in the right time frame, living in a village on Anglesey with a similar name to Llanfrwog, and I was getting even more confused. It became a process of tracing the descendants of these men in the hope that they died in Wales thus ruling them out, or some definitive evidence linking them with a death record elsewhere in the UK. What made it even worse was the migration of out of work Welsh farm labourers to Liverpool seeking employment in the building industry brought about by the huge need to house factory workers as part of the Industrial Revolution. My great whatever grandfather was one of those, although his trade as listed on his Marriage Certificate was 'Butcher' while on his Immigration application it was listed as 'Farm Labourer'.

When I spoke to Jane on Thursday evening I told her that I would be back in London the next day and as I hadn't checked out I had the same room as before, and that I hoped to see her after she finished work for dinner. I gave her my ETA in London and, factoring in the need to change to a different train line to reach my hotel I gave her a rough idea when I would reach it. I had spoken to her every evening and if I had used my own mobile phone the cost would have been approaching the Australian national debt. On advice before I'd left home, I'd bought a pre-paid phone with international connectivity so that I could ring home and speak to my family without it costing the earth. We spoke for as long as a £10 card would last, so it was within my budget, and I got to speak with her and text her whenever I needed to.

It was just after 3:00pm and I had unpacked my bags and put my laundry into a bag, and was stretched out on the bed full of anticipation for the night ahead, when there was a knock on my door. I got off the bed thinking that it was Housekeeping coming to collect my laundry, but instead it was an excited Jane, rushing into my arms and forcing me back across the room to my bed, our bed. "My Darling, it's great to see you again, you don't know how much I've missed you."

"I've a pretty good idea, probably about as much as I've missed you."

"Do we have to go out to dinner, can't we stay here?"

"We could always eat downstairs in the restaurant." I was hoping that she'd say no to that suggestion because I'd eaten there once before and wasn't impressed. It could have been the jetlag that jaded my tastebuds but I wasn't about to try again. "There is a little Indian around the corner that's okay if you like spicy food."