You must all have heard about the gambler who having lost all of his money in a card game then stakes his car in an effort to recover all that he has lost. He loses and, unable to imagine life without a car throws the deeds to his house into the pot. The losing run continues. The gambler is wondering how to tell his nubile young wife that they have nowhere to live when she walks into the room carrying refreshments. Looking down the loser finds that he has just been dealt his best hand of the night and asks what will you allow me against my wife. Looking lasciviously at the proffered prize, the winner says, "All that you have lost so far."
So the loser stakes his unknowing wife and finds that he is against the best hand possible in the game. I would not have done that. I am not querying the nature of his bets but every seasoned gambler knows never to chase his losses.
Sally and I have been married just over six and a half years. Seven-year itch - hell no. We both felt as if we were still on honeymoon with her as hungry for me as I was for her. With her lovely figure, pert full breasts and a face to die for, Sally is the best looking girl that I have ever seen, bar none. I am employed by an estate agent, at an office unfortunately situated in a completely different area from the insurance company where my wife works. Although both she and I earn well we are always rather short of money because we rather over stretched ourselves on the house that we are buying. This meant that our socialising was severely limited but this was no hardship because we were so happy with each other's company. Our lives, (for that read sex lives), were so good that we deliberately avoided having a child for fear that a third person in the equation might spoil the rapport we had enjoyed since the first moment.
The first small cloud appeared on the horizon one night during our even meal when Sally announced, "I think I'm being followed."
I laughed and said, "Whatever makes you think that?"
Sally didn't think it was funny. "Well three times I have looked back and seen the same car moving slowly a long way behind and on another occasion I saw it parked near the office where I work. It's a very flashy car, a low slung two seater in a bright metallic blue with darkened windows."
"You have probably seen different cars and just assumed it was the same one because it's a bit unusual."
"No it's definitely the same car because I saw the registration. It's a private number DONN 1 - it was the same every time."
"It's probably someone who works in the same area and who is therefore on the move at the same time as you. I admit it looks a bit suspicious but there is almost certainly a simple explanation."
Sally accepted this at the time but late the following week she said, "I definitely am being followed. I've seen that car outside my work at 5 o'clock three times this week. Also, since the hot weather started a crowd of the girls go to the park at lunchtime to eat our sandwiches - well every day except the first, the blue car has been parked just outside the gates. I'm sure that he is in the park somewhere near - he knows me but I have no idea what he looks like."
"You say 'He' - how do you know that there is only one person in the car?"
"I just know and I also know that it isn't a woman. It's some kind of instinct and I am also convinced he is watching me. I can feel it - I also feel it when I'm in the park. The park might be imagination but the other isn't because I can feel it before I even see the car."
The following week she reported seeing it at least once every day and on the Friday she said it had been parked outside the railway station when she set of for home. I pretended to take all this seriously but secretly believed that it was someone who had recently started working in an office near my wife and who followed a similar routine. I found that I was mistaken on the Saturday afternoon when Sally ran to where I was working on my PC shouting that the blue car had just been in the street. All of the houses in our cul-de-sac have minuscule back gardens so all the young wives tend to do their sunbathing on the bit of grass at the front. It was a gloriously sunny day and Sally had been out in her bikini taking advantage of the weather. Rolling over she saw the blue car standing in a position that allowed the driver an oblique view of her through the open gate. Realising he had been seen, the driver drove away and turned the car round at the end of the road. Sally had jumped up and stood watching him drive slowly back but was perturbed when he stopped just the other side of the hedge. For about two minutes they engaged in a staring match even though she could not see him. Sally says that she was mentally challenging him to lower the window and reveal himself but although at one point she thought he was going to, he drove off instead.
On the Sunday, despite the incident of the previous day, my wife insisted that I go down to the pub as usual while she prepared Sunday lunch. I was half way through my first pint when a voice called out "Daniel" and the next moment a complete stranger had rushed up to slap me on the back and start vigorously pumping my hand. "Danny, Danny Hall, what the hell have you been doing with yourself all these years, you old rogue?" he asked with a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.
It took me several minutes to convince the man that I was Phillip Pope and not who he thought I was. The main difficulty was that for a time he was convinced that I was just winding him up with my denials. In the end he apologised and added, "Dan was a good looking sod like you that's how I got mistaken. You know, I still can't believe that you look so much like him - or at least how I imagine him to look after twelve years." I mumbled for him to forget it and tried to turn away but he grabbed my arm and said, "Look mate, I've made a right fool of myself - the least that I can do to make amends is to treat you to a pint."
It would have been churlish to refuse and we started chatting. My new friend introduced himself as Damien Hurst and explained that he and my look-alike Dan had been best mates all through school but had lost touch when they went to different universities. Damien was about two inches taller than me and slightly heavier but although he had an appealing face it was far from being classically handsome. He was about my age, well spoken and pleasant, if possibly rather over enthusiastic. I bought him a pint in return and while drinking this he reminisced about Dan. "Everybody referred to us as the two D's and what a team we made. We went through the sixth form girls like a knife through butter - with his looks and my personality we couldn't miss. Look, if you are free, why don't we meet up tonight - it will be nice to feel like the old team again even though you're not him. Look I can absolutely guarantee you a really fancy piece of tail if you come with me."
I refused the offer, pointing out that I was married, but then, against my better judgement, allowed him to buy me another pint. "With all the beautiful women about in the world, I think that men who get married are stupid, especially a good looking guy like you."
"I have a beautiful wife and I am very happy with her. I very much doubt if I could ever get another woman as good."
"Course you could," he stated emphatically. "I am hardly film star material but I can get any woman in the world so I never go with a female who is not top of the range beautiful. There are thousands out there waiting, like ripe fruit on a tree - I just choose the one that I want and then I pluck her."
"And to what do you attribute this irresistible power over women?" I asked sarcastically. "What have you got - an inexhaustible supply of chat up lines?"
"I don't rate chat up lines much because they antagonise some women - no my secret is an in depth understanding of female psychology," he answered seriously.
It sounded like bragging to me. "Come on," I said, "You've got to be exaggerating. I believe that you do all right for yourself but you must have had some failures."
He shook his head, "Not that I remember - and I would remember because if that ever happened I'd be mortified."
I still didn't believe it. "Surely a proportion of the beautiful females you fancy must be married and in love with their husbands."
"Doesn't make the slightest bit of difference," he stated categorically but then paused and added, "Actually married women are easier. Single girls have a built in resistance to men approaching them but the married ones are out of practice and therefore more vulnerable."
He was beginning to annoy me. "I don't believe it - I know you couldn't seduce my wife for a start."
