Innuendo

Until I met Susie I didn't have much of an idea what innuendo meant. For all I knew, it could've been an Italian brand of suppository.

I still remember that evening quite clearly. There were about a dozen of us at an informal dinner party hosted by Alan Johnston and Clare Jenkins, celebrating their engagement. We were all in our final year at Edinburgh University and I had become painfully aware that during those last few months of the final academic year, just as spring arrives, couples either commit to one another or decide to call it quits in preparation for a new life somewhere else. I was in a stable relationship that was ripe for commitment, or so I thought, but I had been ditched without prior warning. That she chose Valentine's Day to give me the bad news was particularly nasty.

I hadn't been deeply in love with Carol, my girlfriend of two years' standing, but we had been more or less living together and it made things worse that she was reportedly sowing more than a few wild oats around the campus before finals. That was rubbing salt in the wound, but every cloud has a silver lining and deep down I had a vague awareness that the healing process would be shorter due to her lack of consideration and respect. If she had so easily become one of the campus bicycles, maybe I had just dodged a bullet.

My dark mood hung over me for more than a couple of weeks, but I was determined to pull myself together and do some smiling for Alan and Clare, who had deliberately not invited Carol. I felt their loyalty merited a special effort on my part. The last thing I wanted was to go to an engagement party, but what might have been a difficult evening became a breeze after Susie turned her charms on me.

The dinner conversations were all about how well we hoped to do in our final exams, where everyone was headed and whether they had any particular plans or ambitions. I still remember the dessert was individual portions of home-made dark chocolate mousse in tiny little white porcelain ramekins and there were not enough of them to go round. I had just picked up the last of the ramekins from the buffet table when I noticed an attractive blonde standing next to me, looking disappointed.

"You can have mine if you like," I said.

"That sounds like a promise," she quickly replied in a soft southern English accent, giving me a big smile and a wink. "And I wouldn't mind having your mousse either!"

I must have stood there in a daze, as she reached out and helped herself to the little ramekin.

"Thanks," she said, picking a teaspoon off the table. "I don't think we've met. I'm Susie Dunn."

"Nice to meet you, Susie," I chuckled. "Jamie Donald, but my pals call me Jay Dee."

"I like that," she said. "Sounds like you're a strong spirit with plenty of bottle!"

We got chatting and it turned out Susie was in one of Clare's study groups and Clare had invited her along that evening to help get everything set up. It was Susie's cheeky sense of humour that immediately attracted me to her. As well as a GSOH it helped that she was very pretty, with a perky set of tits and a nicely rounded arse. The icing on the cake was the twinkle in her big blue eyes and the way she raised her eyebrows suggestively while she turned on a languorous, smouldering smile, which meant I was putty in her hands. In my mind's eye I saw a sexy, witty, intelligent and funny woman with just a hint of Barbie doll. It wasn't until weeks later that I realised I had been ambushed. Clare inviting Susie had been a set up, rather than to help her set up. Not that it mattered, because by then we were an item.

Susie loved the naughtiness of innuendo and she could be very brazen. Whenever anyone asked her how we met, she would smile mischievously and mimic my Scottish accent, telling folk that I offered to let her have my "moose", because I was after her pussy. I didn't actually get her pussy the night of Alan and Clare's dinner party, but I did get to walk her home and I got a lingering goodnight kiss. Both of us seemed aware that we were on the verge of starting a relationship. When I asked to see her again she paused for a moment before replying and I briefly wondered whether I had misread the situation.

"Well," she said, "Lots of guys seem to like me, but I have my knockers. Are you one of them?"

I grinned with relief and played along.

"I'd feel a right tit if I was!" I replied and we both had a laugh.

*

A week later we ended up in bed after our second date.

I took her to "Chez Pierre", my favourite French restaurant in Edinburgh's old town, hidden away amongst the narrow alleyways near the castle. We had a lovely meal with a nice bottle of Cotes-du-Rhone. Afterwards I pitched the most suggestive line I could think of, well aware by now that she enjoyed smutty innuendo.

"Would you like to come up and see my etchings?" I asked.

She sniggered. "I'd love to. Maybe you could show me your artistic technique."

In the bedroom Susie was steamy, sexy, slutty and suggestive. She helped me get my clothes off and then pushed me backwards onto the bed. As I lay on the bed, completely naked with my dick pointing at the ceiling, she did a striptease. She cast her blouse and skirt aside, revealing a scanty set of bright red lingerie. Looking me straight in the eyes, she shook out her shoulder length blonde hair then reached behind her and unclipped her bra. Slowly she peeled the bra straps off her shoulders and then pulled the bra off and jiggled her tits. She twirled the bra above her head with one hand and spun around before playfully tossing it in my direction. Turning her back to me, she bent over and rolled the bright red thong down her legs, wiggling her buttocks at me.

She turned back towards me and with her legs slightly apart and one hand on her hip she put the other between her legs, cupping her fuzzy blonde mound and slipping a finger or two inside herself. Her eyes closed slightly and she sighed as she found what she was seeking. Then she withdrew her hand from between her legs, brought it up to her face and gazed at me as she slowly sniffed her index and second fingers and then licked and sucked each in turn.

She crawled up the bed and started to lick around my balls. She kissed and licked the head of my prick and then took my stiffening member into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the shaft as she sucked at me. All I could think to do was to reach down and stroke her hair as she bobbed up and down. After a couple of minutes, just when I thought I would pop my cork, she came up for air.

"Time to check if your tool fits my toolbox," she said, swinging a leg over me and lining up my glistening prick with her juicy snatch. As she sank down on me, it was like a velvet glove had grasped me and was gently squeezing me to extract all the goodness I could give. Desperately, I tried to think of anything that would delay my climax, but my mind was completely blank and I was totally caught up in the moment. I felt her clench my prick a couple of times and I came like an express train.

She smiled triumphantly down at me, as I strove to get my breath back. "What happened to ladies first?" she teased. "Now you'll get your just desserts. How do you fancy a portion of cream pie?"

"Seems fair enough to me," I gasped.

She shuffled forward and my limp appendage flopped out of her onto my stomach. Then she swung herself round and reversed her moist crotch onto my face in a sixty-nine as she gently licked my dick. This was not the first time I had "dined at the Y" after shooting my load. It was one of the things that Carol particularly liked as part of our sexual reportoire, so it came as no surprise to me that Susie would want me to give her the treatment. In retrospect, it seems both my willingness to eat cum from her pussy without hesitation and the skill and enthusiasm with which I did so significantly influenced how our relationship developed.

That first night, like many afterwards, I spent ages using my tongue and fingers to get Susie wound up tight as a spring before she exploded in waves of orgasmic bliss. "Jay Dee, Jay DEEE!" she screamed as she collapsed on top of me, twitching and juddering. Vaguely I wondered if the neighbours thought she was shouting for a waiter to bring her a drink. When we eventually got ourselves sorted out and were cuddling together under the duvet, she smiled and looked deep into my eyes for a long moment. "I think you'll do," she said.

The next morning there was no let up in the innuendo.

"How do you like your coffee?" I asked her.

"Hot, milky and wet," she replied, "Just like me."

*

By the summer Susie and I were living together. We stayed on in Edinburgh after we graduated and we both managed to get fairly good jobs. Financial services are a mainstay of the local economy and that's where we found the opportunities. Despite the apparent disconnect with her academic studies, within weeks of graduation Susie was offered a position in customer services at Alpha General and Financial Asset Management (AGFAM) a leading financial management company. My experience of job hunting was very different. I had to go through a fearsomely challenging selection process before getting a graduate traineeship in business operations at a big name bank.

Although it's supposed to be a city, Edinburgh is more like a jigsaw puzzle of towns and villages. In the centre, there's an amazing medieval old town with a huge castle perched on top of a rocky outcrop overlooking the so-called new town, which is two hundred and fifty years old and features classic Georgian town houses lining elegant streets and gardens. Susie and I signed the lease on a first floor apartment in one of those lovely old houses. It was just ten minutes' walk from Susie's office. I had a half hour tram ride to commute to the bank's head office on the western edge of the city, but that was no big deal.

The only down side was the ancient plumbing and electrical wiring in the house. I mean, who puts a light switch on a doorframe or an electrical socket in a skirting board? Quirky is a quaint description, but unreliable would be more accurate. Every now and again we would be plunged into darkness when the fuse box decided its circuits were overloaded. The gas-fired boiler also seemed to have an attitude problem, almost grudgingly rumbling into life to meet our requirement for hot water.

Our social life was wonderful. Edinburgh is a cultural mecca, with theatres, galleries, pubs and clubs and the restaurants offer cuisine from all four corners of the world. There is a tremendous buzz about the place and the big headline events like the annual Edinburgh festival in August and the Hogmanay New Year celebrations make it one of the best party towns in the world. Susie and I were working hard to get our careers off to a good start, but we were living the high life at the weekends and it seemed we had it made.

Less than a year after we met we tied the knot and Susie became Mrs Donald. Both sets of parents and our small group of good friends seemed very happy for us. In Scotland you can get married almost anywhere and the celebrations took place in one of the old town's most famous taverns. The fair English bridesmaids greatly enjoyed the attentions of the kilted Scotsmen. Susie knew from experience whether anything is worn under a Scotsman's kilt, but her female friends from south of the border wanted to check for themselves. Quite a few gentle English roses grasped Scottish thistles that night and got the answer they were looking for. Nothing is worn -- it is all in good working order.

It was a great party and everyone was well oiled, as they say. Traditionally, no one is supposed to leave until after the bride and bridegroom. Susie and I were just preparing to slip away quietly around midnight when she was buttonholed by Clare and dragged away for some sort of girls' chat while Alan insisted that I join him at the bar to have one for the road.

Alan was three sheets to the wind. "You're a great guy," he told me, slurring his words slightly and patting me on the back affectionately. He leaned towards me conspiratorially. "I'm sure you and Susie will be good for one another. Just don't listen to any of that innuendo!"

"Don't worry," I replied. "I can handle that. It's one of the things I quite like about Susie."

He looked puzzled. "Well I'm sure it's all in the past, anyway."

I had no idea where the conversation was going and he seemed to have lost track of what he had been trying to say. I wondered just how much Alan had managed to imbibe, but then Clare arrived to retrieve her befuddled husband and allow Susie and me to make our escape.

*

Life with Susie was all that I wanted it to be. We were slap bang in the centre of one of the best cities in the world, working for top companies with promising career paths and our sex life was stunningly good.

Of course, innuendo was our constant companion. My pet name for her was Saucy Sue. I always knew when she was 'in the mood for wood'. "Are you pleased to see me, or is that a gun in your pocket?" she would ask me when I got home from work. Almost every Saturday she would ask me whether we should eat out or stay in and eat out. If she wanted an early night, over dinner she would ask me what I fancied for dessert, "Apple pie with cream or leftover cream pie?" Lying in bed on a weekend morning, she would grin at me and suggest a breakfast roll with honey.

Susie's use of innuendo extended beyond our private lives. She often talked about work issues, workloads and assignments in much the same way. "Jeff's a bit thick in more ways than one," she would say with a snigger. Or "Sheila seems to like working under Charlie. I just hope she can take a heavy load." Or "Henry's PA is very flexible. I heard she bends over backwards to accommodate him."

*

The first hint that things weren't quite right was at one of those bloody awful, self-congratulatory drinks receptions that are occasionally sponsored by the financial sector. This one was immediately prior to the start of political campaigning in an election year. All sorts of movers and shakers were invited along and the local politicians were all there, snouts firmly in the "troughs" of champagne and canapés. The lower echelons of our bank's management team and our opposite numbers from various other organisations were commanded to be there to assist with as much ass-kissing or brown-nosing as possible. I suppose there must have been around four or five hundred folk altogether, which doesn't sound like many for an event like that, but Edinburgh is sometimes more of a town than a city.

Both Susie and I were there with our respective colleagues, but we were all busy going through the pantomime routine of smiling and chatting with key contacts, so apart from a brief wave of acknowledgement Susie and I had not spoken to one another that evening. Very few of our colleagues knew that Susie and I were connected, because Susie continued to use her maiden name for work. I found it difficult to argue with her view that my fine Scottish family name "Donald" is currently imbued with racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia and various other undesirable attributes, including an outrageous hairstyle. So Susie Dunn worked at AGFAM and Susie Donald spent her leisure time socialising with her happy hubby.

Politicians can be incredibly indiscreet, as well as pompous and arrogant. Why we trust them with anything more than opening a door is beyond me. Add free alcohol to the mix and you end up with a walking, talking recipe for disaster.

Tom Hutton was a balding, old-school, local politician with a beer belly. He had been in politics for over forty years, rising through the ranks by any means, whether fair or foul it seemed, and now he chaired the city's finance and investment committee. Hutton had survived all sorts of political scandals over the years and his nickname was "Teflon Tom". Nothing ever stuck to him, usually because he was always looking out for himself. His hobbies were said to be drink and women and he had been married three times and divorced twice. The current Mrs Hutton was of eastern European origin and rumoured to have previously enjoyed a career as a performance artist or exotic dancer. There was some debate about whether she was a Polish dancer or her speciality had been pole dancing. Some even speculated she had some connection with Lapland.

Doing the rounds at the reception, Teflon Tom had ended up at our area and decided to grace us with his presence for a while. His flushed countenance testified to the generous quantities of champagne he had already consumed. Grasping yet another glass of champagne tightly in his gnarly fist, he seemed incapable of looking anyone in the eye, making conversation while scanning the room to see who else was there.

Of course I had heard of him, but this was the first time we had met and I took an almost instant dislike to him. I didn't realise until too late that my colleagues had disappeared like summer snow, knowing full well that Hutton was a self-centred, boring arsehole who would be one of the last to leave. I was left to hold the fort and do my duty, pretending to be interested in what the sleazy old bastard might have to say. I consoled myself with the thought that he was a significant influencer and I would get some credit for my diplomatic skills from the bank's "powers that be".

Our banal discussion about how well the city was being run by Teflon Tom and his colleagues was beginning to flag. Naturally, I was not going to disabuse him of his view that he was right and everyone else was wrong, even if the city now had more financial debt than ever before. I knew a bit about the city's finances, because the city used our bank for tax revenue receipts, financial transfers and payments to suppliers. There were a lot of rumours about the escalating costs of some of the city's capital investment projects, but everything couldn't be better, according to Hutton.

He spouted forth at some length about his magnificent efforts on behalf of the taxpayers and I just smiled and nodded occasionally, which seemed to be all that was being asked of me. I was hoping to get off the hook when he paused for a moment, but escape was not going to be so easy. His roving gaze had fixed upon a passing waiter, who was commanded to fetch more champagne.

Hutton was clearly a man who loved the sound of his own voice. Possibly because I was a good listener and did not try to get a word in edgewise he seemed to have taken a shine to me. The waiter quickly reappeared with two glasses of champagne and Teflon Tom seized both, thrusting one into my hand.

"You're a good man, Jamie," he said, once again scanning the room for potentially useful contacts. "Tell me, do you bankers ever mix with the financial services people?" The question seemed innocuous enough, but I didn't get a chance to reply and what he said next took the wind right out of my sails.

"You should try it. Some of them like a bit of fun, if you get my meaning. And we're not talking about dogs. That Susie Dunn at AGFAM is drop dead gorgeous. You should give her a shot if you get a chance. Everyone calls her SD, but it's not because that's her initials. It's because she bangs like a shithouse door in a force nine gale. SD. Shithouse Door!"

If Hutton had been paying any attention to me, instead of scanning the room as he chuckled in the wake of what he considered witty repartee, he would have noticed my reaction. I was a very angry man indeed, but I managed to hold myself in check. This pompous old fart was slandering my wife, but violence was not the answer. In any case, I knew this was the sort of nasty innuendo that was likely to be far from reality.

"Really?" I responded coolly, "I think I know who you mean, but I heard she's married."