Be warned, absolutely no hard sex here, and this is not really an erotic story. But it still seems to fit into 'LV' rather than 'Non erotic'
I sometimes get complaints that my stories can be a little unrealistic, but please remember it IS fiction. At least mainly so, as there is a thread of real truth in this little particular tale whatever you may think.
Couple of London slang words in there as well and they're all words I occasionally still use myself, but I'll leave you to work them out if you don't know them.
Please enjoy.
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It weren't as if it was a bad dance, not as dances go.
Not that I'm much of a dancer myself of course, but let's put our cards on the table shall we? Except for a few guys who know what they're doing, and the posers of course, not a lot of geezers out there are really, are they?
Cilla, that's my missus of course, loved dancing though, and we had this sort of unspoken agreement that once she'd had a couple with me and had her feet stepped on a few times, then I'd be let off the hook. Then I'd be free to renew my acquaintance with the bar and the liquid delights behind it, and she'd go off dancing with her mates, or other geezers as well if she wanted.
Now hang on there.
I know what you're thinking, and you couldn't be further off track.
I said dancing and that's just what I meant. No funny stuff and no canoodling and definitely none of that mucking about stuff.
In all the time we'd been married I'd never once even so much as suspected that Cilla would do anything like that.
So, no problem there, right.
Was there?
Well what would you think of the present situation then?
Cilla had been dancing with the same guy for the last half hour or more, and that weren't normal, no bloody way. Two dances was all right, and maybe even three if it was one of my mates or something.
But the half hour passed and still no bleeding sign of her coming back.
What was going on?
Maybe I was worrying about nothing ---- But a little wavering in my tummy told me otherwise.
There!
The music stopped and she'd be coming back to me.
But bugger it ----- She didn't!.
The wavering in my tummy turned to a big square lump of lead, and for the first time in our ten years of marriage, I felt the pangs of jealousy.
Cilla was a lovely bit of crumpet, though even I wouldn't claim her to be some Miss World or anything.
Pretty enough boat race and great Bristols and things, but perhaps her best feature were her pins. Lovely and long and shapely they were and just seemed to go on and on forever. That's why even at the age of thirty nine, Cilla could still get away with wearing such short skirts when we went out for the evening.
But she was still dancing with him ----- The same bloke that is. Six feet odd tall, bit on the thin side with dark blonde hair. Quite the opposite of my five feet ten, dark hair and more chunky build.
What the hell did she see in the bugger?
Christ! ----- That must be the sixth or seventh dance they've been together now.
Time to act!
Dragging myself up from the stool I was sat on, I mumbled something to the people we were sitting with about going to find the loo. Didn't want that lot know that I was worrying about the missus's behaviour.
Now where were they?
I made my way through the throng on the dance floor, trying to pick out the blue colour of my wife's short dress.
Ah! ---- There they were, over towards the corner.
My steps ground to a halt as I spotted the pair of them, my wife Cilla moulded up against the blonde bastard as if they were bloody well glued together. Neither of them hardly moving their feet as they clung to one another on the spot rather than danced, Cilla's head resting on his chest.
Oh Fuck!
My insides did a somersault, and I sucked in a deep breath.
This weren't right --- Not right at all. My Cilla hadn't never done anything like this before.
No ---- They weren't actually kissing or anything, and Blondie's hands weren't anywhere that would warrant giving him a thumping.
Not yet anyway.
No --- It was the way they were holding onto each other. That and the fact that she'd been with him for so damn long.
He said something to her and I heard her giggle, and reach up and stroke his cheek.
Too familiar ----- Far too familiar!
"Hi Cilla," I greeted her, as I strode purposefully up to the pair of them. "I've been wondering where you had got to."
"Got to?" My wife repeated in puzzlement as she glanced round in my direction, a blank look on her face. "Got to where?"
"You've been gone nearly an hour Cilla," I exaggerated a bit, fighting to control my temper. "What are you up to?"
I saw recognition dawn on Cilla's face, as she came back into the real world as it were.
"Oh, Ken," she uttered breathlessly, easing herself almost unwillingly away from the clutches of this other geezer. "This is Dave, Ken. We've just been dancing and chatting, that's all."
"For a bit too long for my liking Cilla," I insisted, and held my hand out to her, to take her away.
For one awful, long moment I thought she was going to reject it, and quite what I would have done then, I'm not at all sure. Thumped someone I suppose.
"Yes Ken, of course," Cilla spilled out after some hesitation, and gingerly reached out for my hand. "Can I just finish this last dance though please honey?"
"The music has stopped Cilla," I pointed the obvious out to her rather shortly. "It stopped a few minutes ago."
"Oh yes of course Ken," she mumbled in confusion. "I'll be right with you honey, but I've just got to say goodnight to Dave."
"No goodnights Cilla," I insisted irritably. "We're out of here and I mean now."
I was getting well pissed off, I can tell you.
"Now hang on a minute mate," her new friend Dave started to interrupt, but one look from me and he sensibly changed his mind.
"Now Cilla," I repeated. "Now or else I'm buggering off without you."
"OK Ken," came back Cilla, reluctantly letting go of buggerlugs. "I'll see you around sometime Dave."
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Pissed off?
Well what do you think?
How would you have felt?
"What the fuck do you think you're playing at Cilla?" I almost screamed at my damn missus as I hustled her back to the bar. "Who was that bloody bloke? What were you doing with him?"
"Nothing Ken," Cilla fought back. "Nothing at all, but it's got me thinking that's all."
"Thinking? ------ Thinking? ----- It looked like a lot more than thinking to me."
Cilla looked at me steadily, and knew that she had that habit of being able to stare me down. But not that night and that's for bloody sure!
"We need to talk Ken," she said quietly at last. "Let's go home now and we can talk."
"Not at home Cilla," I exploded, recoiling at those dreaded words that I'd never expected to hear from my missus. "If we need to talk, then there's no time better than now."
"Better at home when we're on our own sweetheart," she insisted, but I refused, calling for her to come clean, on the point of boiling over.
"Ok," she agreed. "But listen me out."
I agreed, dreading what she was about to tell me, but I agreed, totally confused and wondering if the next few moments would be sounding the death knell of what I'd imagined to be our perfect marriage.
"This isn't a sudden decision honey," Cilla started with. "I've been mulling it over for a month or more, but the time has come, and I've decided to take you up on the promise you made me."
"Promise? What damn promise? I've never promised you that you can carry on like that with another man."
"The night before we were married," Cilla reminded me. "You made me a promise and the time has come honey."
"What promise?" I mumbled, feeling suddenly very, very empty inside. "I don't remember any promise."
But I was lying!
Oh my God, how I was lying!
I had made her a promise, just like she said, though I'd long since dismissed it from my mind.
"I think you do remember Ken," Cilla said quietly avoiding my eyes. "I'm really sorry honey and I don't want to hurt you. I'll be forty in a few months but as much as I still love you, I think the time has come."
Oh Shit!
Oh for Chris's sake, whatever possessed me to ever make that promise!
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Let's go back a few years shall we?
Back to the night that I first met my Cilla.
I, that is we of course, were at a small jazz club in south London, though at the time neither of us knew that the other was there.
There was a break in the music, and people all around me were standing up to replenish their drinks.
"How can I get rid of him Anne," I heard the pretty young woman just in front of me say to her friend. "I don't want to be rude or anything, but I really don't fancy him."
"Well he's gone to get us some drinks Cilla," the friend told her. "We could just leave without saying anything."
"I can't do that to him," the pretty blonde with the long legs told her pal. "It's not as if he's awful or being pushy or anything---- I just don't fancy him."
I looked at the girl and took a double take on the huge length of shapely leg that was sticking out below the hem of her mini skirt. Maybe, just maybe, I could help out a girl with a pair of pins like that.
I have to say that at the time I was two years into my divorce from my first missus, and all I can say is that I was having the time of my life with the ladies.
"Hi you two," I crooned as I leant forward between them. "Can I offer my services?"
