"Abbot! Visitor"
The prison officers voice was sharp and to the point as usual.
"Who is it? I'm not expecting anyone."
"How the fuck should I know? On your feet Abbot, come on, MOVE IT!"
With a sullen look I dropped the magazine I had been reading on my bunk and climbed down to face the officer. I held out my wrists in the time honoured fashion and immediately felt the familiar, cool embrace of the hand cuffs as they clicked firmly in place. As I hadn't issued any visiting orders this week, I assumed that it must be my lawyer come to see me now. I had only three months to go on an eighteen month sentence for assault, and Mr. Davis, my lawyer, tended to call in to see me unannounced, as it were, to discuss my pending release date.
Officer Brown marched me along the corridor towards the visiting area, the stale, disinfectant smell that constantly permeated the whole building rich in my nostrils. I knew that whenever I encountered this smell in the future it would remind me of this godforsaken place. I was led into the empty visiting room and Brown indicated that I should sit at the sole table in the centre of the stark room. For a screw, Brown wasn't too bad. He had always treated me fairly and, in a way, I quite liked him. Not that I would be sorry to see the back of him, or anyone else here, in three months time. I slouched into a plastic chair on one side of a cheap, functional table, an empty seat opposite, and lit a cigarette. To be honest, these meetings with my lawyer bored the shit out of me. I drew deeply on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of blue, grey smoke across the table. As the smoke rose and drifted lazily in the stagnant air, I saw a blue suited figure enter from the far door.
I was faintly surprised as the man took a seat on the other side of the table and looked directly at me. This was not Davis. In fact I had never seen him before. He took out a buff file from his leather briefcase and spread it open on the table in front of him. He read out loud:
"Abbot, William. 38 years old. Eighteen months for assault."
He continued to reel off all my personal details from his file. He was extremely well informed. He even knew that my sentence had been light due to the extenuating circumstances; I had attacked some thug in a bar who had been beating on a woman that I knew. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to hand was a pool cue, and even more unfortunately I had fractured his thick skull. Hence eighteen months in the slammer.
"So, what the fuck do you care?" I said, still slouching and breathing smoke towards my unnamed companion. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"
"My name is Jennings. I represent -" He started.
"Shit! Another lawyer. I knew it. You all look the same - what happened to Davis?"
"I am aware that you are represented by Mr. Davis," Jennings continued, "but I am not connected with that gentleman. Yes, I am a lawyer, but as I was saying, I represent another party altogether. A party that wishes to remain anonymous at this time but one that could do you a lot of good. I have been authorised to offer you a position of employment, Mr. Abbott. You would be released on licence, almost immediately and into our care, where you would spend the remaining three months of your sentence. After that time, if you so desired you would be entitled to end your contract of employment and return to the outside world or you could opt to continue, assuming that your work has been satisfactory. Does that sound interesting to you, Mr. Abbot?"
Interesting? It sounded fucking fantastic! A ready made job and getting out of this shit-hole three months early into the bargain.
"What's the job?" I asked, trying to hide my excitement. "And why me?"
"My employer wishes to hire you as a sort of.....body-guard for his wife. You would be responsible for her complete welfare."
Jennings paused and looked me straight in the eyes.
"Let me be blunt, Mr. Abbot. We are both men of the world, yes?"
Without waiting for me to either confirm or deny his last question, he continued.
"My employer, and hopefully soon to be yours too, is a wealthy man but is advancing in years. He is looking for someone who can look after his wife in the..er...bedroom! The lady in question is substantially younger than her husband and he finds it increasingly more difficult to satisfy her in this area. My employer, however, still has sexual feelings for his wife but prefers to sate them by means of voyeurism. Do you understand the implications of this? Would you be interested?"
I nodded, almost dumbstruck. As far as I could make out, this old guy wanted me to look after his wife and fuck her whenever she wanted it while he watched. What was there not to be interested in?
"You have been chosen, Mr. Abbot - or may I call you Bill?"
I nodded again.
"You have been chosen, Bill, because your reputation with the fairer sex precedes you. My employer is a very thorough man and is well aware of your, shall we say, conquests?"
It was true. I don't like to boast, but I have slept with literally hundreds and hundreds of women. I am blessed with an athletic body, an over-average sized endowment and the staying power to use it effectively. I have been known, in the past, to make it with four women in the same night, satisfying them all. But that was in the past. For well over a year I had been festering in this place. Some of the cons here were happy to indulge themselves in self abuse while others turned to each other for release, be it with or without the other parties consent.
Neither of these options I found attractive, so consequently I tried to keep thoughts of a sexual nature as far from my mind as possible. I wondered if I was still as good as I once was. I didn't have to wonder for long. If everything went pear shaped, at least I would be getting out of this stinking hole, and that in itself was worth everything! I agreed to take the position immediately. Jennings told me that he would pass on the good news to his employer and make arrangement for me to be collected from the prison gates later that evening.
True to his word, Jennings arrived at the gates at 6.30pm precisely. The sound of keys rattling in locks and heavy metal doors slamming shut were still ringing in my ears as I climbed into the back seat of a new Jaguar, the smell of wood and leather a very pleasant change from the aroma's that had stayed with me for the last year or so. As an unseen driver tooled the large vehicle away from my last home, Jennings chatted and briefed me on some of my duties outside of the bedroom. He explained that his, and now also my, employer kept only a small staff of trusted aides. They were a small, close team; almost a family and, with the exception of the boss, were all on first name terms. Jennings introduced himself as Ronald and showed me photographs of our employer and the house that was to become my next home.
As soon as I looked at the pictures, I recognised him immediately as John Briggs MP. Sometime ago he had been front page news for his fairly relaxed policies on pornography and censorship but had then faded into the back benches of the government, until about two years ago. It was at this time that he had met and quickly married Alice Collins, a well known socialite and a woman thirty years his junior. It had created quite a scandal at the time, but as the press found very little assistance from his tight-lipped employees, the story soon died a natural death and Briggs and his wife had again almost disappeared into obscurity. The conversation between Jennings and I soon petered out, and I was left to muse on thoughts of Alice Briggs-Collins as we sped noiselessly towards our destination.