I was being conned. The weird thing about it was that I knew that this was happening and did nothing about it. She even confirmed that she was conning me, and I did nothing about that. I didn't go to the police and have her arrested because, quite frankly it was the best thing that had happened to me for a long time.
To give this story some sort of context, I will need to go back several years to the end of my life as I knew it.
I was at that time what could be described as a 'self-made man'. A man who was very successful in his business and, as a result, very successful in his personal life. I was a builder, but not just any builder. I specialised in high-end luxury homes, the sort of home that those people with the money, bought to impress. I gave them good value for money, and my reputation grew as a result. My advertising budget was nil.
I was happily married to Robyn, the girl that I met in high school, and we had two gorgeous kids, Mike who was twelve, and Jess, ten at that time when it all fell apart.
We had planned a family holiday on an island on the Barrier Reef, but I had to stay in Adelaide because of some business problem that was to take up a day of my time. I don't even remember what it was. Robyn and the kids left on the scheduled flight and I had rebooked to follow the next day.
The helicopter taking them from Cairns to the island resort crashed into the sea, killing Robyn, the kids, and the pilot. It killed my life in the process. I tried to hold it together by plunging into my business. That didn't work. I ended up selling the company to an eastern states home building company that was looking for a toe-hold in this state. I withdrew from the world as I had known it, politely declining invitations from family and friends. I even grew a beard.
I learned to cook, so my forays out into the world consisted entirely of trips to the supermarket for the ingredients for my culinary masterpieces. If it wasn't for the demands from the Tax office I would have maintained a neutral cash-flow situation, my only expenses being food, utilities, rates, and keeping my car serviced and on the road. These costs were covered by the interest on my bank account.
For the past five years I had received an invitation to the Building Industry Awards dinner, I had declined them in the past, but this year I decided that I would go. It was time that I returned to the world. I shaved off my beard, bought a new tuxedo to replace the one that I had thrown out with the garbage. A quick look in the mirror before I walked out the door to the hire car, and I was as ready as I would ever be.
"When do you want me to pick you up?" Alan, my driver, asked as we pulled up outside the Convention Centre, the venue for this evening's soiree.
"I can't see me staying until stumps (the end of the show, a cricketing term) but you never know with these things. I think that eleven is a respectable hour, let's make it then unless you hear otherwise. Have you got a card?"
He handed me his business card as I got out.
Although it had been five years since I had been to one of these shows, there were several people that I recognised from back then, and they even recognised me. I was flattered.
The company that I had built from nothing to its pre-eminent award winning status, did not feature in any of the award categories. That saddened me. My feelings of sadness were lessened by the fact that I was not seated at their table. I had been seated at what could be called the official table, one with many of my old business friends who made me feel welcome. They did everything that they could to avoid any mention of my old company, probably because such a mention would have saddened me even further than I was.
I had just come back into the hall from a visit to the toilets when a woman detached herself from a group. "Bryce Harrington," she had obviously read the name tag that I wore, "I thought it was you, it's been some time hasn't it?"
"I'm sorry, I don't recognise you."
"I didn't expect you to. I was not high enough up the food chain to have mixed with you back then. It has been five years after all. You did a very good job of cutting yourself off from the world. I'm Sacha Miller by the way, that's if you're interested."
"You're a very forward young lady Sacha Miller, but I'm afraid that I'm not interesting enough to be interested in you, or anyone else for that matter."
"That's where you are so very wrong. You were successful in tough times when other builders were struggling, because you refused to compromise your standards. You always gave the buyer good, no, make that great, value for their money. There were never any complaints about the standards that you set and maintained. That, to me, makes you interesting."
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a business analyst. I investigate businesses to see what makes them tick and, more often than not, what makes them die. Your old company for instance, is on life support. I'm afraid that it has not long to live."
"I'm disappointed but, to be perfectly frank, not surprised."
"So, you have been keeping in touch with the world."
"That small part of it yes."
"And the reason that you are here tonight is to see if there is anything to be salvaged from the wreckage?"
"You could say that. But I have no intention of wasting any money if there is no hope."
"There could be hope if you are brave enough."
"I'm not that brave. I like to research everything before I take the first step, in case there are any little surprises. I have a pathological fear of surprises. I'm afraid that the time taken to repair the damage to my company's reputation would be more than I am prepared to expend.""
"So, you have never acted on impulse?"
"No. Like I said, I research before I make the move."
"I don't think that I can wait that long."
"And just what do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, just me thinking out loud."
"Now you really have me worried."
"Don't be, the last thing that I would do is to hurt you."
"That makes me feel better. You don't hold back on your opinions when you write about something that you think is wrong."
"So you do read my stuff."
"Yes, and in the main I find that you at least get your facts straight, not like some of your colleagues." I looked at my watch.
"In a hurry to be somewhere?" She asked.
"No . . . "
"Good."
"But I have a car booked to take me home, and I need to decide whether to change the time of the booking or not."
"What time is the pick-up?"
"Eleven."
"Change it. Better still, cancel it all together, you are going to walk me home."
"I hope it's not too far, my legs might not be able to cope." I never intended to walk her home, although, if I were to be perfectly honest, the thought had passed through my mind.
"Your legs will cope just fine."
I took my phone out and dialled a number. It was answered on the third ring. "Alan, Bryce, how would you like an early night?"
"Is she that good?" I hoped that Sacha couldn't hear the question.
"You could say that. Put the paperwork through as if you took me home, and go home."
"Thanks for that and good luck, but be careful."
"It sounds as if he's your regular driver, I didn't think you went out that much."
"I only met him tonight, but I find that it doesn't pay to define someone by what they do, but by who they are."
"And that philosophy is probably why you were so successful. It confirms what I have heard, and read, about you."
"Don't believe everything that you read."
"Not unless it confirms what you already know. What say we get out of here, and you can walk me home?" She grabbed my hand and almost dragged me down the stairs to North Terrace.
It was a short walk, no more than a kilometre, to her apartment building just off Hindmarsh Square, but it took much longer than if I had been on my own.
We paused outside a boutique in Rundle Mall and I pointed to a dress in the window. "You would look great in that little black number."
"Anyone would look great in that."
"Almost true, but not if she's three axe-handles across the arse, and you are definitely not that."
"You think?"
"I'll have you know that I'm not blind."
"And you have good taste in women's clothes."
"Something that I picked up from Robyn, she had impeccable taste in clothes."
"And men." She saw that I was drifting into memories of my past and hugged me to her. "I can never compete with your memories, and I don't even want to try. Look Bryce, I like you a lot, you are a great man, and I say that we take tonight as it comes, and if that is all that it is, so be it, no come-backs, no recriminations. What do you say?"
"I say yes to that, but on one condition."
"And that is?"
"That we don't start anything that has the potential to hurt either or both of us."
"You're on." We crossed over Pulteney Street into Rundle Street East with its dozens of cafes. Two coffees, and an hour later, we left and walked along Pulteney Street to her apartment building.
Her apartment was decorated in what I would describe as 'modern chic', neither feminine nor masculine, sort of asexual. "I don't know about you, but after all that coffee I need to pee, but I can hold off long enough to let you have first use of the loo. It's down there, second on the right." The first door on the right was her bedroom, and when I emerged from my bladder easing sojourn in the loo, I noticed that she had turned down the bed. "Make yourself comfortable." She patted the bed. "I won't be long."
I stood as she came into the room. She put her arms around my waist and pulled herself into me, pressing herself into me, and looked into my eyes. I don't know whether it was her closeness, my lack of recent female contact, or the alcohol, but there was a stirring in my loins, a stirring that she had obviously felt.
"He's interested I sense."
"Whether he can respond to that interest remains to be seen."
Respond he did, with a little help from her hands caressing him, and her lips on mine. I won't say that I had a rampaging erect dick, but he was at least making his presence felt.
"Mmm, what have we here?"
"I assume that you know very well what we have, and don't try to convince me otherwise. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that I am experiencing what is known as an erection."
"So, what are we going to do about it?" She had already decided on a course of action. Her fingers had entered through the opening created by her sliding the zipper down and was caressing him. If my memory served me correctly, she would feel a similar response if I were to caress her breasts. My memory did not fail me. Another memory came to light after her dress had hit the floor. My finger entered her vagina. "Oh god that feels good." Her hips pushed forward, forcing my finger deeper inside her. She dragged my trousers and jocks down and her mouth engulfed me. It was my turn to call for god. She pushed me back onto the bed and straddled me, her hips working him deeper inside her until, how can I describe the feeling, years of pent up emotions poured from me, causing her to slump forward onto me. "Oh my god, this is the best, you are so good for me."
