Under Purple Sheets
Page 1
Under Purple Sheets
Coco Houston
Austin Macauley Publishers
Under Purple Sheets
About the Author
About the Book
Dedication
Copyright Information©
Chapter IWisdom Begins with WonderMonday, 22nd October 2012
Tuesday, 23rd October 2012
24th of October and the Week That Follows
24th October, 11 p.m.
25th October 2012
31st October
1st November 2012
3rd November
4th November 2012
5th November 2012
6th November 2012
22nd December 2012
Christmas Eve 2012
Christmas Day 2012
Boxing Day to Hogmanay 2012
The New Year Bells, 2012–2013
Chapter IIThe Beginning of the AffairOctober 2008
16th October
17th October
31st October
6th November
November–December 2008
Christmas Day 2008
Christmas–New Year 2008
Hogmanay 2008
New Year Dance Is Over – 2009 Begins
Chapter IIIJanuary to March – Valentines, Spellbound and BewitchedFebruary with Brad
2nd February
3rd February
9th February
11th February
Valentine’s Day
Chapter IVApril Brings Canada5th April and My First Birthday with Brad
6th April
10th April
11th April
12th April
Chapter VPleasure with Pain1st May
3rd May
Monday, 4th May
Tuesday, 5th May
12th/13th and 14th May
The Rest of May 2009
June 2009
21st June
Chapter VIMemories Lost in Time
Chapter VIIDisillusioned – You Were My Hero
4th January
Chapter VIIIWakening from a Fantasy Slumber28th February
7th March
8th March
9th March
16th March
18th March
21st March
26th March
27th March
28th March
29th March
31st March
3rd April
4th April
5th April
May
9th May
June
20th June
22nd June
July
August
2nd August
September
16th September
17th September
18th September
22nd September
End of September
Chapter IXDescent into DarknessOctober 2013
7th October
12th October
15th October
19th October
22nd October
23rd October
25th October
26th October
30th October
31st October
Chapter XYou Left Me Behind1st November
6th November
7th November
9th November
15th November
30th November
Chapter XILiving Without the Enemy1st December
5th December
6th December
7th December
15th December
16th December
17th December
About the Author
Coco is fifty-three years old and lives in Scotland. She grew up in a working-class background and has always wanted much better in life than what she had. She chased that dream at a cost, so now she has decided it is time to tell her stories her way. She lives on her own, with her dogs, and her house décor is like the inside of a witch’s cottage or a cabin in the mountains.
Her little dogs are her world, her real heroes, and each one owns a part of her heart. She is a proud mother of two children, a son and a daughter, whom she taught to chase their dreams and that is exactly what they do.
About the Book
The author has taken a brave step by writing her story based on an affair with a married man. It is honest, intriguing, as well as sexually explicit. It is sad and funny as we go through the roller coaster of the affair with her. She makes you laugh with her, and you feel her pain. You are the judge and can decide whether she gets what she deserves or not. She proves to us that self-inflicted destruction is the hardest medicine to swallow. Under Purple Sheets is like no other novel you have read before, and it is written in a way that it makes you question your own opinion and thoughts on having an affair. A dangerous game we all think about playing, yet the author makes us consider that if we engage in this, then we are either very brave or incredibly stupid to do so. Her personality is as magnetic as it is bewildering, and she stands out in a crowd, commanding attention. Under Purple Sheets is just as likely to pull from critics as much controversial opinions on the book as we all have about her life.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to anyone who has ever loved someone who didn’t belong to them.
Copyright Information©
Copyright © Coco Houston (2019)
The right of Coco Houston to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528956680 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Chapter I
Wisdom Begins with Wonder
Monday, 22nd October 2012
Lying in my lounge along a huge chocolate wool carpet, I started to yawn, stretching out my aching body like a cat. My legs were beginning to get stiff, causing them to cramp due to the fact I had been lying in the same position for far too long. The rug lay on top of Canadian redwood flooring, which had some sheepskins scattered around to offset the wood, giving it a rustic feel. This is my favourite room in the house; it’s my own personal space, offering me a presence of being at home with nature, humbled by simpler times.
The walls are decorated in wood panelling stained in a deep red mahogany, with Indian knives hung throughout; the room is also full of taxidermied animals, creating the ambience of being in a hunting lodge. There is a log burner embedded into a huge stone fireplace, with a railway sleeper across the top to form a mantle, on which sits a stuffed fox with squirrel in its mouth. Above that owning pride of place is a huge stag’s head. Covering leather sofas are all kinds of animal fur cushions with wolf fur throws. On a table nearby, made with old rough railway sleepers, stands a candle, its burning wick made of wood, which makes a crackling noise that resembles the effect of a bonfire and its pumpkin scent reminds me of the delicious smell of my grandmother baking cookies.
Rolling over onto my back, trying to distribute some more of the pain, I notice on staring up at the traditional old-style wooden
beams that run along the ceiling, from one of them hangs a delicate, very intricate cobweb (which wasn’t there yesterday). Forcing myself up to go for my feather duster to remove it, I felt something underfoot. On looking down, there lay my notebook and pen, which I’d been scribbling with for hours now. That wasn’t my intention, it just happened that way instead of me doing housework which needed to be done, as the unknown spider had just established. Passing by the window, it was beginning to get dark out. Glancing over to where sat a magnificent stag ornament, there stood beside it a beautiful antique clock ticking the time, informing me that it was already four p.m. The afternoon had gone so quickly but I had been busy I suppose, so I hadn’t realised just how much time had passed by.
It had got chilly, so on the fire which still smouldered, I flung some logs before lighting more candles. Wandering over to the corner of the room, I switched on the fairy lights that covered a tree sitting in a stone flowerpot; it was most unusual, built in cream bricks with large cream rocks either side of it matching the stonework on the hearth and smokestack, which altogether added more character, enhancing the primitive yet cosy atmosphere. On an old whiskey casket nearby sat a milk jug filled with wild thistles; their appearance made my place look like it belonged to or was something you would find hidden away in a log cabin amongst the Nevis mountain range.
On leaving my hillbilly hideaway, I pass through the dimly lit hallway; on heading upstairs I flick a switch to activate the heating system providing warmth to the rest of the house. On reaching my bedroom, I toss the book and pen, which lands on the bed. I feel a draft blowing in through from an open window somewhere, making the already cool air in here colder still. I go in search of it, whereupon I realise I’m still wearing my vest top, a little thong under soft cotton pyjama trousers with Ugg boots. Shit! Coco, get your arse in gear!
On entering the bedroom once more, it was beginning to feel a little warmer in here now. I put on more fairy lights, which sparkle like little diamonds in the dark (I prefer the subtle lights and also enjoy the kind of magical imprint they create). Taking a fleeting look in the mirror, my long wild, knotted hair is reflected back at me so halting in my tracks, I shake my head upside down whilst running my fingers through it, thinking I should go for a coffee now. Besides, I had to arrange dinner for my Chihuahuas – Versace, Rio de Janeiro and Solo Dancer, ignoring the fact that I haven’t spring-cleaned my kitchen, so this straw-like mess had to wait until later to be shampooed, and then deep conditioned. I was already behind with my chores as on a whim I started to write the manuscript for a book while waiting for my married man to phone me back. On leaving my bedroom I stop again, this time at my dressing table, where I lift a bottle of Coco Chanel perfume, spraying a mist of its rich fragrance onto my skin; it evokes the feeling of pure luxury whilst arousing a sexual desire within.
Just at that moment I hear a noise, which sounded like a key turning the lock on the front door, followed by footsteps coming upstairs. There, in the doorway of the bedroom stands the married man I am having an affair with. Bradford Riley Blake. “Hello, darling,” he smirks, looking at me, obviously wondering why I’m still in bed wear (which I don’t wear in bed), taking in my boots, wild hair, whilst smelling the just sprayed Chanel scent, he seems kind of amused. Walking forward he kisses me, more desire awakened by his touch. He tastes as good as I smell. “What is this, Coco?” he asks, holding my notebook as he sits down on edge of the bed.
“I’m writing a book,” I reply. He curiously looks at the closed diary as he lays it down with the pen beside my perfume.
“Am I in it?” he asks, questioning me.
“Oh yes, Blake. Oh yes, you definitely are!” I say, smiling. I get by the expression on his face he doesn’t believe me for one minute. “I will write a bestseller,” I smile, continuing to tease him; he looks more interested now but I can see him calculating what I just said, but he is still slightly bewildered as he is not sure how to take me.
“Okay, write a bestseller!” he instructs me in a firm tone, smiling. I smile back as he sprawls out along my bed, within a minute he is back up, stripping off his trousers with his pants before lying back down on top of my duvet in only his t-shirt. Only wearing my pale pink thong, I get on the bed, and then up on to him, crawling, slithering in a snake-like motion, moving slowly upwards over the length of his body as I draw my hard nipples over every inch of him. On reaching his mouth, I gently kiss him before flickering my tongue over his lips.
“What do you want, Blake? I thought you were just going to call me back?” I whisper huskily.
“No, I got the chance to get out, so I sneaked down to see you instead, darling,” he replies, proud that he managed to achieve this. I lean over touching his hair, smirking wickedly to myself, delighted his wife had been had; yet again. Moving back down his body, the full firmness of his hard cock is irresistible, so I take my lips to it. I feel its warmth on them, noticing the pure white sperm leaking from his tip is being illuminated by the fairy lights. Taking him into my mouth and using the end of my tongue, I flick it over his penis time after time. He tastes like sugar candy slightly infused with salt, like warm salted caramel. Taking him further down my throat, I moan as he releases more of his milky syrup. Holding him in my hand, he grows harder still as I move up and down on his long hard shaft until he can take no more. Brad is now responding by lifting his hips, shoving himself deeper into my mouth, his breathing shallow as he moans, and coming to a climax. The hot liquid shoots out pumping, squirting as I swallow every single last bit of the sticky sperm down my throat. He lies contentedly as I greedily suck on him, ultimately taking the final droplets.
I cuddle him thinking that the feeling of belonging is surreal due to the fact I now have part of him inside me and the amount of love felt between us in this relationship is phenomenal, regardless of the circumstances. I stay for a while in his arms, and then cover his chest with feather-light kisses, moving down to his thighs, leaving behind a trail of kisses leading right to his testicles (I love how the hairs tickle my lips as I press my mouth into them). Oh! In the name of God, how I loved the smell of him, the way he feels against my skin. Just the thought of him makes my clitoris tingle, so suddenly my tiny pink panties are wet. He is so sexually attractive! I get up from the bed, debating whether to command him to lick me, giving me oral sex in return or simply just ask him to make me a cappuccino. Smiling, I go for the coffee, deciding instead, for just this once, pleasuring him for a change and asking only for coffee in return would be different, I guess.
Downstairs as Brad prepares dinner for my little dogs and makes my cappuccino, he talks away as I cut some of my witches’ recipe homemade gingerbread for us. Brad turns around handing me the coffee, telling me to make sure I have my bags packed for this Wednesday as we are going on a trip whilst informing me that we would treat it as a little romantic holiday. I am putting the gingerbread to my mouth when instantly I stop in shock with it halfway there as I think he must have decided it was time to leave his wife. The little romantic holiday, which is, if I am right, going to be a getaway of some kind, where we would be hiding out for a few days away from her. He was planning on leaving her, so I supposed this address would be the first place she would come looking for him; therefore, we would be officially on the run. Informing Brad of this, we both agree, with both of us finding it very funny not just about who we were running away from but hiding away at our age being even worse.
Just as well River was here to look after my little dogs. River is my son who lives with me, and he is twenty-one years old. He has my colouring of dark Italian looks and my sense of humour. He was very much aware of the fact that I’d been having this affair with this married man for some years now. He neither approved nor disapproved; he just accepted it without questioning anything. Brad says he will instruct River that under no circumstances is he to answer the door to her, if caught out, and then he is to just run like we did. Fucking run, River! We laugh even more at this thought. I am excited plus
curious about where we might be going, whether it would be to his sister’s place down south or up north to a hotel on our own… then I start to wonder if realistically he would have the bottle to go through with this after all…
“Brad, Brad, when do you intend to tell her?” I ask him shakily, more than apprehensive of his answer, with me being frightened of both results at the same time, terrified that he would leave her, also that he wouldn’t.
“Coco, I’m leaving my wife. I am telling her tomorrow that I don’t love her and I never did. I shall explain I am still in love with you, that we share a sexual relationship; besides, I need you,” he replies nervously, yet determined. I can’t do anything but stare at him woefully. “Coco,” he informed, “it will be done,” he reinforces the seriousness of his statement. I look at him anxiously, Coco, it will be done!
Really, will it? I wonder, picking up my coffee cup, trying to hold back the tears. I guess right now I just feel insecure, no matter the outcome. If he leaves her, my freedom will be restricted as I am used to living as an independent woman. There is some pressure on me that it won’t work out long-term because of knowing that everything changes, including the relationship, as it becomes entirely different when you start living with someone. To be honest, whether we would lose the rush of euphoria or not on seeing each other every day is the least of my worries right now. Having to commit to somebody financially – I am not very keen on that idea at all. No, mam! Maybe I’m worried that if he doesn’t come, then it confirms he had no intentions of leaving her, because he truly does want us both, keeping me well as, just as a mistress… Perhaps. No. My biggest fear is that if he does come to stay with me, then he realises he has made a mistake, so he then leaves me again to go running back to her.