Greater Expectations (16 page)

Anger at my own weakness.

“Good” she replied, a little too quickly and dismissively for my liking.

“
Good? Good?
How can my misery be, in any way,
good
Penny? I am fucking hurting here and you think it’s
FUCKING GOOD?
” I knew I was being unreasonable and blowing it out of all proportion but I needed to vent and she was the only other person here.

“Z, please, calm down. You surely know what I meant” she tried to speak calmly but I could hear the hesitation and concern in her voice. It was obvious she hadn’t been used to being spoken to like this before. She didn’t seem to know how to handle it, or me. A sign of weakness that, at that moment, I foun
d myself determined to exploit.

Why should it just be me being miserable?

“Well, as you demanded honesty, I guess there is something else I should tell you…” I went on to explain absolutely every single excruciating detail about my tryst with “Angela”. All my other emotions were now replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief at absolving myself of this burdensome “sin” that I felt I had committed against Penny. Yet it wasn’t really a lie as this was our first conversation since. Even so, I found that I wanted her to be hurt by this information. Yet I couldn’t understand why myself.

Why did I want to hurt my friend?

All she did was listen in silence.

After I finished, there was no comment nor judgment about it, nor any mention of me breaking
my word. Instead, just concern.

“Z, it is obvious that everything is still so very raw for you. Take it from me, I know. Just give yourself some time to adjust. Go out and blow out, phone a mate and get drunk. Get all of that pent up aggression, hurt, pain and frustration out of you. You know where I am if and when you need me. I will
ALWAYS
be here, 24/7. Until then, stay aware and take care my friend.” Her tone was so soft and calm.

Caring almost.

Then the line went dead.

Suddenly I was exhausted. I lay down on my
bed and sleep quickly found me.

21

Mistress Fiona

Saturday 28th February

It was after 8pm when I awoke from my soundest sleep for weeks. Thoroughly refreshed and reinvigorated, I found that there was seven missed calls and five text messages on my phone. They were a combination of Ed, Taylor, and Marc all asking me to meet at the pub. There was no word from the agency so I guess tomorrow is another enforced day off. Having already showered earlier, I simply changed into a fresh shirt and jeans, grabbed my coat, and drove the five miles to our designated meeting point.

The snow was falling heavier now and lying on the ground. The perfect night for sitting in a warm pub with a cold beer. It was time to follow Penny’s advice and abandon the car and drown my sorrows with my friends. I would either get a taxi home or crash at one of the guys’ places. Whatever, that was a decision for later.

En route, I dropped off the signed divorce papers into the post box.

The three amigos had a good start on me when I arrived and so this was a night for playing catch up. Perfect. It was only my third or fourth time in this particular establishment and it always struck me as a place for an older clientele. However, it would seem that my initial impression had been incorrect for there are lots of younger people here tonight and the place is jumping. Understandable given the cheap prices but I knew it was going to be a good night when the DJ turned up and started playing all the cheesy 80’s and 90’s tunes. It maybe sad but it is my kind of music.

Okay, it is sad, but it’s still my kind of music.

When it was my turn to order the drinks up, I valiantly fought my way to the bar and was surprised when the barmaid ignored those in front of me and asked what I wanted. Ordinarily I would have highlighted that there were others in front of me but, tonight, I really didn’t care. So I selfishly placed my order, fully aware of the few disapproving glares coming my way. One of the joys of being my size, and in the company of equally big and aggressive looking men, is that trouble tends to look for easier targets. As such, nobody said a word. I paid my bill and the barmaid gave me a nice smile and cheeky wink when she passed me my change.

This night just seems to be getting better and better.

She was the ideal barmaid in that she was around the 5’ 8” mark with long blonde hair that framed her pretty face. She was also not shy in displaying her ample cleavage, tastefully enshrined within a black silk blouse. Adorning her neck was a gold chain that held a nice crucifix.

Jesus was happily nestled exactly where every m
an in the pub would like to be.

A few of the women too I would imagine. A nice pair of black trousers completed her outfit and she was obviously known and liked by the locals. Certainly enough of them were calling her by name, “Fiona” was what she best responded to. Probably another reason why nothing was said when she took my order first.

I walked back into the company just as all three men erupted in laughter. For a second I thought they had seen the barmaid’s antics and were ready to start the obligatory mocking. Thankfully I was wrong. “Go on son, tell Z.” Taylor was saying this to Marc with real tears streaming down his face. Ed was the same. I was already laughing but only at these two.

This was going to be good.

Marc took up the story. “Well, you see, I was travelling to Italy from Scotland with a single pallet. Just one single pallet that sat dead centre at the front of the trailer. I had been well warned that the fridge had to be strictly monitored at -30 degrees, so I had to stop every couple of hours to check it.”

“A single pallet to be kept at -30 degrees? What was on it?” Curiosity already had the better of me. My question set Taylor and Ed off again.

Marc continued. “Patience my good man, I’m getting to that. I’ll tell you this though, that pallet was worth over
£300,000
. Anyway, as I was so light, I went Swiss.” We all knew that Switzerland is the fastest route for Italy but it has stricter than normal weight limits so you have to ensure that your load is light enough for their roads. A single pallet certainly would be. “So I pulled in at the border for the usual checks and declaration. When I submitted the forms, they just could not understand what my load was. So, I tried to explain it to them.”

Again, Ed and Taylor started laughing. To be honest, they had barely stopped. I was sat with a grin of anticipation although I really had no clue what could be so funny. Ed interrupted him, “Tell him how long you were there Marc.”

“Three fucking days. For three fucking days I sat at the Swiss border trying to get them to understand. I think they did understand but just took offence when I tried to show them using my hands.” At this point, Marc put both hands to the side of his head with only his index fingers pointing up. Much like Angus Young does with AC/DC. Then there, in the middle of the pub and fighting to be heard over the music, he started shouting
“MOO!”

Then he dropped his hands and started to simulate masturbating into the air.

“It was a load of bull semen son!” Taylor couldn’t help but kill Marc’s punch line.
“No way!”
I really couldn’t believe it and I laughed so hard my sides and face ached. I knew we were being boisterous and were drawing attention to ourselves but really couldn’t have cared less. I looked over and caught the barmaid staring. She winked again.

This time, I winked back.

As seems to be the norm for me, it was my round when last orders were called.
How do I always manage to be caught like this?
It is not uncommon for this round to warrant doubles for Scotsmen who have spent the night drinking singles. Even more so when it’s someone else’s round. The usual protestations ensue,
“Get me a double and I’ll give you the difference”
and thus starts the pretence of checking the pockets for change. We all know the dance for I have done it myself. This is when you rhyme off the obligatory,
“You’re fine. I don’t want nor need your money. I’ll get this one, you get the first one next time.”
Each aware that any such recollection is simply wrong and bad form.

Friendships have ended over less.

The younger clientele of earlier in the evening had since moved on to pastures new. All that remained were us four and a few of the usual stragglers that every pub seems to proudly possess. As such, there was now no crowd to fight through and I ambled to the bar. Just as I was about to place my order, two drinks were placed in front of me. “These are doubles this time, right?” The barmaid smiled as she fixed the remaining two drinks. It was obvious she had witnessed our tribal routine and so discerned our order.

“Absolutely, and have one for yourself.” I said, trying to appear suave and confident. I took the first two drinks back to my friends and returned to the bar.

“Thanks lovey, I will.” She placed the final two drinks on the bar and took my money. As she handed me my change she asked “So, what’s your plans for the rest of this evening?”

The alcohol may have been having an effect but even now I knew I was being toyed with, possibly even hit on. I took my cue, “Well, if you must know, I am trying to decide whether I should let you take me home or not. But, you know, I haven’t yet decided.” I
felt the twinkle in my own eye.

She mistakenl
y thought my smile was for her.

“Oh really?”
She leaned forward on the bar counter to give me an eyeful of her cleavage. It took both eyes. Obviously this was a game she had played before. I really didn’t care, I was too busy enjoying the view. “You like what you see?” she asked, her tongue playing around her lips.

“Actually, I am really concerned for Jesus. He could get squashed down there.” I nodded to her crucifix. “I think, for humanity’s sake, I may have to save our Saviour.” My smile had transformed into a wide grin that felt l
ike it spanned from ear to ear.

I was suitably smug with myself.

“I think, purely for the sake of humanity you understand, that you should definitely do all you can to save Him. He has been known to head off on crusades around my bedroom from time to time. Maybe it would be best if I took you back to my place to ensure that He is safe and sound. All for the sake of humanity of course.” Even in my drunken state I knew that she had took the joke a little too far but, hey, who was I to argue?

“Oh, but of course. I shall wait right over here and you can let me know when you are good to go, okay?” I nodded to where we had been sitting all night.

“Sounds good to me.” She picked up a bar towel and started wiping down the bar. I returned to the company and handed Ed his drink. When we were finished and the bar was closing, I told the guys to go on ahead as they could get a taxi together seeing as they lived in roughly the same direction which, thankfully, is directly opposite to mine. They accepted my lie that I had called a cab when I had used the bathroom and so was just going to wait for it inside the pub.

The snow was still falling soft and steady as we emerged to find her car fully covered. Ever the gent, I took her brush while she sat in the car to get a heat. I already had my jacket on so I wasn’t that cold. Twenty minutes later, we were back at her place.

She asked me if I wanted a coffee,
“…or something stronger?”
If I had any more alcohol then there was a serious danger that my wee soldier might not stand to attention. So I politely declined in eager anticipation of the frolics to ensue. Such formal niceties only serve to delay the main event anyway and that is, after all, why I am here.

That was the
only
reason why I was here.

Fiona invited me to make myself comfortable and switched on the TV. She selected a random music channel then excused herself and disappeared through another door off the living room. I presumed she was off to use the bathroom.
It transpired that I was wrong.

Very wrong.

As the third music video started playing, I could hear no other noise from within the house and began to suspect that something was amiss. My imagination started to tease me. Maybe she was constipated or, worse still, she had diarrhoea. Now I was
really
worried. Please God, not again.

Never
again.

Suddenly that smell and taste were once again all too vivid and I suppressed my urge to heave. A new fear that was now all too familiar gripped me and I quickly stood to make my exit when she opened the door and made her entrance. I froze but she never moved, allowing my eyes to feast upon her. She certainly knew how to captivate her audie
nce, albeit an audience of one.

Here was the image of every woman that lurke
d within every man’s wet dream.

Her hair was no longer neat and straight but had been pulled up and allowed to fall wildly around her head. The leather facemask gave her the intimidating look of
“Catwoman”
but it could not contain the look of lust that resided in her eyes. An ornate corset had what seemed like intricate embroidery, I really couldn’t be certain as it was her breasts that held my attention. My eyes were set in their sockets as I allowed my head to continue down in the hope that it may just catch my hanging jaw. It would be nice to be able to close my mouth. My effort only resulted in me actually biting my own tongue as I continued to feast upon her black lacy knickers atop matching hold up stockings and high heel shoes.

This magnificent present all wrapped up for
me
.

Halfway down my left thigh I felt my own gift for her. It only served to remind me that I had been forced to go “commando” as I hadn’t done any laundry recently. There were no boxers to help contain my own excitement and my second head was proving that I only had one brain. However, like most men, my brain seems to be a flash bastard and it continually switches between its permanent residence and its holiday home. A trouser snake in the truest sense, it had followed the path of least resistance and was now leaking pre-come onto my leg. More worryingly, there was a serious danger I could finish before I start, as my cock really cannot seem to tell that my hairy leg is not the obje
ct for its intended copulation.

Adjusting myself only drew attention to my predicament.

“I see you like my pyjamas.” She said breathlessly, teasing me with her tongue playing around her mouth. It only added to my excitement as I wondered what else she could actually do with it. She still hadn’t moved from the doorway. “We should take this to the bedroom.” It was more an order than a suggestion and she disappeared from whence she came. Like a sheep, I obediently followed her.

As she had turned, I was given my sign, whi
ch I foolishly chose to ignore.

Jesus was swaying on his cross, precariously close to the abyss that was her cleavage. He had caught my attention and was selflessly sacrificing himself once again to warn me. If he fell into this void, it was all but certain that it would take more than three days before He would be seen again. As I watched Him, I realised that there was no guarantee that
I
would get out of here after three days.

Not for the first time in my life, I chose to ignore Jesus and thereafter lived to suffer the consequences.