2 comments/ 17239 views/ 7 favorites Romance The Long Way Round By: Pussyrider I'm not sure exactly when I fell in love with Jenny. I suppose it must have been quite early in our acquaintance. We actually started with the company at more or less the same time. I was a graduate trainee, very proud of myself in my shiny new Burtons suit; she was simply one of the nameless plebs who used to push the post trolley around the building three times a day. She was just 19, killing time between leaving college and starting her own more junior traineeship with us. Tall and slim with her long chestnut hair worn in a ponytail, even then she was considerably more stylish than the usual breed of dull-eyed troglodytes who were taken on for that sort of work. Dressed under the standard brown overall in skin-tight Levis adorned with flecks of glitter, impractical wedge heeled shoes displaying toenails painted a different shade every day. Her passage through our office invariably attracted glances and the occasional ribald comment from my older, more self-assured male colleagues. That huge wooden post cart of hers nearly cost me my manhood. Rushing around a corner towards a meeting one day I ran head on into the thing. I managed to twist sidewards to protect my knackers from being crushed, but as my hip slammed bruisingly into a metal handle the styrofoam cup I was holding spilt scalding coffee onto the crotch of my trousers. It was entirely my fault, but tears of embarrassment sprung to the poor kid's huge eyes - that was when, quite incongruously, I first noticed what a pretty cornflower blue they were. Apologising profusely, she dashed around the cart, squatted before me, and began rubbing vigorously at my damp groin with a cloth! Suddenly realising exactly what she was doing she rocked back on her heels in shock, her hand flying to her open mouth as her face turned as crimson as her toenails. Grabbing her trolley with one hand she yelped "Sorry" again and hurtled round the corner like a scalded cat. The lads would have laughed like drains at that story, but I was too embarrassed myself to tell it to anyone! She disappeared from the mail run shortly after that. Then one day I had a problem with one of my invoices and I went along to Accounts to sort it out. That was when I found out she was Jenny McAlpine, a fellow Londoner despite the name, and the squiggle who had been signing off my figures lately. Greeting me with a bright smile she said, "I hope you're not permanently scarred!" It took me a second to realise what she meant and, while the penny dropped, she took the invoice from me and glanced at it. Then, looking back at me with a mischievous glint in her eye, she exclaimed, "Oh, so you're the Mr Douglas the girls are always talking about." Later, of course, I thought of all the snappy, witty answers I could have given her. At the time, thrown completely off-balance by the remark, and by the expectant amused silence of her colleagues around me, I just mumbled an explanation of my query and, feeling my face burning, turned and fled, pursued by shrieks of female laughter. I saw Jenny quite often after that. When there was something to discuss about my accounts; or in the pub whenever someone in the department had a birthday or was leaving, Christmas time, that kind of thing. On those occasions there always seemed to come a point when Jenny and I found ourselves slightly apart from our colleagues, heads bowed together as we chatted about this and that, an amused smile on her face as if she knew some big joke nobody had let me in on. This isolation wasn't intentional on my part -- not consciously, anyway -- but I began to eagerly anticipate each new social evening. On days when I felt particularly fed up I would use the slightest excuse to arrange a work meeting with Jenny, just to see her sunny smile, and hear her throaty chuckle as I cracked jokes and we shared the latest gossip about this or that colleague. We got to work together properly about 18 months after the trolley incident. I was picked to be part of a small team to work on a special project, and was told I was entitled to an assistant. I immediately suggested Jenny, with no idea if she would be interested. She accepted, and there we were -- eight of us, in our own little suite of offices on a two-year deal. Jenny was into power dressing by then -- colourful business suits with short skirts and shoes with four-inch stiletto heels, which combined to emphasise her long, shapely legs. We shared a room with two other blokes, and the four of us quickly developed an easy-going, jokey camaraderie. The work was interesting and challenging, and I prided myself on being one of those rare blokes who could have a good friendship with a woman without the issue of sex raising its ugly head. Not that that explained why Jenny's tinkling laugh so often echoed in my head on the journey home after work, or why she was the first thing I thought about every morning. I really have no idea why it never occurred to me to ask her out. Subconscious fear of rejection I suppose -- after all, I was good enough looking, but Jenny was a real knock-out, truly special; and not wanting to put a cloud over a friendship I really valued. Besides, there was some long-term boyfriend somewhere in the background, although she never really talked about him. Not that I wasn't seeing girls at the time. I regularly went out on the pull with my mates, I just seemed to have a genius for picking the wrong women: the relationships rarely lasted past the first date. In fact for a while it seemed as if my romantic disasters were the main source of entertainment in the office. My male workmates would guffaw as I told my tales of woe, while Jenny shook her head at me in mock despair and chuckled to herself. Away from the strictures of head office we'd got into the habit of team visits to the pub after work every Friday. Nothing heavy, just a couple of drinks and a chat to ease us into the weekend. Jenny and I generally found ourselves sitting together on a velvet-covered bench seat and one evening, as we rocked with laughter at a particularly tasteless joke, our heads cracked together painfully. Jen laughed it off but I saw stars. Immediately concerned, she took my face between her hands and fixed her baby blues on mine, asking in a worried tone if I was okay. Embarrassed at suddenly being the centre of attention I launched into a couple of bars of the old Elvis number 'Hard Headed Woman'. Giggling with relief, Jenny sank back in her seat. After a couple of minutes I became aware of Jenny's hand lightly resting on my thigh. I thought she probably didn't even realise it herself, but as she laughed at another joke her fingers curled into my leg, and as she sat forward to pick up her drink her hand stroked along my upper leg. Instantly I developed the stiffest hard-on of my life. Alarmed that Jenny might notice my trousers doing their impression of a circus big top I quickly excused myself and headed for the gents. Once there I slumped against the wall and loosened my tie. It wasn't a hot night but I was sweating like a man with malaria! Stumbling to the urinal I forced my still stiff member to point down towards the bowl. Seconds later our boss Jim, a short jovial Scot close to retirement, was standing at the next urinal. Staring at the wall, as you do, he asked with forced casualness, "So, how's it going between you and Jennifer?" Something in his tone made me wary: Jen and I had been getting on great, she surely couldn't have said anything negative? I replied guardedly that the work was well on target. With a smirk he said, "Actually, I was thinking of outside office hours." Picking up on my evident bewilderment, as he rinsed his hands he said in apparent surprise, "Paul, you don't mean to tell me you're not giving her one? We all took it for granted -- Christ man, she's gagging for you!" Shaking his head and chuckling he waddled out of the toilet. I was perplexed. If a beautiful, sweet kid like Jenny was making a play for me I thought I would have been savvy enough to notice. When I returned to the bar she was standing buttoning her coat, looking out for me. "Paul, I just wanted to make sure you really were okay before I go." With a straight face I asked which of the two of her had said that. Giggling, she feigned to slap me but instead took my face between her hands again. "Fool! Oh Paulie, I seem to have a special talent for hurting you, don't I. C'mere, let me kiss it better." She pulled my head gently towards hers and placed a tender kiss on my temple. Her jasmine perfume filled my nostrils. Behind her, Jim gave me a filthy leer and raised his whisky tumbler to me in mock salute. Releasing me, Jen put an arm round my waist, gave me an affectionate squeeze and left. Oh shit, I thought, there's that stiffy again! I spent an unsettled weekend trying to get my head round the situation. Jen and I had always been jokily affectionate, but she couldn't seriously be interested in a twerp like me -- could she? Sod it, long-term boyfriend or no, on Monday I was going to ask her out. I could do it in a humorous way and if she wasn't up for it, fine, we'd still be mates, but at least I'd know where I stood. My timing could not have been more impeccable. I arrived at work to find Jen had already been called away to head office. She returned at lunchtime, flushed and excited. It seemed the new Glasgow office was looking for a bright young prospect to fast-track, and Jim's and my glowing reports of Jenny's work, plus the business studies diploma she'd studied for in her own time, had convinced someone that she was the one. She had relations in the area, it meant an immediate salary hike, a lot of new responsibility, and a mapped-out path up the career ladder. It was a brilliant opportunity and everyone else was thrilled for her. Personally, I felt as if someone had just taken a chainsaw to my guts. As soon as we were alone together Jenny came and sat at my desk. Looking searchingly at me, she said, "Paul, I haven't definitely said yet that I'll take the Glasgow job. I'd like to know how you feel about it. I mean, if you think I should stay here..." Yes, I know, sometimes I can be the sort of bloke who wouldn't recognise a million quid if someone dropped it in my lap. I felt absolutely bloody miserable about the prospect of her suddenly being hundreds of miles away from me. But at that moment all I could think was that I couldn't put a selfish fantasy -- which was probably all it was -- ahead of the career prospects of a close friend who I knew was ambitious. So I did the British thing and presented her my best stiff upper lip. With an encouraging grin I told her it was an amazing offer and if I was in her shoes I'd grab it with both hands. She'd probably come back to London as my boss one day. If I hadn't been so lost in my own little world of tragedy I might have heard the edge in her voice as she said, "Oh well, thanks Paul, I'm pleased you're so happy for me to be going." For about 10 seconds I considered putting in for a move to Glasgow too. But it was a small office then, and even if I wanted to leave London for the frozen north, unlike Jenny I didn't know a soul there, and she hadn't actually invited me. In fact, she might think it was distinctly creepy for me to follow her there out of the blue. She was due to start the new job the following Monday, and she was quite distant with me for the rest of the week, which felt like an extra kick in the guts for me. I thought she might be feeling guilty at leaving the job unfinished, so I told her there wouldn't be much of a problem getting her successor up to speed, but that just seemed to make things worse. I was as miserable as sin at her leaving do. For want of something to say I asked how her boyfriend felt about the move. She looked totally confused for a second, then suddenly upset. "My...Paulie, I haven't got a boyfriend, there hasn't been anyone for months. I thought you knew that." We promised to keep in touch, and she e-mailed me a few times with news. Not feeling able to reply as I would have liked - begging her to come back to London, to me -- I replied with jokes. She did actually say in a couple of mails that she was coming down for a few days to see her folks, and would I like to get together for a drink. Each time I said I had other things on. Much as I would have loved to see her, I didn't see the point: she was there and I was here, besides which I didn't want to hurt myself even more by seeing her face and hearing her laugh again, rekindling all the old feelings I was trying to bury, then waving her off back to bloody Glasgow. After I turned her down for the second time the e-mails stopped. And not long after that, my life changed dramatically. I wish I could honestly say I ever really loved Melanie, but the truth is I drifted into marriage almost without noticing. She was someone I'd known slightly at school, short, curvy, blonde, passably pretty, not exactly the brightest light in the room -- completely different from Jenny in so many ways. Mel was sweet-natured and affectionate; yet as early as our wedding night, when I rolled off her and she lovingly traced her lips and fingers across my chest, I lay back staring at the ceiling knowing I'd made a dreadful mistake, and probably ruined both our lives into the bargain. Jenny couldn't find the time to come down south for the wedding -- I'm not even sure why I invited her; she sent me a very sweet card though, saying she was dead jealous, and she hoped Mel appreciated how lucky she was. Oh, and by the way, if I changed my mind at the last moment give her a call. Not that I took any of it seriously of course. Jen's career was soaring in Glasgow, and I saw her name occasionally in the staff bulletin: promotion, heading up a new project, company rep on a local business committee, another promotion...The one that knocked me sideways, though, six months into my marriage, was when I read 'Jennifer McAlpine (Special Projects) has announced her engagement to prominent Scottish financial journalist Nicholas Flower'. I knew nothing about the guy, except that the article said he was 12 years older than her, but I instantly hated the bastard's guts. That was probably why I went on a solo drinking binge before going home that night, provoked a huge row with a completely blameless, tearful Mel, and threw up on the new front room carpet. You know your marriage is in trouble when your cute blonde wife is squirming beneath you on the end of your cock, and behind your closed eyelids you're re-running old movies of your forehead being kissed better by a woman you haven't seen for the best part of two years, who's just got engaged to another bloke at the other end of the country. Everything about Mel irritated me -- her wheedling voice, her inane conversation, the way she never argued with me about anything, even the feel of her hands on my skin. I got especially ratty on the rare occasions she called me 'Paulie' -- only one other person had ever done that. So, after eight months of wedded unbliss, I left my sobbing, uncomprehending wife standing on our front step and moved into a smart but soulless bedsit flat to try and rebuild my wife. When, a month or so later, Mel forwarded the invite to Jen's wedding I tore it into tiny bits and got drunk again. Over the next 18 months I buried myself in my work. Before long I had a promotion, glowing performance reviews, brilliant account balances, and no social life whatsoever. One of my managers told me I needed to lighten up, otherwise wouldn't live to see 40. That seemed quite ironic when, three weeks later, he dropped dead with a massive heart attack on the golf course at the age of 46. About a week later I was told I had a new boss. Guess who? Strictly speaking Jenny was my boss's boss, but he was sleeping his way to his pension so it was me who had to 'interface' with Mrs Flower on almost a daily basis. Her bastard husband, as I thought of him, had arranged a transfer to his paper's London office in order to move with her. The first time we met again I felt my guts lurch with emotion. She told me she had heard my marriage had broken up, and how sorry she was. She had sadder eyes than I remembered, and she looked quite upset on my behalf, which I thought was touching. At first she tried to re-establish something like our old jokey relationship, but I just couldn't make myself join in. I tried to maintain a polite but cool detachment, and over time an almost visible wall of distance built up between us. It wasn't my prediction of her becoming my boss coming true that got to me; it was everything else that had happened since that evening in the pub when she kissed my temple. The truth was, I couldn't bear to be in the same room with Jenny. Any thoughts that I might have got her out of my system went straight out the window. The team would be sitting around a conference table, and all I could concentrate on was the swish of her hair, the graceful curve of her pale throat, her pretty laugh, the occasional whiff I caught of that jasmine perfume - and the hollow feeling knowing that she was going home every night to sleep in another man's bed. A couple of times I was caught out apparently daydreaming in meetings, and I saw Jenny glancing at me, sometimes with irritation, at least once with what looked like concern. After a couple of months I couldn't take it anymore. I knew that I had to get out of there: to another company, another city, whatever, just away from the woman my heart was breaking over on a daily basis. So I started putting out a few feelers, and calling in one or two favours. Things really came to a head one Friday evening when Jenny and I once again found ourselves together in a pub. Well, us and about 40 other folk, celebrating my manager's long overdue retirement. I was lined up for his job, so I should have been in cheerful; but after an entire afternoon closeted with Jenny and a couple of other colleagues, inches from her as we went over some figures, I really wasn't up for a joyful celebration. She had seemed unusually moody in the meeting too, which hadn't helped. So she was propped up on the bar with some fellow managers, I was hunched at a table well away from her with a couple of other miserable sods. As the evening wore on I couldn't help noticing Jenny's voice getting gradually louder, and more strident. Every time I glanced in her direction she seemed to have another glass of something in her hand. When I'd known her before, a single glass of fizzy white wine in one sitting had been about her limit. I hadn't intended to stay late, but just before ten I was still there when one of the managers sauntered over and squatted beside me. "Jen's going it a bit strong tonight Paul. Look, you've always got on well with her. You couldn't have a word, could you, before she makes a total prat of herself?" My immediate thought was, why me? I wasn't exactly sober myself by that time, she was surrounded by fellow managers, and I wondered what planet this guy had been on if he thought Jenny and I were getting on well. But despite everything I knew I couldn't sit by and watch her humiliate herself. So I insinuated myself into her group, sidled up to her and asked, as discreetly as possible, if she thought it was maybe time to switch to lemonade. She reacted like a caged tiger - a very loud one. "Cher-rist Paul, who the fuck do you think you are, my fucking mother or something? Sod off - if I need advice from a junior member of staff I'll send someone to look for you." Her roar rendered the entire pub silent for a moment - quite a feat on a Friday night! I felt my face flush with anger and my eyes prickle with tears of utter humiliation. Shouldering my way through the knot of colleagues staring awkwardly at the floor, as nervous laughter began to resume in the bar, I headed straight for the exit. It was a foul night, with cold, hard rain teeming down: exactly matching my mood. As I scrunched down into my inadequate jacket and stalked towards the tube station, over the sound of the rain I heard the clopping of female shoes running along the pavement, and my name being called. A pale hand with long red fingernails grabbed my arm and pulled at me. I whipped round in a fury and spat "Look, fuck off will you Jen? Just...fucking fuck off, okay?" Romance The Long Way Round I started to move away, but I glanced over my shoulder to see her just standing there, sobbing loudly into the black sky like a lost child as the rain turned her hair to rats' tails. Cursing under my breath I went back and pulled her into a convenient office doorway. She fell against me, still sobbing. "Oh Paulie, I'm so sorry, I really am, I didn't mean it. God, I am such a stupid fucking bitch. The moment I said it I wished I could die. Please Paulie, I really am so very, very sorry." It was the first time since our re-acquaintance that she'd called me that. She was clearly totally pissed and we were both drenched to the skin. Still cursing myself I hailed a cab, bundled us both in and got her to tell the driver her address. Before she fell asleep, gently snoring on my chest, she whispered, "Oh Paulie, I'm sorry, we used to be such good mates, didn't we." I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, angrily trying to stem the flow of tears. Yes, we did, until I cocked things up by allowing myself to read more into it than that. When we got to her home she slumped in a kitchen chair while I towelled my hair dry and made us both coffee. When I innocently asked where her husband was the tears started again. "He's at a trade summit with his slut colleague. Paulie, I'm so unhappy!" She had suspected for a while that Nick was doing the dirty on her; then, checking her e-mails one evening, she'd come across one to him, confirming a double room at the Grand Hotel, Lucerne. As she told me about it I felt a cold, hard rage that scared me. I literally wanted to kill Nick bloody Flower; I swear that if he had walked into the room at that moment I would have beaten the bastard to death. Okay, I had been a piss poor husband, but at least I'd never cheated on Mel. How dare that unworthy piece of SHITE do this to my sweet, beautiful angel? I stroked her hair and shushed her gently. When she had calmed down I turned to leave, then heard her say, "Paul, you can't go like that, you'll catch pneumonia. Look, why don't you have a shower, I'll get you Nick's dressing gown and dry your clothes out overnight." It was late, and if she'd shown me to the guest bedroom I'd probably have accepted. But I froze at her next, half-whispered words. "Please Paul, don't go. I was such a cow to you tonight, and you've been so good bringing me home, I want to make it up to you; to show you how grateful I am." It would have been so easy. Turn around, take two steps, sweep up the woman who I loved with every cell in my body, and carry her to her bed. But I couldn't do it; not when she was too drunk to know what she was saying, feeling betrayed and emotionally battered, and was offering herself to me simply out of an unholy mixture of gratitude, guilt and misguided revenge. So I told her to go to bed and get a good night's sleep, and squelched off into the night to my own cold, lonely bed six miles away. When Jenny asked me to come to her office on the Monday I was as nervous as hell, ignoring embarrassed glances from colleagues who had witnessed the events of Friday night as I wondered what she would say about her offer to me? The simple answer was, absolutely nothing. What she did say was, "Paul I wanted apologise to you again fro Friday night, and to thank you for seeing me home. You were a real knight in shining armour for me. Oh, by the way, can you forget what I said about Nick? He probably isn't really screwing his colleague, I'm just feeling a bit paranoid at the moment. We've been going through a bit of a rough patch lately, but we'll work it out." Trying my best to return her smile I assured her it was already forgotten. Once again, she caught me as I was about to leave her presence. "Paulie - I hate this...this gulf that seems to have grown between us. Can we be friends again. Please?" I gave her a hug and said I'd like nothing better. She clung to me for a moment and whispered "Thank you Sir Galahad." My heart ached, and as I left her office a lead weight formed in the pit of my stomach. Over the next couple of weeks things were much better between us, and she smiled at me more warmly than I'd seen in a long while. She still had sad eyes though; and the situation was killing me - I simply couldn't stay around her any longer. Just as I was seriously thinking of resigning, and living off my investments for a while, my pal Brad in the Toronto office came through for me, big time. They were establishing a new global relations team, they needed someone to head it up and he'd been singing my praises. One ingratiating 'phone call to a Canadian director later and the job was mine! It was a dream come true. Toronto is the coolest, most laid-back city I've ever visited, Canucks are the friendliest, most welcoming people, and as for the girls...what better place to reinvent myself? When I told Jenny my news she looked numb - as if she'd just learned that someone had died. She told me I was making a massive contribution to her team, that there were exciting developments on the horizon in London, etc etc - lots of sound business reasons to stay put. But they weren't enough, and when she saw my mind was made up simply shrugged and said, "Okay Paul, if that's your decision I can only wish you the very best of luck", then turned to her computer, dismissing me. The next day I received a memo from her PA saying that, in the circumstances, Mrs Flower felt it inappropriate for me to continue to attend team meetings, and could I send my deputy along from now on. There were only two weeks to Christmas and I spent most of them tidying up my work and, with Brad's help, arranging an apartment rental in Toronto for the new year. Jenny went out of her way to avoid me. If she saw me coming her way she'd take a different route. If she couldn't avoid me she'd simply drift past with a vague nod, avoiding any eye contact. By the time of the department Christmas party, my last day working in the UK, I was thoroughly miserable, and desperate for our relationship not to end on such a sour note. I looked for Jenny at the party but she wasn't there. Just as I was starting to think she'd gone home, someone told me they'd seen her heading for her office. The light was off, but just as I was about to close the door, assuming the room was empty, I heard a small sniff. Squinting into the gloom I saw her silhouetted against the huge window. Hearing a second sniffle I softly called over to ask if she was okay. From the quaver in her voice it was clear she wasn't. "Yes, I'm fine Paul, I've just got a cold coming. Go away will you? I'll be out in a minute." I closed the office door, but with me on the inside. As I stepped silently across the deep pile carpet towards her I nearly tripped over her expensively tailored suit jacket, discarded in a heap on the floor. She was silent, staring sightlessly out of the window, but her tear-stained cheeks reflected the light from the street. "No you're not okay. Jenny, what is it? Is it that cunt of a husband of yours again?" She shook her head, and pressed her fist to her mouth to suppress a sob. Hesitantly, I stood behind her and placed my hands gently on the padded shoulders of her sleeveless blouse, lowering my head towards hers. "Come on Jen, please. We might never see each other again. Not until you're appointed chief executive anyway. We've been mates for so long, it breaks me up to see you like this. I don't want this to be my last memory of you. Tell me what it is, please, I'd do anything for you not to feel like this. What is it?" In the dark, silent room I recoiled in shock, my hands flying from her shoulders, at the despairing wail she emitted: "I don't want you to go! You're going to sodding Canada and you're right, I'll never bloody see you again, that's what's fucking wrong you stupid bastard." I was stunned. Before I could stop myself I had said "Like you went to Glasgow." She turned on me and shrieked, "Because you told me to!" Making a visible effort to calm herself, she said tightly, "Anyway, that's an hour from here by 'plane, not three thousand fucking miles away. Not that you ever bothered to get on the sodding 'plane." I saw her shoulders heave and waited for the dam of her emotions to burst. Then I realised, with astonishment, that she was actually chuckling to herself. Shaking her head wearily, she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. "Oh Paulie, you just don't get it, do you? You never have. I've had the hots for you virtually since the first moment I ever laid eyes on you." I was dumbstruck. My jaw flapping like a landed fish, I eventually managed to stutter "But you never said anything." "No, like a bloody idiot I waited for the man to make the first move. Only you never did, did you? Christ Paul, there were times when, short of ripping my knickers off and rubbing them in your face, I didn't know how I could make it any clearer." She sat back in her chair and regarded me appraisingly. "You know, for a very clever bloke you can be remarkably thick sometimes. I was nuts about you; the others in the office used to wind me up about it. Old Jim even offered to put a word in for me with you at one point. That day when I asked you if I should take the Glasgow job, and you told me to go, away from you, that was the saddest day of my life. I wept buckets that night -- my mum thought I'd been diagnosed with cancer or something!" I slumped into a sitting position on her desk, my brain totally numbed by her words. Oh my God, how could I ever have been so stupid? I could have spent years with this beautiful, heavenly creation, kissing her, talking with her, making love to her...at that moment I wanted nothing more than to end my stupid, wasted life. Jenny's voice cut through my tumbling thoughts. "I spent years trying to work out whether you felt anything special for me, or whether you were just this really lovely, sweet guy who liked making me laugh. Then you told me to go to Glasgow, and then you went and married someone else, and I thought I had my answer. I cried again when I got your wedding invitation. I was in floods of tears the whole weekend of the ceremony itself. When Nick asked me, for the second time, to marry him...well, he seemed a nice enough bloke, and I couldn't see a reason to turn him down any more." I wanted to beg her to be quiet, to stop turning the knife in my aching guts; but my throat was too constricted to speak. I felt a searing hot tear coursing its way down my cheek. Not noticing, she continued. "Then when I came back to London you were so cold, so cynical, I told myself for a while I was over you, despite wanting to reach out and touch you every time we were in a room together. But that night you took me home, when I offered myself up on a plate and you walked away - God, I wanted you so much that night - I knew you really couldn't fancy me. I even wondered if I'd misread you all these years, and you were actually gay. You're not are you?" I think she smiled as she made that last comment, to indicate she was joking, but my eyes were too clouded with tears to see. Forcing my voice past the boulder which had lodged in my throat, I gasped, "Jenny, I love you so much it rips me apart to be anywhere near you. I can't remember a time when I didn't love you. I've never loved anyone else for a single moment. When you went away to Glasgow it nearly killed me. There hasn't been a day since then, not even an hour, when I haven't thought...oh Christ!" Unable to go on I broke into howling, wracking sobs, my whole body shaking as I buried my face in my hands. I don't know how long I went on for. Jenny came to me and hugged me to her, her cheek against the crown of my head as I wept into her chest. She was crying softly too as she whispered to me "Oh Paulie, my poor sweet darling baby. Honestly, what are we like!" Eventually, after a minute, or maybe an hour, as my weeping began to ease, I felt her hands close around my wrists and gently pry my hands away from my face. A thumb stroked the tears from one of my cheeks. Tenderly she placed a hand beneath my chin and raised my head, murmuring "C'mere, let me kiss it better." A cool bare arm slipped around my neck and she pulled my lips to hers. I felt immediate arousal as her tongue slipped into my mouth, lazily circling my own. As I passionately kissed her back I hugged her to me, so tight it was if as if I thought I might merge our two bodies into one. She eventually broke the kiss and rested her head against my sholuder for a moment, just whispering my name over and over. I was about to suggest we go somewhere else, in case someone came into the room and found us, when she slithered down my body, whispering "You wouldn't believe the number of times I've imagined doing this for you." All thoughts of going anywhere flew out of my head as I watched in stunned amazement as Jenny McAlpine-Flower, my corporate manager, the most stylish, sophisticated person I will ever know, unzipped my fly, reached her long fingers inside and released my straining cock. She examined it for a moment then, with a wicked glint in her eye, glanced up at my face and husked "Mmm, no scarring that I can see. In fact it's beautiful, just like its owner." Then she closed her mouth over it and my eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy as she began swirling her tongue around it, as ownership of the item in question passed from me to her. When she began slowly sliding her lips up and down the shaft, gently grazing it with her teeth, and teasing a long, manicured fingernail up my scrotum, I knew I couldn't last long. I wanted to be inside her, properly, before I woke up and found this was all just an incredibly vivid dream! She grunted in momentary protest as I pulled her to her feet, but as I pushed her tight skirt up around her hips she gasped "Oh God yes" and reached for my belt. She got a fit of giggles as I struggled to get her tights and pants down. I dragged them off one foot and left them pooled around the other. Then her hands were back around my cock guiding me into her. As I thrust with all my strength she, gurgling with laughter, wrapped her legs around my hips, leaving me to support her weight with my hands gripping her bum cheeks. I felt myself losing balance and, hobbled by my trousers, managed to stagger over to a sofa by the office wall before collapsing. Now above me, her knees either side of me, Jenny bucked up and down, impaling herself deeply onto me with each thrust. Gazing up at her beautiful face, contorted with lust, I could hold off no longer, exploding into her like Vesuvius engulfing Pompeii as she clamped her lips to mine, roaring her own release into my mouth. Utterly drained by the emotional roller coaster I'd been riding for the last few minutes I sank into the sofa, my eyes closed. I felt something press against my lips and parted them to admit a small, firm breast with a soft spongy nipple on which I nibbled languidly. Emitting one of her sexy, throaty chuckles, Jenny whispered, "So, that'll be a no on you being gay then, right?" It was several weeks later that I stood on a hotel balcony, wearing only a dressing gown, watching dawn rise over the breathtaking vista of Niagara Falls in the snow. My apartment in downtown Toronto was only a two hour drive away, but there was something wonderfully decadent about staying in a luxury hotel in such a romantic location. So far Canada promised to be everything I'd hoped for, and more. Naturally there were a lot of things I'd miss about England. And, of course, a lot of people... "Come back to bed sweet-pea. I want to fuck your brains out again." Amused by the contrast between the crudeness of the words and the tender tone with which they were spoken, I turned to marvel at my indescribably beautiful, soon-to-be-divorced fiancée, seductively lifting the duvet to reveal her long, pale body stretched out on the bed in all its naked glory. There's something incredibly intense about finally making love to someone you've been in love with for years, and Jen and I hadn't been apart for a single day - or night - since that evening in her office. We'd done a lot of making up for lost time; not just the obvious, but simply clinging to each other, experiencing the feeling of our naked bodies touching each other, talking softly about everything and nothing. Now every hour away from her feels to me like more valuable time wasted. We had agreed, at my insistence, that she take the job I'd lined up for myself -- Toronto had been delighted at getting the company's brightest star. Brad, our best man in waiting, had played a blinder for me and found me a post in another department. It meant a considerable drop in salary for both of us, but our future prospects were good and, besides, any sacrifice was worth it if it meant I could spend the rest of my life making love to, just being in the presence of, this amazingly lovely angel. I am so deeply in love with her that it sometimes feels as if my heart will burst, unable to contain all that I feel. I don't think I'll ever get used to the knowledge that such a fabulous goddess can possibly adore a berk like me as deeply as she does. "Please darling," Jenny breathed. She shrieked with laughter as, in response, I bounded from the balcony to the bed and leapt on top of her. A few moments later she gasped with pleasure as my ready cock slid inside her. Our tears of love mingled as, for the millionth time, we kissed.