A tale of woe told in two chapters. Note: there is no sex in this story.
I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement they always give me. I also thank of my friends, who write to encourage and help me to continue writing and posting, these demented ravings of mine. Your emails are always greatly appreciated.
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Quite a few people have had it happen to them at one time or another in their lives. They made a small change of their plans and that has led in a very few days to their lives being turned completely upside down. Of course, we don't realise what the consequences are going to be when these kind of decisions are made. It is only later that we come to understand the significance of our decisions.
In my particular case, it was the decision to look up an old school friend. I was about to go on one of my very rare trips up country for my employers to Darlington, of all places.
I just happened to mention the fact in the pub one night that I was doomed to spend the following week in the exciting fleshpots of Darlington.
Hey, Darlington is probably a really nice town, if you know it. But, when you're dropped into these places unexpectedly it can take a week or so to find out where the decent nightlife is, by which time I'd be long gone.
Anyway Tony, one of my long time friends from way back when we'd been at school together, told me that another of our old school crowd, George Diamond, was living in Darlington and suggested that I look up him and Rosy, his wife.
Ah, now, Rosy, that was one name that brought back some really happy memories for me. Rosy Thompson as she was back then; I definitely remembered her from school. The girl who was most likely to, or more like the girl who quite definitely would. Christ, I think she took most of the guys' cherries, but unfortunately not mine. I'd been a very early starter in that game. Anyway, I'd had more than a few enjoyable afternoons in Rosy's company when we'd bunked off school together.
Poor old George had drawn the short straw on that one though. He'd put Rosy in the club. Well, let's be honest here: George was the poor bugger who had taken the fall for it anyway. He had finished up doing the manly thing and marrying our Rosy. Yep, that's what men did in those days; you stood by your responsibilities. Still from what I'd heard, they were very happy together and Rosy's wandering ways were all in the far distant past.
Tony, who had apparently kept in touch with George and Rosy, said that they had had at least half a dozen children. Not surprising to me, knowing Rosy's love of procreation like I did. Well, I don't think she was ever that keen on the idea of actually having kids. But she sure did like the preliminaries.
Apparently, they had moved up to Darlington shortly after they got married, when George had been offered a good job up there. That is probably why I didn't remember seeing them for years.
"What harm could it do to meet up with a couple of old school friends," I thought. No, I wasn't thinking I might get lucky with Rosy again; I was a happily married man. So a week or so before I left for my trip, I gave them a call to let them know I was coming. It was then that I made what was to prove to be an eye opening but ultimately disastrous decision; George and Rosy insisted that I stay with them whilst I was in town and I acquiesced.
On my arrival at their house, I realised that I had made a mistake. Both the once gorgeous Rosy, and George had turned into a couple of real barrels, about as wide as they were tall. Yeah, they were pleasant enough, but they were so damned boring. Christ, their life seemed to revolve around their kids, the church and bloody bingo.
Mind, Rosy was one great cook. I was damned glad I was only staying for five days; as it was, I must have put on quite a few pounds that week.
Anyway, we spent a few evenings talking about old times. I was surprised at the long list of guys that Rosy asked me if I knew what had happened to. I know that if I had been George, I would have gotten at least a little annoyed. Because I knew that most of the list were guys who had sampled Rosy's charms at one time or another. But George didn't appear to bat an eyelid.
It was on the Thursday evening that my life started to turn to shit. When Rosy wasn't asking me about what I knew about this guy or that, the pair of them had spent most of the time telling me about their kids, of whom they were very proud. It was on that Thursday evening just about the worst fate that can befall a houseguest befell me. About eight o'clock just after Rosy put the twins to bed, George got out the bloody projector and spent the whole evening showing me his old home movies of their kids.
I think I was in that daze we all fall into after watching someone else's home-movies for several hours. I was acting my heart out trying to at least look and sound vaguely interested, whilst George and Rosy told tales of holidays long past. Mind you, in some of the older films when Rosy still had her figure, shit, she looked good in those tiny bikinis she wore back then. I quietly attacked the bottle of Rum I had purchased that day to dull the senses.
But then it happened. A scene came on the screen that made me sit up and take notice. George and Rosy both noticed my sudden interest, as I nearly jumped out of my seat.
"What's up, Pete," Rosy asked, "Have you seen someone you recognise?"
I bleeding-well sure had. "George, can you run the film back a bit?" I asked in a panic-struck voice.
George stopped the film and then ran it back until I asked him to stop. "Exactly when did you say this film was taken?" I enquired.
"Ten years ago in Bournemouth," George replied, "Why, do you recognise someone?"
"Yeah, that couple in the back ground; the woman with the blond hair looks pretty familiar?" One hell of an understatement; that woman was Leanne, my bloody wife. But I wasn't about to tell George and Rosy that.
"Oh, those two," Rosy commented, "they were a really nice couple. Americans, weren't they, George? Well, at least I think he was; she didn't say very much to anyone, did she, George? They were a real love struck pair hanging all over each other all the time. Hey, George aren't there some more shots of them at the party night? Now that did get interesting."
As usual Rosy didn't give George a chance to get a word in edgeways. I had gathered that that was how conversations with these two normally went. George ran the film on for a few minutes; the picture changed from the hotel's swimming pool area to what was obviously the ballroom. The same couple appeared in the background again; only this time they were dancing. But slowly the film began to concentrate more on them as they got a little - well, putting it politely - amorous on the dance floor. I was by then having a little trouble breathing.
"It ain't every day you see folks behaving like that in a Bournemouth hotel," George laughingly commented, "I just had to get it on film."
"He's a real pervert sometimes," Rosy cut in. "You wait until we get to the videos George took out in Spain. You've never seen so many tiny bikinis in your life. I think George paid the kids to stand near the girls wearing the smallest ones, just so that he would have an excuse to film them."
I'm afraid I wasn't really listening to Rosy, as I watched my wife doing just about everything except fuck the guy on the dance floor and his hands were everywhere they shouldn't be in a public place.
I thought back. George had said that this particular film had been taken about ten years before. It was ten years ago that my company had sent me out to India where they were setting up a new manufacturing plant.
I had been away for nearly seven weeks that summer and during that time Leanne's parents had taken the children away with them on holiday for a fortnight. I remembered that there were a few days when the home phone was apparently out of order. Leanne was forced to call me out in Mumbai from a public phone, because I couldn't get through to her at the house.
"Pete? Pete, are you alright?" Rosy said, "You've gone a funny colour."
"That woman - can you remember her name?" I asked.
"No, sorry I can't. Can you remember, George? You spoke to them a few times."
"I think his name was Clayton or something like that. No, hang on it was Clinton; you know, like Clint Eastwood. But I don't recall what her name was. Funny that, what with them being just married and everything. I don't recall him ever mentioning her name. I never spoke to them when she was around; they were too busy if you get the idea. You know what it's like, they were obviously just married and on their honeymoon.
"One sexy little bitch, isn't she? I bet she nearly killed him in bed at night; she really did get turned on. To be honest, it was getting a bit embarrassing until the hotel manager asked them to cool it down a little."
It was no good. I had to tell them. "Sexy she sure is. But there's the problem. She's my bloody wife!"
"Oh, shit!" George said.
"Oh, bugger! It can't be," Rosy exclaimed.
George and Rosy used different expletives.
Neither George nor Rosy had ever met Leanne, I had lost track of them once they had got married and that had been well before I met up with Leanne.
"Sorry, George, but I'm going to have to ask you for a copy of that film."
They had both realised the implication and I think they were a little lost as to what to say to me.
"Oh, damn, I am sorry, Pete. Of course, I'll run you off a copy on a CD. I had them transferred to the computer last year. Personally we think the atmosphere is better when you see them on the big screen, but I suspect before long everything will be on CD's or these new DVD things they are bringing out."
Well, that was all there was to it. George ran me off a copy. I didn't sleep well that night and I left for home as soon as I finished work on the Friday evening. I had planned to travel home on the Saturday but I wasn't in any mood to sleep that night.
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I arrived home at some unearthly hour on the Saturday morning, after a long slow drive back down to the West Country. My nerves were completely shot; I had no intention of killing myself on the way and I crashed out on the sofa.
Some hours later I was awakened by the sound of Leanne's voice.
"Crikey, Pete! You scared the life out of me. I didn't expect to find you lying there. When did you get home? Why didn't you call last night and what are you doing sleeping on the sofa?" Leanne demanded when she discovered me lying there in the morning.
"It must have been about half past two," I replied, ignoring her other questions.
"Why didn't you come up to bed? I've missed having you to cuddle up too."
I couldn't see much point in beating around the bush, as inside I was hopping mad and only just managing to keep my temper under control. So I dived straight in.
