Author: Casey Truman
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: C429; Usernet; Extratorrents; Kat; virgin; first time; call center
Description: Clara is 31 years old and feels that life has passed her by. Sheâ€™s a manager in a busy call center, but her colleagues make fun of her behind her back. She has a boring boyfriend and no sex life. With the help of the sultry and sexy Parker, she embarks on an odyssey that includes banging a Croatian hunk, and showing her ex-boyfriend how a woman expects to be shagged.

Popped

(Call Center Diaries Volume 1)

By Casey Truman

Copyright © 2012 Casey Truman

All Rights Reserved

Cover Image: File licensed by depositphotos.com / dolgachov

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

The call monitor showed sixteen calls waiting to be answered and only four agents logged on as ready or working. It was unacceptable. There were twelve customer service agents on the floor, and each one of them should have been on the phones, taking calls. It was just this sort of behavior that led to a drop in productivity, and I was determined to do something about it.

Parker Morrison seemed to be the focus of the malingering, so I stood up and strode towards her desk. She was lounging half-on half-off her chair, swivelling left and right as she faced her coterie of admirers—all male, of course. I’d been against hiring Parker to begin with, but was over-ruled by Adrian and Stephen, my fellow Call Center managers—a pair of forty year old boys who thought with their penises.

Parker had a body that she wasn’t afraid to flaunt. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d been propositioned a time or two on the street going home from work. That was just how she carried herself—all sex and availability. Today’s outfit was comprised of a tight top that would have been more at home in a gym than an office, and a pair of low hung jeans. Her thong was the icing on the cake—visible to the entire office every time she bent over her desk or reached into her handbag.

“Parker,” I said, stopping next to her desk. “Why aren’t you logged on? There are calls waiting.”

“Come on, Clara,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s New Year’s Eve. We’ll be closing in half an hour. Lighten up.” She threw a bright and cheery smile at the young men who were lounging in chairs around her desk.

“We may very well be closing in half an hour, but we’re open now, and there are clients trying to get through.” It was insufferable the way she ignored my authority.

“Ok, Mom,” she said, with an exasperated sigh, as if she were humoring a delusional parent. “They’re probably just calling to wish us all a Happy New Year.”

“Just answer your phone, Parker, and that goes for the rest of you too.”

I turned and began walking back to my desk when I heard her half whisper behind me, “Someone needs to get laid.”

“What was that?” I said, turning to face the crowd.

“What?” said Parker. “I didn’t say anything. Did you say something, Bill?”

“Nope,” answered Bill Farris, a lifer who’d worked as a customer service agent in the Call Center for seven years, “didn’t say a thing.”

I glared at them all before turning away and resuming the walk back to my desk. “Frigid little virgin,” a different voice whispered, and this time I chose to ignore it.

It was so infuriating. All I wanted was what was best for the company and the clients, and all I got was disrespect and incompetence. To have tarts like Parker insult me like that—in front of everyone. Just because I chose not to make my private life public, or to go out drinking and carousing after work, they all felt entitled to make comments about my sex life. It just wasn’t fair.

I was thirty one years old, and if I hadn’t had sex yet it was because I’d chosen to wait for the right man, not because I was frigid. I could go out and get laid any time I wanted to, but I preferred to wait until the time was right. I even had a boyfriend; I’d met Phillip Criddle just after my thirtieth birthday, when I was feeling a little down, and we’d been seeing each other for nine months. He was a very accomplished lecturer of Anthropology at King’s College, and unlike so many of the sex crazed kids in the Call Center, he was a grown man of forty three. Every week I had dinner at his mother’s house, and we’d go for a walk afterwards. It was civilized, the way respectable people behaved.

We’d decided to wait a while before consummating the relationship. Phillip had said that in many cultures sexual relationships were different to our own, and that just because it was the norm to have sex immediately in our culture, that didn’t mean it was a more valid way of expressing our feelings for each other. We kiss sometimes, and there was that incident after the faculty party in October when he groped me in an alley on the way home—all very unseemly, but, he had been drunk at the time.

No, I was right to wait. I may be a virgin, but I had a boyfriend. I was content with the way things were. Tonight was New Year’s Eve and his mother was throwing a small, dignified party for a few of Phillip’s friends from the university. I’d sooner be there than at whatever sort of get together Parker and her friends would be going to.

Thirty minutes later I switched the phones off, and everyone rushed about gathering up their things and preparing for the night ahead. Parker waved at me on the way out the door, “Night, Clara. Don’t do anything too wild now.”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere—parties in flats or houses, drinks in bars or restaurants, meet ups on street corners across London. For me, it was Mrs. Criddle’s party, and maybe a kiss from Phillip later, once he’d had a few drinks. I gave my glasses a quick clean, then lifted my briefcase and walked briskly out the door. I had a train to catch.

Chapter 2

New Year’s Eve in London gets a little crazy. Everyone is either drinking or going drinking, the tubes and trains are packed, and people are all dressed up in their Saturday evening party outfits. It was standing room only on the District Line to Chiswick. I was sandwiched in between a young man wearing a scruffy suit and a trio of ditzy blondes who’d already made a start on the evening’s festivities.

One of the disadvantages of being short was that even average sized men towered over me. I was about half an inch shy of five foot, though whenever anyone asked I said I was 5’ 1”. My short stature meant that men were always looking down at me on trains, and tonight was no exception. I was trying to read my book, but the suit guy kept jostling me as the train lurched from side to side, taking bends at speed as if it too were on the way to a party of some kind.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. I smelled alcohol on his breadth and said nothing, contenting myself with a brief smile in his direction. Talking to drunken men on trains never led to anything good—best to just smile and look non-threatening, or take out a phone and pretend to be texting someone. He was looking down at me and disguising it with a vacant expression, as if his head were simply pointing in my direction for no reason, but I knew that he was staring down my blouse, trying to catch a glimpse of my boobs.

I usually wore a pant suit to work, but today I’d worn a black skirt and matching jacket from Dorothy Perkins—I really didn’t want to change before going to the party, and I thought a skirt was more feminine. Unfortunately, it seemed that my lecherous train companion thought so too. As we pulled out of Earl’s Court station, the influx of new passengers forced us both into a corner, and he was pressed up against my back, moving against me in synch with the train’s movements. It wasn’t long before I felt the growing presence of his cock. Great, I thought, here we go again.

Men are dogs. I learned this at an early age, when I used to catch a bus to school every day as a teenager. I’d be standing at the bus stop in my school uniform, just minding my own business, and every second male driver would stare at me as if he wanted to do things to me. It was disgusting. I don’t have the figure of the Parkers of the world today, but back then I was like a stick insect, short and slim, with nothing to look at, tiny tits barely visible, hardly any hips to speak of. When I was fifteen I looked twelve, but that didn’t stop them—perverts one and all—and many of them would have their own kids in the back of the car, on the way to school.

Lecherous suit guy’s behavior was not a surprise to me. Some days I wished I had the courage to do something in situations like this, but it wasn’t worth the hassle—we’d be pulling into Chiswick Park soon, and I’d be free of the growing cock and the heavy breathing. In the meantime, I returned to reading my book and tried to ignore the penis that moved against my lower back.

Chapter 3

It was seven o’clock when I arrived at Phillip’s mother’s house on South Parade and rang the bell. The lights were on in the downstairs living room and classical music was drifting out of a partially opened window. Winter hadn’t started in earnest yet—it seemed to get later and later every year—and the weather was mild. Joyce opened the door and offered me a welcoming smile.

“There you are, dear,” she said, genuinely happy to see me. She stood to one side and motioned me in. “Phillip’s in the kitchen trying to sort out the wine.”

“Speaking of wine,” I said, and handed her a bottle I’d picked up on Chiswick High Road earlier.

Joyce was sixty nine years old, and she ran her son’s life as if she were his wife. Phillip had never left home. He’d gone to university in London, and studied for his doctorate at the same college. He’d been on the faculty at King’s for twelve years and looked like he was going to stay there forever. If things went well between us, I’d probably move in here after she died. It was one of those things that was understood by all of us, but never mentioned or discussed openly. I was to be the new Joyce, taking care of Phillip when she died.

The party was boring. I wish I could say it wasn’t, but the dozen or so middle aged academics were about as dull as a well-educated group of human beings could possibly be. The men were all dressed in tweed and mismatched jackets, and they stared at my bottom whenever I turned my back. The women were shrill and nervous, and they hugged their wine glasses as if they were life jackets. This was to be my life if I married Phillip. These people would be friends and these parties would be fun. As the clock counted down to midnight, I wondered what Parker was up to. Was she standing in a room full of drunken professors talking about the indigenous populations of tiny African countries? Or was she laughing and kissing and drinking foreign lagers and having fun?

Phillip had crept up beside me without my noticing. He bent over and whispered into my ear, “Clara, come up to my room, I have a present for you.”

I followed him up the stairs, noticing as I did how badly he was in need of a haircut. It really would be a full time job taking care of him, and I began to pity his mother just a little. I wondered if he was the man he was because of her, or did she give up her life for him? Something seemed to have been wasted but I couldn’t identify what.

Phillip’s bedroom hadn’t changed much from when he was a child. A single bed occupied the center of the room, and the walls were decorated with pictures taken from various National Geographic Magazines. I wondered if he’d ever had sex in that bed. Probably not. While I was musing on Phillip’s previous sexual history—something we’d never talked about—he closed the door behind me and pressed me up against it. He was drunker than I’d thought, and his five o’clock shadow grated against my cheeks as he rubbed his face against me. I felt his lips slide over mine and his tongue snaked out and forced itself into my mouth, between my teeth. He needed to brush.

“Mmmm, sweetie,” he mumbled, sliding his hands down my body. His engorged cock was evident. That was new. We’d kissed many times, but it had never led to anything solid on Phillip’s part. In all the months we’d been together, I’d never even noticed that he had a penis, but tonight it seemed to want to put in an appearance. His breath smelled of garlic and alcohol, and his hands reached around and grabbed my bum—another first. It was all happening tonight.

Those mean words from earlier came back to me as Phillip ran his hands over my body. “Frigid little virgin.” Was that what I was?

I turned my head a little so I could speak. “You said you had a present for me, Phillip.”

He looked confused as I interrupted his activities, and leaned into me so that I had no choice but to notice his hard cock.

“Yes, haven’t you noticed it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“A fellow in the History Department had these blue pills, so I tried one earlier. That tight skirt you’re wearing Clara—I couldn’t help myself.”

“Viagra,” I said. “Is that what you’re saying? You took some Viagra, and you want to... what?” This was unbearable. I’d thought he might have a typical Phillip present for me—a book, or a CD of weird music from a breakaway Russian republic. I never even suspected this, in his bedroom, in his mother’s house.

“I want you, Clara,” he said, breathing heavily, his hands fondling my bum.

“But we said we’d wait Phillip. Until we were both ready,” I said, lowering my voice in case one of the guests heard as they passed by on their way to the bathroom.

“I’m ready now sweetie. I need to... you know.” He reached a hand inside my jacket and cupped my right breast, squeezing the nipple and moaning. There wasn’t much for him to grab hold of as my boobs were barely above an A-cup. Some days I didn’t even bother wearing a bra.

“Phillip, no,” I said, moving to pull away.

“Please, Clara. It’s a new year, time for changes. Why not?”

He unbuckled his pants and pulled them down a little, exposing his white underpants, barely holding in his bulging cock.

Why not?

I had reasons, but were they real reasons or did I just make them up because I didn’t have a decent boy friend. It’s easy to be a virgin when you’re alone on a Saturday night, or when the only guy you seem to be able to land is a nerdy forty three year old who lived with his mother. I was probably the only virgin in the office—all those younger, sexier people who I bossed around each day had real sex lives. They had boyfriends and girlfriends and they went to real parties on New Year’s Eve, not old folks gatherings like this one.

Just then, I decided that I’d had enough.

Enough of pretty people like Parker who lived exciting lives while I stood on tube trains with pervy guys behind me. Enough of a life planned out and dull days ahead as I turned into Phillip’s mother. I needed to change things. What was sex anyway? Insert A into B and wait for the grunting? Why not just get it over with?

I reached out with my right hand and touched Phillip’s underpants where his cock was most prominent. It jumped at my touch, moving forwards to meet my small fingers. I was going to do this—get it done with once and for all. No more virgin or frigid labels that hurt so much.

My skirt stopped just above the knee. It was trim and black, molded to my narrow hips. I reached behind to undo the button, and pulled the zipper down. Then I turned around so that I was facing the door, presenting my bum to Phillip. I didn’t know what to do, so I guessed he was going to have to take the lead. I doubted he’d had many girlfriends before me—if any—but I was betting he’d at least paid a prostitute at some point.

“Pull my skirt down,” I said, a nervous quiver entering my voice. I raised my hands so that they were flat against the door from palms to elbow, ready to support me in whatever happened next.

He didn’t waste any time, tugging at my skirt until I felt it slide down my hips, over my white, utilitarian panties, and down the backs of my legs. He let it fall to the floor as his hands rose again to caress my bum, mauling it before pulling my panties down and exposing it to the room. No man had ever seen my naked bum before, much less touched it, and in all my dreams and fantasies I’d never pictured a nerdy guy like Phillip as the man who would have that pleasure.

“Step out of your panties,” he said. I did what he told me, and I heard him behind me fumbling with his own pants, kicking them off of his feet and then pushing forwards until he was rubbing against my bare bottom. His cock was real now, hard and insistent and his balls tickled my bum. His hands reached around until they rubbed up against my unshaven pussy. Why would I be shaven, when there was no prospect of anyone seeing it or playing with it? His fingers slid down through my pubes, tangling and pulling on them. They were moist from a day’s sitting down at the office, coated in sweat and whatever, and his fingers slid through them until they found my vagina.

I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but I wasn’t ready for the fingers that were pushed inside me. First two, then three and then four, opening me wide while Phillip moaned into my ear.

“That’s it baby, oh yeah,” he said. “You’re such a slut.”

Was it possible to be a virgin slut? I didn’t know—maybe I was. A virgin slut. Was this what men were like when they fucked you?

He pushed my legs open with his knees, and slipped his cock between them, seeking out the entrance occupied by his waiting fingers. The fingers slipped out and the cock slipped in—into my waiting hole. I had no hymen to worry about. I may not have had a man before, but I did know how to get myself off, I’m not that sad and desperate.

Phillip must have been squatting down to get his cock inside me, as he wasn’t a small man by any means. And then he thrust into me, forcing his hard cock deep inside my pussy while his hands held onto my hips and pulled me backwards to meet him. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasurable either—it was as if something had filled me up when I didn’t realize I was empty, like a screw tightening in a hole, or a plug being inserted into an electrical socket. My body must have known what it was doing as there didn’t seem to be any problem with lubrication. Phillip pulled out of me and thrust himself forwards again and again, harder and harder each time until I began to lift up off the floor, my hands and arms sliding up the door, which shook in its frame with each movement.

Eventually he straightened up, and lifted me completely off the floor, his hands supporting my body by grabbing the inside of my thighs, grunting and sweating like an animal. This went on for about five minutes, and then he came inside me. The first indication I had that something was happening was the building pressure inside his cock, the furious pace as he used me, until at last something seemed to burst and there was wetness and heat between my legs, and a great cry from Phillip.

He let me slide down the door until my feet found the ground again, his cock slipping out as I dropped. I stayed lying against the door as he laid his forehead on the top of my head, panting and breathing deeply, but saying nothing. After a couple of minutes he stepped back from me and I listened as he put his pants back on, and stepped into his shoes.

“You get dressed,” he said, as he reached out to the door handle, forcing me to step back. “I’ll see you downstairs.” And then he was gone, the door closing gently behind him.

Laid, I thought. Take that, Parker.

I didn’t feel anything. I wasn’t different, older or wiser. I hadn’t even enjoyed it, not really. Oh, it wasn’t bad or anything, but there was no orgasm, no feeling of closeness, nothing. Frigid, maybe?

I walked into the middle of the room and turned to face the mirror on the wall next to the bookcase. I stared at myself. Five foot nothing, or just shy of, pale white thighs peaking out of the top of tanned stockings, dark brown hair between my legs, coated with sweat and wet sticky cum. I was still wearing my black suit jacket and white blouse, still wearing my librarian glasses, still wearing my Mary Jane’s with their three inch heels, still had my hair pulled back into a plain pony tail. I thought I looked silly standing there in Phillip’s bedroom, my skirt and panties on the floor behind me.

I wasn’t a virgin any more. It was done, finished with.

Could I stare into this mirror every day for the next forty years? Could I lean up against a door while Phillip used me from behind and then left, telling me to get dressed and that he’d see me downstairs? Phillip with his uncut hair and dirty finger nails. Phillip with his National Geographic Magazines and garlic breath.

All of a sudden I couldn’t stand it anymore. Call centers and tube trains, pervs and frigid virgins. I had to get out; I had to get out now, and just do something, or go somewhere—anything, anywhere. I rushed over to Phillip’s bed and grabbed a pillow, using it to wipe my pussy as dry as I could. Would the rest of it drip out later, or would it stay in? How should I know? They never talk about that in women’s magazines. I pulled on my skirt, zipped it up at the back, then buttoned it tight, before opening the door and creeping down the stairs.

They were all in the living room, drunk and arguing about nothing—badly fitting people in badly fitting clothes, living badly fitting lives. I slipped past the living room door into the hallway without being seen, grabbed my coat and bag and opened the front door. Would this be where I got caught? Dragged back into a life of mediocrity and academia and sex up against doors?

Nobody stopped me or called out. I closed the door quietly behind me and ran down the street, back towards Chiswick High Road and freedom. There were sounds of celebration coming from open windows and doors all along the street. Little crowds huddled outside doorways smoking, talking and laughing.

I laughed. It was funny. Life was funny—my life and what it had nearly been. Phillip was funny, with his bedroom and his bad hair and his poor mother, who gave up her life for her baby boy. It wasn’t until I reached Chiswick High Road that I realized I’d left my panties on the floor of Phillip’s bedroom.

I’d never felt do free.

Chapter 4

Tuesday morning wasn’t long in coming. I’d had two days off after the messy evening at Phillip’s over New Years and I’d been busy. Things were different now—no more wallflower, no more Criddles, no more frigid virgin Clara. I was determined to fashion a new life for myself that didn’t involve all the dull and boring things that had filled the past ten years of my existence.

Why should the Parker’s of the world have all the fun? I asked myself. I’m a woman too. I have boobs. I could do whatever I wanted, be whoever I wanted to be. And it was all starting today.

I’d worked out a plan over the past couple of days, complete with PowerPoint slides: “Clara’s New Life” I’d called it. There were diagrams and stick figures and everything. Today I would begin implementing that plan. I was going to have fun, have men, have sex somewhere that wasn’t up against a door, have alcohol in pint glasses. I was going to be respected by the pretty people. I was going to be a pretty person.

It was five minutes to nine when I walked into the office. Most of the desks were already filled as the Call Center staff got ready for the post-holiday rush. I was on time, but I’d never arrived so late before. My usual routine was to get in at eight o’clock, do some paperwork before the crowds arrived, then tick them all off as they came in. Part of Clara’s New Life was working nine to five and not doing anything that I wasn’t paid for. I’d spent the extra hour in bed earlier playing with the vibrator I’d bought on Monday in an Ann Summer’s sex shop on Kensington High Street.

I was definitely not frigid.

Parker was sitting at her desk putting her headphones on, and I greeted her as I walked past, making a beeline for the admin desk at the center of the room. She said something in reply, but I wasn’t listening.

I wasn’t a new person. I wasn’t planning on making huge changes overnight. My mother always said that I had a clear, ordered head. I think she meant it as a vague insult, hinting that I’d be more interesting if my head were a little more scatterbrained like hers. But my clear head had its uses. Making too many changes all at once was risky. I was bound to get something wrong—take a left turn when I should have taken a right—and if I bundled all the changes into one rushed week, it would be hard to correct the mistakes when they popped up. So my plan was to introduce one or two changes at a time, and adjust accordingly.

Today’s changes included arriving on time and dressing a little differently. I was wearing a textured, cream colored sweater with a high crew neckline and bracelet sleeves, along with a yellow tinted pair of pants. I’d seen the outfit on a mannequin in a shop window on the Kings Road the day before, and I couldn’t resist. That same evening I’d tossed all my three inch heels to the back of the cupboard. I was slim and short. Trying to hide that behind shoulder pads and heels was pointless. I’d kept the glasses because I thought that the sexy librarian look might work for me, but I’d let my hair down. It was a deep brunette color, and it reached halfway down my back. I’d even tried a little hairspray for the first time.

At nine on the dot I flicked a switch and the phones started ringing. Then I sat down and took the lid off my Starbucks latte, content to let the staff get to work around me.

Chapter 5

The user-group prep meeting began a few hours later. We had two events planned in the following weeks, one at a hotel in Manchester, the other at an airport hotel at Gatwick. We were expecting about thirty crime analysts from various police departments to turn up at each—all users of our software, and all eager to learn about the new features and changes. The Call Center ran the user groups because we were the frontline when it came to customer service, and the analysts were used to talking to us on the phone.

Usually I took a step back at these sorts of things, preferring to let the men handle the out of office events and the face-to-face client interaction. But part of my plan was to put myself in different situations, with people I didn’t know, and these user groups were a perfect opportunity.

“I want to go,” I said as Stephen was outlining the personnel required for each event.

“You what?” he said.

“I want to go to Manchester on Thursday,” I said, “and Gatwick next month.”

“But you never go.”

“Well, now I want to go,” I said, letting my impatience show.

“But it’s all arranged.”

“I’ve looked over the list of who’s going,” I said calmly, “and it reads like something pulled off your Facebook wall. Is there anyone on this list who isn’t a drinking buddy of yours?”

Stephen looked a little put out by my outburst—too used to me sitting quietly in these meetings, maybe. “Clara, look,” he said, “maybe next year we could...”

“No,” I interrupted, a forceful edge entering my voice for the first time. “I want to go this year. You and Adrian have been skiving off at these events for three years now. Well, it’s time for a change. Don’t make me talk to Dale.”

Dale Hatley was the operations manager, and the Call Center fell under his remit. He was a fifty something year old man who rarely put in an appearance on our floor, but he’d always had a bit of a thing for me—patting my bottom as he showed me out of his office, staring at my flat chest when he thought I wouldn’t notice. It used to bother me, but now it no longer did. He was a harmless, middle-aged man whose wife had left him, and I could use his infatuation with me to get what I wanted. Another change.

The prospect of bringing Dale into this was enough to win the argument. Everyone knew that he was a bit weird around me. It caused a lot of laughter whenever he came into the Call Center to speak to me, but nobody was laughing now.

“Party’s over guys,” I said, standing up and preparing to leave the room. “Send me all the details on Manchester, and tell your Facebook friends it’s time to get back to work.”

Adrian and Stephen looked stunned as I opened the door. “One more thing,” I said, looking back over my shoulder. “Add Parker to the list. It’s time she got out of the office and put those inter-personal skills of hers to use. I’ll let you know who else I want.”

Chapter 6

Indian food was never my thing, but I was a new me, trying out new things, so I dug in to my lamb curry as if it were a favorite dish. It was eleven in the evening and we’d checked into the Travel Lodge after dropping off all the equipment we’d need for tomorrow’s user-group. Hotels didn’t get any cheaper than the Travel Lodge, and there was no prospect of the company springing for rooms at the four star hotel where we’d booked the following day’s event.

“Cheap beer, cheap food, and cheap, shitty rooms,” Parker said. “Sounds like a typical Saturday night on the town to me.” My Saturday nights were usually spent at home, alone, watching re-runs of Casualty or ER, so I couldn’t really comment.

Chloe, Keira, Parker and I were representing the Call Center, and Malcolm was from IT. He was supposed to answer any technical questions that us Call Center girls couldn’t handle, but he had the inter-personal skills of a donkey, so I didn’t expect much help from that quarter. No, it was a girls show tomorrow—no real men allowed.

The drive up from London had been an eye opener. I’d never socialized with any of the girls before, and they turned out to be more fun than I thought they’d be. Keira drove her husband’s X5, which had more than enough room for all five of us, as well as the boxes and supplies. We’d talked about men—a first for me—and I’d told them that I’d dumped Phillip only he didn’t know it yet.

“Was he a crap shag or what?” Parker said, genuinely interested.

“Well, let’s just say he didn’t put a lot of effort into it,” I answered, being as vague as possible. How was I to know if he was a crap shag or not? It’s not as if I had anything to compare him to—yet. Maybe Phillip’s quicky up against the door was a screw of legendary proportions, something to write home to Mother about, or maybe it was the tawdry fumblings of a forty three year old virgin. Only time would tell—but not too much time, I hoped.

“You’re well shot of him,” she said. “He was old, and it’s not as if he had any money to sweeten the pot.”

Phillip had accompanied me to the Christmas party a few weeks earlier, and to say he hadn’t fitted in would be an understatement. We’d left early, after the dancing began.

“So I’m available,” I said, putting myself forward in a way I never would have dreamed of only last week. “If you see any hot guys, send them my way.”

“If you’re serious, leave it me.” she said. “I’ll find you a stud who can make you forget all about the boring Mr. Chips.”

The rest of the drive had been filled with stories of dumped boyfriends and orally challenged husbands. Poor Malcolm had his head buried in a book for the entire journey, and probably wished he could open the car door and fall out. I sympathized, but not enough to change the tenor of the conversation—I’d no idea I was missing out on so much. Parker had given one of the sales guys a blow job in the photocopy room, in the middle of the day while everyone was working in the office only feet away, and Chloe was a lesbian who went on the pull every Friday and Saturday night to all sorts of gay bars around London.

It was nine thirty in the evening when we reached Manchester, and it took us a good hour to find the hotel, drop off the boxes for the next day, and then track down our cheap Travel Lodge. The only good thing about it was that it was close to the center of town—the Indian restaurant was only a two minute walk, and according to Parker there were lively clubs and bars within walking distance. In the past, I would have retired immediately with a book, but those days were gone—now I was eager to see some of those clubs and bars.

“So, here we are in a strange city, miles from home, and husbands, and dumped boyfriends,” I said. “Where should we go next?” Parker seemed to be the expert, so I addressed the question to her.

“Well, if we’re going to get you laid, there’s a club I know that heaves on a Thursday. Who’s up for it?”

Keira begged off, citing recent sleepless nights with the baby, and Malcolm—as expected—opted to retire to his room for some time alone with his laptop.

“Sorry ladies,” Chloe said. “But I’m all about the pussy, and I have a date with a different sort of club. Don’t misbehave too much.” She stood up, dropped fifteen pounds on to the table to pay for her portion of the meal, and headed for the door.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Clara,” Parker said. “Are you sure you’re up for this? It’s not exactly your scene.”

“My scene has changed.” I leaned over the table and ran a finger over her hand. “You said you’d get me laid tonight, and I’m going to hold you to that. I’m the boss, remember. You have to do what I say.”

“Let’s go then.” She sounded excited.

Chapter 7

We were dancing together as if we were lovers, blonde and brunette flowing with the music, hips moving seductively, bodies intertwined with each other, hands moving down backs, over hips and thighs. Parker was about five inches taller than me and her body was full and voluptuous. She was wearing a tanned sleeveless dress that didn’t quite reach her knees. I’d removed my glasses and let her lead, responding to the movements of her body.

“Guys love a show,” she’d said earlier. “Two hot girls doing their thing. It’ll drive them wild. Trust me.” I did. I wasn’t sure if we were friends yet, but our relationship had changed since the previous week. She really was a fun person to be around.

Within a few minutes the first of many supplicants appeared and danced next to us, trying to draw us out, away from each other and into their embrace. But Parker wasn’t willing to accept just anyone. If they didn’t meet her standards, she barely gave them a glance, continuing to gyrate against me, shaking her head when I looked like I might turn around and face the guys.

It was a good half hour before the two foreign looking men appeared. They danced together until they reached us—something no English guys would do—then circled slowly, dancing for us, trying to lure us in. This time, Parker didn’t ignore them. She moved us between them, and turned me to face the tallest of the two. He was huge, well over six feet, and he wore a plain white t-shirt that showed off the muscles of his arms and abdomen. I’d guess he was in his mid-twenties and he loomed over me as we danced, his musky scent flooding my senses. I let him take over from Parker, moving his hands over me, resting my head on the expanse of his chest. We danced for minutes or hours—I couldn’t tell. When he kissed me I felt like I’d arrived in heaven. There was none of the fumbling and groping that I’d come to expect from Phillip. This man knew what I wanted. A heat spread over my body as he nibbled at my lips, tasting me and touching me, licking my neck and pressing himself against me. I thought briefly of the man on the tube train last week, but this was nothing like that. There was no insistent cock using my back for kicks. This was a real man, and I wanted him.

Parker tapped me on the shoulder, waking me from the hazy daze that I was in. “We’re going back to their place,” she said, smiling at me. I nodded my head, barely hearing her above the music.

“This is Niko,” she said, nodding to the guy behind her. “And the stud muffin you’re glued to is Goran. They’re from Croatia.”

“Where?”

“Goran! Croatia!” she said, shouting to be heard above the music.

I barely remember the cab journey back to their flat. I was sitting on Goran’s lap, letting him kiss me and hold me, and Parker and the other guy—Niko—were busy on the seat next to us.

I didn’t know Manchester, but I could tell that we’d driven into a bad part of town. The cab dropped us off outside a four story, old fashioned, tenement style building, and we had to step around black rubbish bags to reach the door. I hoped there weren’t any dead bodies in those bags, but it was too late to back out now—not that I really wanted to. Goran had his arm around my waist and he almost carried me up the steps and through the door.

The lights were on a timer, so we all had to rush up the stairs, hitting the light switches as we went and hurrying to the next floor before darkness descended. It reminded me of when I was a fresh faced student in London back in 2001, and I laughed out loud. Parker laughed with me, without knowing why, but the boys seemed oblivious, talking to each other in Croatian or Russian or Dutch or something. I was fueled by alcohol and desire, and my glasses were still in my bag, so the whole thing seemed like a dream sequence from an Indie movie.

Their flat was on the fourth floor, and it was as small and dingy as I’d expected. The door opened directly onto a small, cramped living room, with a tattered sofa and a single armchair facing an old fashioned, big box television. There was a kitchen tucked into a corner and two doors on the right, one of which opened onto a tiny bedroom. Parker had already claimed the sofa, sprawling out seductively with her legs open and her dress riding high enough to see her black panties. She smiled at Niko and held out a hand to him.

“Welcome aboard, Croatia,” she said, and winked at me. “I’ll leave the bedroom to you pair of love birds.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Goran wasn’t much of a talker, for which I was thankful, so I walked ahead of him into the bedroom and crawled onto the bed.

“Close the door,” I said.

“You want drink?” he said, in carefully enunciated English.

“No, I want you.” I knelt so that we were eye level and pulled my top off. I was wearing tight blue jeans and a natural, slouchy kind of sweater with a scoop neckline. Another fashionable purchase from my shopping trip earlier in the week—not my usual style at all, but all my usual style had ever gotten me was Phillip and parties at his mother’s. I wasn’t wearing anything under the sweater, and my tiny boobs stood straight, their dark brown nipples pointing at Goran expectantly.

He muttered something in Croatian—barely audible—but if his expression was anything to go by, entirely complimentary. He was a talker after all, just not in English. Was he calling me beautiful, or damning his luck for picking the flat chested waif? Maybe he was calling me a cheap old whore or an English heifer. Who knew? I chose to assume he found me the most desirable woman he’d met in years.

My jeans came next. After lowering them past my hips, I lay down and let Goran pull them free of my legs. Then I turned over onto my side, showing him the cute white panties I’d bought last weekend at the Ann Summers shop. They only covered half my bum, and had a frilly little bow at the back. What man would not want to pull on that bow and expose my pale white cheeks? The bulge in his pants grew as he stared down at me.

“Now you,” I said, and watched as he undressed for me. He sported a short, almost military haircut, his face was clean shaven, and he had a six pack that could only come from time spent in a gym. The light dusting of blond hair across his chest completed the picture—he was perfect. And that was before he dropped his pants. I’d never seen a real live cock up close before. Phillip’s didn’t count—I may have felt it when he screwed me up against his bedroom door, but I’d never had a chance to look at it, hold it in my hand, or suck on it.

Goran’s cock wasn’t huge, but it was hard and ready and pointing right at me. I’d made him hard. Me and my little tits and tight little bum, wrapped up in a pair of white panties and tied off with a pretty bow. Clara Churchill, cock raiser and Croatian heart breaker. I giggled, drunk on alcohol and arousal.

He climbed onto the bed next to me and crawled up my body, running his hands over me from my legs up past my bum, until they covered my little boobs. “So small,” he said, and crawled further up my body until he was straddling my chest, his balls only inches from my face. Two pendulums, hanging like fruit from a tall tree—that’s how they looked to me as I lay there. I reached up with both hands, grabbing hold of his cock with my right hand and squeezing his balls with my left. There was a little hair but not too much. I wanted to taste his cock, put it into my mouth and suck on it like I’d read about, like Parker would do, but I couldn’t reach it from where I was lying, with Goran on top of me.

As if he knew what I wanted, he raised his hips high above me, and lowered his cock until it touched my lips, then he moved it left and right, rubbing the tip across my open mouth as if daring me to take it inside. There was no foreskin, nothing to peel back, just a big purple and red head, engorged with blood and eager for release. I took him inside, running my tongue over the tip. It was a mouthful, it was warm, and I loved it. The air smelled of that musky scent that could only come from a naked man—a mixture of sweat and whatever came out of his cock after a night of dancing and hard-ons in the presence of pretty girls. I sucked and licked and swallowed his cock. I made it mine. I loved every inch of it and I was determined to make him come for me, on me, in me.

“Show me,” I said, my hand stroking his penis. “Come for me.”

I didn’t need to tell him twice. Before I could move he grabbed hold of his cock, and began to stroke it vigorously. It was a well practiced maneuver, something he’d done before many times. In less than a minute I could see the pressure building up like a dam about to burst. When it did burst I felt the warm rivers of cum shooting out onto my face, wave after wave of pungent white cream landing on my cheeks and forehead, lines of cum in my hair and covering my nose and lips. Then it was over, and the stiffness and urgency went out of his cock. The smell was over powering, a smell I was only barely familiar with from Phillip last week, but this time it was everywhere. I opened my mouth and used my tongue to lick the drops from my lips, eager to see what it tasted like, what it felt like in my mouth. Slippery, slippery and different—not like anything I’d ever tasted before. I wasn’t sure I liked it, but I was sure I wanted it. Wanted him.

He lay down beside me and sighed in sleepy satisfaction. This would be the downtime I’d read about, the re-charging in preparation for round two. At least I hoped it was. He was talking to me in Croatian again, one hand resting on my flat stomach. A happy soldier, his work done, his woman loved and marked. I reached out with my left hand, grabbed a t-shirt from the bedside table and used it to wipe my face clean, so that I would be ready for the fucking that I hoped would follow.

A few minutes later the door opened, and Parker poked her head into the room. She motioned at Goran lying next to me, and made some weird hand gestures—a thumbs up maybe. I had no idea what she was on about, so I tossed the soiled t-shirt at her. She caught it, raised it to her face, and then immediately dropped it, wringing her hands and trying hard not to laugh out loud. I could see that she was naked, her boobs silhouetted in the dim light of the room. She waved and retreated back into the living room.

I needed to fuck him. I needed to feel that wonderful cock inside me, to ride him as he lay there. And why not, I thought. This was why I was here, why I’d asked for Manchester and why I’d asked for Parker. This was why I’d run out of Phillip’s mother’s house last week.

I slipped out from beneath Goran’s arm, raised myself up onto my knees and pulled my panties down. Goran was watching me, following every movement as if I were something dangerous that he had to keep in sight at all times. I peeled the panties off, tossed them onto the pillow next to his head, and climbed on top of him. He was a big man, easily twice my size. I took hold of his soft cock and began to massage it, stroking it and pulling on it gently, encouraging the blood to start flowing. I didn’t have to wait long, in minutes he was rock hard again. I was ready and eager to have him inside me, to feel what it was like when I wanted it to happen.

With one foot planted on either side of his chest, I lowered myself onto his cock. My pussy was more than just damp; it was ready, had been ready all night, maybe all my life. A coating of hair surrounded my opening, and I guided Goran’s cock between my lips, through the dark bush and into the moist warmth. Once I’d trapped his head I lowered myself slowly until he filled me, my hands resting on his chest. I felt no pain, no violence or urgency—it was peaceful, as if I’d come home after a journey of many years and much hardship. And then I raised myself up and lowered myself again, building up a slow but steady rhythm. Goran watched me as I moved above him, content to let me lead and take from him what I needed. I felt that he knew how special this moment was to me. I rode him slow, I rode him softly, and I rode him hard, looking down at him as I did. I rode him until I came, for the first time in my life, truly came, the orgasm shuddering through my body, touching every cell and filling up a great emptiness. And then I continued to ride him until I brought him to another juddering, hungry, messy, but so beautiful orgasm. I lay down on top of him, and he held me in his arms, whispering meaningless Croatian words into my ear, his cock still resting inside me.

I slept.

Chapter 8

Morning comes late in January, and when Parker shook me awake the room was in darkness, with no signs of sunlight from the window. It could have been two or seven in the morning, I couldn’t tell.

“Clara, wake up,” she said, whispering into my ear.

“What time is it?” I said, lifting my head from where it rested on Goran’s chest and rubbing my eyes with one hand.

“Six in the morning. We have to go if we’re going to get back to the hotel in time to get ready.” She fumbled around in the dark using the street lights from the window to guide her.

“Where are your clothes? Come on, Clara, get up.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” And then I almost laughed. I’d come alright, for the first time in my life I’d really come, and the reason was lying asleep on the bed beside me. After I rode him we’d fallen asleep, but I’d woken some time later to the feel of his hands between my legs, and we’d made love quietly in the dark of the night. He parted my legs and laid himself on top of me, entering me with his penis while his tongue entered my mouth. It was a perfect end to a perfect night, and a perfect start to my new life.

I crawled out from under the covers, being careful to pull them back up so that they covered Goran, and I took the jeans that Parker was holding out to me. I didn’t bother trying to find my panties, as I had no idea where they’d ended up. Another pair lost, I thought. I quickly pulled on my sweater and stepped into my shoes. My bag was waiting by the door, and I slipped my glasses on as I closed it behind us. The living room was in darkness, with sounds of light snoring coming from the sofa. Parker opened the door as quietly as she could and we both stepped out into the hallway and made our way down the narrow staircase.

There was a light drizzle falling as we stepped out onto the steps in front of the house. It was still dark but there was activity on the streets, buses taking early risers to work and cars on the move. The day had begun, even though the sun still slept. I felt like my life had just begun. This had been the greatest night of my life, and I didn’t even know the man responsible—a stranger, but a kind, foreign stranger. Then there was Parker—without her, this wouldn’t have happened. Oh, I’d have found my way on my own, but she was the perfect guide in my new life.

I looked up at the dark sky and held my arms out as if in worship. The rain water baptized me, welcoming me into the fold of a new congregation. All at once I was euphoric. I was high, high on life and all the potential and possibilities that lay before me.

I opened my mouth and shouted as loud as I could: “FREEDOM!”

Parker was laughing so hard she was bent over, her hands on her knees and her hair wild. I shouted again, letting the world know that something momentous had occurred—that I had arrived. And then I joined her in laughter.

“Come on, Braveheart,” Parker said as she pulled on my arm and forced me onto the foot path. “We’ve got a bus to catch.”

It was ten minutes to seven when we crashed through the door of the hotel, laughing at each other, at our messy hair, at the craziness of the whole situation. Two men in suits were checking out and looked up as we crossed the tiny lobby.

“Nice arse,” I said to one as we walked past, and then I burst into laughter and hurried up the stairs.

“What’s got into you?” Parker asked.

“Life,” I answered, “the universe, everything. I got laid last night—properly.”

“I know. It kind of shows. Now get in there and get ready. You’re the boss, remember. Start bossing.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I am calm,” I said, trying to pull myself together. “Half an hour in the lobby. Let’s do it.”

I took a long hot shower, washing the scent of sex off my body and the dried cum from my hair, then I spent a good ten minutes drying and brushing, thinking of the night before and what it meant for the days and weeks ahead. Clara’s New Life was well under way.

Chapter 9

The following Friday evening found me on the train to Chiswick Park once again. I’d decided that I had to put a formal end to things with Phillip and say my goodbyes to his mother.

It had been a fantastic week—the user-group was hailed as the best ever, with compliments coming in from all quarters, and we had received a great reception back in the office. Dale had hugged me after calling me into his office, using the opportunity for a quick ass grab—big surprise. A few weeks earlier it would have embarrassed me, but now I knew that he was just a harmless old man, and there was talk of promotion, so I let it slide.

Stephen and Adrian walked around the office with sour looks on their faces, bemoaning the fact that the praise had landed on everyone but them and their boy’s club. I’d put Parker forwards for a promotion to line manager—it had nothing to do with our out-of-office escapades, honest. Cross my heart and all. Things were moving in the right direction. I was enjoying life for the first time since I was a school girl, and it felt liberating.

So here I was, traveling to Chiswick to tie off a loose end before embracing my future with abandon. I was eager to get it done, eager to see Phillip one last time, to see what he looked like through my newly colored glasses.

Earl’s Court station was packed—as usual—with crowds of commuters changing trains and heading for outer London. As my train left the station, I felt something familiar behind me and almost laughed out loud—that same hardness pressing into my back that had kicked off my soul searching on New Year’s Eve. I looked at the reflections in the window to see who it was, and as expected it was the same pervy guy in the same tired gray suit rubbing himself up against me.

Bad timing. I was a different woman now.

I looked over my shoulder and met his eyes. Speaking calmly and loud enough for everyone around me to hear, I said: “Is that your penis you’re rubbing up against me?”

He looked at me as if I’d slapped him, and hurriedly pulled back, bumping into the two young women standing behind him and almost falling over.

“Well?” I said. “I’m waiting.” And I gave him my boss lady stare.

“I wasn’t doing anything. I was just standing here,” he said, his eyes darting from left to right, looking for an escape route.

“You dirty little pervert. Get yourself a girlfriend,” I said, and then turned away from him as if he were of no more consequence to me than a dog piddling up against a lamp post. Most of the other female passengers were grinning, and one of them had a mobile phone out and pointed at him. The flash from the camera sent him rushing down the carriage, and led to a burst of laughter from the two women he’d almost fallen over.

“Yeah, you run,” one of them shouted after him.

I pulled a book from my handbag, and leaned up against the door, content to get some reading done on the ten minute journey. I may have changed in many ways in recent weeks, but I still liked to read. Change the bad, the dull, and the boring, but keep the good—all part of the plan. Thank God for PowerPoint presentations.

The walk down South Parade to Richard’s Mother’s house brought back memories, and when she answered the door I felt a wave of nostalgia rush over me. I’d always liked Mrs. Criddle, even though I did think she should have thrown Phillip out decades ago.

“Clara, dear,” she said, the surprise evident, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“I should have called, but I thought you’d be here, and I was passing.”

“Phillip’s upstairs in his room. Should I call him down?”

“Never mind, I’ll go up myself.”

“He was ever so upset that he couldn’t get hold of you these past weeks. Did something happen, dear? At the party? You disappeared so sudden like.”

“Nothing happened. I just wasn’t feeling well, and didn’t want to spoil the party.”

“You’re alright now though?”

“Never been better,” I said, and headed for the stairs.

Telling her what had really happened on New Year’s while she was serving drinks downstairs never entered my head. I liked her too much, and she was far too besotted with her son to have that picture implanted in her mind.

There was eighties music coming from Phillip’s bedroom. Diana Ross I think it was, singing Chain Reaction. Phillip’s taste in music seemed to have frozen when he was a teenager. In retrospect, Phillip himself seemed to have frozen somewhere in the 1980s, living with his Mum, retiring to his bedroom after dinner, treating women like alien creatures who gave him erections.

I opened the door without knocking and walked in. If I was hoping to find him playing with himself like a typical teenager, I was disappointed. He was lying on his bed, head propped up on two pillows, reading a science fiction novel wrapped in a library cover.

“Clara,” he shouted, surprised and a little shocked to see me. He jumped up from the bed, dropping his book in the process. “Where have you been?”

“Croatia,” I answered, closing the door firmly behind me and stepping into the room.

“What were you doing in Croatia?”

“Sampling the locals. Look Phillip, we have to talk, but there’s something I want to do first.”

As he stood there gaping at me, mouth open and glasses hanging halfway down his nose, I dropped my bag and coat onto the floor, stepped out of my shoes, and unbuttoned my pants.

“What are you doing?” he said, stepping back from me.

“Last time was all wrong,” I said. “I want to purge it, replace it with something a little more in keeping with the new me.”

I pulled my pants down, kicking them to one side, and began unbuttoning my blouse. Phillip was staring at me like I’d grown a second head, which in a way was true. I was a different person after all. The blouse went the way of the pants, and I raised my hands above my head, pulling my sports bra off in one sweeping motion. Sports bras were the only bras that made any sort of sense to me now. Anything more feminine and I looked like a twelve year old playing dress up. With a single final motion I pulled my panties down and took a step towards Phillip, naked.

He was looking at me like he didn’t know what to make of me or what to do with me, and I guessed that both were true, but his body knew, as evidenced by the growing cock visible in his pants.

“Stand still,” I said, before grabbing a pillow off the bed, dropping it onto the floor next to him, and falling to my knees. I’d learned only a few days ago that it got really uncomfortable kneeling on the floor when giving a guy a blow job if you didn’t have something soft to kneel on. They never show you that in porn movies, but then most porn movies were made by men, and the care and well being of women’s knees didn’t appear to be their top priority.

I unzipped his pants and shoved my right hand into the hole, searching for the cock that I knew was growing in there somewhere. When I pulled it out, holding it firmly in my small fist, Phillip groaned a little and looked about to complain, but before he could say anything I lowered my mouth over it, allowing it entry into my warm, wet mouth. I sucked him off, using the limited techniques I’d picked up from Goran and learned from Parker at one of our girls-only nights during the week. I was far from being an expert, and expected to improve very quickly, but I was guessing that Phillip, despite the fumbling fuck of New Year’s Eve, was just as much of an amateur.

It didn’t take long until I noticed the build up of tension that signified an imminent mess was about to be made, so I stopped what I was doing, jumped up and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Why are you stopping?” he panted. “I was about to...”

“I know what you were about to do. You’ve done it before, remember?” He blushed as I spoke of the encounter he had probably planned to forget. I leaned back onto my elbows and lifted my legs off the floor, opening my thighs in the process, exposing my pussy to him.

“You’ve never seen this before,” I said, a seductive tone entering my voice. “Have you?”

“Seen what?”

“My pussy.”

“Last week, I...”

“On New Year’s Eve you saw my bum and you fingered my pussy, before fucking me from behind. Now I want you to fuck me again, only from the front this time. While you look at me.”

This was a me he’d never seen before. I was determined and almost aggressive. I knew what I wanted, and I knew that I was beautiful and desirable.

“But, Mum is downstairs,” he said, a pleading and uncertain tone entering his voice.

“She was downstairs last time too. Come on, you know you want to,” I said, stretching one foot out and sliding it up his leg until it reached his cock.

Phillip was looking at me like he’d never seen me before, and he hadn’t. Not like this at least. His cock was still hard, and he hurried over to me, stepping in between my legs, and squatting a little so that he could reach my opening.

“Push it in, Phillip,” I said. “Sink it in all the way, as hard as you can.”

He did as he was told, a look of ecstasy on his face.

“Now look at me,” I said, my voice clear and confident, “and say my name when you fuck me.”

“Clara,” he said, thrusting deep into my moist wetness. He was aggressive and frantic in his haste to get what he wanted, just like a teenager who’d never had sex before, all grunting and thrusting and grabbing. But each time he pushed inside me he panted my name, and I made him look at my face as he had me. There was no comparison with the calm, passionate competence of Goran, but I wanted to wash away that first time up against the door, take back control of my sex life and my body. He came inside me, shooting his cum deep into me again and again until he was drained, exhausted from the effort and the strangeness of it all.

When he was finished he looked as if he wanted to curl up on top of me and fall asleep in my arms, but I didn’t want that. I had what I came for, and it was time to move on. I slipped off the bed and walked to my bag, bending over to retrieve a handful of tissues which I used to wipe my thighs and pussy.

“You need to move out of your Mother’s house, Phillip,” I said as I dressed myself. “Give her a chance to find a life of her own, maybe even a husband.”

“What? But she likes me living here,” he said, the confusion evident in his voice.

I continued as if he hadn’t said anything, “And you need to learn how to live on your own. You know—learn how the grownups live, go on dates, meet new people, step outside of your cosy comfort zone.”

“You’re different,” he said. “Did something happen?”

“We won’t be seeing each other anymore, Phillip.”

“But we just... Is there somebody else?”

“Yes, Phillip. There is somebody else. Somebody very, very new and very, very different.” He was lying on one side looking as if someone had just kicked his puppy, so I walked over to the bed, bent my head and kissed his cheek.

“Goodbye Phillip.” And I walked out.

Oh, I could have stayed longer, had a more serious chat about everything, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. Shock tactics had woke me from a thirty one year slumber; maybe they would do the same for Phillip. And I had arranged to meet Parker at a bar in Soho at eight thirty—so I had just enough time to rush home and change.

It was going to be a great night.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9