English Summer Tales Pt 01

Author's Note: this story started out as a collaboration with JasonClearwater, taking Lucy, a character from his

Jesse and Will story series

and having her meet up with Alex, one of my characters.

For those readers familiar with my Literotica world, Alex's story loosely takes up from the end of my Memory and Loss series (which is auto-biographical), could run in parallel with my Sisters series, and would sit before the Rope and Veil series. This new encounter is completely fictional for Alex and is a "might have been" encounter.

For Jason, on the other hand, Jesse and Lucy's break-up contained too many of his own auto-biographical details, and he found that writing Lucy meeting another man was, to use his words, "Like hitting myself in the face with a baseball bat." He decided that he couldn't keep writing. Which is, I hope, testament to the depth and intensity of the story you are about to read. Jason has graciously allowed me to continue with his character Lucy, "I know you and Alex will look after her." I think we do.

It will be interesting to see if readers can spot where the collaborative writing ended, and where I took over the writing completely - this is a "writer's curiosity" for both Jason and myself.

Alex Meets Lucy

Lucy stood in an alleyway that smelt like piss and mud, in front of her ex-boyfriend Jesse. His long hair was matted with sweat, his eyes blacked out from whatever shit he'd taken.

Further down the alleyway, Jesse's best mate and gay lover, Will, dragged on a cigarette, watching the drama with cold blue eyes.

"I told you I'd stop!" Jesse said desperately. "I told you to tell me what you wanted, and I'd do it!"

Lucy shook her head, tears trickling down her face. "It's not about what I want, Jesse. It's about what you want. And that's not me, is it?"

Jesse's eyes were full of hurt. "So you what, you fucked his mates whenever he took me somewhere else? And then you just happened to fall in love with Lyle?"

Lucy dropped her head, her eyes squeezed shut. "He's straight, Jess. He just wants

me.

"

And you're so bent right now, I can hardly look at you.

"No one can be happy with just one—" Jesse started, and Lucy knew what he was going to say.

"No!" Her eyes flew open, blue and enraged. "That's what he wants you to believe! That one person's never enough! Being bi doesn't mean you get to have one of each! Where will trying to live like that leave you? Look at yourself, Jesse, you can't deal with jealousy! You can't

share

. It's not who you are. And... there can't be one rule for you, and one rule for everyone else."

She wrapped her arms across her chest and broke into heaving sobs as the pain opened up inside her. A year she'd spent with Jesse before Will had, slowly but surely, fucked him into a complete fucking mess.

"I loved you—so much." She turned her back, bending over her pain. She wanted to throw up.

Jesse put a hand against her back and she flinched under his familiar touch.

"So tell Lyle to fuck off," he said gently. "Come home with me."

His voice held pleading, but more than that, she could hear how much he wanted her back. His love for her had never faltered; she knew that, even though his confusion around who and what he was, was spiralling madly out of control.

She turned back to him, choking on what she needed to say.

"No, Jesse. You do what you need to do. Go find yourself." She pulled back a sob. "But be careful of him," she said, flecks of saliva coating her lips as she pointed at Will. "Because he's fucking poisonous."

"Luce..."

Jesse reached for her, but she stumbled away from him down the alley, and found her way back to the dense heat of the club, her eyes blurred with tears, her mind churning.

Fucking Will.

Until two months ago, Lucy'd had a sweet, attentive boyfriend in Jesse, a boyfriend who'd adored her. And yeah, maybe he wore eyeliner and kept his hair long, and yeah, maybe he dressed like he could front Tokio Hotel, and

yeah

, maybe the signs

were

all there.

Fuck you, Mum.

But if someone had told her that her boyfriend's best mate would turn her Jesse into what he was now—a strung out, gender-confused cheat, in love with his gay best mate who'd effectively made him his bitch, she'd have laughed. Then punched them out. And properly too. None of this girly hair-pulling shit.

She caught sight of her new boyfriend, Lyle, standing at the bar. In a fucking

suit

in a club, for godsake, with his short brown hair and his wallet full of credit cards. Lyle just wasn't her type.

When Jesse had pulled her around to face him earlier tonight, hopped up on speed or coke, or whatever he'd taken, Lyle had done

nothing.

He'd just stood there gaping, while Jesse screamed in her face. Who did that? What self-respecting Englishman didn't defend his girlfriend from a violent ex?

Especially

one wearing fucking

makeup

.

For a long moment Lucy stood just inside the club's entrance, deciding what to do, as the misery inside her stilled from rage to despair.

She couldn't face Lyle again tonight. Not after this. Maybe having a passive boyfriend would turn out okay in the long run, but tonight she needed something else. Someone with spirit. Someone kind. Someone who wanted her, and was prepared to fight for her. Someone alive and fun.

She put a hand to her eyes and wiped away tears. Fuck Will. And fuck Jesse, his little dog, too. She was a good-looking girl. She could find herself a boy for the night.

She slid into the loos and fixed up her makeup, touching up her eyeliner, reapplying her mascara, and fixing her long red hair back behind her head.

Her dress was black skin-tight lace and satin, her legs sheathed in dark, sheer stockings, her black boots spiked with three-inch heels.

Whoever found her tonight would inherit a lioness. They'd better be up for it. She was in no mood for anyone who tried to stop her roar. She needed a fucking lion.

* * * * *

Alex had seen the altercation start at the other end of the bar and watched it unravel, lazily trying to figure out the dynamics. Two in an argument was bad enough - Rosie slowly leaving - but this one looked like a quadrangle. Alex thought quadrangles were more an architectural thing; the most he'd managed was a triangle. An off again, on again triangle, as Rosie left him. Fuck, had it really taken that long?

But this lot. What appeared to be two gay boys, one an emo goth, some beautiful thing far outside Alex's experience (Alex being able to manage the sun, the Australian sun), the other looking smug and precious and in love with himself. The third guy made no sense in this company, a young corporate suit standing back from it all, and fuck me, there's the stupid phone. What a surprise.

At the centre of it all, and even from the other end of the bar Alex could see she was the centre of it all, was the girl. A slender thing, sheathed in something clinging and tight, and a wild mane of hair, coiled and waved and swirling like snakes. In the neon abstraction of the club's lights, Alex couldn't work out what colour it was, but her hair writhed and flickered as she flung her head from one man to the other.

Smaller than the rest of the group, Alex could see the girl had more passion than the rest of them put together. Her anger radiated in the space she spun within.

Whoa, that's gonna hurt. The bouncer was huge, zeroing in on the slender figure of the goth boy and forcing him to the door. His bulk didn't seem to hurt the boy at all, all fucked up on some tablet or three, Alex guessed. The princeling and the girl followed, and the argument flowed out of the room. The suit looked around, sheepishly, pretending not to be there at all. Alex shook his head, and returned to his beer. And Rosie. He shook his head again, trying to escape his thoughts, his memories of a long time. Seven years was a long time to love someone, only to find, somewhere in there, that it had changed. Gone.

He cleared his head, and pondered what he might do tomorrow. Pottering around Britain on a rail pass and B&Bs near stations, Alex arrived in a place, stayed a day or two, then moved on. An Australian tourist in the English summer, meeting up with his parents in Scotland for a couple of weeks, then home. Except it wasn't home, not any more. Shit, thought Alex, I must be tired, Rosie's under my skin tonight, badly. I came here to get away from her, but she's still here.

A movement by the door caught his eye. Through the glass Alex could see the girl from the brawl, standing motionless in the entrance lobby to the club. Her hair fell long to her waist, but no movement there, not any more. He watched as she slowly lifted her head, and even in the dim light Alex could see streaks of mascara on her cheeks, trails of tears. He waited for one of the boys to join her, but even after a long ten seconds, neither of them did. Alex glanced across to the suit, still at the bar, but he was fixated on his phone, he had no idea the girl had returned.

As Alex watched, the girl's shoulders slumped and he figured the adrenaline from her earlier anger had finally drained away, all gone. He knew that emptiness. Then she looked up and around, and headed for the Ladies. Curious now, and wondering where her two boys had gone, Alex kept an eye on the lobby, waiting for her to reappear. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes (time enough for a pee and to redo her make-up, and quick because she was by herself, no girlfriend to help with strategy), the door to the toilets thumped open, and she was back.

The girl! Alex checked for his wallet in his jean's pocket, scraped change from the bar, sculled the dregs of his beer, and went for the door, his jacket slung over his shoulder. The girl's energy, somehow revitalised in those few minutes, scorched and smouldered in the space she stood within. Alex headed for the fire, wanting to be burned.

He pushed open the door from the blue lit bar to the incandescent lobby, and fully registered the girl for the first time, under the white light. She was slender, medium height, sheathed in black satin and lace, the short dress clinging tight to her curves, a ragged hem riding high to reveal long, long legs and an eyeful of thigh.

The bang of the door made her turn towards him, and her lips were crimson and her eyes, still red from tears, were rimmed with black kohl. Her hair, twisted high on her head, was flaming red. Alex moved beside her, "Do you want to be somewhere else?" and his hand was at her waist, steering her to the door. His gentlest touch.

"What? What did you say?" But she was walking, and walking faster, and his hand fell away from her body, losing her. Alex reached after her, but she was ahead of him, pushing at the street door to escape her aching heart.

"Who are you? I don't know you." She was walking fast, her passion rising again before she lost it. "I don't care." She stopped, and turned to Alex. Her eyes were bright, and Alex's heart leapt. She was so close to tears, but so proud with it, her fury seething again, her eyes glittering. "Fuck him. I'm Luce, Lucy." She couldn't stop herself, her eyes brimmed and tears flowed. "I'm Lucy, you useless fucking cunt. I'm not your fucking Luce."

Alex knew she was raging at one of the boys, not him. He didn't think the waste of space in the bar with the phone would ever warrant this kind of fury, but he was confused which one was the source of her invective. Weren't they both obviously gay? Obviously not. He must have fucked her over real bad, whichever one it was.

"Best I call you Lucy then, yeah? Don't want to remind you of the toe-rag who's upset you so much." Alex smiled down at her and she was his perfect height, her chest heaving as she drew in a big, shuddering breath. Her small breasts shaped nicely with the breath, and he was caught looking. Lucy's gesture was automatic, her hand went to the back of her head to check her hair. It was in place, one strand falling perfectly to her shoulder.

The straps of her bra and dress were thin, and Alex knew she was the kind of girl who wore a delicate bra because she wanted to look sexy as sin, not because she needed something functional. She looked sexier than the seven sins, and he could see why men would fight over this girl.

"Your accent. You're Australian?"

"Yeah, Australian. Does that matter?"

"Are you normal? I mean, a normal kind of a man? Not fucked up?"

Alex smiled, and his eyes creased. "So far as I'm aware, I'm normal. Whatever that means. I'm not ' strange' if you know what that means. I'm Alex, by the way. Australian Alex." He grinned, and bowed, his hand circling several times at his waist. "Mamzelle." His French was atrocious, but nobody had ever bowed to Lucy before, so she was delighted.

"Is that what they do in Australia?" As if it was some strange and foreign place, a million miles away.

"Yep. You should see me with puddles!"

"Really, puddles? What, carried across in your arms and everything?"

"No, just a cloak, laid down."

"Wow, even that's..."

Alex cut her off. "Where's somewhere quieter we can go? I saw your fight back there, I thought you might want to talk. I've seen fights. Talking's good, you know?"

Lucy looked up at Alex and saw in him a promise of everything Jesse and Will and Lyle weren't. Wasn't involved, for a start. Didn't know them, nor any of the dramas between them, not the love, not the loss. None of that. He was a man, for her, with no baggage, no history, a formless thing to be filled with what

she

wanted.

He might be everything else she'd thought of as she stood in the lobby, falling apart and shaking. Alex had followed

her

to the street and was sensitive already to her needs. He was listening to her, Lucy. She had heard him in the lobby

"Do you want to be somewhere else?"

and she'd felt his touch on her waist, and it was different. There was no sense of ownership in it, not like Jesse's touch or even Lyle's; Alex's touch was just to guide her, she sensed that. Lucy looked up at him, and figured Alex was in his late twenties, five years or so older than she was, maybe more. Old enough to know more about women, certainly compared to Jesse, at least?

"I didn't mean you before, when I said 'you useless fucking cunt,' That's Jesse." Lucy touched Alex's arm lightly with her fingers, acknowledging him, not who he wasn't.

"Yeah, I kind of figured you weren't talking to me. Which one's Jesse?"

"The goth, I guess. The one with the eye make-up and the long hair. Fuck him. The stupid prick spends more time on his hair than I do." Her voice faltered, then steadied, her rage flowing in and out of her like breath on a winter's morning. "He always smells nice though. Really fucking pretty, my Jesse. Fuck. Him. Jesus."

They were walking along the street, side by side, keeping a steady pace. Alex figured she was taking him somewhere, even though she'd not replied to his earlier question. Somewhere quieter.

"You were an item, then?" Alex paused. "You must be, or you wouldn't be so pissed off at him. I could see, you were bloody angry. You are bloody angry." He looked across at her slender frame. "That bouncer, he took the safe option, not taking you on, I reckon."

Lucy laughed, her eyes glittering still. "Yes, I was furious, wasn't I? I'd have taken the fucking bouncer on too, if he'd tried to touch me."

Alex saw the colour of her eyes as they passed by a white bright window. Pale blue, that icy blue of a high winter sky; clear now with bright tears, Lucy with diamonds in her eyes.

"So, you're a natural red-head then, with a temper?"

"You're kidding. Did you really just say that?" Lucy stopped walking, seeing how long Alex kept going before he noticed her gone from his side. The wide window was a perfect mirror, he saw every movement, every still point, and kept walking.

"Yeah, well. In Australia, a tough little chick like you, you've gotta be a ranga for real. You know what they say."

"What do they say? Who's they?" Her heels clicked as she caught up.

Alex laughed at the force of her interrogation, and this time he stopped walking.

"Come on, seriously, I've been walking around all day, I'm stuffed. Is there somewhere does midnight coffee and food? Not that you need coffee, you're wired enough as it is. You English, cocoa, isn't it? It'd be Milo in Oz, or plain hot chocolate." He walked on, and trailed his hand behind for Lucy to catch up. "My shout."

It was one of those instinctive gestures Alex must have got from his mother. She still did it whenever she visited—go for a walk, come to a road, her hand out, he was five all over again. Lucy had a mum too, and a hand offered must be a hand held. Alex's hand was big and warm around hers, and all of a sudden she was a little bit shy.

Alex just seemed so natural, unaffected. What she saw was what she got, and Lucy liked the idea of that. She squeezed his hand in a little hello, it's me; and saw his smile for her, looking down. Lucy squeezed again, and laid her head against his shoulder, just to get a little closer.

"Yes, just on a bit, there's an all-nighter, we'll go there."

"Thank god, my feet are knackered."

In the café Lucy discovered that Alex had travelled overland by train through China and Russia with his dad, and was now on his own for a month travelling around; planning to meet up with his parents in a little cottage in Scotland, up near Inverness. Going where he wanted, when he wanted.

"Don't you get lonely, being by yourself all the time?"

"Not really. I'm used to being alone, it's been happening for a while now."

Lucy heard something in Alex's voice that hadn't been there before, and she began to wonder about him. She was curious. "Is there someone? Or have you got a Jesse too?"

"Yeah, I reckon I do. Mine's Rosie. Was a Rosie. We're done now. Part of why I'm here, I think. Made it easier just to get away."

Did they want to talk about it? Not really, but they did, the bare outlines anyway. Enough for each of them to see the fragility in front of them, and to be careful with it. Enough for them to bare their forearms and place them against each other on the table, and for Alex to be amazed at just how creamy pale Lucy's skin was, but that blaze of freckles was pretty wonderful down into her cleavage.

And for Lucy to see the golden brown of Alex's skin and to think what it might look like against her pale English peaches and cream. At one point Alex reached forward and asked, "May I?" and she said, "Yes", and her magnificent red hair tumbled and curled down over her shoulder down to her waist, and she pulled it in one great wave down one side of her face and her eyes shone and her lips parted, and a faint flush rose on the side of her throat and Lucy felt her own heat. And felt nearly wonderful, again.

And when the woman came to clear their cups and a plate from which they ate, she clucked her tongue but didn't interrupt their quiet voices spoken low as they leaned forward to each hear the other, and she went away and watched over them.

And saw how he never took his eyes off the girl.

* * * * *

Lucy was lost in the man in front of her... and that's what he was... a man, not a boy. He looked so... healthy. Not just his tan, and his solidity, but his easy grin. He was hurting, that much was clear, but he wasn't... well. Utterly mental, like the last one.

Although it was hard for her to pull her mind away from the destruction she'd left in the alleyway, from Jesse's hopped up contrition and Will's smugness—and she just

knew

that prick would be fucking her ex later tonight, celebrating destroying their relationship—she was sick of it. Done with it. Done with the pair of them.