After I graduated from university I'd been pretty lucky, having walked into a very well paid job within a matter of months. However, the one thing that I wasn't prepared for were the property prices in London, which made it impossible to get a mortgage on somewhere decent. Needing to find a place before I took up my new job, I was faced with a couple of options.
The first was to look through the paper and find a house share, but after three years of sharing a place with a bunch of other people in their early twenties (with the accompanying mess, noise and arguments), I was certainly not going down that route. Option two was to get a mortgage on my new salary which, impressive though it was, would only afford me a rabbit hutch in London.
I'd sat wasting another afternoon in a bar trawling the property to rent/buy section in the paper, and was lighting my umpteenth cigarette of the day when I spotted a small line advert at the foot of a column.
'Lodger required. Comfortable house with all amenities, use of phone, bills included, close to bus route...'
I exhaled and took another gulp of my pint. Why hadn't I thought of it before? Peace and quiet, a handy location and the money was well within my range - a lot lower than I thought I was going to have to shell out, so I'd be able to save too. Fair enough, the lady who owned the house - a Mrs. Jameson, according to the ad - might be some old battle axe, but what the hell. I pulled out my mobile...
The phone was answered and I explained that I was calling about the advert. Mrs Jameson certainly didn't sound old (middle aged, yes) and certainly not like a battle-axe. She told me that I was the first caller, as the advert had only first appeared in the paper that day and that maybe I'd like to come around to look the place over, and see if we got on...
'Okay, so we'll say seven o'clock, then? You'll need to knock, as the bells' not working. Oh, and by the way...what's your name, love?'
'Tom.'
'Okay Tom - see you at seven. I'm Pamela by the way...Pam, if you like. See you later.'
And that's how it began. Pam was great, the best landlady anyone could wish for. Well, that any bloke could wish for, anyway. Although it wasn't in the original agreement when I began lodging with her, Pam cooked a lot for me, and even did my laundry without me asking. The first time she did this I protested, telling her she didn't have to do it, but she wouldn't hear of it. After all, she said, she only worked part-time, and since splitting with her husband a couple of years prior, hadn't had to run around after a man, so it was a novelty - and at least I appreciated it!
I was bowled over. I knew how lucky I'd been, and to show my appreciation, I nipped out to the shops and returned with flowers, a bottle of wine and a peck on the cheek to say thanks. Blushing, she rubbed my arm, returning my kiss on the cheek and told me that I shouldn't have. But, as you know, we're always that much more appreciative towards someone when we find them attractive. I'll explain...
Pam was, well...you know how lads always fancied their mate's mothers? Pam fell into that category. Early fifties, full curvy figure, shoulder length brown hair, full lips, nice big juicy-firm breasts and a lovely round bum that had just the right amount of wobble. The icing on the cake was her style of dress. Invariably, this consisted of two things: tight skirts ending just above the knee and a pair of high-heeled knee length leather boots.
We got on very well. I'd moved in during the Autumn, and as the nights drew darker, and as my friendship with Pam grew, I stayed in most evenings. We lounged around on the settee, watching tv, drinking wine and chatting, and as time went by, we seemed to get closer and closer together on that settee, sharing the occasional hug or goodnight peck-on-the-cheek.
One cold dark Friday, I had made the usual attempt to battle the rush hour traffic, but my bus got caught up in a traffic jam. Combined with the onset of it snowing, by the time I got home at 7.30, I was cold, wet and pissed-off. Hanging up my raincoat, and kicking of my shoes, I noticed that the house didn't seem much warmer than outside.
'Pam?'
'In here, darling. The boiler's packed up. I rang the engineer, but he won't be here 'till tomorrow.'
Pam was sitting on the settee, watching tv, wrapped up in a blanket. 'You're soaking love. Sit down and I'll get you a towel. Do you want a cuppa?'
'You read my mind' I answered.
With that, she shrugged off the blanket and stood up, as did a part of me when I saw what she was wearing. A tight red sweater which outlined the curve of her ample bosom, a tight red skirt, which ended mid way between her knees and thighs and my favourite pair of her boots. Long, stiletto heeled leather boots, the toes nice and pointed, the leather black, soft and shiny.
As she passed me to go to the kitchen, she rustled my hair. 'Get out of those wet clothes and get under that blanket before you catch a cold.'
