Things Past

I always found my husband's work parties to be incredibly dull. This one was no exception. They stood around, glasses in hand but rarely touching lips, talking business, figures, projections, all night long. The wives on one side of the room with so very little in common, engaging in meaningless small talk to pass the time away. I know I sound like a real bitch here and I possibly am but you go attend a few parties like this one and see how bitchy you get!

Jonathan works in the exciting world of insurance. He mostly manages pension funds and it's really fascinating to hear him tell me all about recent legislation and financial services rules... you caught me, I am lying. Seriously though, I do admire his attention to detail and his determination to get things done. I love Jonathan, truly, and now I feel guilty about what I just said. We have been married now for nine happy years in which he has provided me with a comfortable home, a happy life, a loving relationship and an incredibly satisfying sex life. I think the dullness of his work - I am sure he doesn't think it so dull - makes him far more adventurous in the bedroom than I would expect; a release, perhaps? All I know is that he gets some pretty wild and kinky ideas in that lovable head of his and I am only too happy to throw myself in at the deep end with him. Like the time he tied me to the bed and... no, I digress. Let's just say I always blush when I see a cucumber.

The point is, we were very happy together. It was still as exciting as ever and I loved him for that, along with so many other things. Things changed that night. I am still so bitter about it now. I suppose I always will be.

I had been chatting merrily with the branch manager, a good man, a decent man, if a little too strictly religious. He had a habit of starting in a conversation and ending up preaching. Jonathan was funny when this happened. He would say things like "Want me to fetch you a pulpit?" Fortunately, the manager, Mr White, laughed and held up his hands in surrender. Like I said, a good man, a nice man.

"You must meet our new member," he said jovially. "Frank Williams. He just joined us this week and I must say, we are so very lucky to have him." He was looking over my shoulder, a smile on his face. I turned and looked and my heart sank. I knew this man, though I tried to hide it. I held out my hand.

"My, my," he said. "And who is this stunning lady?" The creep didn't shake my hand. Instead he made a big show of kissing it. I tried to hide my shudder. He looked up at me and my heart sank further. A faint glow of recognition flickered in his eyes.

"This is Mrs Roberts," Mr White went on, oblivious to the silent drama unfolding before him. "A wonderful lady indeed."

"Mrs?" Frank smirked. Or maybe I only thought he smirked. He had that kind of face. "An honest woman, of course. I am delighted to meet you, Mrs Roberts." I did not like the way he emphasised the Mrs and I knew that he had recognized me. I did my best to shrug it off.

"Delighted to meet you too, Mr... um... Williams." I said as dispassionately and politely as I could, under the circumstances. "I am sure you will be a credit to the company. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find my husband."

He kept hold of my hand for far longer than was decent but eventually let go. I smiled politely to Mr White and turned to walk away.

"I hope to see a lot more of you, Terri." My heart sank even further.

"Oh," said Mr White. "Did I say Terri? I do apologise. It's Samantha. Can't think why I said Terri. Old age, I suppose." There was polite laughter. I, of course, blushed and walked away, finding my husband. I stuck by his side for the rest of the evening, avoiding Frank Williams at all costs. Although I did catch him leering at me from time to time.

Life went on. I hoped the party was forgotten, that I was forgotten. I hoped Frank Williams had come to realise he was mistaken. I hoped.

"The new man, Frank, was asking me all about you today. It seems you made quite an impression."

We were sat at the dinner table when Jonathan dropped that sweet little bombshell. I tried to be dismissive.

"I think I met him briefly at the party," I said casually. "Tall man? Moustache? I really can't remember. Why was he asking about me, for Heaven's sake?"

"Well," Jonathan grinned. "His first question was how did I get such a beautiful woman to marry me. I told him I still don't know but I am so glad you did."

I smiled lovingly at him, a smile that didn't quite make it all the way.

"You are just the sweetest man alive," I murmured.

"He was asking how we met, where you work, if we have any kids." Jonathan paused. "Sorry love."

I cannot have children. I have a rare autoimmune condition that basically means my body rejects any chance of pregnancy. We always wanted a family but my particular biology means I cannot do it. I reached out and held his hand.

"It's ok," I said as softly as I could. "No need to be sorry."

"Anyway," Jonathan went on. "He seems like a decent enough sort. Very successful at what he does. He is in sales." he added. "No moustache though. I am pleased to see he has not left such a lasting impression on you."

I laughed dutifully while I seethed and raged inside. How dare he? After all this time, how dare he? Asking about me? Why can he not just let it alone? I have obviously moved on. I am a happily married woman with a caring, loving husband. Can he not see I am not the person he thinks I am?

Life went on. I was increasingly nervous as life went on but it did, in fact, go on. Two weeks later, on a tuesday, my husband came home early for a change. He kissed me and looked so crestfallen.

"What's up, doc?" I asked, drawing a faint smile from him. I was, of course, alluding to a previous kinky evening, the details of which you do not need to know. Cucumbers and carrots...if this keeps up, I will never be able to look a salad in the face again!

"I have to go to Liverpool," he said sadly, holding my hands in his. "Tonight," he added wretchedly.

"Oh, darling," I said in sympathetic resignation. "That's a little unfair. And such short notice."

Jonathan's company has its head office in Liverpool and he did have to travel down there from time to time but never at a moment's notice like this.

"Yes," he nodded. "It is a little strange. Apparently the pensions man down there needs to see all of us to discuss some earth-shattering change in company procedure. Why we can't do it by conference call is beyond me but he insists we go in person. Sorry darling."

He kissed me lovingly, a kiss I returned. It did seem strange, this sudden need to have him go to Liverpool but I guessed if everyone had to go, then he had to go too. We had a very light meal together before I helped him pack. I drove him to Central Station and waited for the train with him. We kissed again as he boarded the train, knowing it was only one night. I drove home with that odd sense of loneliness. I say odd because he had only just got on the train and would be back tomorrow but if you share your life with someone, day by day, their absence is so keenly felt. Or at least it was by me and I knew, I just knew, he would be sat on that train feeling much the same way. I smiled at that.

I got home, parked on the driveway which was a little difficult since some idiot had parked a black Audi in front of the house. Some people have no consideration. I got into the house, shrugged off my coat, walked to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. There was a loud knock on the door.

I opened the door, a friendly smile on my face. It faded, the world faded. My heart sank to its lowest depth. Frank bloody Williams. He stood there, a sleazy grin on his sleazy face.

"Hello Terri," he said in his sleazy voice. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" He leaned closer to me.

"My name is not Terri," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "It's Samantha, Sam to my friends. You can call me Mrs Roberts."

He laughed. The bastard laughed.

"Either let me in... Terri... or I will knock on every door and tell all your neighbours exactly what you are."

I sagged, stepping aside to let this loathsome man into my home. He sat on the sofa without invitation, looking up at me.

"Well, well, well," he drawled. "Little Terri after all these years. I wondered what happened to you. You were my favourite."

"Look," I said, desperately. "Ok, I was Terri, but can you not see that's in the past now? I have moved on. Things are good here. Please, please don't spoil it. I am begging you." I had started to cry. He sat forward, eyes practically devouring me.

"Moved on?" He sneered. "Oh I can see you have moved on. Little Johnny got himself his own private whore. What did you get? A nice little sugar daddy to keep you in high heels?"

"No!" I retorted. "It's not like that. I love my husband. He loves me. You have it all wrong!"

"Does he know about you?" He asked, a challenge in his hateful eyes.

"No," I whispered, my shoulders sagging. "I never told him. I couldn't. He doesn't need to know. It was a long time ago, a different world. Please, just go. Please don't spoil things."

The tears were really flowing now. This man was here to destroy my life and I was powerless. The simple truth was, he knew exactly who I used to be. That ammunition was too powerful.

"Yeah," he went on. "A husband doesn't need to know his wife is a whore. I mean, why would he? I bet you keep him keen in bed though. I remember your little tricks."

I blushed. I remembered them too.

"What do you want from me? You want money, is that it?"

He laughed and shook his head, standing up. He approached me, grabbed my arm. I flinched but his grip was tight.

"No, Terri," he sneered into my face. "Not money. I don't want your money, just your body."

I looked up in disbelief. "But..." I began, silenced as his thick rubber lips pressed to mine. I struggled in his grip, finally pushing him away.

"How dare you?" I demanded, furious. "How fucking dare you come into my home and say things like that? Get out! Get out now before Jonathan comes home."

Again, the bastard laughed.

"Did you know I transferred here from Liverpool?" He asked. "All it took was a few calls, a few favours, and little Johnny is on his way down there. We have the whole night ahead of us."

I stared at him, open mouthed. He went to all this trouble for... for what exactly? Surely he didn't think I.... yes, he did.

"I am going to fuck you tonight, Terri, any way I want to. Unless you want little Johnny and the world to know what you are. And what about Old Preacher White? Religious man? Poor Johnny won't have much luck once Whitey finds out his wife is a whore."

"You wouldn't..." I gasped. I sagged some more. Of course he would. "But why? I don't understand it." I pointed to his left hand, a thick band of gold very obvious. "Why? You are a married man. Why are you doing this?"

He turned and sat back on the sofa. I watched, horrified, as he started to undo his trousers. I looked away in disgust as his cock sprang into view, already hard.

"My wife, well, she doesn't do half the things you do. Besides, she is getting old now. You are still nice and tight. Now, come over here and suck what I got for you, whore. I will give you the count of ten and if my cocdk is not in your mouth by the time I reach ten, I will just have to tell everyone all about you."

He said my husband's name.

"One..."

He mentioned Mr White.

"Two..."

He said the name of the place I work. I looked up sharply.

"Three..."

I was cornered and caught and trapped and frustrated and screaming in terrified rage in my own head.

"Four..."

Maybe if I... give him what he wants, he might go away. I didn't believe that for a second.

"Five..." He took out his cellphone.

I slowly walked towards him.

"Six..." He thumbed through the menu.

I sank to my knees in front of him.

"Seven..."

I took his cock into my mouth.

"Good girl."

______________________________

I lay there on my marriage bed, legs spread around the body of Frank Williams as he fucked me. I didn't moan, I didn't cry out. I lay there, unmoving, his cock hammering away inside me. He stopped.

"Come on, Terri," he spat at me. "Put on a show for me, like you used to."

I didn't respond. He sighed and got off me, walking over to the dresser. I watched him pick up his phone, waving it at me. I sighed.

"Please, Mr Frank," I said in a little girl voice. "Please fuck me hard."

He smiled and walked back, cocky, in more ways than one.

As he entered me, I moaned "Oh, you are the best. I love to feel your cock inside me."

He was happy. I was not. While he humped away, while I made fake sounds of joy, I let my mind wander back to...

... 2003, my final year at Leeds University. It had been a lot of fun. Oh, sure, I learned a thing or two while I was there, some of it was even academic; not much, just some. Whoever said schooldays are the happiest days of your life got it quite wrong. University days, now that's another story. Although that final year proved to be the most difficult.

Back up north, as they say, my mother had finally drank herself to death. I can be cold about it now, after so many years, but at the time, my world was rocked. She was all I had and she had taken herself away from me. Of course, one tragedy isn't enough. The house had been repossessed after she had neglected to actually pay for it. I was now a homeless orphan. Am I laying it on a bit thick here? I might be but it was true, as long as you can be a twenty year old orphan. My father was long gone. I never knew him. So I was in a deep hole. No home to go to, nobody to turn to and summer vacation fast approaching. I had little choice but to extend my student rental to cover the summer which became quite expensive. It seems landlords doubled their rent for the summer schools where foreign students came to take a crash course in English. After paying the rent upfront, which went against all I hold sacred, I was not left with much. Student loans can only stretch so far.

I tried hard to find work, anything to help pay my way but it seemed there were just none around. It was a pretty bleak time back then. I got a job working in a bar that lasted almost three weeks before it closed down. I did a spell in a fast food joint before I was "let go" to make way for someone younger and therefore cheaper. I was getting desperate. The rent was paid, the bills were not. And the kitchen cupboards had a decidedly hollow look to them. I had three months ahead of me with no real hope.

I sat in the student union one day, nursing a cup of bad coffee when a casual acquaintance rolled up, taking a seat opposite me. I liked Jane. She was bubbly, friendly, obscenely flirtatious with the boys and a generally happy soul. I smiled in greeting. She asked me why I had looked so downcast and I explained the whole sorry situation to her.

"There is something you can do to make money," She said carefully. "Lots of money. If you are interested?"

Of course I was interested. Five minutes later, I was shocked.

"An escort?" I exclaimed, looking around and lowering my voice. "You are an escort?"

"Sure am," Jane grinned. "And it pays really well. £80 for an hour's work, if you can call it work. I know girls who make about £300 in one night but that's just greedy. And sore!"

I was fascinated. I was also slightly horrified. She gave me all the details. She worked from a selective agency who vetted the clients. They even had three town apartments, shared amongst five girls, where clients came to call on them. She made it sound so official, so businesslike, that I forgot the heart of the matter. Whoring. I listened with fascination then shook my head. This was not for me. She simply shrugged and told me the offer was there, if I changed my mind. I assured her I would not.

Three weeks later, after a couple of days eating nothing but cheap noodles, my assurances fell away. I wasn't a virgin and I had convinced myself that it was only sex, no big deal at all. To cut to the chase, so to speak, I found Jane, told her I was interested now and two days later, I was an escort.

That word always amuses me. When you are in the business, you never say whore, hooker or even prostitute; always escort. It seemed to me that we were simply glossing over a slightly ugly truth in an attempt to disguise it with some vague notion of respectability. Any way you called it, I became a whore. And that is when Terri was born. You never, ever use your real name.

My first client was awkward, fumblingly and embarrassingly awkward. He was polite enough but I definitely got the sense he left less than satisfied. I had lain underneath him while his cock was inside me, encased in thick rubber, naturally. I barely responded to him whilst at the same time trembling at the enormity of what I was doing. It's hard to describe the emotions of this. I knew what I was doing was so wrong but the money he gave me before he started went a long way to make it less wrong.

I got better at it. I learned how to act and even found myself enjoying it sometimes. Some of the clients were lovely, honestly, they really were. Lonely men who just needed release. Plain men who knew the only way they would be with a girl like me was to pay for it. I felt for them, I truly did. Some of them, however, were not lovely. They were mean spirited bastards who got off on putting us in our place, telling us how worthless we were. Hey, as bad as it sounds, £80 is £80 and you only had to put up with it for an hour. Amazing, isn't it, how morality is so easily bought? Guilty as charged.

Frank Williams was one of those clients for whom morality was bought. He was a mean one, one of the worst. He was never violent towards me. He wasn't that stupid. Outside the door of the room he was fucking me in, there was a mountain of a man quite comically named Bruce. You only got to laugh at his name once. On the second time... you usually woke up with a sore head about two hours later.

Bruce was our protection and if a client ever got violent or too weird, they had to have a nice chat with Bruce. Bruce was a man of few words. So Frank Williams was mean spirited and foul mouthed but stopped short of having Bruce whisper in his ear. He became a regular, always asking for Terri. It's my own fault. I let him fuck me in the ass once without charging extra. I didn't know, ok? God it was painful but mercifully quick. Too quick, as it happens. He paid for an hour and wanted the whole hour. I had to get him hard again so he could "get his money's worth" as he put it. I got very good at oral with him. I never failed to get him up and ready for round two. I think that's why I was his favourite. That's why he always asked for Terri. Me. My mistake.

As Terri,I was never greedy. I worked four nights every week, one client each night. It gave me more money than I had ever had and I was happy. I offered the Girlfriend Experience and I loved those appointments. I pretended to be all loving and caring with a complete stranger, often having a free night out in the process. It always ended in sex, of course, and by then I was a consummate actress, though I admit there were times where no acting was involved. Being treated like a lady all night, courteously, caringly, kind of reduces the need for pretence. It also served as a pleasant balance against nights with men like Frank.

I did this for just three months. My next student loan check was due and I had no more need to do it. I know some girls get addicted to the game but not me. It was a means to an end and nothing more. In short, it paid the bills and put food on my table. It also bought me an entire wardrobe of slutty skirts, trashy tops, a drawer full of extremely naughty lingerie and a mountain of fuck me shoes.