0 comments/ 76446 views/ 6 favorites With Age Comes Experience By: Nickton THEY say 'With Age Comes Experience'. They also say 'Life Begins at 40'. Then again, 'They', whoever 'They' are, say a lot of things, most of them pretty pointless, when you think about it. But I'll let them off about the Life Begins at 40 bit – it's near enough. In my case, it began at 42. That was a few years back, mind, but it was one of the best, most exciting, most liberating yet bittersweet times of my life. And now my past was coming back to – well – maybe not haunt me, but confront me, and the butterflies in my stomach were churning. I wandered into the kitchen for the umpteenth time to see Rose busily preparing the salad and Hannah putting the finishing touches to the trifle. Delicious smells of a superb roast dinner wafted out of the oven and I felt my mouth watering. But still those butterflies overcame the pangs of hunger. Because I'd be seeing her again. "How's it coming along?" I enquired, with a jollity I didn't really feel. "It's just fine, Dad!" exclaimed Hannah. "Same as it was ten minutes ago!" Rose turned round from her salad preparations. "For goodness' sake Clem, why don't you just go down to the Golf Club for a pint with Bob?" she chided, although gently, in her usual way. I felt myself smiling as I took a good, long look at my beautiful partner. Lustrous red hair (admittedly tinted, but weren't we all a bit grey nowadays?), low cut fashionable rugby shirt which only a girl of Hannah's age or a woman with plenty of sex appeal at Rose's age could wear well and figure-hugging jeans. Any wrinkles she had were definitely laughter-lines and her greeny-blue eyes regarded me as they always did – with an exasperated fondness, underpinned by a deep loving. "I'm being a bit of a nuisance, aren't I?" I said sheepishly, with the slight shrug and little-boy-lost look which Rose found endearing. Most of the time anyway. "Yes, you are, Dad." Hannah interjected. "They might not be here for another hour at least. It'll be all right, I said it would. Daniel's cool." "And they're coming from different directions, so there's plenty of time for you to go and have that pint, Clem." said Rose. "Now – off you go and let us do our womanly work, toiling away in the master's kitchen." Hannah gave a mock snort of derision, although she grinned at Rose's joke. I held my hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm off," I said. "I'm just going to check something on the computer, then I'll be out of your hair, okay?" I reversed out through the kitchen door to a chorus of exaggerated Byeeeeeees from the two women in my life. Yes, a drink would be good – it'd settle my nerves if nothing else. I crossed through the living room into the adjoining den, pausing only to pour myself a scotch from the well-stocked drinks cabinet. I had no intention of going into my study, I had another plan. I ran my finger along the several volumes of photograph albums on one of the upper shelves of the tall den bookcase, selected the right one and pulled it down. I blew the dust off, eliciting an indignant snuffly sneeze from Ridley, my Chocolate Labrador who was, as ever, sprawled across the battered old couch. "Sorry fella," I muttered absently, patting him on the head. "No, no don't get up – I'll sit over here, shall I?" As I sat down in the patched old armchair opposite the couch, Ridley, oblivious to the sarcasm in his master's voice, yawned expansively and settled himself even further down into the couch cover, having had no intention whatsoever of getting up. He'd had his morning run, that was it now until late afternoon as far as he was concerned. I shook my head at the supreme laziness of certain members of the Labrador breed and then began to flip through the album. As I knew, it was pictures of the family when the kids were teenagers, just before and just after Maggie did her flit. There she was, in fact, looking as arrogantly confident as she always had, designer clothes, big earrings, perched on the couch with Hannah one side and Daniel on the other, her arm round Daniel. Hannah was smiling, but only for the camera's benefit. Daniel had always been Maggie's favourite, Then again, he was male, the fact that he was her son was just incidental. I smiled wistfully as I flipped over the page to find a couple of the last pictures I'd ever taken of Rufus, my old Golden Retriever, lying out on the lawn, enjoying the sunshine, a dog in the autumn of his life but content for all that. As always, I felt the lump grow in my throat and the slight sting of tears in my eyes when I thought of Rufus, so I skipped the page and then – there she was! Samantha. Sammy to everyone. Both pages I was looking at contained a montage of different photographs of Hannah and Sammy. Best friends and what a pair they were! Hannah, the slightly more serious brunette with fuller figure, in contrast to Sammy, with her strawberry blonde hair, deep blue eyes and slim figure. Hannah and Sammy in party dresses, off out to the disco, or club, or whatever it was, 15 year-old man killers, wearing blue eye shadow and very little else. Sammy and Hannah messing about in the paddling pool with next door's younger kids, Hannah in the one-piece dark blue swimming costume, Sammy in the pink bikini. Hannah and Sammy in school uniform, ties loose, collars open wide, hugging each other and larking about in the garden and in Hannah's room, supposedly doing homework. Hannah looking serious as she planted a shrub in the garden. Sammy looking wickedly amused behind her, wearing lurid sunglasses and a skimpy green tank top, belly button showing, the rose tattoo clearly visible on her shoulder. Ah yes, the tattoo… that's what started it all really. I slowly closed the album and sipped my scotch, letting my thoughts drift back three, no, four years to that fateful day… * * * * * "All right, Mr Clements?" I looked up from my newspaper and smiled as Sammy bounced into the living room alongside Hannah. "That time already is it?" I said, casting a glance at the mantelpiece clock which indicated just after 4.15. "School okay, was it?" "It was school," muttered Hannah, undoing her tie and flopping down into an armchair, grabbing the remote and flicking the TV on, rapidly scrolling through all the satellite channels in ten seconds flat. "That's the Sixth Form for you," I said, "The work gets harder." "It wasn't too bad. Had Double Maths last thing though," trilled Sammy, plopping down onto the couch next to me, just slightly too close as she always did, and then shifting along further. "You had a good day, Mr Clements?" I couldn't help but look down her open blouse, catching a glimpse of a pink, lacy bra beneath. As if sensing this (sensing? She knew!!!), Sammy loosened her tie a bit more to allow more of her cleavage to be shown. She wasn't a tart, not like some of the girls of her age at the school, but she was well aware of her charms – and why not? She was extremely attractive. "Not bad, thanks, Samantha," I said recovering myself slightly and trying to sound like a grown-up. "And I've told you before, Love, call me Clem. Everyone else does, it's okay." I stood up, hoping to God she wouldn't see the telltale bulge in my trousers. She beamed up at me, bright blue eyes flashing. "Thanks Clem," she said, "And call me Sammy. Everyone else does." "Oh right – of course. Sammy it is," I said. "Ummm… cup of tea. Sammy? Hannah?" Hannah grunted, which I took to be a yes, while Sammy said pleasantly, "Yes please, Clem. Milk, no sugar, remember?" "Tea will be served shortly, young Misses," I replied, in a posh, butler-type voice. Sammy laughed. "You're more fun than my dad," she giggled. "Especially with your old 80s music. You're cool, Mr Clem – um – Clem – you know that?" Hannah raised her eyebrows. "Pul-leeeeease!" she exclaimed. "Don't think your Old Man's cool then, kiddo?" I chuckled. "I was a New Romantic, I'll have you know. Not that long ago, either!" With that I swiftly gyrated towards the kitchen, singing the old Adam Ant lyrics; "Unplug the juke box, and do us all a favouuuurrrr. This music's got no taste, so try another flavouuuuuurr!" attempting to do the dance steps at the same time. Sammy laughed. Hannah pulled a cushion over her face. Once in the kitchen I blushed. Just what was I trying to prove and why? I was 42 for God's sake, not 22! Acting the way I did with Sammy wasn't being very grown up! I was old enough to be her father, after all. Rufus yawned and stretched on his big, soft doggy beanbag next to the washing machine and gave me a quizzical look. "Don't ask." I said. I busied myself with the tea, which I brought into the living room on a tray for the girls, left it on the coffee table in front of them and excused myself to my study. "Dinner'll be at 7.30, Hannah," I said. "Does Sammy want to stay?" Hannah stood up and picked up her school bag and mug of tea. "We're going to my room to do our homework," she said. "You wanna stay, Sammy?" "I can't tonight," said Sammy, looking genuinely regretful. "Sorry Clem – you're a great cook an' all. I always like your meals." She followed Hannah, mug in hand, paused at the living room door and smiled at me. A really nice smile, lips parted, white teeth showing and the tip of her pink tongue. A sexy smile. "See you later, Clem," she said, quietly. * * * * * I spent the next few days thinking about Sammy. Not constantly, but frequently. Yes, sure I was old enough to be her father, but she wasn't my daughter. She was a very attractive, 18 year-old, not a kid, a young woman. Okay, she as still at school, but that didn't make her any the less attractive. All the same though, I chided myself, I shouldn't be harbouring thoughts like that about one of my daughter's friends. If I wanted female company, I should try looking for someone closer to my own age. The fact was though; I hadn't had any female company since Maggie had finally gone. Hadn't wanted any. So I busied myself with work – these days I was working as a consultant from home and could e-mail anything which was needed rather than spend tediously long hours in office meetings. Was I ever glad that I was able to leave that job and set up to work from home? And it was nice to know that the money wasn't too much of a problem these days. Rufus got his regular walks – even though he was a lot slower and stiffer than he used to be, thanks to advancing years, and I would meet up with Bob, Reefer and some of the lads at the King's Arms for a pint or two. Bob was always trying to get me to join the golf club, saying how I'd really enjoy the game, but somehow I always resisted. Perhaps one day…. In keeping busy and occupying my time, I wasn't thinking about Sammy. Well, not every often anyway. The trouble as, she often came home from school with Hannah and my thoughts about her intensified. It wasn't just simple middle-aged lustings, I was sure of that. Sammy flirted with me outrageously at times, so it was as much her doing as mine. Confirmation of her feelings about me came one afternoon in late September. I'd been working in my study, busily communicating with an American client by Instant Messenger, so I'd lost all track of time. When I'd finished the conversation and e-mailed the required documents, I glanced at my watch and realised that it was nearly five o'clock. Hannah must be home from school by now, but I hadn't heard her come in. I went out into the hall and listened up the stairs. I heard music playing and was amused to hear that it was Duran Duran – Hannah must've got one of my old cassette tapes on in her room. I walked up the stairs and paused outside her door; ready to knock when I heard voices. The music wasn't too loud, so I could discern most of the words. I could hear Sammy's voice clearly. Suddenly, the song came to an end and the music stopped abruptly. The tape must have finished. The girls carried on talking. "Oh, but he can be so embarrassing about his music sometimes," said Hannah, obviously referring to her Dear Old Dad. "Leave it out," chided Sammy, coming to my defence, "Your Dad's cool. He's nothing like my Dad. At least he's not boring and always going on about school work and complaining about your clothes." I felt myself blush slightly. She was standing up for me! "Yeah, I s'pose so," came Hannah's voice. She seemed a little further away, so I figured she must have been fiddling with her tape deck. "He's pretty easy about most things. I reckon he's just happy to have a quiet life since my Mum went." "You never say much about her," said Sammy curiously. "I never used to come round for ages when she was here. What was she like?" "I never used to ask anyone round because of her," replied Hannah quickly. "Anyway, she's gone now, so that's it. Dad's happy enough I think." "Has he got a girlfriend?" giggled Sammy. Hannah giggled back. "At his age?" I felt myself scowling. Cheeky little… "He's not that old! I bet he's got loads of women after him!" "I dunno. Maybe he has. Horrible thought, though, having sex at that age, isn't it? If he has, he never brings them back here." The music started again and I took a few quiet steeps away from the door, then walked briskly forward and rapped on the door. "You home Love? Is Sammy with you?" Hannah opened the door. She'd changed into her usual casual attire of crop top and jeans. Sammy was sitting on the end of her bed, still wearing her school uniform – or most of it anyway. She cocked her head round and flashed me a brilliant smile and a little wave. "Hi Clem!" she said, perkily. "I'm doing dinner in a while," I said. "Would you like to stay, Sammy?" She enthused that she would, so I set to in the kitchen, my ego somewhat boosted by Sammy's robust defence of me to my own daughter. I was cool! And she must fancy me – it was obvious! Dinner (beef bourguignon) was gratefully received by both girls when I placed it in front of them. Sammy's eyes widened when I placed three bottles of ice cold Budweiser on the table. "Go on," I smiled, "It's only light. One won't get you drunk, I bet you drink far more than that usually." I raised my own bottle and took a swig. "Cheers!" "Cheers" responded Sammy, taking a swig. Hannah rolled her eyes but she, too, took a swig. "That reminds me," I said, reaching across to a pile of papers on an unoccupied dining chair. "I got these photos back today. They're from August when we were planting the shrubs in the back garden, the day before your 18th birthday party, Sammy. I bet you had plenty to drink then!" "Yeah, so did Hannah," giggled Sammy, ignoring the 'daggers' from my daughter. I passed the photo envelope over to them and the girls leafed through the photos, laughing and exclaiming at how they looked. "You can see your tattoo nicely there, Sammy." I said, leaning across and pointing at the photo of her standing behind Hannah, who was planting a shrub. I felt Sammy's cheek brush against my arm, with slightly more contact than was needed. I withdrew my arm, but slowly. "Yeah," she said, sadly. "I'm having it removed next month, though, Clem." "Why?" I asked. "Oh, my Dad's been anal about it ever since I got it done, and that was ages ago, on my 16th birthday for God's sake," she exclaimed, her brow furrowing. "Anyway, I've got fed up with it too, because it wasn't really what I wanted. Anyway, he's forking out to have it removed by laser surgery." "I wouldn't let my Dad tell me what to do like that," said Hannah. "Not to do with my body." I shot her a filthy look. "I wouldn't be uptight like that, would I?" I snapped. "Did I mind when you had your ears pierced a second time? Or had the belly button stud put in?" "All right, all right," muttered Hannah, attacking her food moodily. "You're cool, aren't you Dad?" I saw hers and Sammy's eyes meet. Sammy scowled. Now what was all that about? * * * * * It was two weeks later when things came to a head. Literally. It was a bright, crisp, mid-October day. Blue sky, warm sunshine and the leaves changing colour, a slight nip in the air. Rufus had enjoyed his walk in the park, snuffling through fallen leaves and I had a spring in my step. Days like this just made one feel glad to be alive. Especially after how bad things had been for me… I'd not long been home, having just cleared away the plate on which I'd had a sandwich and was contemplating another cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Rufus raised his head from the bed and gave a half-hearted bark then flopped down again. The walk had worn him out. I walked down the hallway, unsure of the silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass of the front door. I was surprised and delighted to find Sammy there when I opened it. She looked up at me and smiled, a rather shy smile, head slightly cocked on one side. She was wearing her school uniform including her blazer, and was rather awkwardly holding her rucksack-bag on her left shoulder, as opposed to the right, which she usually favoured. "Hi Clem," she said. "Come in Sammy," I said, recovering myself quickly. "I'm just about to brew up. You fancy a cuppa? Er – Hannah's not here." I cursed the stupidity of my last remark. Of course Hannah wasn't here. She'd be at school for the next couple of hours. "I – er- had a free afternoon," said Sammy, "Study time, y'know? But I wasn't feeling up to it. My shoulder's aching." "Is it?" I asked, closing the door after her and noticing that she was removing her blazer very gingerly. I took the blazer and hung it up on a wall peg. "What's wrong with it?" "It's where I had the tattoo removed," winced Sammy, walking through to the kitchen as I motioned her to with my hand. "It's been over a week, but it still stings." "Of course, the tattoo, yes," I said, dropping tea bags into two mugs then pouring boiling water onto them. "Did the hospital manage to remove it okay?" Sammy sat down at the kitchen table and unbuttoned her cuff, and began to roll her blouse sleeve up, pulling it as high as she could, trying to get expose her shoulder. I felt my groin hardening at the sight of her doing this, my mouth suddenly becoming very dry indeed. Sammy gave up on the sleeve and pulled it down. She tugged back her open collar (two top buttons undone, I noticed), revealing her slender shoulder. It looked smooth and pale, like the rest of her skin, except for a small pink patch at the end, where the tattoo had been removed. "It stings more than when I had the bloody thing done." she said, delicately tapping he pink patch. "And all my Dad goes on about is how much it cost him to have it done private. Stingy git! The surgeon was one of his mates and did it on the cheap anyway." I couldn't help myself… I had to touch that soft skin. Just to show concern. Also… also to show my interest. If I felt her react against it, I wouldn't pursue it and everything would be fine. "May I?" I asked, delicately running my fingers across her shoulder to the end, stroking the pink patch and then running my fingers back towards her neck. I noticed she had a leather thong necklace on, with some sort of Celtic cross pendant attached. My index finger ran under this and pulled it up slightly. "Um… nice necklace," I said, hoarsely. Sammy slowly reached and put her hand on my hand and extracted my finger from her necklace. That's it, I thought, she's offended. She thinks I'm a dirty old man out to grope her… But instead she laid my fingers flat on her shoulder again and gently guided them along her shoulder and back again, then nuzzling down into my hand. I could feel the warmth of her cheek. I reached my other hand behind her head, stroking her hair, highlighted by the sun shining through the kitchen window and traced my fingers round her cheek and under her chin, which I gently moved up so she was looking directly at me. Her eyes sparkled, deep and blue, her lips, smeared with only the most delicate pink lip gloss, parted, showing her even, white teeth. I bent down towards her, my breath rather ragged, but I veered away towards her shoulder and kissed the pink patch lightly. I felt her squirm with pleasure and sigh deeply. I took a chance, kissing her further along her shoulder, then on the side of her neck. With Age Comes Experience "Clem," she moaned dreamily, her eyes half closed, her mouth opening wider. I pressed my lips onto hers, tasting the sweetness of them, gently tugging at her bottom lip with mine. I felt her tongue touch my lips, and my tongue responded by touching hers, a frisson of excitement coursing between us. I pulled her closer to me, my tongue thrusting into her mouth, exploring her, tasting her, whilst her tongue insistently burrowed its way into my mouth, flicking across my tongue, urging me on. I felt her hands grip me in a surprisingly strong embrace, one gripping my shirt on the shoulder, the other around my waist, pulling me to her. I had to say that the position was quite painful on my back, so I gently pulled her to her feet, which was much better for us both, our lips still locked. I ran my hand through her silky hair, tickling the back of her neck and feeling her tense with pleasure. I pulled her school tie undone and began to swiftly unbutton her blouse, my fingers shaking, wanting simply to rip it open to save time. Perhaps she felt the same way. As I was tugging the blouse out of her waistband, fumbling with the last three buttons, she reached down, grabbed each side of the blouse and ripped it open, the buttons plinking onto the floor, allowing me to pull it down her shoulders and slip it off her arms. I pulled back from her lips and looked down at her. She was wearing a white satin bra, simple but attractive, her breasts not too big, not too small, snugly encased in the half cups. I reached behind her and tugged the fastening undone. The bra loosened and fell forward, her breasts still covered. She held her arms out so that I could pull the bra away from them, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were pert and firm, her nipples pink and inviting, already erect and hard. I bent forward and licked each in turn. Feeling her moan loudly with pleasure, her fingers digging into my shoulders and twisting my hair. I increased the pressure of my sucking; pulling each nipple towards me and then releasing it back. Just as the pleasure reached its crescendo, my erection now threatening to burst through my flies, the first real arousal I'd had in years, rationality clicked in. I hugged her close to me, feeling her heart beating furiously, savouring the warmth of her flesh and her sweet smell of arousal. "Are we mad or what?" I whispered, licking my lips in a futile attempt to moisten my dry mouth. "Yes, I think we are," she whispered back. She looked up at me, her expression one of deep yearning, of longing… of need. "Please Clem," she said quietly. "Shag me. Fuck me, I want you. Please." "Are you sure?" I forced myself to say, my voice seeming to come from a long way off. "You're – you're only 18. You're Hannah's best friend. I-I'm old enough to be –" "Sushhhh"! she chided, gently placing two fingers on my lips. "You're not my Dad, you're Clem. And I fancy you, I've fancied you for ages. And you fancy me, don't you?" "Y-yes, yes I do," I gasped. "And you're sure…?" She clung to me, limpet like, one of her legs rising and her knee rubbing against my groin, savouring the hardness within. That was answer enough. I knew I'd never make it upstairs in time. I was too close to ejaculation for that. It'd been too long since I'd made love properly. I hadn't even wanked for two years. Making a decision, I scooped Sammy up in my arms, as she squealed with delight, kicking her platform shoes off, leaving just her white pop socks on her feet as I carried her out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the den, which, being at the back of the house, was less likely to be the focus of any callers. The window itself was partially obscured by a Cyprus tree that had shot up, this adding a cool greeny light to the cluttered room. I kicked the door shut behind us, my back protesting, even though Sammy wasn't exactly heavy, and I lowered her down onto the couch, almost falling on top of her. She gleefully pulled me down onto her, kissing my rough cheeks, rubbing her hands over my stubble – I hadn't shaved that day – digging her long nails into my back as I sat astride her, kissing her all over her slender body, licking, sucking, nibbling. My erection was now throbbing so painfully I could bear it no longer. I wrenched Sammy's short black skirt up and ran my hands over her thong. My fingers almost immediately slipped past the damp material into her moist, inviting pussy. I tugged at the thong, Sammy bending her legs to help me. The material ripped and it was off, slung aside, eliciting a giggle from Sammy. She sat up, lunged forward and pulled my belt undone, tugging at the fastening on my jeans. I helped by unbuttoning it, but allowed her to wrench the zipper down. Her eyes widened when she saw the huge bulge in my boxer shorts. My eyes widened too – I didn't believe I was this aroused! She seemed afraid to reach in through the flap and pull my cock free, so I eased it out myself, allowing the grateful member spring to attention, the purple head throbbing, glistening at the tip with precum. She bent forward, trying to lick it, but I gently pushed her back onto the couch, knowing that I couldn't maintain this for many more moments. I positioned myself carefully over her inviting hole and then slowly eased down. She was tight. Very tight, and she yelped as I sought entry. "Sorry," I whispered, pulling back and then slowing easing forward again. She smiled and brought her legs up, wrapping them tightly around my waist, drawing me down to her. And then I was in, a sudden thrust, a cry of pain from Sammy and I had plunged into her depths. She lay back gasping, then nodded her head vigorously, to urge me on. In, out, forwards back, harder, faster…. She moved her hips in motion with my thrusts, a little awkwardly at first until she got the rhythm, gripping me tightly, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her mouth open. I felt her clit rubbing against my cock as it moved, her cunt walls squeezing me tight, contracting. I felt the pressure growing, my knees weakening and then the merciful, grateful torrential release. Spurting hot and wet deep into her, filling her, mingling with her own juices. Her body spasmsed and the contraction grew tighter as she climaxed with me, a long drawn-out scream breaking free from her mouth, a long, incoherent moan from me. A few more spasms and we lay there, locked together, gasping and sweating. I supported my weight on my elbows and looked down at her, brushing her long hair from her eyes, delicately caressing her cheek. Her lithe body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, the patch on her shoulder standing out almost red against the pink of her flushed skin. She opened her eyes and looked up at me, her chest heaving with exertion. I straightened her necklace for her and held my fingers to her lips. She sucked them the held my hand to her left breast, where I began to tease her nipple into her even greater erectness. "Clem," she gasped, fighting to catch her breath. "That was fucking amazing!" I swallowed and struggled to control my breathing: "With age comes experience!" * * * * * I looked across at the battered old couch, smiling as Ridley yawned and turned over in his sleep. Yes. That was where we'd first fucked, all that time ago. And what a wonderful memory it was, too. Almost as sweet was the memory of those long moments when we lay there, after that first, mad session, cuddling close to each other, sharing each other's warmth, gently exploring each other's bodies with our fingers and just talking… * * * * * "Do you miss her at all?" Sammy nodded towards a framed family photograph on the bookcase opposite. It was on old one, Maggie and me with the kids when they were a lot younger. The perfect family. Yeah, right. "No, not at all," I said firmly, then amended, rather more thoughtfully, "No, I do miss Maggie, the Maggie I fell in love with, the Maggie I married. But she died a long time ago, long before Hannah's Mother left." "I don't remember a lot about her," whispered Sammy, gently stroking my cheek, concern in her eyes at my obvious pain. "I only met her once or twice. She seemed very – very –." "Remote?" I suggested. "Yes. Remote. Sort of – disinterested, y'know? I remember Hannah being really upset that her Mum didn't praise her up for some good marks she got for some project, and that was ages ago. Hannah hardly ever talks about her now." "Well, she was jealous of Hannah," I said. "Hannah is everything she wasn't. Genuinely attractive, friendly, intelligent – full of natural charm and grace. Something she'd never have in a million years." And then the words came tumbling out of me, almost like a valve had been released deep inside me – almost as if the rampant, furious love-making – okay, the raw sex then – had set it off. I told Sammy how Maggie had become increasingly disinterested in the children as they grew up, although she'd always make a point of praising Daniel over Hannah, because Hannah was my daughter, always had been Daddy's Girl. No way was Daniel ever gong to be Daddy's Boy, and she'd succeeded in that. I told her how Maggie's tastes had become more extravagant, how she belittled my efforts to find work when I was made redundant, through no fault of my own at age 33. How she conveniently overlooked the fact that within a year I'd found a better job, one where I could work more from home and spend more time with the family. How she'd become totally turned off the idea of sex with me, and how she'd refused to go to any kind of marriage guidance or counselling, instead forcing me into declaring we had an 'Open Marriage'. "That basically meant she was free to fuck anything with a penis and a pulse, but if I so much as looked at another woman, it was shrieks of 'who was that whore you were speaking to? Which tart do you want to shag now then?' I couldn't bring any guests home to entertain for work or even socially, she'd just slag me off in front of them, make me look stupid," I said, grimly. "She was a nightmare. And when she started to get into drugs well…." My voice trailed off. Sammy looked at me with genuine concern etched on her young face. She kissed me and held me tightly. "I'm so, so sorry Clem," she whispered, "I had no idea." "No-one did," I snapped with an anger that made Sammy flinch. I swiftly smoothed her hair and pulled her closer to me, noticing that she fitted snugly against my side. I told Sammy that, to Maggie's credit – just - she never openly did the drugs at home. But I had known she started on the drugs. I noticed money bleeding out of our bank account. I even had to divert funds to a separate, secret account to make sure we got the mortgage paid each month and had housekeeping money. That's when I started on the freelance consultancy work, too, to bring in extra money, just so she couldn't get her grubby mitts on it. But I found evidence of her drug taking in discarded syringes in the bathroom bin, carelessly wrapped in panty liner bags, I saw the redness of her nostrils every time she'd been snorting coke. And the arguments! "Why didn't you leave her? Or throw her out?" exclaimed Sammy angrily. "I'd have battered the miserable cow to a pulp if it was me." "Easy to say, harder to do in practice," I said. "She was always very good at making out I hit her, to anyone who'd listen. She used to goad me, just so's I would hit her and she could get the law involved. She wanted me out of here, and then she could divorce me for cruelty or for desertion, get half of everything. But I stayed for the kids' sakes." I went on to tell Sammy about that wonderful day when Maggie announced she was leaving for good. She'd hooked up with some rich old fart who lived way up north – Durham it was – and she demanded a divorce. I told her to go fuck herself and her boyfriend. She just snapped that she'd wait two years, then file for divorce herself and still get half of everything because she was entitled to it. I then told Sammy the worst bit – Daniel went with her. He was older than Hannah, just 17 to her 15 and he took his Mum's side. " I don't think lover boy was too chuffed when her son moved in too, but it wasn't for long. Daniel did what he always wanted to do and went into the RAF. He's an officer cadet, doing quite well for himself. And yes, I do miss him. We haven't spoken since the funeral, and that was two years ago." I finished the story with the best bit – the fateful telephone call, just over two years ago, from Durham police. Maggie had been found dead, apparently during a drug-fuelled sex game with her lover, which had gone wrong. The inquest was all over pretty quickly and with absolutely no press coverage, because Chummy was apparently involved in the local media somehow – as a director or owner of a newspaper, I think. That suited me anyway – I didn't want Hannah or Daniel to be the butt of jokes made about their infamous mother. The good thing was, she was still technically my wife and, after a bit of wrangling, the life insurance paid up. Not a fortune, but enough to pay off most of the mortgage, allow me to give up my job and just stick with the consultancy work, which was much more lucrative. And best of all, I could be a better parent to Hannah – the poor kid deserved some stability after all the shit she'd had to put up with and witness over the past few years. "You're a good Dad, Clem," sighed Sammy. "I wish my Dad was like you." "Oh, he loves you, I'm sure," I soothed, "You know what us Dads are like about our daughters – 'Daddy's Little Girl' and all that. Except Hannah thinks I'm just embarrassing now." "Clem – you're cool!" said Sammy. "I've told Hannah that. And I should know – I'm her best mate!" With that she slid over me, straddling me, her lithe, young body vibrant and lovely. She swiftly unbuttoned my shirt, helping me to shrug it off, and then she bent lower and pulled my jeans and boxer shorts off. I kicked my own socks off, noticing with some amusement that she was still wearing her white pop socks. It looked endearing and very sexy. It only took a few licks of her little pink tongue across the tip of my aching cock to restore it to its former glory. She sucked hard on the head, drawing it into her, her tongue still probing the very tip, her teeth gently rubbing up and down the shaft and she moved her head backwards and forwards, encouraging me to match her rhythm with upwards pelvic thrusts. I was pleased to note that, in its fully erect state, only half of my cock fitted inside her mouth. Having brought me nearly to climax again, Sammy slowly released my throbbing member and lowered herself onto it, her cunt wide and glistening. She was still a tight fit, but not quite as tight as before, and it felt so sweet. She began to buck downwards on me, my urgent upwards thrusts meeting her, my hands on her slender hips, forcing her even further down, my cock penetrating into her hidden depths. Twice in less than half an hour! Hell, I hadn't had once in two years! Once again, we both climaxed simultaneously, this time with a warm buzz rather than a hot explosion. I could feel our juices running out from her sated cunt and onto my legs. She slid off me, snuggling up again. Drawing her legs up to prevent my precious cum from draining out of her. I glanced at the wall clock. "We'd better be getting dressed, Hannah'll be home shortly." "Okay," she sighed, contentedly. "Just a couple more minutes eh? This is so comfortable." "Uh – Sammy…." I began, as a sudden thought occurred to me. "We didn't use any precautions, are you –er – well…?" "Shhh. It's alright Clem," she whispered, kissing my chest and running her tongue over my own hardening nipples. "I'm on the pill, have been since I was 15. Mainly for my periods." She sighed and hugged me. "Hannah uses the same brand," she added dreamily. * * * * * After that, the stage was set for our regular trysts. Trysts. A nice name for a nice activity. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, we'd use it – and each other – to maximum effect. Sammy was soon a regular visitor of a school day to my house, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, whenever she had a 'free' and the chance to escape for some pleasure. I had to admire her style of "dropping in for a quick shagging" and then having to go back to school afterwards. "So what?" she grinned wickedly, when I asked her if it was a problem. "I just change my knickers and I'm all set up for the day. I bet not many of the others get a good seeing to before doing their course work." Oh, I made all the right concerned noises about it possibly affecting her schoolwork, but she assured me her grades and course work weren't suffering and she was still getting good marks. I decided not to start getting too parental about it. After all, I might be old enough to be her father, but she wasn't my daughter. Talking of my daughter, Hannah was a problem. Well no – she wasn't a problem per se; we just had to be careful to avoid her or not to let her get any inkling of what we were up to. Sammy would still come home with Hannah after school, or call for her before going clubbing with her, so I had to smile and make polite - if slightly flirty – conversation with Sammy and pretend everything was normal. For Sammy's part, she obviously enjoyed the role, and would always be randier and more excited the next time we got together. I also enjoyed myself by taking ridiculous risks when Hannah was at home. Like the time after school one day in mid December, the house sparkling with Christmas decorations and growing festive spirit. Hannah and Sammy were going off to see some new must-see film at the cinema. After dinner, Hannah nipped upstairs to have a quick shower and change her clothes before going out. Sammy was still wearing her school uniform, mainly because she knew I liked to see her wearing it, but intended to change into clothes she had brought with her. "I'd better get up to Hannah's room and get changed, Clem," she said as she finished off washing the dishes at the kitchen sink, whilst I brewed a pot of coffee. "Right," I said, absently, tiptoeing across and pushing the kitchen door closed, almost chuckling when I realise she hadn't turned round and was still at the sink. I sidled up behind her and slipped my hands round to her breasts, squeezing them, teasing her nipples into erectness. "Clem!" she giggled. "Stop it! Hannah's upstairs… she might come down and find us…" I dipped my hands into the soapy washing up water and returned them to her breasts, her blouse now wet and clinging to her body, the outline of her bra and her erect nipples clearly visible to me from her reflection in the window. "You're getting me wet!" she half protested. "I like you wet!" I smirked and nuzzled her neck, pulling back her collar and kissing the back of her neck underneath the springy ponytail she was wearing her hair in. She moaned, her eyes closed, head lolling sideways. I pressed my hardness against her pert bottom, eliciting a further dreamy moan from her. I seized my chance. I swiftly pulled her skirt up, yanked her tights down and wrenched her thong aside, unzipping quickly and thrusting my ramrod cock towards her buttocks. Sammy instinctively positioned herself to allow me access to her from behind and, I was pleased to note, she was as wet as the water in the sink. I slid easily into her, our experience of each other now such that we instinctively knew the positions that suited us best. I pumped into her, her knees set firm against the under-sink cupboard, my hands gripping her hips. It didn't take long before I was pumping my own wetness into her inviting hole, causing her to beat her hands into the washing up water and splashing suds and water across the work surface and over herself. With Age Comes Experience "Yesssss!" she howled as I ejaculated in a series of short spurts. I withdrew, dragging my still semi hard cock back into my pants and zipping up. I pulled her disarranged thong back into position and pulled her tights up for her, smoothing her skirt down. She sighed and turned round from the sink, reaching for the nearby hand towel and drying her hands. Her blouse was soaked, as was her bra and her skirt showed dark stains from the soaking, too. At that precise moment, Hannah bounced back into the kitchen, clad in her pink towelling dressing gown, her wet hair bundled up in a towel. "What the hell happened to you, Sammy?" she exclaimed. "She dropped the casserole dish into the sink," I laughed, pointing to the so-called offending casserole dish, which was innocently minding its own business on the draining rack. "You silly mare," giggled Hannah. "Good job I've got some gear with me, isn't it?" smiled Sammy. "But can I borrow a crop top to go under it, Han'? Only my bra's really wet now!" "Sure. C'mon, we better get changed upstairs." said Hannah. Sammy shot a wicked look at me as she followed Hannah out of the room. I winked back at her and made a quick pelvic thrust motion for her amusement. Life was good. Life was sweet. Life was fun. * * * * * Of course, things change. Things always change. Only sometimes what looks like a change for the better can often be a change for the worse. One significant change came soon after Christmas. Hannah announced she had a new boyfriend as she left the house for school one morning. "It's news to me," I told Sammy that same afternoon as she was getting dressed. "I didn't know she had an old boyfriend even." "What, like I have, y'mean?" asked Sammy cheekily, wincing slightly as she pulled her white panties on over the slap marks on her buttocks. (A thong just couldn't offer the right amount of comfort). "Someone needs another slap or two!" I growled, in mock anger, pulling at Sammy's panties, much to her half-hearted protests. But yes, Hannah did indeed have a new boyfriend, a nice sounding chap named Marcus, some 18 months older than her and already at college. He came from a good part of a very nice town, he was studying engineering and he was a keen rugby player. I made all the right parental noises to Hannah about not letting her schoolwork suffer, but hastily amending that I knew she would be sensible about that anyway. For once – and to my surprise – I didn't get a lot of sarcastic lip in return and Hannah even asked if she could bring him home one Sunday to meet me, after he'd been playing rugby. I had to admit, I did like Marcus. Tall, broad shouldered and with unruly but not outrageous hair, medium length sideburns and even sensibly dressed. What's more he was polite, had a good sense of humour and even expressed a passing interest in my 80s vinyl collection, talking reasonably knowledgably about Spandau Ballet and the Human League. Hannah clearly adored him and I had no concerns as to her well being. Soon after, I met Marcus' parents – at Marcus's and Hannah's suggestion – when they invited Hannah and I over to Sunday lunch at their rather splendid converted farmhouse on the edge of a small town in the Derbyshire Dales. Very decent, hard working types – Marcus' father was a Managing Director at some big conglomerate – and obviously very proud of their son. I felt a warm glow of pride when they said what a nice girl Hannah was and how I'd done a marvellous job of raising her at a very difficult phase of her life after her mother had died. (Quite how much they knew about that, I didn't ask, but my guess was Hannah had simply said Maggie had died in an accident and left it at that. I certainly had no wish to enlighten them further). Of course, the natural progression to all of this was when Hannah started to spend nights at Marcus' home over weekends, or (I suspected) sometimes at his Uni's Halls of Residence. Naughty! But I took it all with good grace and didn't come the heavy parent. I had to say though, it was a strange feeling; much as Hannah was a young, modern woman, sensible enough to be on the pill, I just didn't like to think of any man porking my Little Girl. But did Sammy's Dad feel that same way about her? It was strange – I never thought of 18 year-old Sammy as someone's daughter. She was my girlfriend, simple as that. Girlfriend? Yes - my girlfriend. It had a nice ring to it. So, with Hannah spending nights away, Sammy was able to wangle the odd night at my house, which led to great fun. "What do you tell your parents when you stay over?" I asked her one night when, exhausted from lovemaking and a major bondage session - which involved my licking fizzy tonic water out of Sammy's aching cunt - we lay side by side prior to falling asleep. "Oh, I tell 'em I'm staying with a girlfriend," she yawned, sleepily. "Don't they ever get suspicious and check up on you?" I asked. "They don't any more," sighed Sammy, "I ask my mates to cover for me." "Oh right," I said, absently inserting my index finger into her moist depths and enjoying feeling her body tense and her hands grip tightly round my balls. "Who's covering for you tonight then?" Sammy sat up, all thoughts of sleep gone now, throwing back the duvet and yanking my cock into life, bending down to take it into her mouth. "Hannah is," she mumbled. Of course, Sammy didn't tell Hannah about us and Hannah never suspected – as far as I was aware anyway. An even greater opportunity presented itself to us just before the school broke up for Easter. Hannah asked me at breakfast one Saturday morning if she could spend a few days that holiday with Marcus. "His parents have got a holiday cottage down on the south coast, near Brighton I think," she told me, excitedly. "They said we were welcome to stay there if it's okay with you." I deliberately waited a few minutes before replying, slowly pouring out a cup of tea and then sitting down opposite her. "How's the applications for Uni going?" I asked. "Fine, fine," she said, impatiently. "I think I've got a good chance with Lancaster." "And do they do courses in Forensics and Law?" I queried, "You know they do, I told you already!" she said, with exasperation. I was enjoying this. "Well? Can I?" "Can you what?" "Go to stay with Marcus! Honestly, Dad!" I sighed and looked directly at her. "Well, you've been studying hard, your exams start next term, and I suppose you could revise a bit whilst you were away." Her face lit up. "Does that mean I can go? I can stay with him?" "Of course it does," I beamed back. "I like him. And I know you're a sensible girl. So yes, you can. And – ," I paused dramatically, reaching across the table to where my wallet lay. I pulled out four £50 notes. "Here… take this. Spending money. For your holiday" "Dad! Are – are you sure? Can you afford it?" "Probably not," I smiled, "but I've just been paid very handsomely for a good consultancy job, so I can spare you a small treat." Hannah jumped up, mobile in hand. "Thanks Dad Thanks so much! I'm going to call Marcus. I'm seeing him this afternoon – he's playing – he'll be so pleased!" She paused by the side of my chair. "You know, Sammy's right about you," she said, quietly. My heart missed a beat. "Sammy? What –what does she – she say about me?" Hannah bent down and kissed my cheek then skipped out of the door. "That you're cool. You are cool, Dad." So whilst Hannah and Marcus had a happy holiday down Brighton way, Sammy and I had a happy holiday up our way. She wangled a few days away to stay with her older cousin Carol who lived in London – a very independent young woman from the sound of things – and, of course, aforesaid cousin covered for her, mainly because she thought Sammy's parents were (to quote Sammy): "a prize pair of anal retentives." Not only did we have great sex, morning, noon and night – thinking up ever more inventive games - we also did little fun things together, things we hadn't had the time or the inclination to do previously; watching videos and DVDs together, having meals together, walking old Rufus in the woods together and going down the pub together. I have to admit that taking her down the King's Arms was a calculated risk on my part. Sammy might live on the other side of town, but here was always a chance someone would see her and mention the fact to her parents. Or worse, they'd clock her with me. But I deliberately brought Sammy into the pub – my local – to show her off to the regulars. To my delight, Bob and Reefer were there, playing pool. They caught sight of me, waved through the games room door and then, having finished their game, came to join me. "Nice of you to put in an appearance, Clements!" said Bob, slapping me on the shoulder. "Haven't seen you for – ooooh – four, five months? Not since around Christmas time. And when are you going to come down the Golf Club and sign up as a member? A game or two might do you good, lose some of that!" He tapped my belly with the back of his hand, but frowned slightly when he realised I wasn't quite as flabby as he remembered. "Been working out?" he chuckled. "Sure have," I beamed. "This is Sammy." Sally stepped hopped down from the barstool and held out her hand, delicately painted pink nails looking, as ever, so sexy and lickable. "This is Bob," I said, then waved a hand at the lanky figure of Reefer, unkempt and with two days' worth of stubble as usual. "And that long streak of mist is Reefer." "Hi Bob, Hi Reefer," purred Sammy, shaking their hands and smiling coyly. I felt my chest swell with pride as they responded, the look of surprise and confusion clear for all to see on their faces. We repaired a corner table with our drinks and talked about this and that, Sammy flirting outrageously with the pair of them and quizzing them at length about our exploits at school in the 70s and as young studs in the early 80s. "And Clem got slippered, I got slippered and this bastard got away with it because he said he was just delivering a message!" roared Rob, finishing the story of how half a dozen of us silly sods had been caught by the prefects climbing into school through a window during lunch break and our Head of Year being so indignant that he'd been pulled away from the staff room in his lunch break - where he'd been watching the test match on TV - that he slippered us all 'just for wasting his time'. Clem pulled the outrageous stunt saying that he'd only been delivering a message for the Deputy Head when the Prefects pounced and they didn't believe him, so he was let off! Reefer grinned bashfully and excused himself, stubbing out his roll up and lurching towards the men's room. "I'd better go powder my nose, too," said Sammy, pulling her handbag over her shoulder. "Why is he called Reefer, by the way?" "Why do you think, Babes?" I asked. Rob made an exaggerated display of puffing on a cigarette as though he were toking on a joint. "Oh, I see," smiled Sammy. "He knew a lot of shady types back then," I added as she left for the ladies. "Still does," chuckled Bob, "but nowadays it's usually old shag. Talking of which – ," he waited until Sammy had gone then fixed me with a hard stare. "Are you and her – y'know – at it?" "Yeah," I grinned. "Good, innit?" He shook his head. "I don't know how you do it sometimes," he said. "But Clem – she's – what? How old?" "18, nearly 19," I smiled smugly. I have to say, looking back, I must've been an irritating bastard right at that moment, "Clem – she's old enough to be your daughter!" he exclaimed. "Fuck it man, she's almost the same age as my Jessica!" "But she isn't either of our daughters is she?" I snapped, leaning forward. "Be happy for me Bob. After all I went through with Maggie, don't I deserve a bit of fun? A bit of happiness? Oh, I'm sure it won't last forever, but she seems pretty stuck on me right now!" Bob downed the last of his pint and patted my shoulder. "I am pleased for you Clem, really I am," he said. "And yeah, you do deserve some happiness after the Bitch From Hell, but all I'm saying is – be careful. She might be old enough to shag with, but she's still a kid, right?" "Yeah, right," I muttered, moodily, swigging down my lager. And you're just fucking jealous I can pull the young birds, I thought angrily to myself. * * * * * But on the Friday of that week, our last day together, Sammy showed a side to her nature which I hadn't seen before, and one which I didn't much care for. I'd had to go to Manchester to deliver a report I'd prepared for a client, in person. I'd suggested at breakfast that Sammy might like to come and do some shopping whilst I was seeing my client. She declined, saying that she was going to see a couple of her friends who had left school two years before, then they were going clubbing. "It's all right, Clem!" she said, with impatience as I protested the point. "It's only us three girls, we're not going out to pull a load of spotty plonkers. I'll be back by one, and we can have some fun in bed, right?" "But I reckon I'll be home before then," I interjected. "I'll be alone for the evening." "Oh come on Clem," said Sammy, ruffling my hair as she stood behind my chair. "How often to I go out on my own? And you hate clubbing… they don't play your music for a start." "Oh, fair enough then," I smiled, even though I still felt annoyed – and that was irrational, I realised – "Take your mobile in case there's any problem." "Yes Dad!" Sammy called out cheekily as she headed upstairs to the bathroom. I shook my head and smiled, but something didn't feel quite right and I couldn't put my finger on what it was. In the event, my meeting went very well, I picked up a nice fat cheque, which I immediately banked in central Manchester before driving home. I walked Rufus round the block, hardly noticing at just how slow he'd become lately – and then strolled down to the Kings Head for a pub meal and a pint. Bob wasn't in, but Reefer and a couple of other lads were, so we ended up shooting some pool until closing time when I hurried home, hoping that Sammy had come home early. She hadn't. The house felt empty. I wandered disconsolately upstairs and looked into my bedroom - our bedroom – and sighed. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some of them ripped where our sex games had got out of hand. I straightened the bed linen, picked the clothes up, bundled all those which needed washing into the Ali Baba linen basket in the bathroom and the threw the torn ones away. Rufus was whining and agitating to go out again, so instead of just letting him into the back garden, I took him for another walk round the block just to kill time. Once again, Rufus lethargic shuffling didn't register with me, although he perked up when we met a Standard Poodle and her owner. "Life in the old dogs yet eh, Fella?" I chuckled as Rufus watched the Poodle mince past, his eyes bright and his tongue panting. "You 'n' me both, " I added. Back home I watched a tedious film on TV and then pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and placed it on the coffee table in the den, waiting for Sammy to come home. By 1.20 am I was anxious and called her mobile. I was immediately connected to her answerphone – the phone was switched off. To start with, I was worried, but soon this gave way to jealous anger. Who was she with? Had some young bloke taken a fancy to her? Had she taken a fancy to him? I could almost picture her laughing and drinking with some callow youth in the club, or worse, slow dancing with him, his sweaty hands all over her lithe body. Over my girlfriend's body! In a real blaze of anger, I stalked upstairs, got undressed and threw my towelling robe on, then stormed down stairs and waited in the living room, drumming my hands on the back of the leather couch. At just gone 2am, I heard a car pull up outside and heard Sammy's voice thanking the driver. It must've been a taxi. Maybe she'd only had to wait a long time for a taxi. But then, why hadn't she called me to pick her up? That in itself was bloody irresponsible and thoughtless. After a couple of attempts to put the key in the lock, Sammy managed to burst in through the front door and push it shut behind her. She leaned against it until it clicked and she sighed expansively. She was dressed like – like a common tart. Short, strappy red dress, red high heeled shoes, far too much make up and jewellery – three large gold chains round her neck and a set of bangles on one arm. No coat, naturally – they never wore coats out these days – it just wasn't 'cool'. Her hair was mussed and her skin shone with perspiration and alcohol consumption. I was sure her pupils were dilated, but this may have been a trick of the light. She looked across the hallway and saw me sitting there, in my robe, regarding her. "Good time had by all?" I queried, my expression quizzical, my voice flat as I tried to control my anger. Sammy clasped a hand to her mouth and giggled. "Ooooh Daddy, you shouldn't have waited up for me!" "You said you'd be in for One!" I growled. "I – I couldn't get a fuckin' cab!" slurred Sammy, "You know how-how it is, Clem!" "Sit down before you fall down!" I snapped, all thoughts of chardonnay and romance gone now. "I'll get you a coffee!" Sammy swayed into the living room and then sank onto the couch, her head swaying whilst I rose with forced dignity and set off to the kitchen to make the coffee. "You're pissed!" I spat at her. "T-Too f-f-fuckin' right!" giggled Sammy, kicking her shoes off. "They kept on buyin' me drinks, hoping they could get into my knickers. Stupid bas-bastards. All those drinks for fuck all!" She laughed nastily and flopped back. I stopped and walked back to her, looking down at her on the couch, my hands on my hips. "You think that's funny do you?" I snapped. She looked up at me, frowned, tossed her hair back and sneered: "Oh Christ! Sometimes you're so fuckin' old! You are just like my Dad after all! I'm young, I just wanna have a bit of fun!" "So, dressing up like a whore, flaunting your body and getting pissed is fun is it?" I retorted. "Save me from your sort of fun! And me, old? I used to put my fair share of booze away at discos, but I never acted like a total prat!" Sammy tried to interrupt me, but I spoke over her. "And I'd never have gone anywhere with someone who looked like a tart!" Sammy lurched to her feet and thrust her face close to mind, swaying a little unsteadily. "I said I didn't shag any of 'em tonight," she hissed, "But I gave 'em all a nice, juicy blow job each. And I made them all come, too. And they turned me on, d'you know why? Because every one had a cock bigger than yours!" "Really?" I sneered back. "Is that so? Well Samantha, don't forget who taught you everything you know, don't forget who broke you in. Whatever pustule youth you screw now, you'll always know that. old Clem was the first!" "Hah! That's what you think!" retorted Sammy. "You weren't the first – or the best – you never have been!" I felt my face flush with anger, my fists bunched by my sides. I had to walk away from her, otherwise… But Sammy saw my turning away as a sign of defeat, or weakness. She decided – unwisely – to hammer her point home. "Fuckin' hell! No wonder your wife went elsewhere for a decent shag, you sad bast-" She never finished her foul-mouthed sentence. Before I could stop to think, to rationalise the situation, I spun round and slapped her hard across the face, sending her sprawling onto the couch.