If Only

The chapters unfold in a sequence of true events from 1966-2005.

(Chapter 9)

"If Only" (circa-1973-1975)

The forty-five minute drive to the seaside village of Newton-by-the-Sea council offices each day wasn't something he looked forward to, but the increase in salary and the positive signs for promotion far outweighed the negatives, so the decision to accept the job was an easy one to make. At his interview he said that the position offered him a challenge and an opportunity to gain new skills in a multi-disciplinary department, but in reality, it was all about the money.

He wasn't sure if it was just the nervous tension of starting a new job or the broken thermostat blowing cold air inside the car that made him feel uncomfortable, but the cigarette certainly helped. Making a mental note to find a garage in the village and get the thermostat replaced, he pulled the car into the car-park opposite the council office building.

A cursory glance in the rear view mirror before making a quick adjustment to his red silk tie and removing his neatly folded Pierre Cardin suit jacket from the back seat of the car, the cheerful voice of a DJ announcing a new Christmas song by Slade, the gravelly voice of Noddy Holder shouting from the car radio 'Merry Xmas Everybody.'

Tapping his fingers across the steering wheel, singing along with the band, 'So here it is merry Christmas,' stepping from the car and crossing the road, finishing the chorus line, 'Everybody's having fun,' wondering if the song would ever become a Christmas classic.

Newton-by-the-Sea Planning, Building Control and Engineering, the neon-sign above the door informed him, the modern statement out of character with the architecture of the double-fronted three-story Victorian terraced house.

A tall pine tree draped in decorative baubles and flashing coloured lights, streamers draped across ceilings and walls and glossy images of Santa Clause and Rudolph pinned to office doors greeted him inside the entrance foyer.

A bubbly eighteen year old girl with short blonde hair and innocent blue eyes welcomed him with a smile at reception. Like most teenagers confronted with formal introductions she avoided the customary hand shake.

"My names Claire Simpson," she offered, another simile showing perfect white teeth, a pink t-shirt moulded to apple sized breasts and a shapely bottom poured into tight denim jeans.

"If you follow me, Mr Brand, I'll take you upstairs to see Mr. Thomas," she volunteered, a slight lisp in her voice adding to her innocence and charm.

Hugh Thomas had the look and attitude of a man who was desperately counting the days to early retirement. A large fat man in his mid-fifties with heavy lidded eyes and huge bushy eye-brows, wearing a suit that looked as if it was made for someone else, his trousers straining at the waist to hold a huge stomach, his entire body reeking of cigarette smoke and the smell of alcohol on his breath betraying his weakness for whiskey.

His deputy, Richard Lee was a much younger man in his mid-thirties. With jet-black hair and a chin stained with a permanent five-o'clock shadow, his body language spoke of a person impatiently waiting, eager to encourage the older man to take early retirement and allow him to take over the ship.

"Welcome to the team, Mark," Hugh declared, offering a friendly hand and pulling on a cigarette, holding his chest and wheezing in gasps, knowing he should quit smoking and loose a few pounds, his lecherous eyes crawling shamelessly over the young girls breasts.

"Claire will show you around and introduce you to the staff," he added, stubbing his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray.

Following quickly on her heels along a labyrinth of narrow corridors, slipping in and out of offices, meeting and greeting members of staff on all three floors, too many handshakes, too many forced smiles and too many names to remember.

It was a welcoming relief when she said the protocols were almost over and there was only one more room on the ground-floor to show him.

Hidden behind the beacon of festivity in a recess below the main stairs a hand painted door was just visible through a forest of pine needles and coloured baubles.

"Do you like our Christmas tree?" she smiled, proudly, squeezing her small hand inside the pocket of her tight denim jeans, searching for a key.

"Very impress," he offered, unconvincingly as the heavy door creaked open on rusty hinges, a blanket of darkness greeting them.

"This is the File Store. Watch your step," Claire said cautiously, flicking a switch next to the door, brushing away feathery cobwebs above her head, fluorescent lamps pinging and buzzing in unison before flooding the room with light.

Row after row of metal frames containing storage files covered the entire building footprint.

"This room holds every council application on Planning, Building Control and Engineering," Claire innocently confirmed. "There are only two keys for quality and security reasons," she added. "One is held with the Chief Administration Officer and the other by Mr Thomas's personal assistant, Emma Charlton. Files need to be signed in and out, so you must see Emma if you want to take a file from the store."

The cup of coffee had barely touched his lips when he caught sight of an attractive young woman approaching his desk.

"Hello," she whispered, offering her hand. "I'm Emma Charlton."

The unexpected confrontation almost made him spill his drink as he lifted from his chair, a smile forming on his lips, his eyes taking a shameless detour over her shapely breasts.

"Hello," he repeated, stealing another glance at her firm tits, hoping she was going to offer him a blow-job and a quick fuck over the desk, checking his silk tie for coffee stains, forcing a smile and taking her outstretched hand.

Emma Charlton wasn't what you would call drop-dead gorgeous. She was a little plump around her thighs and bottom and it was evident from her body language that she was self-conscious about her bum being a little on the big side. But after closer inspection he realised that her increased weight was due to the inevitable changes her body was making during the early stages of pregnancy.

Sitting comfortably in a chair with her hand playing carelessly with a silver chain around her neck, Emma confirmed some of the bureaucratic and regulatory protocols of the council, generally concerning conditions of employment, welfare etc.

He stared into her sleepy eyes, listening to her soft comforting voice and the enchanting capture of nylon as she shifted her weight in the chair and crossed her legs, watching her lips cradling a pen in the corner of her mouth, watching her tongue flirting suggestively with the phallic end, nodding and smiling at some of the questions, his answers accompanied with a little light-hearted humour and playful innuendo, her calm and professional demeanour occasionally broken by an uncomfortable shuffle on the chair.

A mind running wild with torment, a familiar stirring inside his pants, discreetly lowering his hand beneath the desk and making an adjustment, erotic thoughts flashing inside his head, capturing images of her unabashed nakedness, wondering what kind of underwear she might be wearing, was she shaved or neatly trimmed, what she might look like bent over his desk completely naked, her plump arse perched submissively in the air, her body open and his cock buried balls deep inside her burning entrance, her voice begging him to fuck her like a dog in the street.

"This is a typical building file," she confirmed, handing him a file, the authority in her voice interrupting his erotic reverie, shuffling her chair across the floor and moving closer, the intoxicating smell of perfume and the warmth of her breath blowing in soft whispers against the side of his face teasing his senses, the closeness stimulating arousal, heart beats racing and breathing increasing, flirtatious eyes and suggestive smiles making passes, two people exchanging chemistry, two bodies overheating with the promise of expectation.

The chair scrapped across the vinyl floor as she lifted to her feet, a smile forming on her lips, a parting whisper of thanks accompanied by an outstretched hand.

"That was painless," he said, taking her hand and holding it just a moment longer than she would have expected, her face flushing slightly and a hint of optimism in her smile.

The festive season always brought out the best in everyone. Most people laughed and smiled a little more than they had done over the entire year. Everybody was in a better mood and pretended to be people they weren't. It was a time for the giving and receiving of gifts.

It was also a time for social gatherings. Too much alcohol and too much flirting during the office party often left a regrettable stigma the following day, especially amongst those who lived a little too dangerously.

After a couple of hours in the local Fisherman's Arms, everyone filtered back to the office.

Hugh Thomas was aware that social events can often lead to alcohol induced staff getting a little bit out of control. He also had a fondness for bottom pinching. So after some subtle words of encouragement from Richard Lee, Hugh made himself scarce for the day.

The third-floor room was buzzing with people, the music pumping out from speakers, Wizard singing. 'I Wish it Could Be Christmas Everyday,' a few bodies wriggling on the dance floor, others mingling, some just drinking and talking.

The announcement that the buffet was open seemed to attract the attention of most people. Richard Lee's secretary had once again performed miracles considering her meagre budget.

A queue quickly formed at a long table, a feeding frenzy of impatient people pushing and shoving, juggling with paper plates overflowing with food, gathering in circles or sitting on chairs, some needing to shed a few pounds, others who didn't care, all devouring their food like starving people.

He found a quiet niche in a corner of the room, lit a cigarette and sipped his drink, brushing away a loose thread from his grey mohair suit, mindful of his night with Kath Evans when he was caught in the rain and the painful reminder of the bus journey with his hands and face covered in blood, grateful to his local dry cleaners for bringing his suit back to life.

Claire Simpson skipped around the dance floor like an angel, swaying her hips and wriggling her cute little bottom with flirtatious suggestion, a young engineer with no natural rhythm trying to follow her moves, trying his best to charm his way into her pants.

Emma Charlton and an attractive girl and an older woman in her late-forties, stood at the opposite end of the room sipping wine and nibbling food from the buffet table, laughing and giggling and flirting with everyone in the room.

He was curious. He didn't need an invitation. He picked up his drink and weaved his way across the dance floor, a friendly smile and a questioning eye looking for introductions.

Jane Anderson had striking blue eyes, shapely tits, a curvy figure and a fantastic arse.

With a proud smile she told him that she had been delivering the post to the council offices for the last ten years. For a woman approaching fifty, Jane Anderson was hot, fit and sexy.

A soft hand accompanied by a whispered greeting informed him that the attractive girl was Emma Charlton's younger sister.

With an olive complexion complimenting long raven hair and dark mysterious eyes, mouth-watering tits and curves in all the right places, Debbie Chambers looked absolutely stunning.

"I don't remember seeing you in the pub, Debbie?" he enquired, the unexpected question interrupting a song playing inside her head.

"No," she smiled, showing stunning white teeth. "I don't have a lot of free time from work," she added, brushing a whisper of hair from her face.

"I'm on my lunch break," she confirmed, sipping her drink and nibbling a sandwich.

"My sister.....Emma, invited me to the office party," she said, discreetly lowering her hand, cursing to herself for pointing a finger at her sister. "Unfortunately, I can only stay for an hour," she offered, hiding her embarrassment behind a smile.

During the conversation he discovered that Emma Charlton was in her early twenties and had been married for just over a year. Debbie was nineteen, single and worked in a chemist shop in the town centre. She lived with her mother in a flat above an auto-repair garage that her mother owned. Their father was tragically killed in a car accident when Debbie and Emma were both in their early teens.

Jane Anderson said she was happily married, but her eyes told a different story.

The alcohol softened the mood, smiles and laughter growing in confidence, comments laden with flirtatious and risky innuendo, filling their heads with intelligent conversation and some light trivia, gaining their affection and occasionally making them laugh, watching their body language and searching their eyes, charming them with endless compliments and well-rehearsed words of endearment, opportunity chasing hope and expectation, stealing their hearts, trying his best to get into their pants.

The hug was warm and sincere but her dark eyes and soft voice betrayed a hint of sadness. "I have to get back to work," Debbie announced. "I've enjoyed the party. I must remember to take a day's holiday, next year," she said, searching inside a bag.

"My mother's business card," she offered, flashing her eyes.

He looked vague.

"You said your car needs a new thermostat," she prompted, pointing a finger at the name on the card. "My mother.... June Chambers.... She owns a garage in the village."

With a wave of her hand, Debbie was gone.

Tucking the business card safely inside his jacket pocket and taking Emma's empty glass from her hand, a confident smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Let's have another drink."

A blanket of darkness shrouded the windows as the afternoon slipped into early evening, a quick glance at his watch informing him it was just after six o'clock.

Those with inescapable parental commitments and those suffering from the humiliation of romantic rejection had already left the party. Others were still drinking or scavenging at the left-over lifeless crumbs of what used to be the buffet. Some people had fallen asleep and others had simply passed out in convenient chairs.

A girl in her late teens with the birth of a hickey blossoming on her neck straddled a young man on stool, the cheeks of her bottom creeping precariously above the waist of her pants. A couple on the dance floor tightly pressed together made no attempt to follow the rhythm of the music. Someone had pinned a photocopied image of a naked bottom on the stationery cupboard door, no doubt a subject for discussion in the New Year.

The door to Richard Lee's office had been locked from the inside and his secretary hadn't been seen for almost two hours, although the unmistakable sound of two people groaning out their pleasure in a union of give and take was a clear sign that the deputy would be adding another trophy to his collection.

Emma Charlton narrowed her eyes, twisted her face and held her breath, willing the cellar door not to make a noise before sliding the key into the lock, cursing under her breath when the heavy door creaked on its hinges, slipping into the eerie darkness and closing the door behind them, breathing a deep sigh of relief, knowing that the dead-lock would ensure they wouldn't be disturbed.

The stairs creaked in quiet protest as they slowly descended into the dark abyss of the cellar, the ensuing silence thick with expectation of what was to come.

They both knew they were there to make the most of a fleeting moment of reckless intimacy. There would be no time for romance. No ceremony. No foreplay.

The haunting sound of the old heating system hissing and blowing and the pulsing beat of music filtering through the floor above momentarily broke the silence.

A moment of surreptitious hesitation, inhibitions fading, urgency brushing away caution, heart beats racing and pulses throbbing, hormonal chaos fuelling adrenaline, blood surging through veins at the speed of sound, flooding vital organs and stimulating genitalia, faces colliding and lips crashing together, promise and expectation heightening arousal, gestures following impossible urges, impatient hands searching in the darkness, touching and feeling, groping and fondling, probing and scratching, two people overcome in the heat of passion, two bodies giving into submission, two lovers embarking on a journey of human sexual response, a compelling pursuit of betrayal and infidelity.

A well-practiced hand sweeping over familiar curves, impatient fingers fumbling in the darkness and unclipping her bra, two milky white breasts tumbling out into his cool hands, feeling the warmth and the weight filling his hands, feeling her nipples growing to a lengthy firmness, pressing like studs against the palms of his hands, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers and thumbs, squeezing one and sucking the other, biting, nipping and pulling, torturing her senses in a seductive rhythm of pleasure.

A vulva burning with desire, the onset of dampness manifesting inside her knickers and wetting her thighs, closeness inviting intimacy, sensation flirting with curiosity, a shuffle, a movement of engagement, feeling the threatening limb pushing against her body, moving her hand in a downward path, sliding her fingers over his leather belt, searching and probing, squeezing the throbbing flesh inside his pants.

The warmth, the searing heat of passion, the intimacy of two bodies pushing together, driven by impulsive urges, hormones exploding and heartbeats gathering speed, a visceral surge of adrenaline flowing through a body charged with sexual energy, a heart fluttering with promise and expectation, primal response flirting with curiosity, fumbling impatiently with his belt buckle and zip, pulling his pants over his thighs and down his legs before gathering at his feet on the cold concrete floor.

A startled gasp and a hesitant pause, the acquaintance of nine-and-a-half-inches filling her hand momentarily interrupting her lustful enquiry, a familiar wetness pooling between her legs bringing her back to reality, arousal flirting with curiosity, expectation inviting capture, bodies moving to the persuasion of touch, gripping the swollen muscle firmly in her hand, working him hard and working him fast, tugging and pulling, up and down, back and forth, gripping the length and squeezing the girth, rejoicing in the pulse between her fingers.

Hips moving and buttocks flexing, two people lost in the heat of passion, responding to impulsive urges, choking gasps joining grunts and groans, compliments and gestures of encouragement echoing in the darkness, sliding his hand between the fleshy textures of her inner thighs, feeling the discharge of arousal flooding her knickers, slipping a finger inside the fabric, searching through the thick bush of pubic hair, feeling the warmth of her burning vulva, parting the moist lips and separating the slippery folds of flesh, exploring her innermost secrets, working his fingers in lazy circles, stimulating the clitoris and teasing the urethra, suggestion chasing hope and expectation, two lovers drowning in a sea of hormonal chaos, two people searching for one thing.

The movement impulsive, the action swift and without compromise, modesty melting away in the heat of passion, turning quickly on her heels, shuffling and wiggling her hips, sliding her knickers down her legs and letting them drop to the floor, casually stepping over the flimsy piece of fabric, pulling her skirt up to her waist, leaning forward and gripping the metal frames with both hands, brushing away cobwebs between her fingers and opening her legs, her white smooth bottom perched invitingly in the air, the treacherous object bouncing and swaying against the soft cheeks of her bottom, a vulva desperate for penetration, a voice demanding action, her words laden with uncompromising determination.