6 comments/ 6711 views/ 1 favorites Charlie's Story By: Handley_Page Note: This story is set in England, during the '80s, when mobile telephones were still on the horizon, TV programmes were recorded on Video Tape and problems of 'erectile dysfunction' were kept very, very quiet . It is a work of fiction. All the parties represented are of a suitable age, ie., over 18. Please be aware that no authors were harmed during the writing and English English spelling is used. In a traditional English pub (short for Public House), there were several bars: the Public (usually the largest), the Lounge (generally quieter, and better decorated) and the room often referred to as the "Back Bar," generally more comfortable than the 'Public Bar'. There were others, such as often found in very old (particularly Victorian) pubs, the Smoking Room and the Ladies Bar. A 'decent' lady was not to be seen in a pub unless accompanied by her man (and the single woman was Very Careful). But the Brewery fixed it so she could enjoy a glass of something - in a bar particularly for the ladies, who, presumably, enjoyed a glass of milk stout while their husbands enjoyed a pint of Bitter in the public bar. Sincere thanks to Dr Miss for her guidance. ***** Charlie sat in a corner seat of the pub, reading the local paper. The "back bar" of the pub was a rich brown, the dark colour of real age, and boasted a publican who firmly resisted the blandishments of the brewery wanting to convert it to a "theme pub". Mahogany and copper shone on the bar top and the beer was good, cellar cool and hand pumped. The horse-brasses shone with real polished care, the old wood centre beam was black with age. The pictures on the walls were a mixture of sepia prints of old past publicans and regular customers, the cricket team gatherings and a few sporting prints from a time when Britain really was Great although it was not easy to gauge an age when this might have been. The windows were small and overlooked the trim garden. Charlie was now over 40 but he did not look it. He was going a fashionable shade of grey on top, but still in reasonable trim. All the job adverts he had studied had wanted young trainees or shelf fillers at not a lot by way of pay, and he was too young for the local DIY place which deliberately sought mature people for the staff. Job-hunting had been one of the responsibilities that had been impressed on him at the sessions in the Hospital following his breakdown. But there was another, almost unspoken, thing. Mention mental health problems and you were immediately regarded by all and sundry as unstable and untrustworthy at best, if not a newly-released rapist or murderer. "Suitable only for menial tasks and requiring close supervision" was the common perception. It did not make for a favourable entry on his CV. It was simply not true. As one therapist put it, "think about it as a broken bone between the ears." Try telling that to the potential employer! The two years of recuperation following the breakdown of his mind, his marriage and his thriving company had been a time of continual discovery. Sights, sounds, and even smells all came slowly, or sometimes in bursts. His period in the hospital was not one he'd forget, nor did he particularly want to. He had been a little peeved about letters from her solicitor at a time when he could not do much. The divorce had come through whilst he was still 'in therapy' - as if by mail order, he thought. Fortunately, he'd had insurance and enough put by to pay off the mortgage and most of the other debts. Even allowing for the division of the spoils he was not as badly off as some. He was off the more aggressive tranquillisers, thank Heavens. He had been for a while now, although the Doctors had let him keep a few in a sealed bottle which was marked "In case of Emergency, Break the Glass," in tribute to hospital humour. He was down to twice-a-year visits, and he felt, if not at peace, that he could handle most of life's crises without recourse to any pills apart from the occasional something to help him sleep. The lads on the cricket team quietly kept an eye on him and made sure he'd not have too many beers. He had eventually started work as a general factotum in a busy office of 'Blades', the local computer business. 'General Clerk' was the term used on his employment slip. The job had been negotiated for him by the charitable endeavours of the Hospital Trust after he was officially discharged. He was now officially sane — and single. He was given leave when he needed it for appointments. At first, he felt 'supervised' by nearly every junior in the place. In a short time, his confidence increased and he proved that he still could mix it with the best of them, even if the most junior of Clerks was paid more. He managed to pay his way and that counted for a lot, in his mind. As the office worked flexible hours, his time was never really lost; a fact which was noted favourably by his supervisors. And it was noticed that his opinion on this or that technical point was occasionally solicited by several influential workers. He fixed up one printer problem in a few moments, and sorted out a Word Processor to the satisfaction of the secretary concerned and the visible relief of the department supervisor. Even programmers and technical help specialists occasionally made time for a coffee and a chat. He had a computer at home, used as much for games as keeping his hand in with the programming, but he read books from the Library and even bought a few. He was working on a tricky bit of graphics code now, shaving a bit here, a bit there and it worked. He was quite pleased with it. What did not please him was that following the divorce, his ex-wife Jan had quickly "taken up with someone new." Later, unsubstantiated, rumour had it that the someone new was a She, not a He. And the Someone in question was, apparently, none other than his former secretary and factotum, Lois, although he seriously doubted this. Perhaps, he'd wondered, this was why the settlement was so 'fair', as his solicitor put it. The implication was that Jan wanted 'out' and was prepared to do almost anything to leave. He'd managed to keep the house, for example, although it was rather sparsely furnished. The problem was not high in his mind, though. In his new job, Charlie soon found he was spending more time with the programmers and the guys in computer support, where his demonstrated expertise was both useful and noted. Most of the guys seemed to welcome his visits. Once or twice he went in to help out when there was a bit of a panic and he thought he'd made his mark rather than blotting his copy book. When a minor vacancy occurred, he was asked by the Manager if he'd like to give it a try, with the proviso that if things did not work out for any reason, he'd still keep his old job if he wanted it. "It would mean," said the manager, "more money, more time spent at a computer and increased responsibility. Could you still hack it?" Charlie said "Yes," almost without thinking about it. Of course, it had meant less time with the secretaries, but most were pleased to see his increasing self-confidence and skills rewarded even if one or two seemed disappointed at his departure. Once or twice he thought he'd received a glance that suggested that a date might be considered. His pulse rate rose at thoughts of an evening out, but it had come to nothing. He was celibate, and had no plans imperil his position at work. As a fellow hospital inmate once put it: "You don't puke on your own doorstep." All the same, one or two of the ladies looked quite attractive especially in summer when the skirts were shorter and the blouses thin. He'd smiled as he reminded himself to get a few condoms in, just in case. But now, the Cricket Match was high on his agenda. The prospect of a good cricket match at the weekend whetted Charlie's appetite and he went down to his local for a chat with the other players and to discuss any problems with transport and the usual things which can spoil an otherwise good day. The rain was persistent but the forecast was good and the pitch usually drained well. Meeting over, he and a couple of the lads were chatting about their week when Charlie made to go and get his round. The woman in front of him at the bar looked familiar but he did not quite know why. She had a shapely figure and strong shoulders. If she wasn't a swimmer, he thought, she did a lot of training in a gym. She turned away from the bar and nearly collided with him. She recognised him first and a smile lit her face as she said "Charlie: It is Charlie, isn't it?" He looked at her, feeling rather embarrassed and suddenly confused as a million thoughts charged through his brain before he stuttered: "Yes." He paused. "I know you from somewhere. Forgive my not remembering, but my memory is still not particularly good at faces, especially in the past. I remember something about an exercise video and computers, but not much of people." Lois looked at him with some concern. "It's Lois," she said. "I used to work for you before you took ill. You gave me a glowing reference which got me a good job. You taught me about computers and you are right, you gave me an exercise video one Christmas which was very good. I must say you look fitter these days; are you all right?" She smiled and Charlie had a sudden memory experience; everything at once. They'd always got on well, he and Lois. Friendly, often with a shared joke or amusing aside. They were both 'heading the same direction' as far as the fledgling computer company was concerned. She made effective and clever suggestions resulting in a good reputation among clients or would-be clients. Lois was no catwalk sparrow; above average height with distinct curves and nice long legs. She always seemed to wear the right clothes for work: Skirts of just the right length, blouses of a well-judged cut and colour and hair always neat. She greeted clients with cordiality and remembered all the important dates despite not using either a computer or even an "Organiser." She'd been quick to learn and anxious to get back to work following her own divorce, although they did not talk about it much after she'd first mentioned it. Their relationship was always professional but accompanied by intelligent dry humour; never anything else. He gave her the right computer books and fired her enthusiasm; she studied at night-school and came to be almost as computer literate as he, who spent most of his waking time with one in front of him. Lois had taken up sports and trained regularly, she played an enthusiastic game of Badminton. His gift of an exercise video one Christmas was appreciatively received and she used it - to visible good effect in the following months. The thought that Lois had taken up with Jan in some romantic assignation was just too daft to contemplate. She was the almost the antithesis of his ex-wife, Jan. Jan was competent in the kitchen and witty at the dinner table but usually regarded a computer as something reminiscent of black magic; she had difficulty with almost any electronic gadget; the video often recorded the wrong programme, when it recorded anything at all. Her moods and taste in clothes took some catching up with but she laughed a lot. At least, she laughed until bed-time, which was often the time for the arguments which did little to ease his problems. Jan had a shrill voice when roused and a heavy hand when slapping his face. Why, he wondered, is it considered OK for a woman to slap the face of a man and not the opposite. He was still puzzled about it. "Yes," said Charlie with a smile. "Much better, thanks. I've been working for a while at a local firm. I'm off the pills and paying my way." he added with a touch of defiant pride. "That's really good." said Lois, "I'm here with a few people now. Is this your local?" Charlie nodded. "I'll pop in again soon," she said, "and we can catch up on our lives. I'd like to know about how you fare these days." "Would you like to come to a cricket match tomorrow?" he said. "It should start about eleven, if the weathermen get it right. It's on the Recreation Ground." He wondered why he'd said it and almost blushed. Lois smiled. "You know," she said, "I have not been to a cricket match in ages. I'm working in the morning, but I'll try and get there after lunch, if that's all right." Charlie felt shyly pleased with himself and took the beers back to the table and his friends in some triumph. They greeted him with sly looks of envy and asked about the "pretty maid" he'd been chatting up. They knew of his past problems and helped him where needed, but not visibly so; he did not need it quite so often these days. "No mystery," he said. "She and I once worked together. It was all a long time ago, before I was ill." "Lucky devil," said Baz, the team Captain. "She's a looker." He paused and added with a grin, "and no VPL either." Baz was right. Lois was wearing a trouser-suit featuring fashionably tight trousers, high heels and looked very good, maybe not overtly sexy, just damnably attractive. "VPL?" Charlie aked. Baz grinned: "Visible Panty Line" "Oh" was all Charlie could say as he took a sip of his beer. He hoped the quick peek he had taken on Baz's explanation hadn't been noticed. Saturday The sun shone on the cricket pitch, and Charlie, dressed in as near whites as he could get them, surveyed the outfield and decided the groundsmen had done a good job. The drainage was up to expectations and the grass cut relatively short. The soft wind had helped dry out the pitch and Charlie reckoned it would take a bit of spin. They won the toss and elected to bowl. The opposition were doing good service and had made a modest total. With the main bowlers taking a bit of time out from their labours, Bazz asked Charlie to take a few and see if he "could keep their run rate down." Charlie took the ball, observed the field placing and ran up. The ball curved in the air and struck the ground just outside the off stump. The batsman left it. Charlie repeated the offering and this time the batsman took a mighty swipe which shot past the slips like a missile and went for a four. The far fielder threw it to Charlie who took the ball, carefully polished one side and ran up to bowl again. The ball turned in the air and cut out. The batsman started to make his strike, but before he could realise his error, it caught the top of the bat and the ball went straight into the hands of second slip. After the cheers were over and the field re-ordered, the new man took his stance and prepared for battle. There was something of a determined look in his eye, for he was known as a competent man at the crease who could be relied upon to make a few runs and steady the rest of the team by blunting the bowling attack. Charlie's ball flew straight and true and the batsman struck it round to the midfield and took two. Charlie slowed his run-up and carefully bowled again, intending that the ball curve. It did not, and the batsman struck it straight back. Charlie swayed out from his run to grab it, but it was going very fast and his fingers bent back as he tripped and fell in a crumpled heap to the ground. He didn't even hear the sound of the Ambulance. Sunday AM When Charlie woke up, he ached all over. The overhead lights were bright and hurt his eyes. The room was plain white, what little he could see of it. A nurse called the doctor who came to talk to him. "As sports injuries go," said the Doctor after a Nurse had plumped his pillows, "yours is like a box of assorted biscuits. It will mean that your sporting pursuits are over for this season. You might make deputy scorer in a couple of weeks." He smiled. Charlie found it painful to smile, but he tried. "We've strapped up your fingers for now, and re-set your shoulder; you'll get used to the straps and eventually you can probably do without them. The scratches to your face will leave a few minor scars. Your neck is strained, but that will be little bother apart from the odd headache for a bit. Your back will hurt for a while but with a decent rest, it will improve. "We've done several X-rays and you have damaged nothing vital. And before you ask, yes, we do know of your previous hospitalisation. "There were those who wondered if you'd done something stupid, but common sense and several good witnesses prevailed. There was one young lady, quite pretty, who absolutely insisted that she'd seen you trip and fall whilst bowling. She was most determined that we noted it although there were those who wondered just how you could do this much damage at a cricket match." Charlie explained what he thought had happened. He continued: "Goin' to be a bit sore, I expect. And my head hurts." He smiled ruefully. "It takes a bit of thought on how to move without too much pain." He grimaced. He had moved as he said it. A nurse appeared and he accepted something to dull the pain with gratitude and slept. Tuesday By Tuesday morning, Charlie finally persuaded a nurse to contact work and tell them of his plight, explaining the difficult circumstances of his employment. She did so, but he was puzzled by her statement later that they already knew and it 'would be all right'. "How long does this go on?" said Charlie to a visiting Doctor, "And how long before I can work, you know - use a keyboard?" "Well," came the reply, "a few days here followed by a good bit of physiotherapy. I know a good man who can help later on. He's a sportsman himself; cricket, too, I believe. If you did a manual job, you might need as much as three or even four weeks off. Given your generally good state of health, you should be typing reasonably well within a fortnight." His request for a shave finally met with some success, although the young nurse doing it was not as skilled with the razor as he might have hoped or expected. His first unaided trip to the toilet hurt like hell and he asked for a stick. Staggering unsteadily, and failing to find something to hang on to he looked in the mirror. The bruises to his face were bad and the scratches livid on a pale skin. His eyes were almost sunken and his back and shoulder hurt. He was very glad to return to his bed for a rest. The library trolley came by and he grabbed a couple of books, determined to stay his impatience. Wednesday evening. As the evening visitors streamed in and out for the other patients in the ward, Charlie looked up from his book to see a woman he thought he recognised but could not exactly place. She was dressed in a business suit and looked at him expectantly. All he could say was "Hello." He paused, then suddenly remembered: " How are you, Lois?" Lois smiled. "Sorry I didn't made it earlier, but I've had a lot on my plate. I called in at the Pub and Baz and the guys send you this card." She handed him a large envelope which he managed to open. It was a cartoon character of a sportsman in a hospital bed. He smiled. "Baz also asked me to bring you the stuff from your locker." She handed him a large stiff plastic bag and a smaller cardboard box, containing his watch, wallet and keys. She looked at him carefully. Most of his facial damage was a livid red, set on a pale, almost grey, face. His arm was in a sling and his hand wrapped in splints and bandages. His neck collar was on the bedside table. "I'm OK, thanks," she said, and went on to tell him about the match and how she'd arrived in time to watch him keel over and get carried away in an ambulance. "It was almost like a slow-motion ballet, watching you trip. If it wasn't for the obvious damage, it would have been quite funny. It was as if they didn't know which bit to disentangle first." She smiled. "It has taken me," she ended, "some while to find out exactly where you were. The local hospitals are not very good at giving information out. All you get is `the patient is comfortable'; and that," she added, "was after several telephone calls to locate this particular hospital. I had to tell them I was a relative." Charlie's Story Charlie looked at her with genuine pleasure. "It was nice of you to try." "Well," she said, "it isn't too far from work so I can call in on my way home, if you'd like. And if you are bothered," she continued, "the match was declared a draw. Is there anything I can bring you next time?" Charlie felt round his face and rubbed the stubble. "Yes please," he said. "I could do with a decent razor and shaving kit, as well as the usual soap and stuff. There's nothing like presenting the best face you can to visitors." His smile was curtailed by pain. Lois nodded. "OK," she said. "I'll bring it all round tomorrow. Anything else? I mean, how long are you going to be here?" Charlie thought for a moment, and said: "Well, it's likely to be a few more days yet at least, or so the Quack tells me. Much longer and I'm likely to find a vanishing degree of sympathy at work, after all the help they've given me. I really should try and do something as soon as I'm able. I can do some work from home, but the typing is likely to be a lot slower, what with only one hand at present. 'Fraid my bowling is over for the season. If you see Baz, you might tell him and thank him for the card." Lois said: "I'll do that. Can I call work for you? Have you any sick-leave or even holiday time which you can take by way of convalescence?" Charlie looked at her with an expression of gratitude. "Yes please," he said. "Tell them I'll be in as soon as I can. I'll have to send them a sick note. I fear I may have to tread carefully about sick-leave, after the time off that they've given me already." After more general talk, he looked tired so she took her leave, promising to call back the following evening. Thursday: Charlie awoke feeling refreshed and noted that the bruises did not hurt quite so much. He reckoned that this would last until the first of his physiotherapy sessions, but the ability to shave and present a better face to the world in general and Lois in particular did much for his self confidence. His back hurt when he tried to bend forward, but the agony was lessened by the pills. His hand was still in a splint but the shoulder now only hurt when the physio dug in hard or he tried to move in an unaccustomed way. He was put on some exercises which did much to raise a sweat. This presented him with the problem of taking a shower, solved by a polythene bag over his hand. A "Get Well" card and letter from work assured him that all was well and he should take whatever time he needed to recuperate before getting back to work. Lois called in most nights and the loan of a portable computer provided him with an added intellectual stimulus once he got used to the small keys and typing with one hand and the occasional finger. She arrived one Sunday dressed in a smart pair of jeans and a shirt, carrying a sports bag. She still looked good, thought Charlie, even with no make-up. "When do you get out, and when are you expected back at work; no, I'll re-phrase that. When do the medics tell you that you can go back?," said Lois with a smile. "A few days to get out, provided that there are no hiccups, which means Friday next," came the reply. "After that," he continued, "there'll be more exercise and physio, but I'll have a word with Baz about that unless they organise something from here." "Would you like me to help you out a bit at your place until you get your hand back in shape?," said Lois. "You know, run a Hoover round or maybe the odd meal?" "Yes, please." He said as he fumbled through his wallet and passed her an old business card. She looked at the card and said "I remember ordering these; I'm glad you still have them," and put the card away in her bag. "Well, they ain't a great deal of use these days, but they still serve as a reminder and are sometimes of some use," he said ruefully; then smiled. Friday He stood rather shakily at the entrance of the Hospital waiting for the bus. The air smelt good after the rain. He made it without actually falling over and walked slowly home from the bus stop, using a borrowed walking stick but fumbling for his keys and cursing his still-bandaged hand. The door was nearly jammed with mail but he managed to open it without too many problems and walked in. He noticed the dust first, and felt a little shame that he'd not kept it tidier. Whilst the kettle boiled, he filled the washing machine and switched it on, found something edible in the freezer and put it in the microwave oven. Then he opened the windows. After eating his meal, he sorted his letters, checked the telephone and found several messages from workmates and one from Lois, who announced her intention of coming over. It was only when he'd sat down on the sofa with a cup of tea that he realised how tired he was. He woke up with a start and wondered at first where he was. It was evening and the shadows were lengthening. He pottered about a bit with the washing up and watched the news on TV. Then the doorbell rang. It was Lois who brought with her a bottle of wine and some bags of food. "I thought you could use a non-hospital meal," she said, smiling. "I hope you like Chinese." He ushered her in and apologised for the mess. Over the meal, he told her what the Hospital had said. "It will be a while before all the splints and bandages come off," he said, "and I'll need physio and exercise before I can use my hand properly. The good news is that I can type one-handed," and he smiled. "Work has agreed that I'll take two weeks convalescent leave. Mind you, I've a few disks of stuff for them, so it's not as if I've been lazing about; it just takes a little longer, that's all. And I can field some problems from my phone here." "Talking of 'phones, I'd better book a taxi," she said. He pointed towards the phone and she made the call. They ate the meal and then talked of little things while she washed up. He felt a pang of something when the taxi came and she took her leave of him. He escorted her to the door. For a moment, Charlie panicked as Lois paused as if expecting a kiss. She made up her mind and gave him a quick hug and left him rather bewildered and very conscious of the smell of her perfume. .**. Over the next few weeks, Lois helped him with exercises and even went with him to the Pub a few times. The plaster was off, but his hand now sported a support bandage which he had to remove only for physio and changing. Baz and the other team members, after a short period of confusion, took to Lois; particularly when she showed that she did understand at least the rudiments of Cricket and was able to talk with some confidence about matches she'd seen. One Saturday, he spent the morning trying to use the vacuum cleaner. It seemed to work better after he'd emptied the bag, and the carpet was visibly cleaner, if nothing else. The washing machine was doing serious duty and the plates all stacked clean. He felt almost proud of his efforts by the time he'd finished and had a coffee. When Lois arrived, looking fresh and still flushed from her trip to the sports club, he was sitting at his computer. As she entered the living room, she looked at his effort and commented "Most of it's a bit tidier, anyway." He took that as a mark of some approval. They spent the afternoon talking and discussing sports, computers and related matters whilst Lois supervised more cleaning up. "Would you like to go out for a meal?" said Charlie. Time was getting on and he'd not thought about food; not for two, anyway. "Yes, please," she said, "that would be nice; but nowhere posh; I'm not dressed for an evening out." He wasn't so sure, but they went anyway. They got back late and Lois phoned the taxi firm who told her 'there'd be none available for a couple of hours'. She repeated the news to Charlie. He hesitated, and then said "I've a spare bed if you'd like to stay." Telling the taxi firm not to bother, Lois hung up the phone and said. "Yes, please, Charlie, if it's not too much trouble." Charlie said: "No problem. You put the coffee on, I'll sort out your sheets," and with that went carefully upstairs. He came down as the kettle was boiling. She finished making the coffee and handed him a cup. "Pills time, is it?" she asked. "Oh, yes, mustn't forget the pills, must I." He groped in the package one handed whilst Lois steadied it. Their hands met and there was a pause. He looked at her and said. "Two please." She removed two pills and put them on the table. Charlie took them and drank his coffee. Lois had a strange look about her eyes that he could not fathom. Suppressing any wayward thoughts, he drank up and showed her to her room. "I don't keep much by way of ladies nightwear, but there's a couple of Jan's in there, somewhere." he said. "The bathroom's got plenty of the usual toiletries and provided you like cereals or toast for breakfast, you'll be OK. If you want to wash anything, there's a machine and dryer in the kitchen." And with that, he left her. As he settled down for sleep, Charlie felt stirrings he'd almost forgotten; he was getting an erection. Sleep did not come easily and was punctuated by dreams of Lois, wearing very little — apart from stockings. He woke suddenly with a stiff back to find Lois dressed in an old pyjama top and standing next to the bed with a cup of coffee. Her legs seemed to go on forever. She looked good and smelt better; hair uncombed and no make-up. Many of the pyjama buttons were missing or open, and there was not much by way of anything to cover the maidenly blush, wherever that was, but the maidenly bush was tantalisingly close. He felt a surge of energy across his stomach and cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment. He was aware that she could see the bulge. It was difficult to miss, barely covered by the sheet. She looked him in the eye and said "Reassuring to see something's working OK." She smiled. "Not very much of late," said Charlie, pulling his knees up to disguise the swelling sheet. "Have you managed, well, since the divorce and all?" she asked lightly, nodding her head at the bulge as she sat on the edge of the bed. Charlie moved his legs to give her more space, coughed and muttered: "No." "I've been that way myself at times," she said. "All dressed up and nowhere to go." She lowered her head. "I'm not sure I can manage it from a cold start," he said. "It seems that the pills do something to the nerves and I'm not sure I can get it up. For long enough to satisfy the lady, anyway. And I was taught the rule that the lady comes first." He felt strange talking like this to Lois. He didn't say this much to his Doctor and yet here he was volunteering it to his former secretary. "Start off with halves," she said. "Then work up to pints, or so the advert says. Does it all work, anyway?" "Well it did last time I tried it," said Charlie, with some embarrassment. "Although I have been quite successful in not trying it, one way or the other." He looked down the bed. The bulge was like a bloody tent-pole, he thought, trying to look away from the woman at his side. "I think I'd better go to the loo," he said. He hugged his knees to disguise the bulge. As he drank his coffee, it subsided a bit. She eased her position on the edge of the bed. "Do you mind if I have a shower after you, please?" Charlie cleared his throat. "Go ahead. I'll follow after you. It still takes me a little while to get organised. The towels are in the airing cupboard," he called as she started to go. She stopped at the doorway and looked back at him. "You may have heard a rumour or two about Jan. As you may know, Jan is at my house until she gets herself sorted, but our lives are now almost separate as we work strange hours, in different places, miles apart." She paused and then went on: "There was a time when I wondered if I was more attracted to a woman than a man, and Jan, strangely, helped me sort that out. However, I think it is not unfair to say that Jan probably is attracted to women. I am not." And with that, she quickly left, leaving only the soft sounds of her footfalls on the carpet. Charlie was surprised. If Jan was getting her head together, regardless of who with, that was fine by him. He had enough to worry about, and dealing with the problems of his ex-wife were not high on his personal agenda. Lois was something else again. He rose with an aching stiff back and put on his towelling robe. Taking his mug, he carefully worked his way down the stairs and eventually dumped the mug in the washing-up. His erection had subsided enough for him to use the downstairs toilet. Going back upstairs was easier, the effort smoothing out the knots in his muscles. He was doing a few sit-up exercises by his door when Lois emerged from the bathroom wearing one towel round her head and another round her body. She paused to watch his efforts. They obviously still hurt and he was sweating with the strain. "Can I help?," she asked. "Bandages or whatever?" Charlie looked up at her from his prone position on the floor and tried another sit-up. "Not at the moment, thanks. The physio changes the bandages when he gets to work on my hand. It just takes a little while to get the other muscles going." He stopped his exertions. "Thank you for telling me," he continued. "Yes, I had heard a rumour about Jan, but I'm afraid a lot of it was lost in the re-telling and your reputation was not untarnished. Nobody has mentioned whether I featured in any stories." Her towel seemed tantalisingly small to Charlie. "I think I'll get into the shower now," he said. The pain had eased and he straightened up. "A cold one this time." He smiled at her. She returned his smile with a wide grin which seemed to light up her whole face. She looked at his bandages and said: "I think you still need a bit of help." Her help took the form of some plastic bags and was accompanied by giggling and jokes, but eventually he was out and wrapped in a towelling robe. He wondered if the washing machine would cope with the extra load. He was standing at the mirror combing his wet hair when Lois tapped on the door and entered wearing a tight crop top and a short skirt. She took his hand and removed the plastic bag and then moved behind him. He could feel the pressure of her breasts in his back as she hugged him. Then just as quickly, she was gone. He felt a sudden emptiness. It was some moments before he could concentrate and in the end, he found his electric razor and used that. He did not trust his nerves with even a safety razor. .**. At some strange hour of the morning, Charlie woke up with the feeling that something was not quite right. Soft footsteps padded and a shadow passed the window. He reached out to the light switch but a hand stopped him. Lois climbed into the bed. Her hands were like a cool butterfly on his stomach as they weaved their tantalising pattern on his skin. He felt his erection growing whilst his mind whirled. She hooked a leg over him and in one almost fluid movement sat astride him. Panic swept over him as she leaned forward, put her hands on the side of his head and kissed him. As she started to lower herself, he felt the blood pressure go; all the physical sensations stopped and he realised with shame that it was not going to work. He rose up and, holding her by the shoulders, lowered her beside him. "Sorry love," he said, "I told you that I had a few problems." She put her arms round him, pulled him closer and kissed his cheek. "Don't panic," she whispered. "I just had this silly idea. There will be a time. Relax and sleep now." Putting her head on his shoulder, she relaxed. And after a short while, the pills reasserted themselves and he also slept. When he woke in the morning, there was a lingering trace of her perfume, but that was all. He felt quite disappointed; but curiously relieved as well. .**. Lois felt that something was missing. Charlie was still a distant figure, apparently unwilling to risk any sort of sexual adventure. He was sitting on the sofa, a drink in his 'good' hand. She walked in and sat down to her coffee. Her simple wrap was tied high under the breasts, which served as a magnet for his eyes. He forced his eyes back to the TV and noticed that if he looked carefully at the screen he could just see her reflection in a corner of the tube. During the adverts, she spoke: "Forgive my asking," she said, "but can you tell me anything about Jan and you?" She almost blushed and went on: "I'll understand if you say that it's none of my damn business and even tell me to quit, but I'd like to understand." An encouraging faint trace of a smile crossed her face. Something about her made him think about their previous conversations before speaking. Taking a mental grip of himself, he pressed the TV mute button. "We had our problems," he said. "She cooked a mean steak and pasta dishes and kept the house clean. She was hopeless at computers and even the video was a standing joke. But the bedroom scenes were nothing to write home about. I felt that I'd let her down, particularly with the physical stuff." He looked down at his feet in embarrassment. "She occasionally tried to show me what she liked, but I felt I was never able duplicate it, to take her to the peaks of passion, as it were. It was as if I had missed something. We read magazines and books, but it was of little help. She even tried going down on me one night; she was long on teeth and short on understanding." He winced at the memory and coughed. "She'd do it herself when she thought I didn't know. I first heard her one night when I was in the bath. It must have been some orgasm, she was that loud. I could never manage that for her by hand, let alone actual sex. It left me feeling confused and inadequate. But, like adults we talked about it and we told ourselves that it would work out given time and a bit of patience. Then the business got better and I had less time to worry about it. By the time I got home some evenings, I was too tired to eat, let alone make love." He cleared his throat again. "Go on," she said quietly. She leaned forward. He dragged his eyes away from her cleavage and looked her in the eyes. "She even tried dressing up for me a time or two but in the end even I could tell her heart wasn't in it." He paused and went on: "Like most men, I like to see a woman wearing a little something. Her choice in nightwear was more functional than passionate, even in summer. If you'd like proof, there are still a couple upstairs; I've earmarked them as dusters." He smiled ruefully. "Only once did she wear a nightdress I'd bought for her. It was a nice thing which had taken me ages to find, yet somehow it did not look quite right on her. It wasn't as if it was the wrong size or even the wrong colour. It was how she wore it. More like a child reluctantly putting on a new school uniform for the benefit of the Aunts. She looked as if she was letting me know that this was a one-off and it was strictly for me not her. I wanted it to be for both of us. I don't know what became of it. Can't say I've looked too closely." He looked back at the TV. "Come to think of it, you can tell I've not looked too closely at this house for a while." He released the sound as the news started again. The moment was gone. She thought she understood why, but was determined not to let it drop and watched the rest of the programme with some determination and lip-biting. As the closing headlines rolled up, Lois poured the coffee and said "Were you ever tempted to watch Jan do it herself?" "I doubt she'd have let me, even if we'd got round to discussing it" he said thoughtfully. "I have to confess to a normal amount of curiosity, if not actual voyeurism. I've seen enough soft porn although I'm not a great fan of the smile at both ends' school of photography." Charlie's Story She nodded in agreement. He went on: "But I did not see it that way at the time. Perhaps I should have encouraged her to demonstrate more what she wanted; she wasn't very forthcoming, if you know what I mean." He smiled ruefully. "Or more demonstrative. She didn't exactly volunteer although she did dance for me a couple of times and tried to show me what she wanted. I rather enjoyed that one." She smiled at him. "You think you could have learned something from it?" she said lightly. "Anything was or is possible. I'm a lot clearer in my head than I was," he replied. "Is that an offer or something?" His voice tailed off. He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. "Not at present," she said ignoring his anxiety. "But turn it on its head. Would you demonstrate for the lady?" "Dunno," he said. "Fantasy is one thing, actual ejaculation is another. Whilst a woman experiences changes in her body when making love, it ain't quite the same for a man. A bloke has to be seen to be erect, or it won't go up. Whether this is a question of stimulation or nerves or whatever is open to debate or maybe medical experts. And failure to be properly erect can be very painful to the ego. It's not a particularly macho thing, just a feeling of embarrassing ineffectiveness. Even in these liberated days, I think it is more satisfying if the lady enjoys herself as much as the bloke." He took his pills with the last of the coffee. "That assumes," she replied, "that the lady seeks such a thing. And we, particularly this lady, don't always seek it. There are other ways to have a little loving fun." As she rose with the cups she kissed him gently and walked out, her hips swaying. Charlie thought it was a very nice sight. As he walked up the stairs he thought of Lois enjoying herself. His sleep was disturbed by images of her, this time in a bikini, or something. .**. Charlie felt better able that week to deal with telephone enquiries and spent a long time on the phone and at the computer. When he felt too tired to go on, he dialled into the firm's computer and transmitted his latest files. His fingers were getting more used to the keyboard and his exercises were paying dividends. A hospital visit during the week and a couple of physio sessions had got things moving and he was looking forward to getting back to work. He began to feel that he was making some effort and hoped his work, whilst absent, would be acceptable. Lois called in on her way back from work on Friday. She looked tired, rather frazzled, but still very nice, Charlie thought. "Would you care to freshen up here?" he asked. "We could go out if you've a mind." "Yes, please," said Lois. "But I have to do a little shopping first. Do you need food or whatever?" Charlie thought about it for a moment and said: "You shower and change. I'll check the 'fridge. We can go to the supermarket on the way." She emerged wearing a shirt and a wrap-round skirt. On her it looked good as tantalising glimpses of leg showed when she stepped out. And he noticed, as she left the doorway in front of him, no VPL. .**. Over the next month or two, they settled into a sort of rhythm, mostly at weekends. They usually sat on the sofa with their drinks. She'd help him with a few exercises, sometimes painful, mostly funny and accompanied by some practical suggestions. There was a lot of kissing in one form or another, but it never got much near the sort of passion she thought possible and this bothered her. She felt increasingly drawn to him. He was courteous, funny, shy and friendly. But in terms of intimacy, there was a mysterious something holding him back. His hand was getting better and the exercises had done well for his muscles and the marks on his face were fading, you now had to know where to look. He'd put the kettle on, or get the bottle out, and then shower and change. He usually came down in a shirt and jeans. This time, she'd changed her sweater for a short wrap-over top. It looked alluring. They sat and watched TV for the rest of the evening. The channel four TV programme had featured several bedroom scenes, but now the set was off and neither felt the urgent need to break the spell and retire. The small lamp gave a glow to the room, assisted by the flickering effect of the fire. Charlie found himself nuzzling her hair and dropping the occasional kiss. Somehow, it felt "right." She broke the spell by topping up the glasses. "Charlie," she said. "You know those books you've got upstairs?. The ones about sexual relationships?" He'd almost forgotten he'd got them, lost as they were in the back bedroom's bookshelves, among the other items he'd not yet quite got round to ditching. He'd got them when he and Jan were trying harder to make a go of things, but to hear them mentioned again only brought a certain embarrassment. "Go on," he said. "I was looking at them the other night," she went on quietly. "There's a good bit in one about trust and sharing experiences. Are you up for a bit of education; a bit of voyeurism perhaps?" She sat down on a nearby chair, leaned back and began to stroke her breasts. Her nipples soon rose like a ball under a blanket. "No less than the next man," he murmured. Then he realised what she was doing and started to tense, almost panic. "But if you feel like doing it, I'll leave you in peace to enjoy yourself." He started to lift his cup, nearly spilling it. "No," she said. "I think you need a demonstration. Wouldn't you like to watch a bit, maybe learn a little something? I feel quite excited at the thought." She slowly stroked an erect nipple. "You settle back. I'm feeling good; about you, me, life. If it bothers you, I'll go up to bed. Does it bother you?" "I don't know," said Charlie. "I've never been there." "You will," she whispered. She leaned forward and pulled the sash on her wrap. She arched her back and closed her eyes. There was a soft sound as she undid her bra. Charlie could feel his own heart beginning to race. His chest tightened as she stroked a breast. He felt himself becoming erect, shut his eyes, forced himself to breath regularly and managed, in what seemed to him to be an age, to control himself. He opened his eyes and watched in marvel at Lois's body as it responded to her questing fingers. He watched with fascination as her hands massaged and caressed her breasts before moving down, lightly over her stomach towards to her tush. She lifted her hips and eased her briefs down and he could see her fingers stroking, flicking, stroking. One hand massaged a breast, squeezing the nipple until both rose like dark pillars against the soft white of her skin. Her tummy muscles rippled, hips thrust and shoulders rocked. Her fingers did not stop stoking her clitoris but changed tempo and stress, an occasional finger vanishing into fascinating folds of moist skin. Her breathing got heavy until she went rigid, gave a long gasp and stopped. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes and looked at him. He coughed. "That looked bloody good," he said after what seemed a long time. "It was, not that you saw much from there," she said, smiling. "Was that the main event or the prelude?" he whispered, then coughed again. "I think I'd like to see more. Much longer and I'd have got going myself," he added, somewhat to his own surprise. "We could make an evening of it, maybe?" she quietly suggested. He paused then said "I'm game if you are. Provided that you don't laugh at the wrong moment. There are times when a simple cuddle is actually nicer, daft though it may sound." She said nothing as she rose, tied her wrap and walked to the door with her under-things in her hand. She turned, smiled and said softly: "No, it does not sound daft. I'm off upstairs." Charlie stood up. She picked up his hand and kissed it slowly, then turned to kiss him. It was a gentle kiss, full of future promise. He drained his drink and took the glasses to the sink, turned out the lights and climbed the stairs. There are times, he thought, that it would be nice to have a cuddle. The companionable togetherness of the sofa and her general friendship was great but left him somehow unfulfilled. As he climbed the stairs, he heard Lois leave the bathroom. The quick thought that he could make love with Lois was just as quickly suppressed. He was just coming out of the bathroom when he heard her: "Charlie, would you like a simple cuddle?" Dressed in his old bathrobe, he tightened the belt and walked cautiously into her room. In the dim light, he saw her lying on the bed. She was wearing a pair of stockings and nothing else. The sight of her made him gulp. She was beautiful. She looked at him, standing nervously and trying not to stare at the charms on display. Jan had always been properly covered. "First, give me a kiss," she whispered. Charlie took her gently by the shoulders and kissed her. Her response was as surprising as it was passionate. It lasted what Charlie thought a long time but not enough as she pushed him away. "You sit there and watch; this is going to be a lesson." She smiled and pointed to the chair. "Watch my hands at my breasts," she whispered as she caressed herself. Her hands stroked her body from breasts to thighs and Charlie watched as a look of pleasure built on her face as she was caught up. She felt herself getting excited her nipples standing out. Charlie felt his penis stiffening. "Now watch," she whispered. Her eyes were half closed and her face took on an almost dreamy appearance. Her hand moved down her tummy and she gently stroked her love lips, feeling the moisture as her fingers slowly and gently explored her clitoris. "This feels nice." Charlie was spellbound by this display of passion. His erection was getting painful. She looked and felt sexy as her fingers stroked her lips. She could feel herself getting wetter as her excitement mounted. Through half-closed eyes Lois could see the bulge in Charlie's lap. Her fingers speeded up and then slowed down. Her hands moved back to her breasts, massaging, caressing, each touch causing a tingle of the nerves resulting in a ripple of muscles before her hands moved back down to stroke her lips and then the clitoris. He could just see a trace of moisture as her love lips expanded to her touch. Her whole body stiffened; she could no longer contain the feelings and she came with a long sigh. There was almost an aura of peace about her as she relaxed. Her tush was wet and somehow inviting. The feeling made Charlie rather nervous. After what seemed like a long time, he spoke: "I never knew that sensuality could look so lovely." She drew a deep breath and whispered "It would be even nicer if you were more than an observer, good though that was. There was a time when I was in some doubt about whether I could do it, but I got the hang of it in the end. Come here." She patted the mattress beside her. He got up from the chair and went to sit on the bed by her. She put her arms round him pulled him down and kissed him. Her skin felt as soft as satin. Charlie was finding it difficult to breathe. His erection was getting more painful. Her hand traced the outline of her love lips. "Go on then, Charlie. See if you can come for me." He smiled, coughed and said "Not just yet. I'm enjoying the view." Her fingers traced the soft down on her tush and her other hand slowly caressed a breast. Charlie was almost too scared to let the magic spell break. He kissed her and she pushed him back, lifting herself above him. She looked closely at him and her smile softened. Her hand went under the bathrobe, pushing the edges aside, so she could get to his erection. She stroked it, gently. "Well," she said with a smile, "adequate blood pressure in the right place, anyway." A flick of her hand and his erection was full and clear. She leaned forward and gently kissed the head. Gently taking his hand she placed it on his erection. "Go on," she said. "For me." Almost by itself his hand stroked up and down in an easy rhythm. Her breast was tantalizingly close but just out of reach. He felt as if his penis had all the blood in his body and was concentrated in one part and all the nerves switched on. She stroked a nipple; the effect was galvanic. His stroking speeded up and then slowed. She leaned forward and kissed his nipple and his hand speeded up until he came, spurting all over both of them. He lay back, as if drained. With a sense of surprise he said "I could get used to that kind of inspiration." She smiled, leaned forward and kissed him. "There's more where that came from, but not tonight. Off you go." And she passed him a handful of tissues. His sleep was not disturbed. He awoke with Lois standing at the end of the bed, holding a cup of coffee and wearing the pyjama top. She looked fresh and happy as she put down the cup. Stiffly, he shuffled a couple of pillows behind his head and sat up with care. Before he could do more she kissed him. Her hands went round him and ran over his chest, pausing at his nipples. The effect was startling. He started to get an erection. "Careful, love," he said, "You may be starting something I can do little about." Lois whispered into one ear. "Let me be the judge of that" and she slowly moved the duvet. Her hand moved lower, playing with the hair on his chest. His erection was getting painful. "Easy," he whispered, "that hurts." "Well," she murmured, "recovery can sometimes be a little painful." She moved the sheets and his manhood stood out. She stroked it gently up and down. Charlie stifled a groan and clutched the edge of the bed. She kissed his chest and kissed her way down while her hand did magic things to his erection; stroking slowly up and down. She took him into her mouth, licking, sucking. Moving her tongue around the head until she felt him stiffen and try to withdraw. His ejaculation was fierce and swift. She swallowed the lot, looked up at hime and smiled like a cat. And with that, she left him to get on with his coffee. He was too stunned to move and his coffee was nearly cold when he eventually managed to drink it. .**. During the week, a package had arrived addressed to Lois. Charlie was intrigued but left it on the bottom step. He had begun to feel much better. He took fewer painkillers and the discomfort he felt did not last as long as it once had. He got home on Friday to find a message on the machine from Lois. She'd be there either late on Friday or early Saturday, depending on work and Jan's arrangements. Charlie got the vacuum cleaner out and then did a bit of dusting, emptied the litter bin and the ash-trays and washed up. By 9pm he'd had enough. The place looked better than it had when he started and the washing machine was doing its stuff. He sat down to watch TV. When he awoke, the TV was still on and showing a foreign film. It wasn't lurid, but the scenes of naked breast were short and tantalising. At least, until the doorbell broke the spell. He switched the TV off and opened the door to Lois. His heart gave a lift as she entered, giving him a light peck on the cheek. As they sat, drinking their coffee, Charlie looked at her: "You look tired," he said. Then he remembered the package. He went to get it and dropped it in her lap. "Ah," she said, "I was wondering if this would come. I hope you don't mind me giving this address for it." "Tell me what it is and I'll tell you if I mind," said Charlie. But she just looked at him over the rim of her coffee. "You'll find out soon enough," she said. "But you are right. I'm bushed and I'm going to my bed" and she went upstairs. Charlie just stared after her retreating figure and then went to wash up. .**. They had a very relaxing evening at the local Chinese, talking shop, exchanging views and experiences. It wasn't far and they walked back. As they entered the hall, Charlie made the coffee whilst Lois said she'd change out of her dress. It was a nice dress, he thought, as she went up the stairs, pastel coloured and high neck, it had a discrete split in the skirt. He got the coffee ready and took it into the living room. The film he'd wanted had been recorded and he re-wound the tape. "Charlie," came a voice from the other bedroom, "I need a little help." Putting his coffee down he pressed the button on the video control. "Coming," he called. He might be up to one hand and two fingers typing, but it hurt just the same, he realised. The video stopped and he went to find her. His hand hurt as he grasped the door handle too hard. Lois was standing at the dressing table. "My zip," she said. Her hand was round the back of her dress, shoulders back, thrusting her breasts out. He whizzed the zip down and quickly turned to leave. How the dickens did she get it on if she cannot get it off, he wondered. She looked good enough to eat, he thought, then suppressed it. The voice of logic in his head said that this was doing him no good at all. "Nice dress," he said. He paused and added: "Coffee's ready." "I'll be down shortly," she replied. They watched the TV news in companionable silence. When the programme ended, she got up and switched off the TV. The silence was deafening. "You spoke of a lady wearing `a little something'. Care to share some fantasies?" she prompted. "Oh, frills and what not." He coughed again. Suddenly he realised that she'd done something with her hair. It looked very nice with the light shining on it. He saw the clock: "Pills time," he said. "Something like this?" she said, rising and slipping from her wrap in one movement. She was wearing a cream satin basque and stockings. A bow was tied at each hip, holding up a small scrap of satin - a G-string. The tops of her breasts quivered as she moved. "This was the package." She smiled. "Do you like it?" "That," he said after looking at her speechless for a moment, "looks wonderful." He coughed, blushed and looked down. The carpet round her feet reflected the light in a different way, he noticed. "Look again," she whispered and took a pace forward. He looked up at her. The lamp shone on her shoulders, highlighting the texture of her skin. His eyes followed the contours of her breasts from the filigree trace hiding the nipples to the frills at the top of the stockings. The light picked out the satin sheen of the material. He could see the dark shadow of soft hair behind delicate lace. His eyes lost their focus as a trace of panic swept across his face. "I should photograph that," he said. "Why?" She asked. "This is the real thing and just for you." There was a pause. "Stand up," she said. With some difficulty, he stood up. "Would you care to dance?" he asked lightly as he tried to flex the muscles in his hand. "Would you like me to dance for you?" She asked as she put her arms round him and kissed him gently on the neck. He was in her thrall by now. He could smell her warmth and perfume. Her hair smelled of apricots. "Yes, No. Oh, I don't know what I want," he said quietly. He put his arms around her and squeezed. As she pushed her hips forward she could feel his growing erection. What came as something of a surprise to him was that he no longer felt embarrassed about it. She leaned back and unfastened a button on his shirt. "Stand still," she whispered. "Close your eyes." She slipped out of his arms and moved behind him. Her hands roamed his chest, pausing slightly at his nipples while she opened the shirt buttons. His erection was getting painful. Her hands explored lower, loosened his belt, and touched his penis. It almost jumped in her hand as his jeans slid to the floor. Then she stopped. "Keep your eyes shut and trust me," she whispered as she side-stepped. "Half a step back and sit down."