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The Volunteer

By: double_entendre



I would like to once again thank my editor Bechgen, for putting forth the time and energy required to correct this work. It is our hope that through our combined efforts can bring you a story that is for the most part free of errors and enjoyable to read. – Double_entendre. 




Have you ever wondered if your life was preplanned long before you were ever born, or does it simply fall into place randomly by a series of choices that either you or someone else makes that directly or indirectly effects the outcome of your existence? That is a question that has pretty much plagued mankind since the beginning of time, and yet we still have not been able to reach a consensus on the answer. My name is Ryan Foster, and like everyone else, I have formed my own opinion on the subject, but instead of sharing it with you directly, I ask instead that you read my story, and from there you can decide for yourself what you believe to be true. 

I am an only child from a working class family. My parents, Henry and Virginia Foster, both held down jobs, while I of course went to school. Although I never really considered myself much of a brain, I did manage to hold my own when it came to classroom work. There was one area, however, that I truly excelled in, and that was computers. My initiation into the world of keyboards and mice came in the form of a scrawny nine year old boy whose parents had recently moved in next door to my own. Jimmy Lance and I took an instant liking to each other, and he became my best friend for the entire seven years that we were neighbors. 

Jimmy's dad Walter was a major computer geek, and from an early age taught his son everything he could about the wonders of technology. Jimmy started to relay some of his father's wisdom back onto me, and we were both amazed at how quickly I picked up on it. Mr. Lance, who secretly always wanted to be a teacher but chose the life of professional instead due to its monetary rewards, loved the fact that he now had two eager pupils in which to pass on his vast array of knowledge. As our skill level advanced he made us both take an oath that we would never use what we were taught for evil purposes. It was after we took this pledge that things really started to get interesting.

Five years into my friendship with the Lance's, tragedy struck on my end when we suddenly lost my mother in an automobile accident. My heart was in torment, and Jimmy, bless his soul, knew that what I really needed was a distraction to keep my mind off of my trouble. He graciously talked his dad into stepping up our lessons to more advanced levels.

By the time that Jimmy's family had to move away, which although following far behind my mother's death was still the second worse day of my life to date, I was able to do things with computers that most people couldn't even dream about. It was the summer between my junior and senior year of high school, and without Jimmy being there to help occupy my free time I desperately needed to find something else to do. My father and I argued relentlessly about me getting a part time job. Dad feared that once I got a taste of what it was like to have a steady income, college would lose some its appeal. He complained that too many kids take time off from their schooling in order to either "find themselves" or save up money, and then life gets in the way preventing them from ever returning to their education. In all actuality I don't think my dad minded the fact that I wanted to work, but it was the paycheck he was scared I'd get hooked on. We finally managed to reach a compromise when I suggested that I look into some volunteer work for the summer and reminded him how good stuff like that would look on college admittance applications.

One would think that the offer of free labor would be in very high demand, especially with the declining economy. The truth of the matter was that there were really not that many opportunities to choose from. In the end there was one detail, that although well below my skill level, was still somewhat worthy of inquiring about. It seemed that with budget cuts the state needed someone to upgrade software on a few of their older computers. The work itself would actually be of no challenge to someone like me whatsoever, but the real shocker was that the PC's they wanted worked on just happened to be located in a medium security women's prison. 

I debated with myself as to whether or not I should even apply for the position, but figured I could at least go through the interview process and then see what they had to say.

Naturally I sailed right past the computer portion of their examination, but the hoops they made me jump through in order to pass their extensive security background started to make me question as to whether this shit was really even worth messing with. Evidently I must have met their quota, because they did offer me the job, and that's when the second shoe fell. I learned that if I took the position I would actually be working with a real live inmate. What the fuck was I getting myself into?

In the end it was my sense of loss and sheer boredom that convinced me to go through with it, though I did feel a little better when they assured me that the woman I would be working with was incarcerated for a white collar crime and I would essentially not be in any real danger. "Famous last words"

Melody Farnsworth was not exactly the most pleasant woman I have ever come into contact with. To be honest, she was an absolute bitch from the moment we said hello, obviously blaming the world for her lot in life. I would come to realize much later, however, that she really did have good reason to feel this way. Our work was long and boring, as we had to upgrade the operating systems on over 70 computers. Since they didn't want any leftover residue from the previous version to potentially cause problems down the road, we had to dump each hard drive and start from scratch. This was a slow process and would have given us ample time to engage in conversation. Unfortunately it became abundantly apparent early on that Melody had no desire to talk to me. 

It was about a week into our assignment when Melody came across her first problem machine. 

"This damn thing just won't work," she complained.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked.

"I keep getting this damn blue screen," she said.

"Here, why don't we switch computers?" I suggested.

"What makes you think that you can do any better, genius?," she asked.

"All I can do is to try," I replied smiling.

"Fine," she relented. "I was getting sick of that piece of shit anyway," she said.

The problem was easy to resolve, and I had it fixed in a matter of minutes.

"It seems to be loading fine now," I told her.

"How did you do that?" she asked in amazement.

"These older machines sometimes don't respond very well with their hardware components. I ended up just changing a few IRQ's in the bios. It seems to like this configuration much better," I explained. 

"You really are pretty good at this kind of stuff. So when are you going to start quizzing me about the money?" she wanted to know.

"What money?" I asked totally confused by her question.

"You don't have to play dumb with me. You are not the first spy they have sent in to try and get me to crack. I will tell you what I told them, I am innocent, and have no idea where all that cash disappeared to," she stated.

"You'll have to forgive me, but I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about," I told her.

"Yeah, right, do you honestly think that I am going to believe some kid just happens to volunteer to work in a women's prison installing software on his summer break from school for no good reason. Face facts, you are after the money just like everybody else. The problem is I don't have it, and I have no idea who does," Melody said.

"I still don't have a clue as to what money you're referring to, but the reason that I am volunteering this summer is that my mother died last year, and my best friend for the past six years just recently moved half way around the country. I am trying to find something to occupy my mind so that I am not constantly dwelling on it," I explained as a tear rolled down my cheek.

"You are telling the truth, aren't you? I figured that they would have told you all about me before having you start working here," she said.

"All I was told about you is that you were pretty good with computers, the crime you were convicted of was white collar, and I would essentially be in no danger while helping you," I admitted.

"Everything you just said is correct, but the truth is I really am innocent. I don't have any idea what happened to the money," she told me.

"First of all Melody, I still don't know what money you are referring to, and secondly, I believe you," I replied honestly.

"I am talking about the eighty-seven million dollars that suddenly disappeared from the accounts I was managing at the investment firm I used to work for," she said, while watching my face to gauge my reaction.

"Wow! That certainly is some huge hunk of change," I replied, totally shocked by the figure she just quoted.

"You really had no idea about the money?" she asked in wonderment.

"No ma'am, I didn't," I replied.

"You said you believed I was innocent, do you still feel that way now that you know what I was convicted of?" she asked.

"I'm sure of it," I replied, staring her straight in the eye.

"How can you possibly be so certain, we barely know each other?" Melody asked.

"Mom was always a bit psychic. She even predicted that she would die young and tried to prepare dad and me for it, but neither one of us wanted to believe her. She always said that I had a touch of the gift myself, though it was nowhere near as well developed as hers. She was able to teach me how to look into someone's soul to find the truth. I know you are not guilty, just as sure as I know my own name is Ryan Foster, and although it may take some time, I am going to prove it and get you out of here," I assured her.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," was her quick reply.

"I never do. My father taught me a man's word is his oath," I stated.

"You're just a boy," was her flippant response.

"Be that as it may, I am still going to get you out of here," I told her.

"Whatever," she replied, not believing I would actually do it. "Why don't we talk about something else," she suggested.

So from that point on Melody and I started to share general aspects of our life with one another. The two of us actually had many things in common. I learned that she was an only child, and that both of her parents were deceased. She had to struggle through her accounting degree on mainly part time jobs and student loans. It was her proficiency and excellent grades that landed her the job at Barkers investment firm. She said that at this point she thought that her luck had actually started to turn around. She got a promotion and was finally earning a decent salary. She'd even met a guy and started having aspirations about becoming a wife and mother. That is when her life fell apart. Somehow her passwords were used to steal massive amounts of money from client accounts she had sole access to. The funds, which totaled just over $87 million, were never recovered, and since she wouldn't return the money she was given the maximum sentence allowed by the state. 

"Can you believe it? I have to stay in this hell hole for fifty fucking years. My life is ruined," she said, wiping away the tears with her shirt.

"I won't let you stay in here for that long. No matter what it takes, I will find a way to prove your innocents," I stated with as much conviction as I could muster.

"I know you mean well, but there is really nothing you can do. Please stop making promises you can't keep," she said.

"A man's word is his bond," I told her as I was leaving. "See you on Monday," I said.

The first thing I did when I got home that night was to look up everything I could about her case. Since I truly believed that Melody was innocent, then it only stands to reason that someone had to of set her up. My job was to find the person, or more likely persons, responsible for doing so. I started comprising a list of anyone that was either directly or indirectly involved in Melody's life during that time period. I remembered creating a family tree for my genealogy class, and used that same method for linking my suspects together. 

When it was time for work on Monday, I decided to keep Melody in the dark about what I was doing. I wanted to hear her story, but was afraid she would get the impression that I was just after the money again. That was definitely not my motivation. 

As our friendship grew more intense, I had to always walk a fine line between trying to ascertain as much information as I could without making her feel like I was milking her for the story. I felt so sad to learn that basically everyone in Melody's life had abandoned her. I vowed that I would always be there for her, no matter what the outcome of my investigation revealed. 

As the weeks passed, it became clear to both of us that our time working together would soon be over. I made the suggestion that she could add my name to her list of preapproved visitors, so that I could still see her after our job was finished.

"Ryan, I don't think it's healthy of you to be spending time with me instead of trying to find friends your own age," she said.

"Don't you think it should be my decision as to whom I choose to spend time with?" I asked her.

"Not when you're obviously becoming too attached for your own good," Melody stated.

"I thought we were friends?" I asked her.

"I can't afford to have friends at this stage of my life," she replied.

"Everybody needs friends," I assured her.

"Well, not me, and I especially don't need some lovesick teenager drooling all over the place. The girls already accuse me of robbing the cradle, as it is," Melody told me.

"Look, I won't deny that I find you attractive, but I have never once said or done anything that was even remotely out of line," I argued.

"You don't have to, when desire is written all over your face," she challenged.

"I don't think I'm such a bad guy," I said defensively.

"That is part of the problem, you're not a guy, you're just a kid," she told me.

"Maybe so, but I am the kid that's going to get you out of here," I stated with conviction.

"Would you just stop saying that, we both know it's never going to happen," she yelled, causing the guards to look our way. 

"Look, I give you my word I am working on getting you set free, it will just take a little more time, that's all," I tried to convince her.

"Do you really expect me to have any faith in some schoolboy?" she asked.

"I'm not your average school boy," I told her.

"Fine, if you're so fucking gifted, then you won't have any problems finishing the rest of this shit by yourself, because I quit!" she exclaimed as she bellowed for the guard to take her back to her cell.

Although I pleaded with her not to go Melody refused to relent, leaving the remainder of our work for me to deal with on my own. I of course completely understood where she was coming from. I knew it was stupid to keep bringing up the fact that I was working on getting her released, but I was just so desperate to give her some degree of hope that I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. Now she won't even talk to me. 

It didn't take long to for me to finish up our little project, and then I once again found myself with too much time on my hands. Rather than sit around being bitter about it, I decided to focus all of my energy into solving Melody's case. I knew she was still angry with me, but that didn't mean I could go back on my promise to help her, even if as she had suggested I really was just a lovesick schoolboy.

I had it in the back of my mind that there was probably more than one person responsible for framing Melody. I tried to do what they showed on TV, and put myself in the mindset of the criminal. I focused on how I would go about pulling off such a crime, while deflecting the blame onto someone else. It wasn't always easy for me to get my head around this form of debauchery, as I actually started feeling guilty at times over my own thought process. I had to treat this as a type of game before I could get fully immersed in my goal to unravel the perfect crime.

After reviewing all of the facts, I felt compelled to focus mainly on her ex-boyfriend Harvey Wallace as my primary suspect. I really don't know what drew me to him exactly, except that whenever Melody would speak of their relationship, I would get the distinct impression that things weren't quite as wonderful as she made them out to be. There was just something about her description of the man that didn't fit with my profile of what a loving boyfriend was supposed to be. I just hoped that I wasn't allowing my jealousy of him to cloud my better judgment.

It took almost no time to track down old Harvey's whereabouts, and once I did, I started to gather a pretty substantial amount of circumstantial evidence against the man. I knew that nothing I had discovered so far would be enough to overturn her conviction, but I at least felt I was making some sort of progress in that direction. For it to happen, though, I would surely have to recover the missing $87 million. Only then would I have enough leverage to get the justice department to reopen the case. 

As luck, or perhaps maybe fate, would have it, Harvey's current address showed that he lived in the same city as my Aunt Linda on my mother's side. When I brought up that I wanted to go for a visit, Dad was all for the idea. He was never really crazy about the fact that I was working in a women's prison to begin with, and when I started discussing my friendship with Melody I could tell he was starting to get concerned about how close we were becoming. To avoid arguments, I basically stopped mentioning her to him all together. I know he was thinking that this trip would help get my mind off of her, but if he even suspected what my real motives were for going, I'm am sure that the shit would have most definitely hit the fan. 

In all actuality it was really great to see Aunt Linda again, and since she and her husband both worked the day shift, I was pretty much left to my own devices until they arrived back home sometime after six P.M. each night. I quickly found Harvey's place of residence, and for nearly two weeks straight I stalked him relentlessly, desperately hoping that he would eventually slip up and possibly lead me to where he stashed the stolen loot. It was nearing the end of my stay with Aunt Linda that I suddenly hit pay dirt. I was tailing Harvey on the subway, when I noticed him removing what looked like to be a laptop case out of a locker. He then proceeded to the nearest McDonalds where he ordered lunch. I watched him take out his laptop and log onto their free WIFI connection. I quickly booted up my own laptop and hacked into his system through their non-secured line. Did I mention before that the advanced lessons Mr. Lance had taught Jimmy and me was in the field of computer hacking? Walter showed us the basics, but it was through my own skill and determination that I advanced to the level I am today, which by the way is damn good, if I do say so myself. As I sat there letting my PC record everything the bastard was doing, I knew that I finally had the son of a bitch right where I wanted him. Now it was time to call in the big guns.

I am sure the representative from Barkers investment firm was curious as to why I made an appointment to see him, especially after I requested that not only their attorney, one of their claim adjusters, and their best IT man be present in the meeting, but also I wanted the top man in charge of building the case against Melody to be there as well.


The Volunteer



"Ashanti, your husband is a world class ass." Theresa filled our wine glasses.

"You don't have to tell me. I live with the man." The blend from one of our local wineries was soothing and sweet. I could taste a hint of cabernet but couldn't figure out the other flavors. "I just wish that Craig would spend one Friday night with me and let the homeboys do their own thing. I mean, those bastards have girlfriends and wives of their own too."

"Yes they do. And those wives and girlfriends are sitting around complaining on a Friday night, alone, just like you."

"Right! As soon as our son became a teenager with a little more independence, Craig started acting a fool. Sometimes I wonder if he is cheating. What do you think?"

Theresa tilted her glass and downed the last of the wine. "I don't think so. He is a fool, but he isn't a damn fool."

"What does that even mean?"

"Girl, I don't know. It must be the wine talking." We laughed and Theresa punched my knee. "What I do know is that you are here and I am glad that you decided to kick it with me tonight. I am going to call a cab, we need to get going."

"I am not so sure about this show," I said. I finished the last of my wine and stood from the plush couch.

"You are going to have fun. Besides, your tight ass needs to get out and have a little fun. Trust your girl. Mistress Daphne puts on a wild show."

The sound of that name, Mistress Daphne, sent my spine tingling and images of all sorts of debauchery through my mind. Craig had often accused me of being a one position prude, and honestly, there was some truth to that. I loved sex, no I liked sex, but it wasn't my end all be all. And I definitely didn't understand those people that wanted to be tied up and crazy stuff like that. And spanking? Not this sister! Hell, I almost killed Craig when he slapped my butt during sex a few years ago. I only agreed to see Miss Daphne's Show because I didn't want to spend another Friday night alone, and Theresa had an extra ticket.

It was a twenty minute cab ride from Theresa's suburban home to the downtown area. We spent most of it flirting with our driver, a caramel skinned college student named Joseph. He had white t-shirt that clung to that body of his like, like a dream. I wanted to wrap my thick frame around that body of his and just, just let it happen.

Theresa and I climbed from the cab; she blew him a kiss and slipped him one of her cards. "I am going to have some fun with that one." She bit her lip as the cab drove away.

We descended the stairs and entered the small club; it was already beginning to fill. I took a moment to spy the other people; all of them were dressed like me in casual but nice clothes. I half expected to see a bunch of leather clad freaks in handcuffs and nipple rings and tattoos from head to toe. This was tame, and I was slightly disappointed.

We took our seats, three rows back and near the center of the stage. A few minutes later the lights dimmed and Miss Daphne was introduced. Every stereotype I had was blown away as she walked out roaring applause. In my mind, I had constructed a giant amazon like white woman in leathers, wielding whips and chains in both hands. But Miss Daphne was a tan skinned woman, much like me, petit with a thick ass and small breasts. She was in nice tight jeans, high heels, and a low cut white t shirt.

"Thank you for coming out tonight," Miss Daphne said. "Where are my bitches?" With that two men dressed only in leather shorts sauntered onto the stage. "Oh, here are my bitches. Down," Miss Daphne commanded.

Both men dropped to their hands and knees. On command each one kissed her feet.

"Is this for real?" I shifted in my seat. I couldn't take my eyes from the stage and I was little bit turned on. I imagined my own husband on his hands and knees, kissing my feet on command. 

"Oh yes, girl. Miss Daphne runs this shit!" Theresa put a hand on my shoulder and laughed.

The woman walked around to the rear of one of the men, reached between his legs and grabbed his balls, hard. "You like this, don't you bitch?"

"Yes Miss Daphne, I do."

"Do you want me to grab harder?"

"Yes Miss Daphne," The man's voice was strained and his face winced as the pain in his crotch grew.

"Too bad, you haven't earned it yet. Get the fuck off my stage!" She swatted the man on his ass as he crawled off stage.

I realized that I was smiling. I blushed and spied the people around me. I guess I was worried that someone might see me slightly enjoying myself. But nobody was paying any attention to me because they were enjoying the show just as much as I was.

"You! Are you ready to earn your keep, you bitch?" Miss Daphne pointed at the remaining man on stage. He was still down on all fours.

"Yes, Miss Daphne. I am."

She turned to the audience and paced slowly and seductively from one side of the stage to the other. "I need a volunteer. Anyone?"

"Me, I'll do it!" A familiar voice screamed. Theresa looked at me with her mouth wide open and her eyes in obvious shock. It was then that I realized I had shouted out and voulunteered.

The dominatrix tapped the man on the shoulder. "Fetch her."

The man in leather shorts agreed. Within seconds he was off the stage, and made making his way toward me. I screamed no, but no sound escaped me. As the half naked man stepped closer I bit my lip in anticipation. What was I doing. I felt hundreds of eyes on me and heard the applause signaling the audiences approval. Miss Daphne kept her large eyes on me as if she were anticipating the fun filled tourture of an innocent victum. I struggled to relax and breath as the man placed a strong hand on my shoulder. He offered his other hand to me. Now was my chance, my last chance to change my mind. But I didn't. I gave him my hand and he led me to the stage.

"What is your name?" Miss Daphne asked. Her breath smelled of strawberry bubblegum. She was intimidating and larger than life, even though she was petit and smaller than me.

"Ashanti."

"Oh, Ashanti. I like that name. I like how small and cute you are, even with those nice round tits and that fat as. Ashanti?"

"Yes?"

"Ashanti," said Miss Daphne. "I like your shoes too. Take them off and give them to me."

I raised an eyebrow. Was she serious? She couldn't be. "Excuse me?" I said.

"Let me explain how this works," Miss Daphne said. She pulled a black marker from her pocket and unscrewed the cap. "I give the commands and you obey them. Do you understand now?"

"I think so. But you want my shoes?"

"That is what I said isn't it?" Miss Daphne shook her head and then pressed the marker to my cheek. She drew two quick straight lines on my face. "When you disobey, you get a check. And each check represents something fun, for me, later. Do you understand?"

I wanted to protest, but I nodded instead.

"Good! Now I want your shoes."

I kicked my cute shoes from my feet and handed them to her. My heart skipped as the people in the crowd applauded. I bit my lip and looked into the eyes of the dominatrix.

"Good girl. You know what? I like that belt. Take it off and give it to me."

"Oh my god," I said. Part of me wanted off the stage, but another part was more excited and alive than I had been in years.

"Did I ask you to speak?" She pressed the marker to my cheek again. Shit, that was three. "Now give me that belt.

I slowly undid the belt and handed it to hear. I tugged at my pants to make sure they would not fall down in front of all of those people. "You are a good girl. Turn around."

I did as I was told and felt her run a finger from my neck down to the small of my back. My knees when slightly week as she grasped my ass. I bit my lip and pressed my thighs together and tried to fight of the electricity that was shooting through me.

"Take those jeans off. I want to see that ass." Her voice was gently but commanding.

"Wait." I turned around to face Miss Daphne and protest. She marked my cheek again.

What was happening to me? I removed the pants without thought and stood flushed with my head held low in front of an auditorium of people. I hated myself for allowing the humiliation, but I loved being toyed with.

"Turn around," Miss Daphne commanded and I obeyed. "You are so pretty. I love that pink thong."

"Thank you Miss Daphne," I said. Damn it! Speaking without being asked to earned yet another mark on my face.

Miss Daphne turned to the man on stage. "I like her shirt. Bring it to me."

The handsome man, dressed only in leather shorts walked behind me. The excitement was killing and I almost fainted as his hands ran across my breasts. He was hands were strong! He was gently at firsts; he circled my breast before pinching my nipples. I closed my eyes and then damn near climaxed as he ripped the shirt from my body; I heard bottons bounce across the stage.

I franticly tried to cover my bare chest by crossing my arms. I stood in shock as people whistled and cheered. God! The conflicting feelings shot heat through my body. I was humiliated, and loved every second of it.

"Well everyone, how about a hand for our volunteer! Didn't she do great?" Miss Daphne raised a hand to the audience; the stood and applauded.

"Ashanti, I have some gifts for you," Miss Daphne said. The man brought her a box and she opened it. I smiled as she produced a leather collar from the box and locked it around my neck. There was a pair of stainless steel handcuffs that she placed on my wrists. "Open wide," she said.

I reluctantly obeyed and she clamped a ball gag around the back of my head and fit it into my mouth. I struggled against the restraints and the gag trying to find comfort.

Then, she produced a thick leather paddle, turned me around, and let loose with hard smacks to my ass; one for each of the marks on my cheek. I screamed through the gag and came as the last blow hit my sore ass. I stood before the crowd in humiliated ecstasy.

"Now, go back to your seat and enjoy the rest of the show, bitch." Miss Daphne winked.

I walked from the stage and felt every eye on me as I returned to my seat. Bound and gagged, I could only shrug my shoulders at my best friend Theresa as she sat in shock.



The Volunteer



An uncle of mine would often reiterate an adage he recalled from his days in the British armed forces (circa WW2), "Never volunteer for anything!" Especially when you're drunk! But then again, just sometimes...

Clarification: Mufti = out of uniform or dressed in civilian clothes. Sort = a female of the species, usually (but not always) a rather good looking one. 

The Volunteer

There's an old adage in the British armed forces; "Never volunteer for anything!" Maybe it's a good rule to follow, maybe it isn't? You have to concede that the Para's, Commandos and SAS, have all found themselves where the shit was flying particularly thickly over the years. Oh yeah, there's some kudos to be gained by being able to wear a particular tie in later life, but that assumes that you're still going to be left with a life to lead.

No, I wasn't in the forces. Not that I'm adverse to the principle of fighting for my country. I just don't trust the buggers who run the bloody place. Honestly there's not a one of them I'd give the time of day to, once they get themselves elected to that private "you scratch my back" club, known to the world as The British Houses of Parliament. Honestly I don't trust a one of them, no mater what party they belong to, once they've joined that exclusive club.

Anyway I'm wondering off the subject, let's get back to the question; should one volunteer? Or maybe I should be asking, should one allow themselves to get roped in, so to speak? 

That's a question I should of really have asked myself, when I heard the words 

"Look fella's I need a volunteer to escort my cousin Jenny to the wedding?" Billie had announced as, as a collective group, we staggered from the last nightclub in town to the taxi rank.

It wasn't particularly late, but we'd done the rounds of -- and been ejected from -- every available drinking establishment in town. It was then time to get back to... Bugger I can't recall who's flat we stashed the reserves at that night. But I had known that a stripper had been booked for later.

"What about you Simon? Are you gonna do the honours for your ol' mate?" Billie Biddle my soon to be fettered and extremely intoxicated comrade asked. "She's one good looking bit of stuff mate, I promisssh ya!"

Now, had I been sober, I probably have used an iota of common sense and refused Bill's request, or at least, been able to come up with some unlikely excuse for turning him down. 

You see, Billie had already spoken one untruth; I really wasn't his old mate. Actually we'd got to that stage in our lives hardly ever speaking to each other. And then only when we'd been forced too. Billie Biddle was one of the guys, the same as I was, but no one could mistake us for close friends. We were just two guys from opposite ends of the spectrum who happened to hang around with the same group of... All right, if you want the definitive description, Piss Artists! 

Every Friday night we'd be found at one or other of the towns drinking holes, doing our best to empty the cellars. Actually at one time or another we'd visit them all, twice every weekend; but let's not make things complicated before I need to explain why. Often, when we'd worn-out our welcome in one, we'd -- be request to -- move on to a second, and so on. None of the pubs and clubs ever banned us because we never did any damage. We just... well we pissed a lot of people off! Anyway I'm kinda wandering off the subject here. 

Now, if Bill lied about him and me being good buddies, then it stands to reason that he was also going to lie about this Jenny bird being a tasty piece of stuff. That is a logical conclusion, but logicality finds no place in an inebriated brains calculations. Therefore instead of asking Billie why this Jenny bird had not been able to find a date for herself, seven days before a wedding that had been planned for well over half a year. I found myself replying.

"Sure thing, Billie boy; you just tell me where an' when to pick the sort up!"

That's all I can recall really. Well, I was pretty-well stewed by then -- more than pretty-well stewed to be precise, Billie had been paying all night -- and anyway... other things kinda took precedence with the few brain cells I still had working after we got to that flat. Like, "Who the bleeding-'ell was that stripper?" But I'll get to her in a minute.

When we got back to whoever's abode it was that we spent at least some of the rest of the night in; I have no recollection of getting home at all. Not one, but two rather tasty looking strippers turned up, along with a Giant Haystacks look-alike type minder. Quite put a damper on some of the guys' nefarious plans for the rest of the evening, that did; or so I'm told!

I was way past though thoughts of that kind, figuring that I was only just going to manage to stay awake long enough for the main event.

Actually it turned out that one of the strippers not only made sure I was awake for the main event, she made damn sure I'd never forget it either. But I just said, "I'll get to her shortly."

After getting a quick glimpse of the two shapely young females as they entered the flat, I saw no more of them until they came out of the bedroom they'd used as a changing room to get ready do that thing they do.

In the meantime, I'd ensconced myself in a large armchair, handily positioned in the perfect location to get a good view of the main action, and complete with one tinny on the go, and a couple of others -- still sealed -- pushed down the side of the cushion as replenishments.

The first girl to come out was of mixed race. I figured three parts Anglo Saxon, to one (probably) Afro-Caribbean; but that's just an inebriated guess. And unusually, she fixed me, not Billie, with those hypnotic almost black eyes of hers as she and... well, danced I suppose. I also appeared to be the chosen target for all of her discarded garments. That -- for some inexplicable reason -- I found I'd absentmindedly folded on my lap, as I watched her gyrations around the room.

Much to everyone's dismay -- including Billie's -- she gave him -- but a cursory -- lap-dance at the end of her act.

There were a few vocal objections from the boys, but the arrival of the second stripper soon put an end to them. 

There was no mistaking the fact that the second bird came from Eastern Europe and she was built like the proverbial brick... Yeah well, all the right bits stuck out in all the right places. Boy, the first girl had one killer of a figure on her, but that bloody Russian tart made Jordan look like a prepubescent schoolgirl.

We were all so engrossed in the Russian birds routine, that even I (for a long time) failed to realise that the first dancer -- still dressed in only her birthday suit -- had perched herself on the arm of the chair I was sitting in. As the Russian girl got near the end of her routine, she began to give Billie a lap dance he wouldn't be forgetting in a hurry. Well, I gathered she did from what I got to see, the last I saw she was sat astride Billie's legs grinding her breasts into his face.

I couldn't see anymore because, apparently the first dancer had slipped from the arm of my chair and was suddenly sitting on my lap. Not only that, but her arms were around my neck and her tongue was trying to locate my tonsils.

Alright yeah, I'm not backward in coming forward, so I'll admit I took the opportunity and enjoyed a quick gentle grope. Who can blame me, what man in his right sense wouldn't, and if you remember I wasn't in full control my faculties, anyway.

Hey, that's my story and I'm bloody-well sticking to it!

God alone knows how long the clinch lasted, until the music stopped at least, and probably a damned sight longer. Then, as suddenly as she had pounced upon me, the young lady in question disentangled herself from me and stood up. 

"My my, Simon you're just as good as you ever were. What a shame we've got another booking for later. See ya!" she said, and then she was gone.

Now it ain't everyday of the week that an extraordinary good looking -- and naked -- female, with an unbelievable beautiful figure, snogs me like that girl did that night. And just to make life confusing, one whom I did not recognise. But, who not only appeared to know who I was, but led me to believe that I had the pleasure of at least snogging her, at sometime in the past. 

The logical next step was to find out exactly whom she was and possibly take her home, then... yeah well, had she not hinted that a liaison was in the offing?

But there, I had big a problem; I was no longer capable of free movement. I was so pissed by that time that I was incapable of standing up, even though I wanted too. If I had managed to get to my feet, then I was well aware that there was little (if any) chance of me making it to that bedroom door, before I attained a permanent horizontal position on the floor somewhere; for rest of the night anyway.

Yes, my mind, did want to know who that stripper was. And in all honesty, I'd still like to know. But I'd moved on into the realms of alcoholic stupor very quickly after the second stripper left the room. 

===================

I have no recollection of getting home that Saturday morning, or maybe it was the afternoon. Although, I do recall being sober enough to make me way down the local for a spot of hair of the dog, sometime during the Saturday evening. Yeah well, I can't actually recall getting there or back home again, but I do remember the bar tab stuffed under my nose by the govner when I popped in there later in the week.

But all-that's really unimportant. What is, is the fact that I was roused from my bed at the unbelievable hour (for me) of eleven o'clock on the Sunday morning. Billie Biddle arrived at my flat with a couple of the gang and announced that his mother and sister wanted to meet the poor sob he'd roped in to escort his cousin Jennifer to his wedding the following weekend. Only he never put it in the same words I did, after I'd remembered that I'd broken the golden rule.

However, a man's word is his bond, as my old man used to say. Never could it be said that Simon Truman, went back on his word. You could say a lot of other things about me, and people often did; but that was one quality of mine that no one could ever challenge.

I have to admit that it took well over an hour to turn the dishevelled drunk into a presentable gentleman. Usually it takes all of Sunday afternoon and a good portion of the evening for me to revert from my weekend drunk mode, into my smart efficient office worker persona. But that morning I had no time to take a long hot snooze in the bath.

The dressed in my second best whistle. My best one I was reserving for the following weekend. Billie's people came from a more affluent area of the town and I wanted to make it clear that I owned more than one designer suit.

There was another reason I wanted to look good, -- and possibly a second reason for me keeping my drunkenly made promise anyway -- Billie's sister Marsha. Marsha was the MD's secretary at my place of employment. And yeah well, I had it figured that she was going to throw one hum-dinger of a wobbly, when she discovered just whom Billie had roped in to as an escort for this Jennifer bird. 

===================

Probably now's a good time to explain precisely why Billie and me had never really hit it off. The Biddle's came from an affluent background as I just said, and us Truman's... -- Okay there was only the one of us left, but I bore my proud father's name. -- Well, we were from good working class stock. There were no airs and graces about us Trumans'.

My late father had assured me, that I was as good as anyone, and if I worked hard at school to get the right qualifications, and then studied my job when I got one. Then the world was going to be my oyster!

Yeah, some bloody hopes. I did well at school, passed every exam I ever took; with distinction. I did the same at university and held down a part-time job to pay my own way at the same time. Then I entered the workforce full time.

What's more, I found a job I enjoyed and proved myself to be bloody good at it; too bloody good, as it turned out. It was much later that I discovered -- through office gossip -- that I'd become far too valuable an asset to the company where I was. For years I flogged my guts out and watched while complete idiots were promoted over me.

It took me a very long time to come to terms with the fact that I was so good at the job I was doing, I was going to be stuck with the bloody-thing for the rest of my working life; as far as the company management were concerned anyway.

The thought had crossed my mind, to tell the buggers exactly what they could do with their job. But it's a hard world out there, and there aren't many vacancies where my particular experience would prove an asset. I'd been with the company for some years and I was at the top of my salary grade. If I threw the job in, I'd have to take one hell of a cut in pay wherever I found work. 

That might explain one chip on my shoulder. And possibly why I'd eventually thought, "fuck-it" and taken to over-consumption most every weekend. 

My second hang-up, were people like Marsha Biddle. Billie weren't really like that, when he was with the boys, anyway. Shit, he wouldn't have lasted long if he was. 

But his sister Marsha! God alone knows what she had jammed up her arse, but it kept her nose pointing to the sky I can assure you. I got on pretty-well with a lot of the girls around the office, but Marsha would never give the likes of me the time of day. In the seven years we'd worked for the same employer, not once had she even nodded in my direction, let alone said good morning.

Okay, I hope I've set the scene for what was to happen when I climbed out of Billie's car and followed him into the family mansion. Well not quite a mansion, but bloody not far off. Well-out of my price range, anyway!

Billie led the way into a lounge the size of the complete house my parents had spent their whole married life in and bad me to sit down. Actually he told me to take a seat and I was tempted to do just that; but it was only a thought. Anyway, then he went off to find his family. 

Mr Graham Biddle came in first and introduced himself; I of course, stood to shake his proffered hand. We didn't have a lot when I was a kid, but my parents had good manners and they passed them on to me. 

Billie's dad was still giving me some bullshit, along the lines off 'how kind I was being offering to escort Jennifer to the wedding' when Billie and his mother entered the room, followed by Marsha. Who took one look at me, then spun on her heel and dragged her mother out of the door again.

Billie and his father -- after giving each other a quick double take -- rapidly followed them. One assumed -- correctly -- to enquire about their sudden withdrawal. 

I sort of wondered over to the -- by then closed -- door, to see if I could earwig.

===================

"You have to be joking Billie! Have you any idea who you have in there?" I could just make out Marsha demanding.

"Yeah, Simon! He's a nice guy, and he didn't flinch when I asked him!" Billie replied.

"What about John or Philip, or anyone except the town drunk?"

"Simon is not a drunk Marsha, he holds down a bloody good job. And what's more, Steve reckons your company would grind to a halt if Simon took one day off sick. Damn, Steve told me there was hell to pay when Simon went off with us on that Amsterdam trip. Simon was away four days and it took them a mouth to clear the backlog. Someone who's that important to a company can't be drunk all the time."

By the way Steve is another of the guys who sometimes joined our drinking binges and happens to work for the same company Marsha and I do; but in a different department. Well, I naturally assumed that was to whom Billie was referring. 

"But surely you could find somebody else, Billie?"

"I tried Marsha, I can assure you. I don't like doing this to Simon anyway. But Christ, most of the guys remember Jenny from when we were at school. Simon went to the comprehensive so he never got that honour."

Too say that I had suddenly got a little more apprehensive about what I'd let myself in for the following Saturday, would be putting it mildly!

To make things worse I heard Mr Biddle suggest that the three of them go into the library to talk, well out of my earshot.

I made my way over to the large window at the front of their lounge and stared out at the perfectly manicured cricket pitch, the Biddle's called a front lawn.

"Holy cow Simon, what have you done?" I asked myself. Billie appeared to have implied that just having met this Jennifer bird, would be enough to make any of the guys run a bloody mile if he'd asked them to be her escort. What possibly could be so wrong with her?

Oh yeah, she could well be a dog, I realised that. But hey, who hasn't been caught-out on that one at least once on a blind date; another reason never to volunteer to help-out a friend. 

And besides there's always that old expression "You don't look at the mantelpiece when you're stocking the fire."

I'd been lumbered more than once in my life, but I'd never come across a female who by just the mention of her name, would have the power to send all of Billie and my randy friends, running for the hills. I was honestly beginning to wish I'd given Billie's stag-do a miss. Suddenly the three of them trooped back into the room again. Billie actually looked like he was surprised to find that I was still there.

Mrs Biddle did all the talking, Marsha' facial expression blatantly displaying the fact that she wasn't happy with the outcome of their discussion.

"We're sorry about that, Simon; a little family dispute."

"Do not concern yourself Mrs Biddle, I understand perfectly." I found myself replying and wondering as I said it, where the hell I'd dragged it up from? Some old film I surmised.

"Marsha run along and find out where Mary is with that tea. You will take tea won't you Simon?"

It wasn't so much a question, as an instruction; I knew that no other answer except "Thank you!" would be acceptable.

It did have a bonus to though. Marsha left the room!

"Simon, it's so kind of you to offer to be Jennifer's escort next weekend." Mrs Biddle went on to say.

But her statement unsettled me even more than I already was. I'm not sure why, but I immediately got the impression that I'd been written-in for a little more than this Jennifer bird's escort to the wedding itself, and the reception. 

"Now, she's flying in on Thursday evening. Will you be available to collect her from the airport?"

Sod it! I thought, in for a penny in for a bloody pound. The Biddle's are pretty influential people in our town. Who says a Truman can't kiss-arse now and again? Old man Biddle's say-so might even get me into the town's one good golf club one day!

"Sure, why not? If you give me the flight details, I'll be only too happy to collect the young lady. Is she going to be staying here?"

I got a surprise; just for an instant an expression of horror came over Mrs Biddle's face. But the condescending smile very soon replaced it again.

"Oh dear, no. We have so many relatives coming this week, and there just aren't enough rooms here. Jennifer will be staying at The Moat House Hotel. Its more her style anyway."

Mr's Biddle had said the magic words. The Moat House Hotel is the most exclusive and prestigious hotel in the district. Invisible from the nearest road, I, and most people locally, had only ever seen pictures of the place, and the odd bit of film on the TV news programs when presidents and foreign royalty stayed there. Actually, I'd never met anyone who could afford to enter its hallowed gates, and I hazarded a guess that that included my then present company.




The Volunteer



By then the cogs were really churning inside my head. To stay in the Moat House Hotel, inferred that this Jennifer bird to be bloody loaded. Better than loaded actually.

But that kind of confused me, because even if she was a complete dog... Well. You have to admit that there are plenty of dodgy gigolo type characters out there; who are more than willing to avert their eyes from the mantelpiece while they are spending the cash.

Mind you, the same can be said of some women. How often, do you see some rich old fart who looks like he's about to pop his clogs, and who has a sexy young starlet type on his arm, and, sharing his bed most likely. Yeah very likely! 

But my mind was wandering while Mrs Biddle was still talking.

"You do have a dinner jacket Simon?"

"Yes; not that I wear it very often these days."

"Oh good, Jennifer's flight gets in a little before six. She should be out pretty quickly, they fast track first-class. Wear your dinner jacket and she'll easily recognise you and then you can have dinner together at the Moat House when you get there. No one gets into the Moat House restaurant without a dinner jacket."

"Friday, if you can pick her up from the hotel about half six. She's not part of the ceremony but you and Jennifer are invited to the rehearsal dinner at the Metropolitan. It'll give Jennifer a chance to get to know everyone again. She hasn't been back to the UK since... Oh my how long has it been, Graham?"

"It must be nearly eight years, possibly longer. My sister's second husband is an American, Simon, but Jennifer was mostly educated in the UK. She lived here with us for many years."

After that, what there was in the way of conversation turned to the standard safe subjects. Mostly the weather, how bad the traffic was getting in town and the shortage of car parking space. While we drank the tea, that had eventually arrived, I kinda wondered which cup Marsha had put the arsenic into. 

Then Billie drove me back home in total silence.

I did want to ask Billie what the catch was; but I chickened out. No mater how bad this Jennifer bird looked... Okay I'm a softy; I figured that if she was a dog, then it ain't my place to rub it in. If I asked Billie, then he might let it slip to Jennifer, and then I would never be able to face her. Sorry, that's just how my mind's wired up.

I did enquire of some of the guys who would have remembered Jennifer though, and got everything from "no comment" to "Oh Christ! Billie didn't manage to rope you in on that one did he?" 

But there were no descriptions that I could trust as to exactly what was going to come walking through that arrivals gate on that Thursday evening.

I say "that I could trust" because one guys described a sixteen-year-old barrel of lard to me. He told me that he'd only spoken to her once, and that she was a complete spoilt brat. Another guy, told me that she wasn't really all that heavy and that Jennifer had quite a pretty face when she took her bottle bottom spectacles off. And yet another said that she was fat and had a voice on her like a cat being drowned. 

The three descriptions had little in common, but to suggest that Jennifer was on the overweight side. I tried to wipe them from my mind, and see for myself what walked off the plane on Thursday evening.

===================

Feeling done-up like a turkey at Christmas I got a few very strange looks from some of the other friends and families, waiting to meet their arrivals.

I noted a couple of people holding up cards with names on and cursed myself for not getting Jennifer's surname. God only knew how many people were getting off her flight, but there were what appeared to me to be hundreds of people waiting to greet them. Dinner jacket or not, I couldn't see that Jennifer was going to have an easy job spotting me.

Then the door slid open, and a great mass of humanity spilled forth through the arrivals gate. There were so many on them that I couldn't look at them individually. I just stood there like a tailors dummy and hoped that Jennifer would be able to spot the idiot in the dinner jacket.

"Mr Truman?" A voice suddenly asked off to my left.

When I looked, an unbelievably charming looking, air-stewardess -- albeit in mufti -- was standing there. Come on fella's, we all know that one of the first things those stewardesses are taught is how to present themselves. They stand out from the crowd like catwalk models.

"Yes. Can I help you?" I asked.

"Jennifer."

"Yes, I'm waiting for a young lady named Jennifer. Do you know what's keeping her?"

"Nothing, I'm here!" she giggled.

"You're Jennifer?" I gasped.

"I was when I got out of bed this morning. Why, what were you expecting?" she giggled again.

"Well er, I don't know." 

"Oh my, you've gone all red... Simon, isn't it?

"Y-yes, Simon Truman at your service, milady."

"Oh my, aren't we a slimy one. Come on Simon you can't be one of them. I'd put on a lot of puppy fat when I was a teenager. A horrendous amount actually! It definitely didn't make me popular with the boys and I got a reputation for retaliating if any of them upset me. I should imagine you've heard some pretty horrific stories about me."

"No, no!"

"Simon, I'm not daft. I watched you from over there; there was an expression of apprehension on your face as you waited for me. I know what you were expecting, but this is what you've got."

She stepped back and curtsied toward me.

"Now, you're either a very nice young man, or you're a charlatan who's after some of my stepfather's cash. Somehow I don't think you're going to be the latter. Only time will tell."

"I had no idea that you're parents were rich Jennifer, when Billie asked me to be your escort."

"Yes I know, Billie told me all the boys ran a mile when he asked them. Boy, are we going to surprise some of them."

"Yes, I'm afraid that Billie was scraping the bottom of the barrel when he got down as low as me."

"I don't know, you scrub-up quiet well by the look of it; shall we get going?"

I took Jennifer's luggage from her and we walked the half a mile or so to where I'd parked my car. I had suggested we took the courtesy bus, but Jennifer said she wanted to enjoy the smell of England.

"More like burnt jet fuel!"

"Well it is English Jet fuel Simon. Now don't spoil the atmosphere."

"Bugger the atmosphere your cases are bloody heavy. Haven't you ever heard of weight limits?"

"Give here, I'll take one."

"No, I'll carry them; it would injure my manly pride."

"Simon, I think we're going to get on just fine!" Jennifer giggled again.

"I'm glad you think so. Personally I think that Billie's dropped an unexploded bomb in my lap."

"Why do you say that?"

"It doesn't make any sense to me Jennifer. You're what, twenty-five?

"Four."

"Okay Twenty-four. You are exceedingly beautiful."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And you say that your stepfather is exceeding rich. Actually, even I could work that one out; you're booked into the bloody Moat House."

"Yeah, good idea wasn't it. Kinda rubs it in to everyone, that I'm a spoilt rich kid, doesn't it?"

I stopped walking. "Why would you want to do that?"

"If you promise not to tell, I'll explain when we get in the car. I can't hear a thing with all these planes taking off."

"That one just landed, Jennifer." 

"Same difference!"

===================

"Is this it?" She asked, as I dropped her suitcases by my car's boot.

"I'm afraid so sweetie. Some of us haven't got rich daddies you know?"

"Well it looks alright. But is it safe?" 

"It got me here and you can always walk behind if you wish."

"I'm only joking Simon. It looks very nice actually."

"Thanks, its ten years old and only has eighty thousand on the clock. It'll do me for many years yet. Now what say, we get the hell out of here. Are you going to sit in the front or back milady?"

"The front, but why are you...?"

"Getting short with you? Well, you're up to something I don't understand Jennifer and I get the feeling that I'm a pawn in your game." 

"Oh no Simon, I can promise you that you aren't. I'll admit that when I asked Billie to find me an escort for the weekend, you weren't what I expected."

"I'm not?" 

"No, I was expecting one of Marsha's goons."

"Goons?"

"Never mind, I've got you as my escort instead!"

"And that's something I can't understand. With your looks and your stepfather's money, you must have a whole raft of eligible young American guys' chasing around after you. Rich ones, as well, most likely. What I can't get my head around, is why haven't you brought one of them over with you?"

"Ah now, two reasons really. One it wouldn't serve my purpose. The second, well, if I were to have invited someone to fly halfway around the world with me, they might have got the wrong idea. I'm very particular about who I choose to go to bed with, Simon. So don't you go getting any smart ideas!"

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Liar! Anyway that isn't important, you wanted to know what the game is?"

"Yes!"

"Well you might not understand, but it's revenge."

"On who?"

"Everyone: except My Uncle Graham and Billie! And you of course, I've got nothing to feel vengeful towards you about...yet!"

"You've lost me Jennifer, before you've even started."

"Simon, I hope you don't mind me saying, but you're not rich are you?" 

"And I'm not on the breadline either!"

"Yes, that's obvious, but you weren't born to excess cash available, were you?"

"Like you, you mean?"

"Hold up Simon. I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth. My father worked for an airline, but we weren't rich or anything. My mother and father struggled to pay their mortgage just like most other people. And they scraped enough together to send me to a Public School as a day student. I think they only did that, because my aunt, Billie's mother... Well she's a stuck up bitch and she inferred that they were neglecting my education.

"I'll be honest I'm damned sure mother only sent me to a public school to prove to the bitch that they could afford to. "Oh Graham is so clever, he can conjure money out of thin air!" "Are you still working for that little airline, Frank?" Christ, I can hear the bitch now, and I was only about five at the time."

"You don't think much of Billie's mother then?"

"No, I despise the cow. The sooner Billie gets out of that house the better...and that little skink Marsha!"

"Skink?"

"Yes a slimy little two faced lizard."

"Two faced aye? She must have done something to get up your nose."

"Did she!" Jennifer was sounding extremely angry.

Jennifer went on to give me the story of her life. She'd been seven when her father had died in a road accident. Unfortunately the family had been deeply in debt at the time and her mother had little idea what to do. They lost their house and even her mother's car was repossessed. And Jennifer was going to have to leave her public school at the end of term.

Then her uncle Graham, her mother's brother, stepped in. He suggested that Jennifer should go and live with them for a while, and she could go to the same public school as Marsha and Billie. Jennifer did not think he'd discussed the idea with his wife before he made the offer, but she was too young to realise that at the time, or do anything about it.

With Jennifer staying with her brother, Jenny's mother could go back as an airside stewardess. She'd been working on the ground since Jenny had been born. That brought in more money to help clear her debts. But it also meant she that was away abroad most of the time. The airline she and her husband had worked for was not a big one with regular routes. It was a smaller private charter company with executive aircraft. And by far the majority of its work was in the Far East and North America.

Jenny grew up living with her aunt and uncle, and her cousins Billie and Marsha of course. But as she got older she realised that her aunt did not like her, or her mother. Her aunt would infer that all air stewardesses were little more than prostitutes, Jenny's mother included. 

Whether that was through jealously of her mother's undoubted good looks, Jenny didn't know. But by the time she was ten her aunt had made her feelings clear.

As Jenny put it, "I wasn't quite treated like a Cinderella, because Uncle Graham wouldn't have allowed it. But that was they way my aunt looked upon me." 

As it turned out, Jenny's Uncle Graham was off gallivanting all over the world himself, most of the time, so Jenny had had a tough time of it. Her life was made no better by Marsha, who ganged up with her mother against Jenny. The only person who ever sided with Jenny was Billie, but only then when he was feeling brave.

Jenny told me that things were tolerable until she got to about thirteen. Marsha who is about the same age went into puberty about the same time. But Jenny quite suddenly put on an enormous amount of puppy fat.

"I was enormous and very ugly. Things were made worse when my eyes began to give me trouble a year or so later. Honestly Simon I wanted to die. All the boys at school made fun of me, egged on by Marsha of course. The little cow used to drop her knickers for the first boy who made me cry every day."

"You are joking?"

"No I am not. She wouldn't let them screw her, but they could look, and finger her if they hurt me enough.

"Eventually I realised that I had something that none of them had, size! So if a boy or girl, Marsha had quite a little crowd of bitches around her, said anything to upset me... I belted them as hard as I could."

"Did it work?" 

"Not exactly, I got expelled. But Uncle Graham is quite influential and eventually I was reinstated. I'd got myself a terrible reputation with the school staff, but at least most of the other children gave me a wide berth after that.

"I was sixteen when my mother married my stepfather. He'd been a passenger on one of her flights several times and she just happened to say that she wouldn't be able to work airside much longer. Mum has kept her looks, but airlines get a bit funny about the age of their stewardesses. Anyway, my stepfather offered mother a job on his Dude Ranch, and mother went there to see what it was all about. 

"It turned out that the Dude Ranch he'd told her about, wasn't a Dude Ranch it was just his home, and the job he was offering my mother was as his wife." Jenny laughed out loud "You'll never believe it, but Jack had been chartering the plane to fly him all over the place for months, just so that he could see my mother. Mum eventually said yes, but of course, before they could tie the knot I had to be out there. I never came back."

"But you are back now!"

"Yes and I want to rub their noses in it. Had Billie talked one of the boys who taunted me into being my escort, I intended teasing the sod, by letting him think he was going to get lucky. Then I'd arrange it so that he wouldn't be able to get past security at the Moat House. Well sorry Simon but we're going to have a security guard following us around on Saturday. Three million dollars worth of jewellery arrived in the UK several days ago. Half, I'm lending to Billie's bride, the rest I intend to wear myself and describe as every day trash to Marsha and her mother. I know those two; it will turn them green with envy."

"And where do I fit into this plan of yours?"

"You don't really. You're neutral; my handsome escort for the weekend and all those boys who teased me when I was fat and ugly and refused to be my escort for the wedding are going kick themselves wondering whether you are going to get shag me over the weekend. I, of course, will hint as much if any of them dare to ask me to dance."

"And if I don't want to play?"

"Oh but you do, Simon. There's just the slightest hope in your heart that I might want you to take me to bed sometime over the weekend. Tell me, when was the last time you drove a woman who looked as good as I do, to her hotel?"

"I can't recall ever being in the same room as a women as beautiful as you are Jennifer, let alone in the same car."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a smile come on Jenny's face.

"Such a shame it will be the last time we will be in each others company." 

"Pardon!"

"Jennifer, I hate to go back on my word. But I will not assist you in your childish attempts to get your own back for wrongs done you as a child. Those guys are so small minded that they will have no idea what you are doing or why. Marsha, she's not worth the bother, just loaning Billie's bride some expensive jewellery will make your point to her and her mother. Shit, just staying in the Moat House has done that.

"Giving everybody the idea that you're going to bed a low life like me just cheapens you. No, girl, find some other arsehole to play your silly game." I said as I stopped at the security station at the entrance to the Moat House hotels drive.

"How long is your stay sir?" The guard asked

"Five nights," Jennifer replied.

"I'll give you a five day pass sir. Please display it in your windscreen when you arrive and depart."

"That won't be necessary, the lady's staying. I'm not!"

"Yes it will. He'll be collecting and dropping me off every day, officer."

"He's a security guard not a police officer, Jennifer. Anyway I told you, no deal!"

"I did know, what else am I supposed to call him? Please come in Simon. Let's have dinner and talk about this."

"There's nothing to discuss Jennifer. I've made my feelings clear."

"Then can't we please just have dinner together?"

I acquiesced. After all, it isn't everyday you get the chance to have dinner with possibly the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on, at the most prestigious restaurant in town, and she's footing the bill.

Jennifer signed in at the desk and was told that her table was awaiting us. Some flunky took her bags from me and then disappeared. I was to discover that the staff at the Moat House made a habit of doing that. Look for one and there was no one in sight, but look back down again and a voice would say, "Can I help you sir?"

She took my arm and we headed for the restaurant together. We'd seated for but a few seconds when Jenny said she had to make some running repairs and promptly vanished towards the ladies powder room. Yeah, that's what it said on the door.

The waiter brought me a beer while I was waiting. Something I do believe he was unused to doing; but he treated my request politely.

When Jenny returned, she'd no sooner seated herself (with the flunky who shown us to our table originally assistance, yet again, yeah wood work job I never saw where the bugger appeared from) then the waiter arrived again to take our order. That's when I got a shock, the place was a-la-carte and the menu was in French. 

I took Spanish in school just to be different. 

Hey, the Spanish teacher was something to be admired, whereas our school's French teacher was an old bat. Spanish won my vote. But that was not going to help me at the Moat House. Suddenly I realised that Jenny was talking, with a very strong American accent.

"Bring us a couple of steaks with fries, please?"

No sooner had the first waiter left -- after enquiring how we'd like our steak cooked -- when the wine waiter appeared and asked me what wine I'd like to order?

"I'm not a wine drinker Jenny, what do you fancy?" I asked

"I'll have a cold beer like, my friend please?" That American accent again.

"Certainly Madam." The waiter said then he disappeared into the woodwork.

Mere seconds later he was back placing Jenny's beer on the table.

"You are right Simon, I was being childish. I'd been dreaming of bringing them all down for so long that I never got to think about how childish is all was."

"I'm pleased to hear that you've come to your senses."




The Volunteer



"Would you really have just driven away this evening?" she asked.

"Yes of course; Why not?"

"Well I kinda hinted that you might get lucky this weekend. Wasn't it worth taking the chance?"

"No, Jenny: because I can't bring myself to believe that you're that cheap. You'd have brought some flash git over from the States with you, if you were that kind of a woman. A film star type I should imagine. Hey, with your looks, you could have probably bagged a real one anyway."

Jenny smiled.

"You know what, Simon? I'm really glad Billie asked you to be my escort this weekend. I met you less than two hours ago and I think you're the nicest man I've run into in a very long time. Not counting my dad and my stepfather, but I'm sure you know what I mean?"

"No, not really, Jenny." I replied.

"Simon, I want to get to know you better, a whole lot better!"

During our meal, and after, we talked about our personal likes and dislikes, and our lives thus far. Jennifer enlarged on her life at the Biddle house, and it didn't make for pleasant listening. I told her about my disappointment that I hadn't got further in my career after all the hard work I'd put in. Possibly I explained why I thought I'd become stuck on the particular rung of the ladder I had, but I can't quite recall.

I know that I did tell her about the drinking crowd Billie and I hung around with most weekends. She appeared a little perturbed about that, and asked why I wasn't out dating. I almost explained why I'd given up on the dating game but didn't. I just told her that I enjoyed having fun getting pie-eyed with the guys.

Around ten-ish Jennifer started to show signs that she was flagging, so I walked her up to her room, or rather suite. I don't think they have rooms at the Moat House. 

She gave me a gentle peck on the cheek and bade me good night at the door.

===================

I was a little early on the Friday evening and Jennifer was a trifle late coming down from her suit. I had to spend nearly twenty minutes kicking my heels in the Moat House reception, waiting for her to appear.

When the lift doors finally opened, the sight of Jenny coming out of the lift took my breath away.

Honestly, I'd got a surprise at the airport the day before. But that air-stewardess in mufti who'd appeared from the crowd by that arrivals gate, couldn't hold a candle to the vision who emerged from that lift. "Gobsmacked," is the only word I can think of to describe it

"Earth to Major Tom!" Jenny whispered in my ear as she planted another peck on my cheek.

"My god girl, what can I say?" Was all I could think of to say.

"I should think so. I've spent the whole afternoon in the beauty parlour. And I didn't get much change out of twenty thousand dollars for this little get-up." 

"Oh, my, you certainly don't have need to play those silly games you were talking about. There isn't a woman in the country who isn't going to been jealous of you this evening. And I should imagine a few guys will be kicking their own arses because they aren't me."

"And they so easily could have been?" Jenny added.

"Yeah, lucky bugger ain't I?"

"Hey cowboy, don't go counting your horses. The coral gates are still open."

"Jenny you know what?" You have a distrusting nature; the thought never entered my mind."

It might surprise most people to learn, that no matter what happened, I had no intention of bedding Jennifer that weekend, or any other occasion come to that. I'd got myself severely burnt once by looking above my station in life, and I had no intention of going through that emotional turmoil again.

I'd happily, even proudly, be Jenny's escort and confidante for the weekend. But, Jenny being everyman's wet dream or not, I had no intention of leaving myself open to an experience like that again. And, I was fully aware that climbing into bed with a woman, any woman, is the first step on that slippery slope.

We didn't drive to the Metropolitan in my car; Jenny had lain on a Rolls. I've learnt since, that Jennifer has a thing about Rolls Royce's, especially big ones.

Our choreographed entrance (I'm not completely daft, Jennifer's late appearance in the Moat House reception was not an oversight) caused somewhat of a sensation. Everyone recognised me, but no one expected the vision on my arm. Marsha literally spat out her drink, and her mother almost chocked on her dentures. I might be being a little vindictive there.

Whatever, I can assure you that not one person in that very large room expected to see what they found themselves staring at as Jennifer and I made our entrance.

Jennifer's uncle was the first person to approach us and he gave her a big hug. There was no doubt in my mind that they were pleased to see each other. Billie and his soon to be bride came next, Billie also giving Jennifer a hug and his bride, taking me at least by surprise, went to curtsy to Jenny, who threw her arms around her before she could complete the manoeuvre.

It was pretty obvious that she was completely awestruck by Jennifer, and hardly strayed far from Jenny's side for the rest of the evening. It took a little time for the penny to drop but I'm pretty sure that put Marsha's nose out of joint. One had to assume that until that moment the young bride had been looking up to Marsha as Queen Bee. Suddenly there was a new kid on the block.

When I got a moment I pointed the fact out to Jenny and said that I told her that silly games weren't necessary. She agreed that I had been correct; her mere presence had had the desired effect.

At one time during the evening Jenny, the bride and the bride's mother went into a little huddle on their own. I noticed Jenny had produced some photographs from somewhere and the three women were studying them. It was only when the shrieks of joy started coming from the bride to be, that I realised that she was choosing what she wanted to wear from the jewellery that Jenny had mentioned the day before.

Marsha and her mother sauntered over and... well, green isn't the word for it. They did hang around the other three while the bride made her choice, but from what I could see, they made little comment. 

I must have taken a very pleased with herself Jenny home a little after midnight. Once again I got a peck on the cheek at her suite door, and a "Thank you for a wonderful evening Simon." 

The Saturday was a bit of a dash around, for Jenny and me. I arrived at the Moat House and noted that there was a much smaller Rolls waiting. Jenny explained that it would not be proper to out limousine the bride. I took that as a good omen. She had also gone light on the jewellery, less than twenty five thousand bucks according to Jenny.

"You lay far too much value on financial value, for your own good, Jenny." I told her.

"I know I do, but I'll try not to in future; if you'll forgive me?"

"It's not my place to forgive you Jenny. I was making an observation, not passing a judgement."

"No, you wouldn't do that would you? Simon, I'm a spoilt brat; aren't I?"

"You are a little old for the brat description, but you're not far off the mark!"

"Then why have you agreed to come today?"

"Because... I gave my word to Billie!" I lied.

I noted a definite downturn come over Jennifer's facial expression.

I've got to be honest, although I'd told Jenny the evening we met that I would refuse to go to the wedding with her; I'd been lying. Nothing was going to keep me from Billie's up-market shindig, once I'd been invited. I definitely had not been on the guest list, before Billie came up with the idea of asking me to be Jennifer's escort for the event.

Two formal looking men were waiting at the reception desk for Jenny. One handed her a metal briefcase that I assume contained her jewellery. They trailed us out to the Rolls and then followed behind in a large, but nondescript car, as were driven to the bride's house. I stayed in the Roll's and waited while Jenny went in with the jewellery and shortly later came out again empty handed. The two goons car didn't trail us to the church, they stayed very close to the bride for most of the rest of the day. Sometimes a little too close for her comfort I fear.

"Jesus, she's walking around with a quarter of a million bucks worth of gold and diamonds hanging all over her, what did she expect?" Jenny pointed out when I'd mentioned the guards. "Those goons are nothing to do with me by the way; the insurance company lays them on whenever that shit comes out." She added.

I'm not sure what expression I had on my face, but it led Jenny to add. "No, I usually stick to paste, if it's nothing special. I'm not that bad, Simon." 

The wedding was a wedding; they're all the same, except for the prime participants. Oh the guys looked like clowns in those morning suites, but don't they all?

The reception was interesting. I'm not sure why, but it was pretty obvious that some hurried rearranging of seating had taken place. The ubiquitous Top Table had a distinctly lopsided look about, and I was the only guy sitting at it not wearing a clown suit.

The meal and formalities over, the dancing started. Jenny very soon proved to me that dancing was one of her favourite pastimes. Christ, the girl tried to wear me out, I'm sure of it. I was aware that she committed one of the cardinal sins as far as I'm concerned. Jenny counted my drinks. Hey I'm a big boy, if I want to get pissed, I will.

Jenny only stopped counting when I suggest she tasted one of my drinks.

"Non-alcoholic!" She exclaimed.

"Of course. You might have that Rolls outside, but I have to drive home later.

"Oh yes sorry, I didn't think of that."

"But I did Jenny, and I'm drinking all these pints of this horrible shit, because you're not the only one watching what I'm drinking this evening." 

"Who else is watching you?"

"Marsha has been making little marks on a napkin she has on the table she and her boyfriend are using."

"How do you know?"

"I added a couple of extra marks myself for good measure while they were dancing. I don't know what Marsha is up too, but I suspect that it's something unpleasant."

As the evening wore on, I noted that Jenny had resorted to paying me a kind off compliment, when anyone but Billie and her Uncle Graham asked her to dance. Hey, she was probably paying the two guys the same compliment.

"Sorry I'm taken for this dance; besides, I only dance with real men!" appeared to be Jenny's standard refusal to guys of about her own age.

I got a trifle annoyed about it and ticked Jenny off. After I had done so, Jenny just told then that she was taken for that dance, then turned to me, poked her tongue out and winked.

===================

Back at the Moat House, Jenny and my parting was almost an exact repeat of the night before. Except that she asked me what we were going to find to do with ourselves the following day.

I told her that my Sundays were my chill-out days, usually very informal, and I rarely did much except laze around. "Beside's," I added, "my part of the bargain is complete."

"You think, I can do laze around as well when I want to, Simon. I'll call you in the morning." Were Jenny's last words as her door closed.

===================

I found out exactly what Marsha's game had been almost the instant I drove through the Moat House's main gate and turned onto the road. I hadn't gone but fifty yards when their blue lights came on. God alone knows where they had been hiding.

They followed me into a lay-by about another fifty yards along the road. 

"I have reason to believe you have been drinking this evening sir." The officer said after approaching my car.

"Actually it was mostly last night, officer; it is nearly three in morning now."

"Have you had much to drink sir?"

"Twelve pints, officer, and a couple of glasses of wine. It took some doing I can assure you!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to give me a sample of your breath sir. Would you mind getting into the back of the police car sir?"

"Lead the way constable, lead the way?" 

I can only assume that the officer thought that I was drunk; maybe he was so busy grinning to himself; that he failed to notice that I was grinning back at him. Or perhaps he took my grin as a sign that I was intoxicated anyway. 

Three times the bugger had me blow into his little meter, before he had to admit defeat.

"From the reading on this machine, I'd say you've consumed no more than a single glass of wine in the last ten hours or so, sir." 

"Two glasses of wine officer; but I believe I didn't finish the second."

"But we have received information that you drank at least fifteen pints of beer during the evening."

"Twelve actually, officer, I'm afraid I fiddled the score card a little. And as I told you, it was bloody hard going. Have you ever tried that non-alcoholic shit they serve at the Metropole?"

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you were drinking non-alcoholic beer this evening?"

"Last evening actually, officer. Because you didn't ask? Usually you guys tell folks to shut up and only answer the questions you ask."

"Hang on a minute, I recognise you! You're one of the "Rovers" aren't you; the crowd that does the rounds of the pubs in town every weekend?"

"Yeah, usually one pint in each and every drinking establishment within the town limits, or within staggering distance anyway."

"And you spent the evening drinking non-alcoholic beer. You'll never live it down!"

"Only you, I and my very good friend that barman at the Metropole knows that officer. And it did prove to me that a certain evil bitch was trying to embarrass me, and the young lady I was with, this evening. The first rule of the Rovers is that mechanised transport is left at home whilst you are participating in a serious session. A drink-driving charge is enough to get you barred from the club."

"Explains a lot sir; have a safe journey home. Good night!"

"I will officer, I will!"

I hope I've explained why I'd started on that non-alcoholic crap the moment the bar at the reception opened. Usually, I'd have made a couple of pints of the stuff last all evening but I'd seen Marsha watching me with that look on her face, and I spotted that she'd was making notes on that serviette. I just had to find out how far she was intending to take it. 

===================

It must have been before ten when, the telephone roused me that Sunday morning. For some reason, I wasn't surprised to discover that it was Jenny calling. She informed me that she was outside my block, and wanted me to release the outer door so she could come up to my flat. 

I told her to wait until I was decent. Jenny giggled and then told me she couldn't wait that long, she needed to use the loo. I hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans and then pushed the button to open the outer door. 

By the time Jenny arrived in my flat I had my tee shirt on as well. Jenny -- dressed in jeans and a tee shirt herself -- looked disappointed as she came into my flat, and somewhat remarkably, appeared to have forgotten that she wanted to use the bathroom in such an all-fired hurry.

So I went in there myself -- locking the door behind me -- to get undressed again, then shower and shave. While Jenny stood on the other side of the door and listed off places she wanted to visit that day. I kind of reminded her that Sunday was my chill-out day. But she insisted that she'd been out of the country for eight years and didn't want to go around all the places on her own.

The day definitely wasn't a chill-out Sunday for me. I must have put four hundred miles on the cars clock by the time we got back to the Moat House after dinner. Remember Formal dress only in the Moat Houses restaurant. I'm not sure that they were too happy about our jeans and tee shirts in the bar either, but besides some funny looks from some other patrons nothing was said.

Mind you, those funny looks could well have been directed at Jenny, more than me. I'd given up quite early in the day, trying to figure out just how she'd got into those jeans. The words "painted on" came to mind. 

In a way, I was sorry that I wasn't going to get the opportunity to watch her struggle out of them. Oh, I suppose I should point out that her tight-fitting tee shirt invoked a similar response in my mind.

Well after it was dark, at Jenny's suggestion, we took a stroll round the hotels grounds chatting about our day. She hung tightly onto my arm and couple of times Jenny sneaked her arm around my waist, I didn't rise to the bait. She even found a couple of places to lean -- provocatively -- against, a fence and a little footbridge's parapet, almost blatantly inviting me to lean down and kiss her. But I managed to control my natural instincts. 

No, Jenny was flying home on the Tuesday morning and... Well, I told you I can get emotionally involved far too quickly. I very much doubted she'd be returning to the UK in a hurry. There was no way I wanted to get... Yeah well, you either understand, or you don't.

At her suite door that night, she did kiss me on the lips instead of the cheek, but I only held the kiss long enough not to be impolite, and pulled away again quickly.

"What are we doing tomorrow?" she asked.

"I don't know about you Jenny, but I will be slogging the day out behind my desk for eight hours. Some of us have to work for our living you know?"

"Sorry! Dinner then, what time do you get off?"

"Jenny, I've been out on the town four nights in a row. I have to have an early night now and again.

"Oh come on Simon. I go home on Tuesday morning, tomorrow's my last evening in the country; we have to do something special."

"My point exactly. Tuesday morning you fly of back to your nice cushy life in the USA and things will back to normal for me."

"Is that why you won't..?"

"I won't what, Jenny?"

"Of course. Never mind. Just tell me what her name is?"

"Who's name?"

"Her name! The woman who screwed you up, like you are?"

"I'm not screwed-up Jenny. I'm a realist. I know who I am and what I am... and where I'm going in my life."

"And you fell in love with some woman who screwed your mind up, for you!"

"No she didn't, she got herself killed, on me. She went skiing with her stupid rich flash-git friends, and they went skied Off Piste. All four of them were killed."

"Ah, it's because I'm rich is it? But I can't see what having lots of money has to do with it."

"One hell of a lot, Jenny. I have to work for my living so I couldn't afford to take the time off to go with them again. We'd all been skiing once just before that Christmas but her friends decided that they wanted to go again. I should have known what was going to happen, the idiots had wanted to go Off Piste and ski on virgin snow the first time we were out there. I wasn't there to stop them was I? The French authorities said that they probably started the avalanche that killed them."

"You can't blame yourself for that, Simon. They took a risk and unfortunately it was a bad one. You could nothing about it." "No but I can understand why I wasn't able to be there to stop her from killing herself. And I won't make the same mistake again, Jennifer. I think I'd better go, goodnight."

===================

I did not have a good journey home, or get a good night's sleep. For years I had tried never to think about Elaine, if I could help it. Thoughts of her made me melancholy and brought bad dreams in their wake.

===================

That Monday was one, like many others. I kept my nose to the grindstone all day, which kept me from thinking thoughts of either Elaine or Jennifer.

I was itching to run into Marsha around the offices somewhere. I planned to have a few -- very loud -- choice words with Marsha when our paths crossed again. But as luck would have it, I didn't see her all day.




The Volunteer



I did get a chance to have a word with my immediate superior though, and possibly because of my demeanour, he reluctantly agreed to the request I made of him. 

===================

The Rolls Royce stood-out like a sore-thumb as I entered my block's car park on my way home from work that evening. Jenny -- dressed in a short skirt and blouse -- bounced out of it, and was waiting by my car door when I opened it.

"Hey stranger, this is a coincidence, fancy taking a lady to dinner?" She asked with a tentative smile on her face.

"Let me get washed and changed then." I replied.

"Oh yeah, no hurry; the car will wait."

Jenny's smile had changed into a grin.

"Jenny."

"Yes?"

"You wait in the Rolls; I won't be two minutes."

"Spoil sport!"

===================

We had a meal in one of the local pubs, nothing special or anything. Then we sat in the bar and talked. Eventually Jennifer brought the conversation around to Elaine -- which I was not too pleased about -- and wangled the story of Elaine and my, three year relationship out of me. She didn't really make much comment but she appeared to understand how emotionally upset I'd been specifically concerning how Elaine had died.

Back at the Moat House I walked Jenny to the door of her suit again, the Rolls was waiting in the car park to run me home.

That night Jenny kissed me on the lips again and I let the kiss go on a little longer, because it would be the last time she did it. I didn't, and had never taken Jenny in my arms, by the way; unless we'd been on the dance floor.

"I guess this is goodbye?" She said as she broke our little kiss.

"Not quite Jenny. I have to drive you to the airport in the morning, haven't I?"

A big smile came over her face and she threw her arms around my neck, squeezing me like hell and kissed me again. But much harder that time, if you understand me?

Then she suddenly released me and apologised. Jenny told me that she'd lost control of her emotions for a moment because she was so surprised and happy that I managed to get the time off work to take her to the airport.

I explained that I'd informed my superior at the office that I either got the morning off work, or I took the day off sick. And, as he was aware that I was not actually ill, he'd then be forced to reprimand me. And, that I'd take that happening as an excellent opportunity, to tell him exactly in which part of his anatomy, he could file the relevant paperwork. 

"Oh god Simon; don't lose your job just to run me to the airport. I've got a car booked anyway."

"Jenny, I promised Billie I'd be your escort for the weekend. Actually I agreed on the wedding, but everyone else seems to think that included your whole visit to the country. I neglected my duties today, for which I apologise. I'm bored out of my mind with my current job anyway; I've been doing it so long. So if push comes to shove, who gives a monkeys?" 

===================

You know, I almost cried as Jenny went through the departure gate. We'd kissed again and I'd even taken the risk of taking her in my arms. Funny, I'd only known her for five days and she'd really got to me. 

I watched her plane take-off and then went home and got drunk; bugger the bloody office! 

My superior didn't admonish me, when I strolled into the office a few minutes late on the Wednesday morning; neither about my late arrival, or my failure to appear at all the previous afternoon. 

Someone did drop a letter on my desk later in the day, but that informed me that I was being moved up a salary grade. I figured, I'd have to do a vanishing act again sometime in the future. Or maybe it was the home truths I'd voiced to my superior on the Monday afternoon.

===================

I suppose that I was a little disappointed that only one letter arrived from Jennifer, a week after she got home. It simply said she'd got home safely and that her mother and stepfather had been pleased to have her back. I should imagine the local guys were as well!

Several weeks past and Jenny almost faded from my memory, but not quite. I found I was having some interesting -- if a little upsetting -- dreams. Usually the only person in my dreams had been Elaine; suddenly I had to contend with Jennifer making an appearance, and often substituting for Elaine.

===================

Then one morning I arrived at the office and very quickly learnt that there was an almightily flap going on, on the top floor. During the day word filtered down to the lower floors that there was a hostile takeover in the offing. 

Quite a few of my fellow employees immediately began to worry about their jobs. Our employers didn't run the most efficient company around. The guys upstairs appeared happy to have the latest computers on their desks, but nearly everyone else in the place did things the hard way; shoving bits of paper around; hence my recent raise being announced via a letter instead of email.

However being in a niche in market and having a reputation for reliability, if not efficiency, the company had always maintained a full order book. But I'd been well aware that the place was ripe for a takeover by some multi-national, more interested in our companies patents, than they were in its manufacturing (dis)organisation. So I wasn't really surprised to hear about the panic going on, on the top floor.

To be honest I'd got into more than a bit of a rut. Redundancy would possibly do me good. It would force me to get out and find a different job. Hopefully one I'd be able to make my mark in.

For the next week or so and atmosphere of doom pervaded to whole company. The stuffed shirts from the top floor had the gloomiest expressions on their faces. I'm pretty sure they knew that they would be the first to be thrown out on their ears. Some of the folks on the lower floors would survive I was sure, and maybe even some of the workers out in the plant. The only really good thing about the company was the reliability of the stuff they turned out.

Two weeks and it was a done deal. Word quickly filtered down that there were some new faces -- wearing very serious expressions -- wandering around the upper floors.

In the following days those serious faces began to venture for quick forays onto the lower floors. They were usually spotted in department managers' offices and those managers always had equally serious expressions on their faces.

The next thing that I noticed as I arrived at the office one morning was one of the maintenance guys' removing the chairman's reserved parking place sign. When I came out that night I noted that nearly all of the directors named signs had also been taken down. The chairman's sign being replaced by one reading CEO, led me to believe that maybe and American company had been behind the takeover. Although I knew that a lot of Multi-nationals and some British companies used American terminology for their executives nowadays. 

I managed to clap eyes on Marsha a few times, but the opportunity never presented itself to embarrass her. Usually she had a notepad in her hand and was trying -- best she could in those stilettos of hers -- to keep up with some guy who strode around in double time, like he was on a mission. Which, I suppose, he was!

Us workers still had no idea of exactly who had bought the company out; or what their long-term plans for it were. Some names had been banded about, on the gossip grapevine. But no one from upstairs was really talking. I believe they were all scared shitless that to say anything to anyone, might lead to them losing their jobs.

Two weeks later and I had had enough. On a whim that Monday morning I didn't go into the office, instead I paid a visit to the local Job Centre to see how job market looked. Not that I thought I'd find a job for myself there, rather I thought my visit might give me an idea of how things were going generally. It didn't look good, but I still went home and hit the telephone.

Two days I wasted before I worked it out that my only real option was to sit it out and wait until the axe fell. At least I'd get my redundancy pay that way. But I figured that I might be able to hurry that eventuality along a little; I hated the permanent air of limbo that was pervading the office.

Fifteen minutes late, I figured ought to do the trick. And, maybe a little more lackadaisical approach to my work! I'd always been known for my dedication and efficiency, maybe if I eased off a bit, I'd get shown the door a little sooner.

As I wandered into the office that morning, I caught sight of my department supervisor watching me through the glass wall of his office. With him was one of the new guys from the top floor who'd I'd seen kicking around a few times.

Placing the cup of coffee I'd picked on my way in on my desk, I pulled the top file from my in-tray and opened it. As I did so, out of the corner of my eye I saw the new guy leave my boss's office. I didn't look up, but I was aware that had his eyes were on me as he passed my desk.

No sooner had he left the department than my supervisor was standing over me. I was expecting an ear bashing for being late, what I got was. 

"Simon, you're wanted on the sixth floor. You are to go up there immediately." 

"Who wants to see me?"

"Farnforth, in Human Resources!"

"Human Resources: aye." I thought, "Christ I hadn't expected it to work that fast." Human Resources had to be the new name for the Personnel Department and they had always done the hiring and firing in the company. I wondered whether I should clear out my desk before I bothered to go up there.

"Well, are you going or not?" he demanded when I didn't immediately leap to my feet.

I picked up my still nearly full mug of coffee -- bringing an even blacker look the numbskulls face -- and headed for the lifts.

===================

When I arrived at the door that had a cardboard sign declaring "Human Resources" taped over the painted on words: "Personnel Department." I'd noted those cardboard signs stuck on nearly every door on the sixth floor.

"Simon, you better go straight in, Roger's been waiting for you!" Jean, one of the few faces I'd recognised on the sixth, grinned at me.

Then confusing me even more she gave me a double thumbs up signal and hurried me along with a sideways gesture of her head. Still confused I gently tapped on the door and strode into the room.

"Simon, come in; pleased to meet you at last." Farnforth said, rising to his feet and proffering his hand for me to shake.

Then clearing a space on his crowded desk for me to put my coffee he added, "Take a seat please?"

Having sat where he'd indicated, I suppose we eyed each other for a few seconds before I asked. "You wanted to see me Mr Farnforth?"

"Roger, please, Simon? Yes now, tell me what do you know about computers?"

"Computers?"

"Yes computers. Things have got to change around here Simon and your department is going to be moving into the twentieth century very shortly. Most of the paperwork done in there should have been computerised years ago. Far more efficient!"

"Yes well, I should imagine I'll soon be able to pick up the new system."

"Wow Simon, you misunderstand me. We don't want you to work with a new system. We want you to help the programmers design it."

"I'm sorry?" I wasn't quite sure that I understood what Roger Farnforth was saying. There was no way I could write a computer program and I expressed the fact to Roger. 

Roger laughed and explained to me that professional computer programmers would write the software. The job he was offering me was to work with them and ensure that the program they wrote fulfilled the tasks the company needed it to do.

"Shouldn't my supervisor be doing that job?" I suggested.

Farnforth, looked at me long and hard, before he said. "Simon, you know as well as anyone that that bloody idiot would be lost before he even got started. He sits behind the desk only because his father is a member of the same Lodge as this company's previous MD. I don't believe the new CEO will tolerate that kind of thing.

"No, you're the ideal candidate. But I believe you'll have to keep an eye on what's happening in the department at the same time. Things appear to go a little haywire down there when you are not around.

"Now if you are prepared to undertake the task, we'll get down to the details; your salary for instance." 

"Just a minute Mr Farnforth..."

"Roger!"

"Okay Roger. What about all the staff? Surely modernisation is going to lead to a lot of redundancies."

"It's termed rationalisation nowadays Simon. Yes, some of your co-workers will probably go; the department won't need as many staff. But, as many as we can, will be redeployed elsewhere in the company.

"Simon, whether you or anyone else helps with this modernisation, that fact won't change. Are you in?"

I thought for a few moments. If I was on the inside myself, I might be able to... protect at least some of my colleagues' jobs. 

"Well, on the proviso that any members of the present staff are offered alternative employment within the company; I'm in!"

"Brilliant! But you drive a hard bargain. It's agreed that all non-supervisory staff will be offered alternative employment. We are expecting the organisation to expand in the long term anyway. Now we'll going to leave everything down there as it is, until we've got this modernisation underway. However to start with, you will spend most every morning up here of the sixth floor with the computer programmers. They're ensconced in the conference room now, waiting to talk to you. The sooner you brief them on what needs to be done, then the sooner they can get started. I'll take you down there now.

I spent the rest of that morning and most of the afternoon -- I'm not sure what happened to my lunch hour that day -- cloistered in the conference room with half a dozen computer geeks trying to explain what was needed. Not that I was sure I understood myself what was required. But I was surprised that the geeks appeared to think their work wasn't going to take very long. I kinda got the impression that all they had to do was make modifications to programs they already had written, and were being used elsewhere.

Oh yeah, the high point of the day was that Marsha had apparently been assigned to keep us stocked-up with tea, coffee and sandwiches. I really enjoyed saying, "Thank you, Marsha!" in the most condescending tone of voice I could muster.

One of the geeks asked if there was any history between us. I smiled and told him "Not of the kind you imagine!" 

I got some work done back at my desk, but I had to fend-off a lot of questions about where I'd been all day. I hadn't thought about how to answer them, so I remained as noncommittal as I could get away with.

My supervisor sat in his office glowering at me. I'm sure he had an inkling as to what was in the wind. He was still sitting in his office with a sullen expression on his face when I left for the evening.

===================

As I left my flat for work the following morning, there were some removal guys carrying furniture into the empty flat opposite mine. Nothing odd really, it was a bachelor pad type complex and people were moving in and out all the time. One thing I did notice was that all the furniture I saw looked like it was brand new to me, straight from the showroom. The guys had to move their lorry so that I could get my car out. That made me late for work again and I wasn't best pleased about that, for obvious reasons. 

At the office, I'd parked my car already, when I found myself doing a double take of one of the reserved parking place signs. It had "Simon Truman" written on the bugger, with "IT Liaison" below. 

I must have stood there for several minutes convincing myself that my eyes were not deceiving me and that I was seeing, what I thought they were seeing. I was only brought back to the real world, when out of the corner of my eye; I noted four of the new guys rushing down the main entrances steps. One of them I recognised as the guy that Marsha was usually running along behind.

As they approached a black cab that had apparently just pulled up at the bottom of the entrance steps, John Wayne stepped out of the bugger. Well not really John Wayne, but a bloody good look-alike.

He had the same build as the actor and looked to me like he was seven foot tall. But that was probably because, even though he was dressed in a business suit, he had a massive Stetson perched on his head and a pair of cowboy boots -- with at least two-inch heels -- on his feet. You know, the quintessential incarnation of a Texan oil millionaire we've all seen in films. I was a little surprised that he wasn't wearing spurs, holster and gun.

After exchanging brief greetings with his welcoming committee, he turned back to the taxi and assisted an elegant woman to alight.

Chalk and cheese! The woman looked half his size even with her three-inch stilettos. I figured she was about forty-five, maybe fifty years old, and noted that she was carrying those years extremely efficiently.

For just an instant she glanced in my direction and smiled. I've got to say I had no idea at the time, whether she had smiled at me, or just returned the stupid grin I had on my face. And I still don't know whether I was grinning myself because I'd just seen that reserved parking sign with my name on it, or that I'd found the sight of her cowboy companion slightly humorous. 

Look, you don't come across many people dressed as he was in the UK; not even in the country and western bars and dance clubs.

The woman had an enchanting and vaguely familiar face, which was to trouble me for the rest of the day. Still smiling she said something to the big man, who also glanced my in my direction, and appeared to study me carefully me for an instant, moving his head back and actually appearing to get even taller as he did so.

Then he said a few words to the woman before returning to talk with the welcoming committee as they all made their way up the steps and into the building. The elegant woman sneaked another smiling glance my way just before she stepped through the door.

There was something about that woman that I couldn't get my head around. Film star looks, okay maybe an older film star, but you know what I mean and... Oh yeah, that picture of an air-stewardess in mufti crept into my brain. I remembered someone else bringing that thought into my mind, but I couldn't recall whom at that moment.

The doors were closing on both lifts by the time I followed them inside, so I waited and watched the indicators as they up to the seventh floor and slowly returned again.

===================

"What about redundancies?" I heard one of my colleagues call out even before I'd entered the department. 

As I made the door, the first thing I noted was that everyone was sitting on chairs grouped around my desk. Roger Farnforth was actually sat on my desk and another man -- I'd never seen before -- was standing beside him addressing everyone.

"We do not envisage any redundancies at all in this department. That was the first query Simon had before he accepted the position. Eventually though, we envisage that some of you will be invited to transfer to other departments. Please understand that this modernisation is long overdue. The new management accept that you've done so well considering the archaic conditions you've been working under so stoically. We have no intention of forgetting your dedication this company.

"Now things are going to get worse for Simon. He's going to have to keep this department struggling along, as well as spend a lot of his time helping design and implement the new systems. His first thought was for you, his work colleagues. I hope you'll all give him all the support needs."

Then the guy, who'd obviously seem me enter the department, gestured to where I was standing.




The Volunteer



"Ah, here he is now! Good morning Simon, I was just explaining what is happening to your staff."

"Your staff" was the bit that sank home. I wish I'd been around when he'd started; I had no idea what the bloody hell was going on.

I looked across at the supervisor's office and noticed an almost sterile emptiness about it. The walls were bare of the family photographs that had adorned them the evening before.

I learnt later that my supervisor had gone upstairs after I left the previous evening. He had demanded to know where I'd been for most of the day and why. Well, he was told and insisted that it was he, as the department supervisor, who should be advising the computer people. It was never made clear to me what happened after that, but I do believe he then found himself on the losing end of a game of brinkmanship. Whatever happened, it led to him leaving the building permanently that same evening. 

I was standing there with the rest of the departments staff staring at me, while wondering how they were going to take all this. When one of them shouted "Good on ya, Simon!" then they all crowded around congratulating me. Only I'm not too sure what they were congratulating me for. Helping with the change over to computers, or replacing our a-whole of a department head.

The melee was still going on when Jean, Farnforth's secretary, rushed into the department and had a word in his ear. Farnforth rather deftly brought order to the chaos and told me -- and everybody else -- that the computer wallies were waiting for me upstairs.

Then leaving the other guy whose name I still hadn't been told in the office, he and Jean, all-but, dragged me to the lifts.

The computer guys were all grouped around a collection of laptops. I must say that I was surprised at what they had achieved literally overnight. But they said it was finding the right bits of already written programming together and then persuading them to talk to each other. They also went on about how large a server was going to be required and wanted me to talk to the production and design departments because they were all going to be on the same system. I was kinda lost most of the time and spent quite a lot of the day ringing around different people in the company and dragging them into our discussions. 

Farnforth had given me carte blanche as far as that sort of thing was concerned. I suppose that's what the IT Liaison title was all about. I kinda wondered whether I'd end up taking the can if the system didn't work. Hey shit, we all know that nothing can cause a greater cock-up than a computer system that doesn't work properly. I was wondering whether I'd been roped-in as the whipping boy.

Marsha wasn't running around after us with refreshments that day, one of the other girls was. This disappointed me a little, because I'd enjoyed myself winding her up the day before. 

When I enquired about her absence the girl told us that some very important guy and his wife had arrived in the office that morning and all the top knobs were running around upstairs like demented cats. The girl said that for some reason Marsha looked as if she was terrified of them, especially the guy's wife. 

We'd sort of missed out on taking a proper lunch the day before, so I suggested to the computer guys that we should take one that day. My suggestion was not met with universal approval. The guys explained that some computer guru was due over from the U.S. very shortly to look over their system. They wanted to get as far along as they could, before he turned up and stuck his nose in. 

So it was sandwiches for lunch once again. Yeah, I could have overruled them, (I think) but I didn't want to upset the guys, we'd been getting along just fine up until then.

I did manage to find time to nip down to the department only to find everything was running tickety-boo. I have no idea whether it was due to the change in supervisor, the fact that some of them were scared shitless that they might be out on their ear, or that they were trying to help me. But they were all working like dervishes down there and weren't far off schedule; which I'll add, was pretty unusual for our department.

I left them to it and went back up to my new computer geek friends. We didn't leave the conference room until after six that evening when everybody else, except the security staff and cleaning people, had left the offices.

===================

There was load music coming form the flat opposite when I got home that evening. I hoped to hell I wasn't going to have a noisy neighbour like I had before one time. Maybe the thought crossed my mind to knock on the door and introduce myself, but I feared I'd make a comment about the loudness of the music and that wouldn't make for a good neighbourly relationship. I'd leave the complaining to the miserable old bugger down below if I could. 

Besides I was tired, it had been a long day.

After I had a shower, I was perusing the selection of frozen food in my freezer and trying to decide whether to cook something or resort to calling one of the local takeaways and having something delivered, when the doorbell rang. 

But not the intercom bell from the outer door down on the street. Whoever it was, they were already in the block. 

"Damn it!" I thought, I really wasn't in the mood to meet my new neighbour. Besides, I was still dressed in nothing but a bath towel.

Hoping they'd give up and go away, I sneaked over to the door and squinted through the little spy hole. Only to be confronted by an eye trying to look in from the outside.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not dressed at the moment, could you come back later?"

"Oh, but I just needed someone to open my wine for me, so that I can have a glass with my dinner!" And extremely deep and sultry -- if not sounding a little false -- female voice replied.

Curiosity got the better of me; I slipped the catch and stuck my head around the edge of the door.

"That happens to be a bottle of beer!"

"Yeah, but you're not a wine drinker are you? Anyway, your steak's done just how you like it. Come on let's eat."

"Jenny I'm not dressed. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I'd have thought that was pretty obvious, I live here in that cute little apartment opposite."

"No, what are you doing back in the UK?"

"Ah well, my basic plan is to get you to ask me to marry you. I figured that if I move in next-door, then I'll be able to... Well, you won't be bringing any other girls back here, will you? Not with me standing out here and... Well, I'll leave that to your imagination. Now come-on lets eat I'm starving."

"I'm not dressed Jennifer!"

"Hey, do you see me complaining? I can take my clothes off as well if you like, it'll save time later."

"Give me a couple of minutes?" I said before closing the door.

"Spoil sport!" Jenny called out as I did so.

===================

The steak was cooked exactly as I liked it. Jenny grinned back at me when I complimented her on her cooking and memory.

After we'd eaten she had great fun showing me all the new furniture she'd bought, including her bedroom furniture. Explaining that it was a little large for the flat but assuring me that it was going to look wonderful in "our house!"

I didn't rise to the bait, and no, we didn't end the evening in her bed; or mine. Although we were up until well gone one A.M. talking about what the little minx had been up to. Or maybe I should say what her stepfather had been up to.

Jenny explained that she informed her mother and stepfather that she'd met the man she intended to marry while in the UK, when they collected her from the airport over there. She said her stepfather hadn't been impressed, until her mother had got it out of her that Jenny had failed to tempt me into trying to bed her.

"By the way Simon, if anyone had tried anything that I found unwelcome... Well, I always had my little friend here!"

Jenny pulled a little gadget from her handbag and waved it at me.

"You do realise that those things are illegal in the UK, don't you?" I informed her.

"Are they? I didn't know!"

"Well, I think they are. I've never seen them on sale or anything. You were lucky you never got stopped at the airport with it."

"It came over in the metal case, packed in with my jewellery, a couple of weeks before and was safely locked up in the bank vault."

Well that explained to me how she'd got a stun gun into the country. 

Jenny further explained that it had gone back to the States with her jewellery and returned once again packed in with her test equipment. Suddenly I suspected that I knew who the computer guru, the guys had been so worried about all day, might turn out to be. But I didn't ask Jenny about that at the time, because she was explaining how her stepfather had insisted on having me thoroughly checked out. 

Apparently whoever he had got to look into my background, had been very thorough. I somehow didn't think they were normal private detectives either, because while checking me out they realised that my employers were a potential gold mine -- Jenny's description -- and ripe for a take over. 

"Lee's people say that the company just needs a few million dollars pumped in to modernise the place and then it's going to take off." Jenny said with a grin on her face.

"And my sudden and unexpected promotion?" I asked.

"No Simon; that had nothing to do with me, or my stepfather. Although I should imagine that some of the new management will know that Lee has a special interest in you. They will be the same guys who suggested the takeover to him anyway. Lee has a hands-off attitude, and pays other people to do the worrying.

"Mind you, I think it's very... fortuitous that you're the IT liaison officer, and I'm my stepfathers IT consultant."

"Oh, fortuitous for who?" 

"For us silly! It means I get to consult with you all day and then we can really get friendly all night. Hey, I only live next-door; you can drive me too and from work. Isn't that a lucky coincidence?"

===================

Yeah, I put up a token resistance for about a month or so. Well, just long enough to convince Jenny to stop trying to rush me into anything, and then I climbed into bed with her. Well not exactly bed actually, we finally lost control of ourselves in her, now my, office one evening after everyone had gone home. 

Hey, it was kinky and fun, even if I did have to keep one eye open in case any of the cleaning staff suddenly appeared in the IT department. Yes, I am the IT manager now; well, Jenny's training me up, she has been since the first day she stepped into the company if I dare to admit it. Jenny says she wants to be a stay-at-home mum.

I had to meet the big man of course, and I'll be honest, he scared the life out of me until I got to know him. He certainly worships Jenny's mother and I do believe he thinks the sun won't rise in the morning if my Jenny isn't happy. Mind you, I think the same thing nowadays. 

The wedding and reception was held at The Moat House, but it was a pretty casual affair. You know just family and friends and the more presentable members of the Rovers and their girlfriends.

Billie and his pregnant bride were there, and so was Jenny's Uncle Graham. Jenny's aunt was unfortunately unwell and couldn't make it to the wedding, so Graham brought his secretary in her stead. Billie kinda hinted that the secretary -- whom he appeared to know remarkably well -- might find herself as full time stand-in for Mrs Biddle in the near future. 

Mind you, it was probably a good idea that the old bat never turned up, Jenny's mother always has venom in her tone whenever the woman is mentioned. Jenny told me that she had never let on to her mother how nastily Marsha and her aunt had treated her, until she herself got over to the Big Guy's ranch. If those two ever do run into each other, I suspect that there will be some real fireworks.

Marsha didn't show either because she was too near her time. She'd gone on maternity leave shortly after Jenny came to work at the company. Er, no! I don't know who the father is, and from what I've heard, neither does Marsha. What more can I say?

Oh well, I suppose I could say that Jenny would like half a dozen children, but I'd prefer just two. I suppose we'll have to wait and see on that one. But generally I think my life's pretty well planned out for me from now on.

But there's only one question that really keeps creeping back into my mind every so often. Just who the hell was that bloody Caucasian-Afro-Caribbean stripper bird, at Billie's damned Stag Party?

Life goes on.



The Volunteer



After Mr. Jones ended the call I tried to answer the rest of their questions, and we replayed the video clips of Sherry Smithfield planting and then removing the alleged hacking device from Melody's computer. Damn, now they have me sounding like a lawyer. It took another two weeks for us to get an appointment with a federal judge, and a week after that before any action was taken on Melody's behalf. I was told that the process was greatly expedited due to the level of injustice that Miss Farnsworth was subject to. What a crock of shit. I knew they didn't give rat's ass about Melody. All they wanted was their money back, and I was not going to give that up until I was sure she would be released. By this time my dad found out what was going on, to say he wasn't pleased would have been an understatement. I know he did grudgingly respect me for keeping my word and helping to bring a miscarriage of justice to an end, but he definitely didn't like the way I went about it, especially using my trip to Aunt Linda's house primarily to spy on Harvey Wallace. After talking with Linda, and her confirming that I did spend nearly every evening I was there with them and she gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted during the day, Dad came to realize that my visit really wasn't a hoax, and that I did what most people do when visiting relatives, mix a little business with pleasure. He reluctantly gave in and said he was proud of me. In the end there really wasn't much else he could do anyway, as it was now a legal matter and completely out of his hands. 

I fought with myself as to whether I should be at the prison when Melody heard the news about her release. I so would have loved to see the look on her face when she found out that I had kept my word, but the last thing I wanted was for her to feel like I expected anything in return, or that she owed me for helping her. In the end I justified not going by claiming that I had already missed my first week as a high school senior, and I needed to get caught back up with my classes. Yeah, like I really gave a damn about that. I did get a rather unexpected surprise, however, when Mr. Jones presented me with my very own check for $500,000. I started to argue that it was supposed to go to Melody, but he assured me that she received one as well. He said that his company had recently doubled its reward offer in an attempt to get information that would lead them to the missing money. He purposely kept his mouth shut about it until the deal was signed, because he felt that I deserved to be compensated for all the effort I put into recovering the missing money and helping to correct a major injustice. I was also offered open end jobs by both Mr. Jones to help beef up their server security, and by Mrs. Marsh as an investigator for the state. Unfortunately, if I ever decided to work for her, I would have to dispense with a lot of my hacking, as most of the evidence I would uncover using these skills would not be admissible if they were presented by a court appointed representative. I decided for the time being just to be a regular student, and perhaps take Mr. Jones up on his offer when I finished high school. I obviously didn't need the money, and now with half a million dollars in the bank, Dad and I no longer had to worry about where my college funds would come from. I knew this was a huge load off his mind, and was grateful for the opportunity to reduce the burdens on him.

I hadn't heard a thing from Melody since she was released, and I just assumed she moved away and got on with her life. My birthday always coincided with the Thanksgiving holiday. Growing up, it kind of sucked. Don't get me wrong, I loved the fact that I was always out of school on my birthday, but I hated that we could never really plan anything special to do, because it was usually either too cold outside for one thing, or since Thanksgiving was so close, that even if I had friends to do something with, they would not have been able to spare the time to be with me. This year was shaping up to be the worst of all. It was the first birthday I would spend without either my mother or Jimmy. To top it off, Dad was called away on business and wouldn't be home to celebrate with me either. If I were being honest, I think he planned it this way, because he just couldn't deal with facing the day without my mother. Mom absolutely loved Thanksgiving. She would always fix a huge meal, and then be all giddy about getting up early the next morning and shopping for sales. This was the first year that I would ever have any real money, and I didn't give a damn about going anywhere to spend it.

As I was walking home to what I knew would be an empty house, I was wondering what I was going to do with myself for the week. I know it would be most teenagers' dream to have the house to themselves, but to me it just seemed lonely. As expected, there was a card on the table from Dad and another in the mailbox from Jimmy, but what I really wanted more than anything was just someone to talk to.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, because I was woken by the doorbell ringing. Figuring it was probably just some neighbor dad had conned into checking on me, I was definitely not at my best when I opened the door, to get the shock of my life. 

"Melody, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Well, I came to see you, silly, you didn't think I would miss being here on your birthday did you?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I think that? First you got mad and wouldn't let me come visit you in prison, and then when you were released I didn't hear a single word from you for months," I complained.

"I was in shock on the day they released me. One minute I was sitting in my jail cell thinking that I would probably be there for the rest of my life, and the next thing I knew they were handing me a check for half a million dollars and telling me I was free to go. They even said that my record was wiped clean of any wrongdoing, and I would never have to admit to being incarcerated on a job application because there would no longer be any evidence of it. Can you even image what that felt like?" she asked.

"No I can't, but it has been months since your release, why haven't you at least tried to contact me?" I asked.

"Well, I did call and talk with your father," she started to say.

"You what?" I asked, completely shocked for the second time tonight.

"Yeah, um, we decided that it would be best if I waited to contact you until I was bit more stable," she admitted.

"So you're still treating me like a child, calling to ask my daddy if it's alright for you to visit." I said with utter annoyance.

"I did not mean for you to take it that way," she said.

"How could I possibly take it any other way, when I am not allowed to decide for myself who I want to be friends with?" I asked her.

"Look, perhaps this wasn't the best idea for me to come here. Maybe I should just go," she said while turning towards the door.

"That's right, run away again, just like you did when we were working together," I told her.

"Don't you understand how hard that was for me? I was becoming too attached, and knew you would be leaving soon. I was so depressed in that place I never let anyone get near me, and then you came along and were my link to the outside world. My problem was that the closer we became, the more I knew I would never truly be a part of that world. It was like freedom was dangling on a string, near enough for me to almost feel it, but yet so far away that it would take literally a lifetime to achieve. I had no choice but to run," she wept, her voice choked with emotion.

"Oh God, Melody, please don't cry. I know I went about it all wrong, and I shouldn't have kept telling you that I was working on getting you released, but I was just so desperate to be able to offer you at least some degree of hope that I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. I'm so sorry that I hurt you. Can you ever forgive me for being so insensitive?" I begged.

"Forgive you, honey, you kept your promise, hell, you did more than keep your promise. Baby, I saw the tape. You know Mr. Jones recorded your entire meeting, right?" she asked.

"Yes, I was expecting him to. It didn't matter; I had more than enough evidence to reopen the case, even without the money. Once I had that as well, nothing was going to stop me from accomplishing what I set out to do," I told her.

"I just have to ask why you wanted me to have the reward money, when you were the one who discovered the truth?" she wanted to know.

"Hey, I got my share of the money as well," I argued.

"Yeah, but Mr. Jones had to trick you into taking it. If he would have told you about the extra half a million before the deal was signed you would have insisted that I got that as well, wouldn't you?" she asked.

"Yes, you can have it now, if you want," I told her.

"I am not taking one dime of that money. It's yours, and you more than earned it. What I don't understand is why you wanted to give it away?" she wanted to know.

"Melody, I worked for about a month gathering evidence to get you released, but you had your entire life ripped out from under you. When we first met, it was clear to see that you hated the world, then when you started to let me in I got just a little glimpse of the woman I could tell you used to be, and it was sickening to know how much they broke your spirit. I was telling the truth when I said I believed that you were innocent. I knew, because that is what my heart saw every time I looked at you. When I asked myself who deserved the money more, I didn't even have to think about it to come up with the answer," I explained, while watching her tears start flowing again.

"I asked you to stop crying," I teased as I dabbed her cheeks with a soft Kleenex. 

"I'll try, but I just have to ask, what made you suspect Harvey? Hell, even I didn't think he had anything to do with what happened," she needed to know.

"I am not really sure of that one myself. I suppose that part of it could have been jealousy, but I guess the real reason is that your description of the man just didn't match my definition of a loving boyfriend," I confessed.

"You were actually jealous of Harvey?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be? Harvey was your man; I was merely just some schoolboy nerd there to help fix the computers. I'm just sorry you had to put up with all the teasing that the women there gave you," I replied honestly.

"Hell the reason I was teased so much is because they were jealous themselves. I had an actual friend on the outside that I could meet with regularly, and they didn't. When they found out that you were the one most influential in getting me released they all gave me a message for you," Melody said.

"And that would be?" I asked.

"If you could do the same thing for any of them, they would make damn sure that nobody would ever be able to call you a boy again. They even went so far as to say that the first thing I should do upon my release is to find you, check into the nearest motel, and not let you leave until you couldn't get it up again for a month," she told me.

"As much as I would love for you to do that, I got you released because it was the right thing to do, not so you would be grateful enough to take my virginity," I told her.

"I actually feel the same way," she said, momentarily crushing my dreams of being with her tonight. "That is part of the reason I waited so long to contact you. I wanted to be sure what I felt was more than just gratitude. You deserve that," she finished. 

"So how do you feel about me?" I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer.

"That is really a difficult question to explain. I have so many emotions when it comes to you, and let's be honest, gratitude is among them, but there really is more to it than that. I am attracted to you, both in body and soul. I realized that when we were working together, and it frightened me. To be honest, it still frightens me.

"Why, are you afraid I would hurt you?" I wanted to know.

"No, never that, I'm just concerned about you becoming too attached to me and not trying to find a girl your own age afterwards," Melody tried to explain.

"So it really is just about gratitude then. It's ok for us to have sex, but I am not good enough to consider dating long term," I asked. 

"It has nothing to do with not being good enough, but I am several years older than you are. I have also been through some devastating experiences which have permanently changed my outlook on the world. I am just not sure that we would be compatible long term," she confessed.

"My mom was the only one I knew who could predict the future, and unfortunately she is not around anymore to ask. I admit that I have been attracted to you from the beginning, but I feel more than that for you now. I am not sure what it will lead to, but if you feel the same for me, don't we at least owe it to ourselves and each other to give dating a try?" I argued.

"But what if it doesn't work out?" she asked.

"Then we get hurt, we heal or stay bitter, and finally we move on, just like everybody else," I said.

"What would happen if I agreed?" she wanted to know.

"Well, I still would love for you to try and put me out of commission for a month, but we don't really need a motel room as Dad will be away on business for the holiday," I said.

"I know, your dad told me when we talked earlier today," she admitted.

"Dad knew you were coming, did he know why?" I asked, bewildered.

"Ryan, your dad is many things, but stupid is not one of them. I told him what I wanted to do, and he said you were of age and he couldn't stop us even if he wanted to. He did make me promise to be safe, however, which was part of the reason I waited so long to see you. I didn't want us to have to use condoms," she explained.

"Melody, I only want this to happen if it is something that you desire as well. Please don't make my first time only about you being grateful," I pleaded.

"Ryan, honey, right now I want you more than anyone I have ever been with, and that includes Harvey. I would be lying if I said that part of it wasn't gratitude, but that is not the only reason I am here. I am not a fortune teller either, but if you truly want me to be your girlfriend and not just some fuck buddy, or friends with benefits, or whatever they call it these days, I am willing to try," she relented.

I was truly fortunate to have a queen size bed of my own, as I would not have felt right about using my father's room for our activities. I knew that with it being my first time I could easily fall for Melody too quickly, so I had to keep some semblance of my emotions in check. That being said, I didn't want to squelch my feelings either. I guess that it would always be a fine line that adults would walk whenever they started a new relationship. I just hoped my heart was ready to partake in the adventure.

We both knew I would cum quickly, and Melody did everything in her power to make it happen. She wanted my first couple of loads out of the way before the real fun began. I don't know about her, but I was already enjoying myself quite nicely, if you know what I mean. The first time a woman takes you in her mouth is unfathomably erotic. There is nothing like the feeling of hot wet lips and a tight throat to totally immerse your body in utter ecstasy. It's amazing, when you think about it, how versatile certain parts of our anatomy can truly be. Orally, she could talk, chew, drink, eat, breath, and yet now she was giving me more pleasure than surely any man had a right to receive. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on high alert as I soared towards my pending release. Being the gentleman that I like to think of myself as, I naturally tried to warn her that I was on edge, but she just continued to manipulate my manhood until there was just no holding back the obvious outcome. It's funny the images your mind can conjure up at the most inopportune of moments. I started to picture Bruce Banner as he fights with everything he has trying desperately to contain the rage that flowed through his body when he loses the battle within himself to once again be transformed into the mighty beast. That is the way I felt as I struggled with all my might to delay my upcoming release. As my body finally gave into the feeling of utter bliss, my manhood erupted in a tidal wave of warm flowing goo that coated her throat with what I later learned to have a salty pungent flavor. I had never tasted my own discharge before, but how could I possibly deny the offer of my sweet Melody's lips as they pressed themselves to mine after she had worked so diligently to make my first orgasm at the hands of another person such an unbelievable pleasant and memorable experience. 

After coming down off my exuberant high, I decided it was time for me to step up and repay the favor. Being new to the game, I really had no idea of what I could actually do to satisfy her. I tried to focus on all those times I watched guys, and even some ladies, go down on one another on the internet. I knew that this was real and not some fantasy porn scene portrayed by over-the-top actors, but besides Melody's own direction, this was really all the education I had to work with, so I deciphered what I felt was tangible and tried to mimic those actions. I knew my technique wasn't anywhere near as good as she deserved, but she did seem to moan at the appropriate times, and when my face became covered with a thick musky liquid I began to wonder just how real those porn movies actually were. I explored her body like it was some archeological find of the highest importance. I left no facet unexamined, foolishly worrying that I may never again be granted such an opportunity like the one presenting itself to me this evening. I adored the feeling of her vagina as it seemed to tug at my fingers, inviting me to probe deeper into the mysteries hidden inside her most private of treasures. Although I so wanted to prolong our relationship, I was in constant distress that a boy like me could not adequately create the level of pleasure necessary to sustain a woman of her caliber. She did seem to be enjoying herself, but I prayed that she wasn't faking a reaction just to inflate my delicate ego. 

Melody eventually pushed my face away from her mound, and after we kissed on the lips, with her tasting the juices still present there, she announced that it was finally time for us to forever alter my virginal status. I don't know how others reacted when they faced this coming of age event, but for me I think that every feeling I had ever experienced was kickboxing with one another in an effort to emerge as the dominant emotion. Melody assured me that she already had a handle on the issue of birth control, so all I needed to do was just relax and enjoy my initiation into the world of adult activities. Well enjoy them I did, but as for relaxing, there was not a chance in hell that was going to happen. It would be intimidating enough to have your first time with a mere schoolgirl, but being aware of Melody's previous experience caused my level of anxiety to skyrocket exponentially. I knew that I would have the time of my life, hell, I was already doing that, but would I really be good enough to satisfy someone like her? That was my big dilemma. As much as I professed to be a man, in the area of sexual activities I was still just a boy. What do I know about pleasing a woman? You know, it's funny, but at that particular moment I started to think about my deceased mother. No, not in the sick perverted way that you are all imagining, I remembered how she used to say that people can communicate by a multitude of different methods, besides the mere exchanging of words. She taught me to listen with not just with my ears, but also my eyes, touch, and most importantly, my heart. It was through the use of these techniques that I was able to be certain of Melody's innocence. What was stopping me from using them now?