14 comments/ 31141 views/ 13 favorites It Was Just Meant To Be By: Britease "Yes Tim," I spoke into the telephone to my friend, partner, occasional helper and drinking buddy. "You rang earlier. What can I do for you on this bright and sunny day?" "You might think it's bright and sunny, Sam," he groaned back at me. "But I've got myself in a bit of a pickle, and could do with some help mate." What? Sam got himself into a pickle? Another one? Nothing new there. I could just picture the poor tortured soul, sitting there without a hair in place and his big, black-framed glasses somewhat askew. With any luck, since it was the beginning of the week, then his socks might just match one another. "What have you done this time Tim?" I asked, grinning to myself. Tim was half way to being a genius, especially with computors, but socially, was, to say the least, a little inept. "It's the pickle of all pickles Sam," he confided in me. "And you're the only one who can help me out." "I suppose this involves a woman again, does it?" "Got it in one Sam," he replied with the first trace of any humour in his voice. "How about you meet me down at the Feathers for a pint and a chat?" "You paying?" "Course I'm paying," Tim answered. "Don't I always?" "Bloody cheek my man," I admonished him with a laugh, knowing that the pair of us could well afford to pay, both, in our own fields, having done quite well for ourselves. "See you in twenty minutes then." "Make it half an hour," Tim suggested, and the rendezvous was set. -------------------- Actually Tim, thirty-one, and a year older than me, despite our obvious differences had been one of my best friends since our teens, when he'd helped me with the intricacies of maths and things, and I'd given him entry to the social set, that he otherwise wouldn't have been accepted into. All sounds a bit contrived and commercial maybe, but besides that, the pair of us hit it off from the very start. He was top of the class, year in and year out, and I was the star on the rugby field. Time passed, and Tim now had his own IT business, that I'd invested in from the early days, and I'd moved on to play rugby for Northampton and England, the star fly half, and terror of all the other rugby playing nations round the world. OK, so maybe that last bit was an exaggeration; quite a big one in fact, but even my own modesty doesn't prevent me from confessing that I was fairly good at what I did best. I didn't earn the millions that the top soccer players did, but I didn't do badly, had invested wisely, and would be more than comfortable when I eventually retired from the game. It worked well for the two of us, me doing the occasional celebrity hand shaking for Tim to promote his business, and Tim doing all my computor stuff, including my blog and my web site, and of course unscrambling my Mac book every other week or so, after I'd done something completely unforgivable to it ----- Again! Why don't computors understand what you're trying to do? So! Half an hour later found me sitting there with my old pal Tim, a pint of Breakspears in each of our fists, a grin on my face and a frown on his. "So what have you done this time?" I demanded. "It's not that barmaid down at the Squeaky Duck again is it?" "No not her this time," Tim mumbled back, glancing over at me guiltily. "Bit of a problem with a chat line." "A chat line?" I laughed out loud. "You never did have any chat up lines. Who is it this time you're trying to chat up." "Not chat up line, you silly bugger," Tim grinned back at me, looking just a little happier. "A chat line. You know. On the internet, when you link up with other people to chat and things." "Can't say as I do Tim," I was forced to admit. "You know what I'm like with computors." Tim nodded his head knowingly, a bit too bloody knowingly for my liking, before continuing with his explanation. "Chat lines are where you go on line and meet people and chat to them." "Sounds interesting," I commented flatly, with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. If I wanted to chat to someone then I did it face to face. "Sometimes you get chatting to members of the opposite sex," he went on, and my eyebrows rose, and my interest with them. "So you've got chatting to some female have you?" "Spot on mate," he replied. "So what's the problem and what's it got to do with me?" "Well we got pretty friendly Sam," he confided, leaning forward as if we were secret conspirators. "We've been chatting for six or seven weeks now, and we've agreed it's time we met up." "Great," I responded, throwing my hands in the air. "So you've made a date. Congratulations, what's the problem? Not some dog is she?" "No not at all," Tim shot back, all smiles. "She's really rather gorgeous." "Gorgeous as in gorgeous, or gorgeous as in not bad looking," I queried, knowing just about all the women that Tim had dated, none of whom were exactly gorgeous. Nice girls nearly all of them, even the barmaid from the Squeaky Duck, once you got used to the way she dressed; but gorgeous ---- No way ---- None of them. Tim was a great chap, good fun, generous and no real downside, but attractive physically to women he wasn't. Tough maybe, but life was like that. "Look Sam," he carried on, pushing his glasses back up his nose, as he fired up his I-pad. "I've got a photo of her." I leant over his shoulder to look at the screen, quite prepared to be impressed. Despite what I'd said about Tim, he did know a pretty girl from an ugly one, so it was with some interest that I watched as a head and shoulders picture of a girl came up on his screen. Bloody hell! Fry my balls in bacon fat! The girl in the picture was gorgeous. No, not gorgeous ---- She was ..... She was ....... She was simply lovely! "Impressed eh?" Tim demanded, grinning fiendishly, and giving me a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Any more pictures?" I asked, convinced that, as stunningly pretty as the girl was, she must be fat or something. Maybe only had one leg or some serious personality disorder?" "How about in a bikini?" Strewth! My heart started to beat faster, and just looking at the girl in the small bikini, got my little fellah down below interested. Tim, my pal Tim had a date with this beauty??? Didn't seem possible, but that's what he'd said. "So what's the problem then Tim," I growled out at last, quite unreasonably a bit put out. "You've got a date with a beautiful woman. Go for it man." "Not that straightforward," he slowed me down. "Why?" "I had to send her a photo as well." "Well that's great Tim," I encouraged him. "She knows what you look like, so no problems eh?" To be honest, a guy like me has never lacked for pretty women, and as a fairly well known sports star I could to some extent, pick and chose as I wanted. But I was jealous! Silly I know, but I was thirty years of age, and for some time I'd been hoping to meet that special girl, and here he was, perhaps, my pal Tim having beat me too it. Jumping the gun a bit of course, but the girl just had that look about her. Sort of girl next door, albeit prettier than any girl I'd ever had as a next-door neighbour. "Go for it Tim," I repeated, trying my best to sound enthusiastic for him. No. Seriously. He was my pal and I was happy for him. Absolutely! "That's the problem mate," Tim whispered, looking down at the floor. "What's the problem?" "The photo," he mumbled back. "What was the problem with the photo?" "I sent one of you Sam," he replied, sounding as if he was being strangled. "Of me?" I cried out aloud. "Why the hell did you do that?" "Well Sam, it's like this," Tim eventually plucked up the courage to explain. "Sally, that's her name by the way, sent me her photo first, and when I saw how gorgeous she was, I didn't think she'd be interested in me, so I sent a photo of you instead." "Bloody hell Tim," I groaned at him. "How could you be so stupid? Surely you must have realised that you wouldn't get away with it?" "I got away with it before," he surprised me with. "But I never actually got round to making a date with the other girls." "What," I responded, raising my voice somewhat. "Are you telling me that you've sent my photo to other girls, pretending it was you." "Yes Sam," he admitted limply. "Five or six of them, but I never made a date with the others, and now I'm in a real pickle aren't I?" Bloody hell! What were we to do now? "You can get the second pint in as well, you stupid bugger," I insisted, and I sat there pondering his predicament, as with a cheeky grin in my direction, he went off to the bar. ------------------------ "You'll just have to e mail her, or whatever it is that you do, and admit everything," I told him when he returned with two foaming pints in his mit. "Got a couple of Directors ale this time Sam, he tried to distract me with, holding out mine for me to take. "No way out man," I went on, not to be put off, but happy to accept my pint anyway. "You've got to take the bull by the horns." "There is another way of course," Tim grinned at me, though I couldn't imagine it. "You could help me." "Now look here Tim," I started on at him. "If you think I'm going to ring this girl up and make excuses for you, then you've got another think coming. You've got to do your own dirty work." His next remark just about rooted me to the spot. "What I had in mind Sam, was that you could take my place," he said. "What?" "You could take my place," he repeated, still grinning. "You could go on a date with Sally." "What?" "You heard," he went on. "Come on Sam, you've seen her photo. Look at the girl mate, not exactly a hardship." "No, but .... But ...." "But me no buts Sam my old mate," he beamed at me. "I'm in a pickle and you're the only one that can unpickle me." "But I can't," I protested. "This Sally, she's...." "Bloody gorgeous," Tim interrupted me. "Please Sam. Please help me out." "But.... But ...." Tim sat there grinning at me, and I couldn't find the words to follow my 'buts' with. Within minutes, I was grinning back at him. "When's the date?" "Friday." "Where?" "Floriano's," he told me, earning him a nod of approval; my favourite restaurant. "What time?" "Eight o'clock." "And I'm Tim for the night?" " That's right," he laughed back at me. "You'll have a great time." "OK. I'll do it," I relented. "But you're paying for the meals." "It's a deal," Tim agreed gleefully. "But you're paying for the next round of drinks. Mine's empty." -------------------- Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of Tim's surprises. I came back with two more pints of beer, Adnams this time. Yes, it was a great pub. "Couple of other things you ought to know Sam," Tim hit me with. "What's that?" "Well Sam," he went on. "When Sally sent me the photo of her in a bikini, I sent one back." "Of me in a bikini?" I joked with him. "No you twerp," he replied, pushing his I-pad across for me to look at. "This one." I looked at the screen and saw a picture of myself, on some beach, in my swimming shorts. Didn't look bad, even though I say so myself. "Where was this taken?" I asked, not recognising the shot. "Spain last year," Tim answered. "You had your arm round that little blonde beach guard, but I photoshoped her out." "The one with the tits," I nodded, confirming that I remembered, even though the photoshop bit left me blank. "That's the one," Tim giggled. "You remember her friend, the one with the dark hair." "I remember Tim," I grinned. "But I still don't believe what she did to you." "Memories Sam," he laughed, a huge smile on his face. "But let's get back to Sally. There's something else you should know." "What's that?" "You have to understand Sam," he went on, going all serious on me. "That these chat lines can get a bit explicit at times." "I can imagine," I answered, though I couldn't really, as I'd never been on one. But what the hell anyway? "I sent Sally a few other photos of you Sam." "No problem Tim." I assured him. Bloody hell, I'm a normal sort of guy and I was preening myself. "One in particular!" "Which one?" He had me intrigued. "I'm sorry Sam, but I sent her one of your wedding tackle mate." "My cock?" I cried out in shock, causing some of the nearby patrons of the pub to look round somewhat disapprovingly. "You sent her photo of my cock." "Yes Sam. Sorry." "But you haven't got a photo of my cock," I stated firmly. "Have you?" I added an instant later, suddenly somewhat less certain. Golly, we'd been together in some odd situations over the years, so who knows what he had in that damn computor of his. "No," Tim grinned at me yet again. "I got one off the internet." "My cock's on the internet?" Oh shit! It's worse than I thought. "No Sam," he assured me, laughing at my reaction. "Some porn star, and I photoshoped it on." Bloody photoshop again! "How big?" I had to ask. "Big enough," Tim admitted. "For God's sake Tim," I appealed to him. This Sally's a doll and I might just make some progress with her. Just how big was this bloody thing that you planted on me? I don't want to end up embarrassed." "Eight inches or so, I guess" Tim owned up to reluctantly. "Oh!" I responded, my face breaking out into a huge smile. "I think I can live with that!" ------------------- Friday night arrived, and I got myself done up smart like. I'd read most of the correspondence between the pair of them, so I knew as much about the lovely Sally as Tim had done. Didn't want to get caught out that easily! Discovered that she was a sports psychologist, so perhaps we already had something in common that we could talk about. Oh yes! Sally had responded to the fake photo of my ..... Well, you know. Only topless, but what a lovely pair of knockers. Big enough without being too big, and perky and firm and full and rounded, and sort of thrusting and ..... Well, you get the picture. I made a point of arriving at the restaurant early and warned Bruno, the boss roughly about the situation. As I said, I was quite well known there, and didn't want him or one of his staff to say the wrong thing and mess everything up, did I? "Don't forget Bruno," I ended with. "Tonight, nobody knows me." I took my seat, facing the door so I could see this Sally when she arrived, and waited, having a moment of panic every time a woman walked in. I'd just about got myself relaxed, when a vision of loveliness walked in through the door. Damn! The photos hardly did her justice. Short blonde hair, suntanned, the cutest of faces, and an athletic body to die for. Just the way she sort of glided across the floor in her short but classy sundress, spoke of fitness and training, her long shapely legs effortlessly bringing her towards me, her lovely face breaking into a smile as she recognised me from my photo. "Hi," she said, "I guess you're Tim." Oh Lordy, the sound of her voice singing out like an angel. I wasn't in love yet, no not quite, but I knew this girl was different to any others I'd dated for a very long time. "Sally," I croaked, and she laughed. So that was what angels sounded like when they laughed! "Sally," I repeated, after swallowing to clear my throat. "I honestly never expected you to be even prettier than your photo." "Good start to our date Tim," she chimed back. "You don't look so bad yourself." I leapt up and held back the chair for her, having a crafty peek at her smooth thighs as she settled herself down, but trying to play the gentleman and not sneaking a peak down the top of her dress. I nearly succeeded --- Nearly! Bruno arrived and somewhat overdid the 'I've never seen you before' bit, but I don't think Sally noticed as she seemed as much taken with me, as I was with her. I know what I eat, as I'm pretty sure I ordered my usual, though I have little memory of actually eating it. Sally had Thai fish cakes for her starter, and took twelve mouthfuls to finish it. Yes ---- I counted them. I had it bad, didn't I, imagining each time that it was my tongue that was disappearing between those lips. OK, other thoughts occurred to me as well, but I was smitten by this girl and didn't want to push it. By the time she'd finished her sweet, some concoction with strawberries by the way, I could have told you how many mouthfuls she'd taken in total, and how many times she sipped the wine. Then, over coffee, what I dreaded happened. "I'm not much cop on computors, Tim," Sally smiled at me innocently. "There are a few things I've never understood. Perhaps you're just the man to help me." The fact that she wasn't a computor wiz was a relief, me supposed to being one myself, but she had questions --- Potential disaster! Time to change the subject. "Maybe I could go through a few things with you another time," I tried. "How's the coffee?" "Coffee's fine," Sally replied. "But Tim, what's a googlewack?" "A googlewack?" I repeated back to her, trying to sound confident, my mind a complete blank. "Yes a googlewack," she went on. "It's something to do with computors and I was wondering what it was." Oh shit! I was just wondering how to change the subject again, when inspiration struck. Golly ---- To my utter surprise, I knew what a googlewack was. Well, sort of. I remembered Tim mentioning it once. "A googlewack is like a bit of memory in a computor," I started confidently, trying to recall what Tim had said. "The more googlewacks in your computor, then the more powerful it is." "Oh," she said, a puzzled look on her face. "I thought they were bykes or something like that." "That's right," I grinned back at her, getting onto a roll. "There's a thousand googlebykes in a googlewack." "Fantastic," Sally smiled back at me, her problem solved. "So how many of these googlewacks is there in a computor?" "About five," I guessed casually, throwing caution to the wind, and amazed at my own knowledge. This computor stuff wasn't so complicated as I thought it was. "How's your coffee?" Sally changed the subject. Pity really, as I was just getting into it. "Coffee's fine," I answered, studying her as she sat there smiling back at me. Oh she was lovely! Fit, suntanned, slim and smiling all the time. Her boobs didn't look quite as big as in the photo I'd seen, but I was hardly going to get up and measure them was I? Dinner finished, we strolled out of the restaurant hand in hand, stealing quick glances at one another, and giggling like teenagers when we caught one another doing it. I felt like I was sixteen again! Then, damn it, embarrassment! There was a flash from alongside us, and I turned to see one of those paparazzi guys with his camera shooting pictures of the pair of us as he scooted alongside trying to keep up with us. Damn him! I could just see it in the morning press ---'Rugby star Sam Murray caught out with new girl on his arm'. Oh crikey --- How that one would go down, Sally thinking that my name was Tim. "Sorry Tim," Sally surprised me with, as if it was her fault, poor girl. "Let's run." I took a firmer hold of her hand and took off down the road, astonished that Sally was able to keep up with me fairly easily, and we ran down the road, leaving the photographer in our wake. A good half mile later and I pulled her over and slowed down to a walk, our pursuer having long since given up on the chase. "You're pretty fit for a computor geek," Sally giggled, hardly seeming out of breath. "I run to keep fit," I responded, more or less honestly. "What about you Sally. You're pretty fit yourself." "I have to be for my job," my lovely blonde explained, and I let it drop, not wishing to be draw further, and continued down the road, hand in hand, with a silly grin on my face. It Was Just Meant To Be --------------- I hardly dared hope she'd accept, but my pad was only round the corner, so I invited her back for a nightcap. "Just a nightcap Tim," Sally teased me with a smile. "As long as you haven't got anything else in mind." "Absolutely nothing," I managed to lie to her with a straight face. "Just a nightcap and a chat." "Not even a goodnight kiss Tim," She giggled lightly. "I'm sure I could manage that," I chuckled back, happily. "Perhaps we could even practice a bit," the cheeky moo teased me again. "I think I might like that." Oh shit! ----------- We were no sooner inside my loft apartment, me desperately kicking a pile of rugby magazines under the table before she saw my photo in any them, than we found ourselves in an embrace. Golly, her breasts felt so firm against me, and her lips were so soft. I was more than aware that my raging erection was pressing into her taut tummy, and her reaction was to press right back. As my tongue slipped easily between her lips, wrestling with hers, my leg slipped equally easily in between hers, and Sally's breathing quickly became ragged as she shamelessly slid herself up and down on my thigh, her pussy feeling hot, hot, hot, even through our clothing. Somehow her dress become undone, perhaps a combination of the two of us, but as it slid down her shapely slim body, I took it upon myself to unsnap her bra. Sally took a step back to let her clothes fall, kicking her dress off to one side and throwing her bra to the other. She made to go back into a clinch, but I held her at arms length, wanting to drink in her beauty. Oh thank you God! My girl; I was already thinking of her that way, stood there smiling back at me clad in just a tiny pair of bikini style panties and a pair of high heel sandals, and suntanned nicely all over. Her arms and legs were a slightly darker shade than the rest of her, and her full round breasts somewhat less so, about matching the area that her panties hardly covered. Gorgeous! Fucking gorgeous. Beautifully toned, and not an ounce of unwanted fat anywhere, yet still managing to look soft and alluring; her tiny waist flaring out just perfectly to the most wonderful curvy hips, and moulding into her long, long legs. Oh those legs! No wonder she could run so bloody fast. "Like what you see Tim?" Sally asked with a smile, arching her back and sticking her tits out even further for me to admire. "I think I'm in love," was all I could manage, which made her laugh, that angel thing again, and made her lovely tits sway beautifully. "Let's even things up a bit, should we," she went on, reaching up to undo my shirt, and between the two of us, we managed to hurriedly divest me of it. Followed by my shoes and socks, trousers, and yes my underpants, but since her panties had also joined the pile on the floor by then, it simply seemed quite natural. That feeling. You know the one. The first time you feel a woman's naked body up against your own. Nice isn't it? Fucking marvellous, and I'd never felt anything to match how Sally felt as she moulded herself tightly up against me. "Mmmm! That feels even better," she groaned as she reached down between us and straightened up my hard dick into a better position, pushing hard up against her bare tummy. I wasn't arguing. "Is there a bedroom somewhere in this flat?" Without answering, as my mouth was already busy, I scooped her up and carried her towards the bedroom, as she squirmed up against me trying still to enjoy the very most of our bodily contact. Barging my way through the door, I went to my king size bed and gently and easily laid her down on it. "Don't mess with me Tim," she pleaded. "Just do it please. Just stick it in." "You're ready?" I demanded, perhaps rather superfluously. "I've been ready since half way through our meal Tim," Sally cried out in desperation. "I've never met a man who effected me this way so quickly and completely. Do it Tim. I need you inside me. I think I'm falling in love with you Tim." I went to, but I couldn't! Honestly. I just couldn't. My dick was rock hard and the will was there, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was about to fuck a woman that I found myself falling in love with, and she had responded the same way. How could our first fuck be based on a lie? How could I make love to this wonderful creature and then tell her that I wasn't actually Tim? How could I? "What's up Tim?" Sally demanded breathlessly, looking up at me, her lack of understanding so clear on her lovely face. "Why have you stopped?" I had to do it. I just had to tell her. Good or bad, I couldn't do it without it being me that was making love to her. "I'm not Tim!" I'd done it! "What," she shot back, stunned, her face full of concern. "What do you mean, you're not Tim?" "I'm not Tim, Sally," I confessed, praying that she would take it well. "My name's Sam, and my friend Tim used my photo when he was e-mailing you." Sally said nothing in reply, simply lay there staring up at me in disbelief, her eyes glistening as unformed tears tried to break through. Oh God, what had I done? I could hardly breath properly and my hands were shaking. "I'm so sorry Sally," I continued. "I just couldn't carry on with the lie. Can you understand? Please Sally, tell me you can understand." "I can," Sally sobbed. "I can understand better than you think." "How could you possibly?" I groaned in frustration. "You have to understand how awful I feel about this." "I can," she repeated calmly. "I can because I'm not actually Sally!" Gulp! "I'm Helen," she went on after we'd both stared at one another in amazement. "Your friend Tim's not the only one who swopped photographs." Gulp! "Tim, sorry Sam or whoever you are, are you still hard?" Some question eh? But I didn't even have to look down to check to answer that I was indeed still rock hard. "Do you think we could get back to what we doing and sort this mess out later please." Well, they do say actions speak louder than words, and that proved to be the case. I lowered myself down, and Sally, or was it Helen, took hold of my dick and guided it carefully in. Wonderful! She felt perfect as I worked my dick back and forward inside her, see-sawing in and out slowly, enjoying the warmth till I could hold it back no longer. As much as I wanted to make it perfect for her, I couldn't hold back and I thrust hard and fast till I felt myself about to explode inside her. Only then did I hear her scream aloud, her fingers grabbing at me and doing untold damage to my back. Who cared? By some magic, we both orgasmed together. It was just meant to be. ------------------- Some ten minutes later, we lay there; the pair of us bathed in sweat and cuddled up in one another's arms. It really was, just meant to be. "Tim," she started to say. "It's Sam," I corrected her with a grin. "How long do you take to recover?" "No telling Sally," I replied, teasing her. "It's Helen and you know it," she laughed aloud. "Come on. How long?" "Half an hour maybe," I said, having no idea really. "Quicker if you help me." "I was hoping you'd suggest that," Helen, yes Helen, giggled happily as she slid her wonderful body slowly down mine, stopping only when her mouth came within reach of my already interested cock. "I'll tell you when I'm ready," I offered, groaning as I felt her warn soft mouth engulf the tip of my manhood. "I think I'll know before you sweetheart," she told me between mouthfuls. "Just leave it to me." ---------------- I think we made love all night, but perhaps we slept sometimes in between. Either way, it was late morning when my phone rang for the tenth or so time, and I decided to answer it. "Sam, it's me, Tim," I heard my pal on the other end. "How did it go mate? I'm desperate to know." "I'll ring you in a few hours, when I've got the complete answer Tim," I replied, smiling down at Helen as she lay there spread-eagled naked across my bed, grinning back up at me, as she played with her left nipple, trying to tempt me. "That good eh?" Tim answered. "Better," I groaned back at him, as Helen sat up and started to rub her breast against my thigh. "Much better Tim." With that, Helen reached across and took the phone off me and spoke into it. "Hi Tim," she said pleasantly. "Thanks for getting Sam for me." Tim obviously said something and Helen laughed. "That's quite right Tim," she spoke back. "But I'm not Sally, I'm Helen." There was another silence as Tim said something else. "I'll let Sam explain that to you Tim," Helen giggled mirthfully back into the mouthpiece. "If we ever get out of bed again." Another silence and this time Helen rocked with laughter at whatever Tim had said. "Got to go now Tim," she ended the conversation with. "But thanks again for persuading Sam to take your place." --------------------- Maybe an hour later we were having yet another break when Sally's --- No, sorry, Helen's mobile rang. "Hi Sally," she laughed into the mouthpiece, having checked on the phone who was ringing. "You're forgiven sweetie. I forgive you everything." There followed a short conversation that I couldn't really make a lot of sense of only hearing one side of it. Besides, I was busy trying to put Helen off by playing with her bits and pieces. Eventually she put the phone down and turned to me. "Do you read the newspapers?" she asked with the hint of a frown. "Yes," I replied. "I get a couple delivered every day. They're no doubt in the letter box now." "I think you'd better go and get them," Helen suggested. "It appears that the photographer last night got a good one of the pair of us, according to Sally." Oh golly! "Look Helen," I started to mumble. "I should have mentioned it at the time, but ..." "Go and get the newspapers," she ordered me this time. Oh heck! Obviously Sally had told Helen that I was a well-known rugby player after seeing the newspaper. I should have mentioned it earlier perhaps, but Helen didn't seem too annoyed. Amused even? I got out of bed, popped out to the hallway and shoving a few letters aside, grabbed the two newspapers, wondering what they would say. I could imagine it ----- 'RUGBY STAR SAM MURRAY OUT WITH MYSTERIOUS NEW BLONDE GIRLFRIEND.' Or something of that ilk. Back in the bedroom, I passed one to Helen and opened the other. There it was! The picture and the headline, but not quite what I expected. 'TENNIS STAR HELEN WALTERS OUT FOR ROMANTIC DINNER WITH RUGBY PLAYER SAM MURRAY.' GULP! "You're that Helen?" I gasped out in surprise at her. "You're that Sam?" she grinned back at me. --------------------- We missed lunch, but somehow it didn't seem to matter, and it was early evening when opened the front door, the pair of us more than ready for something to eat, if only to keep our strength up. Pandemonium! There were photographers galore, numerous reporter types and what looked suspiciously like a TV camera. "How long have you known one another?" "Are you living together?" "How did you meet?" "How ...." Do you ....." "When is ...." The barrage of questions were endless. I held up my hands to quieten them. "Three questions and that's it you guys," I told them. I had a little bit of experience with the press. I pointed to the tall girl who I knew worked for the Sun first. "Sam," she shouted out. "Is it true that Helen and you are in love?" Looking round at Helen, she shrugged her shoulders and sort of --- sort of --- nodded her head. "Yes it's true," I delighted the press throng with. "Next question?" "Is Helen pregnant?" Came the next question. Might have guessed it would be from the News of the World. "Definitely not!" Helen beat me to it. "When are you going to get married?" followed hard on the heels of the previous question, and the whole place went suddenly quiet. That one stumped me, I can tell you, but to my surprise I heard Helen answering for the pair of us. "Sam hasn't actually asked me yet," she announced to the national scandal press. "But if you lot would leave us alone for the rest of the night, then maybe he'll pop the question tonight." Bloody hell! ----------------- So that's how I came to be standing there in the church some six months later, all done up in my hired finery, nervously exchanging glances with my best mate Tim stood right there beside me. 'Here comes the bride' struck up on the organ, and we both turned our heads to see the bride, in a stunning white gown, come striding confidently down the aisle towards us. I can honestly say that I'd never seen her look more beautiful. Nervous looks were exchanged, and we lined up as the vicar started the service. The early bits went over my head, but my mind clicked back into gear when the vicar got to the important bit. "Do you, Timothy Clark take this woman Sally Anne Jones to be ..... etc" "I do," Tim, alongside me, croaked in reply. "Do you, Sally Anne Jones, take this man, Timothy Clark ....etc" That's right! I stood there fiddling with the ring in my pocket, best man at my pal Tim's wedding and waiting for my moment of glory. Helen and I had introduced them and to everyone's surprise they had hit it off straight away. Well, who would have thought it? I guess it was just meant to be. ------------------- Helen and I? Well she was Sally's maid of honour, but the following day she would have to rush off for the first round at Roland Garos, not having long been back from the Australian open. Then there'd be Wimbledon of course followed by America. I'd toured South Africa with the Lions, had been training with the England team and had the new season with the Saints to think about, plus the TV job that had been dangled in front of me. When the hell would we have time to fit a wedding in? Three weeks previously actually, in a huge wedding paid for by one of the celebrity magazines. It's hectic, but married life suits Mrs Helen Murray and myself. +++++++++++++++ Hope you all liked it. Any similarity people might find between the hero, Sam and myself is completely accidental. (And, unfortunately, having to be honest, totally unlikely)