Hopes Dreams and Porn

Written by R. Watson-Thomas ©2009-2012

All characters in this story are fictitious, any resemblance to people living or dead should be considered purely unintentional and of great coincidence.

Testimonials

"A bit porny!?! Mate, i'm on page 29 and its not 'a bit porny', its full-on, top- of-the line Grade-A Grot. And can you still call it a novel if it consists of the phrase (and i quote) 'raging purple helmet' and (personal fave) ''don't call me dirty you little anal slut'? i certainly hope you can, 'cos this is a novel that I'd pick off the (top) shelf, as long as no-one was looking and i had a good supply of Kleenex at home." - a friend on Facebook when I asked him to read through this.

PLEASE NOTE: This is a long draft. I've been writing this on and off for years and recently had to revert to an older copy. I'm posting this now as it's just been way to long in the making. I'm interested in all feedback, when and where I maybe stray off track, does it need better pacing in places etc. I'm open to any and all suggestions. Please don't review or rate if you're going to be all 'Lol, you can't type at all n00b skillz' .... we're all better than that :)

Contents

Prologue: In retrospect, it was all so typical it was farcical

Chapter 1: Chain of Events

Chapter 2: There's a tryst of the wrist

Chapter 3: Begin to regret, begin to conspire

Interlude: It Darkens

- In retrospect, it was all so typical it was farcical -

I didn't have any trouble when I did this last time, just went out, enjoyed a drink and it happened. This time I was less than lucky, and I guess my time had just run out. My prime was passed me and it was a whole different world out there to the one I used to be happy and successful in. Why is it always so tough after losing someone to get back up and out on the market? I shook my head in wonder at how this latest attempt panned out.

She was by the bar, asking for a drink when I stepped in, my motley crew in tow.

It was your typical "trying to be trendy" bar; everything was down lit in blue, metal surfaces and mirrors everywhere. If you asked me it wasn't doing a very good job, and I'd be more than happy heading into some old-man pub, somewhere that still smelt of cigarettes and booze soaked carpet. Those places didn't have any eye candy though, unless you were into bedraggled, rough bearded, beer-gut old men. Not to my tastes at all.

'I'll get that for you' I said in a polite "come-on" just as she was about to hand over the money to the slightly lecherous bartender. It was meant as a gesture of goodwill and an attempt to start my night right.

I'm not a stunning fella, I might add, my bravado had nothing to do with looks, but just quiet confidence and a laid back attitude that generally brought me what I wanted. Average height, build and styling made me one of the crowd, but that's kind of how I liked it. She turned to me, but not with a smile, just a cocking of her head and a flick of her hair.

'Thanks, but I can afford my own drinks' she rebuked. The chavy ghetto twang to her voice not only belied she was a spoiled little prissy white cow, but that she was also the type that is everywhere at the moment. Little self- respect and wrapped up in pointless bravado, a vain attempt to look cool and fit in with friends at the expense of someone else and ultimately the type that demands respect without earning it. I decided politeness would be the best return on this one, nothing like being the bigger man.

'I wasn't stating otherwise hun, just a gesture' I retorted with a smile on my face, holding my hands up to the situation, and I just turned, walked over to my drinking buddies and begun a good drink-up, after some friendly rib- digging of course.

It was less what she said... I've been knocked back a thousand times... but just how she said it. The words spilled from her mouth in pure contempt "How dare he come over here and try that shit on me" is how I read it, "He ain't good enough to get with me" would be another way of putting it. I just shook my head and laughed.

Shame that when you see a nice looking girl, obviously dressed for attention, and you then do something old fashioned and gentlemanly you get shot down like some pervert, just so she can feel big and independent...

... But while pervert was a bit strong, however, I don't know how far off she really was.

When I think about it now, I had gone up to the bar after noticing she was heading for it, and I only noticed because of the way her jeans hugged onto one of the nicest arses I had ever seen, seriously setting off fireworks in my brain. The number of sordid little visions that went through my head in that moment I could have sworn I'd have been staring for a good hour, but what turned out to be 5 seconds had given me a chance. I had peaked through my door of opportunity.

Only that night the opportunity ended up being slammed in my face rather than gently knocking and I resigned to console myself with a pint and a bag of Cheese and Onion crisps. I wasn't going to get any this evening that much was clear. It didn't help, but noticing the only other girls in the bar turned out to be little-miss-prissiness' mates killed it completely, so why be concerned over my only other oral fixation.

Anyways, back at the table, I sent her a sidewards glance and caught her eye. She must have been embellishing the story somewhat, along the vain of 'that stupid bloke over there tried to get in my knickers by buying me a drink AND he was staring at my arse! The pervert...' heavily confirmed by getting disapproving looks from her friends. A small group, but from the looks I was getting I hedged my bets on a formidable nut to crack into, one which I wasn't about to waste any more of my time on.

A few pints later, feeling bloated and uncomfortable, I left the lads to seek out the mens room. I knew it was around a corner and down a particularly tricky staircase, I could remember that much, but in my state this was a daunting, potentially life threatening, task. After staggering the first couple of steps I had to seek the assistance of the steel railing to my right, however I managed to negotiate the final twist with little trouble and found a small lobby, walls ordained with typical poncey modern art. This was where mistake number two of the evening slapped me across the other cheek.

I stepped into the toilet, already jostling with my flies, when I heard a giggle, then more, and suddenly a fair amount of laughter. "Damnit" I cursed to myself, "too much beer equals lack of concentration" and there I found myself staggering into the ladies with my hand in my pants. Mistake number three was fumbling to do myself up again.

I headed straight back out and for the other door, cleverly marked with a large manly looking stick man (appendage added by drunken publican no doubt), and went about my business. Reaching the urinal I rested my arm on the wall in front, placed my head against my forearm and sighed, letting the stream begin its relaxing expulsion. Finishing up I headed for the mirror, and being displeased with the portrait looking back, tried to preen as best I could before heading back out.

The lad's all had healthy smiles when I returned to the table, in fact, most of the people on the tables around ours did as well. "Word travel's fast in this shithole" I said to John, the only one who looked remotely on my side. I graciously took the hint, laughed it off and sat back down to my refreshed glass. Some would have thought the pain would stop there, but the group of girls burst into so much laughter, and the lad's just wouldn't drop it so it was then I found my hand gripping tightly around my glass, swiftly proceeding to slam my pint down onto the hardwood table.

Standing up, making a show of checking my flies, I left the table and headed over to the girls. Their stares would have killed a less drunken, and pointedly pissed off, young man but Dutch courage spewed the following from my mouth.

'Shame that a group as enticing to the eye can be so childish, but at least I have proof of why the term "bitch" is bounded around so much nowadays.'

Briskly, I turned about and fucked off out of there, throwing twenty quid on the lads table for the tab. Praying that I left a few stunned faces behind I let myself have a little grin, then went straight back to wallowing in my self-pity. I vaguely heard shouting in the distance, something along the lines of "Who the fuck do you think you are? You don't have a right to talk to me like blah blah blah...." but then I just phased it out. I didn't care. I always had somewhere else I could go. I called to old friend, Louisa, and found out where she was drinking that evening, hoping it was far enough away to forget the ridicule just past.

............................

I jumped off the tube nearest my flat, not getting a reply from Lou I'd decided to head home. The new message bleep brought my hand to my phone.

"Hey, we've been kicked out of the bar we were in so we're heading for a drink further into town, come meet us in Shoreditch, could be fun" said Louisa on the voice mail. I quickly turned on my heels and headed back towards the main stretch, planning to jump back on the tube then meet everyone outside one of the bars.

It only took me about fifteen minutes on the central line, and a fifteen minute cab down to the bar, could have been ten had it not been for the icy conditions. Luckily I was wrapped up warm so the cold didn't get to me, just my balance as I trod in unsteady ice and snow towards the throng of people outside. Seeing Louisa and the guys outside the bar I crossed the road and joined them in the queue. 'Sod's law you'd get yourself kicked out' I started, 'but I guess getting one more drink in can't be bad, and I really need it right now. Thank you.'

'No worries, and don't rub it in,' came the reply, 'let's just hope we can still get in' Lou finished before being ushered in by the two bouncers, typical fair of tall and black vs. fat, white and bald.

As I approached both of them looked down and shook their heads at me.

'You've got to be kidding...' I said, knowing immediately they were looking at my shoes. Even though nice and new, trainers were obviously frowned upon. Not the norm in this part of London, and it got my goat quickly.

'Sorry mate, but you can't come in wearing them...' said the black fella.

'Fine, fine' I replied, agitated by the stupidity of bars like this, 'just let me poke my head in to tell the others I'm not gona make it in ok?' I said pushing between them, trying to catch someone's attention. That was when it happened.

A large set of hands found their way to my chest and shoulders, and the next thing I know I'm being pushed backwards. 'Come on lads, I just need to tell them I'm heading home, no harm no foul' but it fell on deaf ears, I tried once more to get Lou's attention but they grabbed and pushed harder this time...

I lost my footing, skidding on some unseen black ice on the chilly pavement and I slipped backwards into the road. Feeling the worst of the fall in my left knee I began to stand up only to feel a rush of swift movement as I was dragged down the road 15 or 20 yards, the screeching noise like fire being poured into my ears with the volume and suddenness burning into my brain.

I don't really know how I did it, but I'd managed to grab hold of the front of the black cab, just behind the left wing light, and it kept me from going under the wheels. The real shock was when I tried to stand, only then realising I'd smashed my leg into the metal railing on the pavements edge. Collapsing in a heap I lay my head down briefly.

'Mate, MATE... Are you alright? What the fuck were you doing in the middle of the road?!' I heard, guessing it was the cab driver.

'What are you doing driving passed a packed bar at 30 mph you dick' I muttered under my breath. 'Get me up' I said, a little louder than my last remark, hoping the change of direction would halt any verbal conflict that may be arising, 'get me to the fucking curb. I need to sit down and then I need a chat with those idiots on the door.'

The guy helped me up as I hobbled over to the short wall outside the bar, though was upset when I asked for his license and contact details. There was a crowd looking on, worry painted on some faces, humour pasted on others. I didn't really care, but I did know the pain in my leg was moving further up, making me painfully aware that I may have suffered an injury to my lower back, I have could just been over-reacting. Fearing the worst I got out my phone, after noticing that no-one in the now blurry and slightly grey crowd had a phone out, thus no ambulance was on its way.

Touch tone emergency services and a quick muttering about where I was and I was assured an ambulance would 'be there shortly' by the groaning voice on the other end of the line.

'You' I began, aiming my voice in the direction of the bouncers. 'OI, YOU!' I then shouted, mustering up what I could.

They'd been joined by what I imagined was the management, a concerned looking woman flitting her eyes from me back to the bouncers as the crowd began trying to explain what had happened in each of their own unique and varied views.

'Get over here, NOW' I said again. Timidly she began towards me, her feet wavering on the icy ground; a realisation hitting her as she did that it wouldn't be long before she'd be in terrible trouble, if not with the owners of the bar then the police.

'Give me your business card. I'm going to need it for my solicitor' I said, cold as the floor I sat on.

'I'm sure this doesn't have to go that far. As far as I can see you were leaving the bar and you tripped into the road' she said, voice quivering under her own lie, knowing the two bouncers were the cause of the calamity.

'Don't even bother. You know full well what happened. Get me the surveillance tapes as well, I know you must have some; I can't chance that 'going missing'. Give me the business card and I'll see that only the bouncers get sacked for this.' I stammered out, trying my hardest to stare into the eyes of what was now a dark hew against a grey background. She spoke to someone quickly on her phone and as a member of bar staff came out with the tape, passing it to me to tuck inside my jacket, I slumped down hard onto the floor, a pang hitting me in the side as I lost consciousness, a faint siren the last thing I heard.

............................

I awoke in a hospital bed, no one around me. I looked around for a clock but with my eyesight not fully restored, feeling a tube poking up my nose and what felt like down my throat, I observed that the room was dark and relatively cold, smelling of bandages and Savlon... that typical hospital ward smell. I pressed what felt like a button under my right hand and a small red light turned on above my head. Within a minute a pretty young blonde made her way into the room.

'Glad to see you're awake, Joshua. I'm Avril, and I've been keeping an eye on you for the last day or two. You've been quite heavily sedated due to your injury and we couldn't have you moving around else your leg would never set. You'll be pleased to learn that the only problem you've got is a fractured tibia, nice and clean, and a few cracked ribs, Should heal no problems. You were very lucky from the sounds of things.' she said with a smile 'Would you like me to call anyone for you? You haven't had any visitors.'

This was the final straw. I knew I had to get out. Home wasn't far away. I'd be bandaged up and sent home in the next day or two.

Packing was on my mind and it was clear that change was required.

............................

Let me start by saying, although it was tough, 11 months is a good time to heal in both physically and mentally. That night spoke to many parts of me, how dissatisfied I was with the way I was living, the choices I had made. The regrets I had. A new start was in order and I took to it with great gusto. The accident was just the excuse I needed.

The Monday after my epiphany I went to work as normal, leg cast in sturdy plaster to the knee, and after telling everyone not to ask I quickly brain dumped and composed a memo, a 3 month plan, and handed it to my CIO.

'This is what we're going to action within the next 12 weeks.' I had started. 'We get this stuff running, and I can manage it all off-site. The team are good enough to cover the basics; I'm confident they can all do their jobs. Let the international team take up some of the slack.' Then taking a breath 'I will be working from home by the date this is completed, I will be on the figure at the bottom and you will have a happy and productive member of staff to remote manage the department. Take it or leave it, I'll speak to you Friday.'

Needless to say, I still have my job, the figure I wanted and I was happily sitting in the open plan downstairs of a nicely refurbished and re-designed cottage in Fakenham, Norfolk. It was close enough to town to do my shopping, and there's a great farmer's market once a month, but far enough away from my old life and other people as I needed to relax. Relaxing was something I thought I'd forgotten how to do. The settlement received for not suing the bar was a nice hefty lump that afforded me this place, and its redecoration, without hitting my salary too hard. I had it made now, life was turning the corner I needed it too and I was beginning to feel happy again.

............................

Every Friday I head back into London to check on the department, have all the right meetings and get more wheels in motion, or at least push start the ones that had slowed or stopped. This time round, however, the limited contact I'd had with mates and colleagues provided me with warm, nice, and meaningful conversation with the right level of banter. No more put-downs, no more bitchy London girls to set my evening into a rut. Knowing I had my little solace away from all this somehow made it all the more bearable.

It was as I was leaving that night that one of the guys from work ran out of the pub and tapped me on the shoulder. 'I nearly forgot mate,' Grant stated as I lit up a cigarette, 'This turned up on Wednesday and I forgot to pass it on. No idea what it is?' He concluded, flipping the thin package between his hands.

Grant was a good lad and, with his slightly wiry build and scraggy short brown curls on his head, had a habit of being very profound when he spoke up. He was also potentially quite clumsy but somehow always had the luck not to drop the knife, or delete the important file, or wear his pants outside his trousers, even though that's exactly what you'd expect. It was this that made him endearing, and why he was one of the few I kept in more regular contact with.

'Cheers Mate, I'll have a look on my journey home.' I said, heading for the bus stop across the road, aiming for Liverpool Street. It was now mid December and bloody cold. I took a long drag, waved over my shoulder, and settled myself in for the long cold wait for the bus.

Sitting comfortably on the train I twisted the package myself, noting a South East postcode I couldn't quite place. Upon opening the crinkled Manila Envelope I found inside an invite to a friend's wedding. I hadn't heard from her in a while, and so was a pleasant surprise. Noting the details I added them to my phone, and put it back in the envelope.

'Time for some kip' I told myself, drifting into the seat and slowly falling asleep.

...........................

"Ping-Ping 'The next station is King's Lynn' Ping-Pang-Pong"

............................

Rousing I realised I should get off quick, missing the closer stop by a station or two, and immediately headed out to get a cab.

Finally arriving home at just after three in the morning I lit the wood fire, slouched into my super comfy lounge chair and upon grabbing the duvet from the morning off the floor, I snuggled myself up for a good sleep. It was the weekend, so no plans to ruin my rest.