Under Purple Sheets

by Coco Houston

As Brad leaves, I am filled with conflicting thoughts on the situation, which combined can be summed up as miserable. I am so lost in past times feeling very cold, tired and unsure, with no motivation. I should relax, just forget about it all for tonight; this was what I had wanted for so long, was it not? I shall just have to wait in anticipation to find out what the rest of the week holds. Continuously going through my head though is an old saying reminding me to always be careful for what it is that you wish for!

  Later that night whilst lying in bed, I find it impossible to sleep. I feel a sense of hopelessness… an emptiness as I think of him, I’m stuck on thoughts that he is back in that house with her. I was never jealous of Brad’s wife, but there was a wishful envy of the time she shared with him in their so-called marital home. An annoyance that she believed he was her husband, so he belonged with her when he had specifically told me that he belonged to me, he was mine. In the dark I come to the realisation that today’s date was once my wedding day, many moons ago. Finding myself reminiscing over the past three years of the affair, I wonder if he will he go through with this tomorrow for surely by now the time must have come when I shall find out… I hope to fuck I’m ready.

  Tuesday, 23rd October 2012

  On wakening up to the morning light, I find that despite my comfy mattress, last night’s sleep was insufficient. On getting out of bed, I fondly remember the day that, while his wife was in Canada, Brad bought this bed for me, which came with a cheap mattress. A few months or so later, while I was doing my nails, I heard a commotion outside so I got up and went to the window to investigate. I saw Brad coming up the garden path humping a huge mattress awkwardly. I could do nothing but laugh in amusement. Brad brought it here for us from the house he had shared with her; it was from the bed in the back room where he sometimes slept. She had replaced the mattress and quilt on his bed with new ones, so he brought the old ones here. She had just assumed Brad had taken them to a work colleague, obviously with no idea it really was for him and me. The quality of the mattress was so much better than the one we had on our bed before. That first night I was sinking into the thick bouncy mattress, delighted at the feeling of the luxurious duck down feather quilt fluffed up on top of me. I lay wrapped in its extraordinary soft feeling, pretending that I was once again in bed in a Hilton Hotel or the Ritz rather than my own bedroom.

  The following morning Brad phones again to confirm to me that he is telling his wife today that their marriage is finally over as they are finished as a couple. He further instructed me to have my bags packed, ready to leave early the following morning. Once I get off the phone, I smile softly as I tremble with trepidation cum tolerance of the situation in hand. Is this happening? Will Brad leave his wife to be with me? This is what I question myself on the lull of hindsight of the phone call.

  Later in the evening I am unable to concentrate on anything as all kinds of thoughts are going through my head. I keep wondering what is going on in that house, playing out in my head every possible scenario with the curiosity as to how his wife would be feeling right at this moment in time. Why the fuck should I be concerned about her? I then repeat this statement out loud to inform my witches’ broom as I walk into my kitchen. As if in answer my phone rings, Brad calls warning me that he is on his way to my home. I can’t sit still; I am like a cat on a hot tin roof. I am up and down the stairs plus pacing anxiously about through the house and garden. Coming in from the outside once more, I glimpse around my witchy kitchen, then propositioning my broom on the wall, I start chanting out loud, “Broom, come just fly me away, bring me back another day.” The fucking broom just stays put. (As it always does but just for this once it would be great if it didn’t, because I would get on the thing and fuck off to Noo Noo land, wherever the hell that is!) While I am waiting for him, I grab the broom off the wall, and then start dancing along the kitchen with it to a song playing on the radio. I then go upstairs to bring down my grandmother’s music box. I wind it up whilst the soft tinkling music plays, I dance with my broom, I twirl round and round like a spinning top, then I stop on holding the broom shaft, I go up onto the point of my toes like a ballet dancer, ouch! then repeat the same. In my head, the tune of the music notes are the silent words of, “He loves me? He loves me not? Oh! He does love me!” Does he honestly, Coco!

  Brad stops in his tracks, as coming in through the back door he catches me now dancing on the table, playing air guitar with the broom; I have my back to him so I have no idea he is standing behind me as I pretend to have gone from Swan Lake to being a rock star. As soon as I notice something out of the corner of my eye, I drop the broom to find him standing with a look on his face of non-description. I jump down off the table, running over to kiss him. He is stunned by my behaviour. Once we have both stopped laughing at my performance, Brad tells me that he had gone through with it, he had told his wife that he still loves me, that he isn’t happy with her and they both already know their marriage is over, it has been for a long time; therefore, he has decided to leave in the morning. She asked if he was going to his girlfriend, to which he had replied he wasn’t sure. He hasn’t told her yet, not quite in black and white, that he is leaving her to be with me, which plays on my mind but at least he has finally told her he is still in love with me, so I suppose it’s a start, right?

  He informs me that we are going to go down south to his sister’s for a few days plus I had a few more hours to get organised as he would now be picking me up a little later at midday, as first thing in the morning he had some important financial stuff to sort out with her. He holds me tightly to him, reassuring me he would show up tomorrow for sure. He kisses me tenderly, gently wiping my tears, before he leaves me once more. He returns to the house he shared with his wife, he would stay there with her for one last night, besides having to sort out the finances, there were his clothes to pack up.

  After he leaves, I know I would suffer hell all night long on knowing where he was. I hate that yet again he is back in their marital home… but I just keep myself occupied with the knowledge that it would be the very last night ever he would spend in the place, then we can be together. Or would we really?

  24th of October and the Week That Follows

  Brad arrives on time, so we quickly put my luggage into the car. Brad has brought only a certain amount of clothing with him; he has still left most of his belongings in the house. Deciding to pick them up when we returned. Inside the car, the atmosphere feels tense and uneasy as I look over at Brad… I am hurting inside unsure of our plight as I try to figure out what his status quo is on the state of our affairs; how ironic is my choice of word on describing the situation. Judging from his appearance on the outside, he doesn’t appear to be upset or regretful but perhaps on the inside he sits on different footing. Sizing him up in my opinion though, I don’t think he is that bothered about leaving her at all. I smile as he catches me watching him.

  “I love you, Coco,” he softly reassures me. “Forget about her, I have; she’s in the past, Coco. I don’t love her and have no regrets on leaving her. I should have done this a long time ago. I owed you that much, not just for you but I owed it to myself too. I am now with the woman that I love more than anybody who has ever been in my life. The first time I ever felt what I know now is real love was when I saw you.” He says truthfully in an adamant tone as smiling at me he reaches over rubbing my leg seductively as he drives on.

  Inside I do know that he loves me, deep down I don’t doubt that, not a single bit. I take my black boots off to rest my legs up on the dashboard. I have on a crisp white cotton shirt worn to compliment a long black layered gypsy skirt, which underneath hides silk stockings with delicate suspenders, no panties. “Nice legs, Coco, you’re making me hard!” Brad says, checking the black lace showing on the top of the stockings. The serious tone of his voice on the factual statement has me laughing as I decide to play some of my music in the car to further lighten the mood. On the radio somebody is singing about somebody leaving them with a packed u
p suitcase and they want to know what is happening. Fuck, wrong song to come on in this situation; it is making me feel kind of awkward again, so I just start singing along anyway.

  “Coco, you’re a brilliant singer,” Brad chimes in, taking the piss, seemingly oblivious to the relevance of the song lyrics; if he is aware of them it doesn’t show, and then he winks at me laughing, so then again perhaps he is.

  Hours into the car journey, we are not far from Megan’s. It’s starting to get dark out so we stop for a drink and to buy some chocolate at a service station. We are by now almost on the outskirts of York. On the cold October evening, rain is falling through a thick mist as we hurry across the car park. I am glad to get indoors, desperate for a pee and some hot coffee.

  As we walk inside, I notice the place is mostly full of guys in work clothes, who all seemed to be staring at me. What the fuck are they all looking at? A strong aroma of filtered costa coffee fills the air. There are parallel black shiny tables and uncomfortable-looking fake black leather chairs, much like a school cafeteria. The walls are covered in white tiles, portraying the room to be very huge, wide and bright.

  What were they all looking at me like that for? I wonder to myself for the second time as I head into the ladies’ toilet. Speculating in bathroom mirror, I find myself utterly surprised at my reflection, not a dark chocolate colour with fake tan as I thought, just a more very appealing naturally deep tanned look with wild sexy hair and perfect eyeliner, all complimented by my pure white shirt. I spray on some more perfume, adding a slick of lip gloss to my lips before leaving the toilet. Brad is waiting for me by the coffee shop area holding our drinks. I notice that the guys are again watching us, so I hold my head high, do a little sassy catwalk up to Brad, saying out loud enough for them to hear as it is so obvious they’re all listening, “Let’s go, babe, and I’ll give you a blow job in the car!” I glance around this time to see all the astonished faces as I walk on by with Brad in tow. In my own opinion, I know that he really is proud of me with what had just happened as it shows on his face. Back in the car we find the look on the faces of those workmen hilarious, now there was a story for the lot of them to tell.

  It is dusk when we finally arrive. The atmosphere in the car is yet again very strange; I’m disturbed by its caliginous undertones. Everything feels distant, like something is horribly wrong. I’m not entirely sure what Brad is thinking. I’m nervous, even scared of him. I’m frightened of what has taken place today; it’s carrying a cloud of gloom over us, wrapping itself around as if enveloping us in a murky blanket. Worse still, I’m mortified at the thought of having sex with him tonight. Not exactly a virgin with him; no, not at all. Yet I sense I’m very much out of my depth tonight for some unknown reason. Now that is even stranger than the awkwardness between us on the way down the road. We are supposed to be ecstatic, so how come I am hurting over her, even caring, because deep down I know she is another human being. I am part of the reason has been badly hurt yet again as I got what I wanted. He parks the car.

  “Right, darling, we’re here,” he announces to me smiling; he’s steadily watching me as he undoes his seat belt.

  “Well, let’s go in,” I suggest shakily, leaning over to kiss him. We get out of the car. Going up the path I have butterflies in my stomach, noting my legs are hardly capable of holding me up; coincidentally, I struggle to keep in step behind Brad, feeling nauseated. He enters the front door leading into the hall; unsteadily, I follow him slamming the door closed behind me. Brad’s sister is standing in the doorway of the just done up brightly lit kitchen. Barging in after the obscurity of the hall, I retract a little backwards, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the glaring white light, which is making me feel even more uncomfortable. She looks up at me standing in the doorway.

  “You’ve a fucking neck on you to come here, Coco, after ignoring all my calls and texts for months, not bothering your arse with me until now because suddenly it fucking suits you,” she sarcastically accosted me. Fuck, I sure was expecting this.

  “Yeah, I know I’m sorry. It’s complicated,” I profess.

  “Always fucking is – complicated. Fucking complicated,” she huffs. “I’ve made soup.” She motions towards a large pot on the cooker. “Bowls in there,” she informs us, pointing over towards a cupboard. She heads out the kitchen, going through to the dining room. She goes on her way, shaking her head with a cigarette in her hand, talking out loud to herself about fucking affairs, then stating in more mumbled tones how her days for sex were long gone.

  “Not for us!” I mouth silently at Brad, smiling, bold me.

  “Not for us, Megan,” he addresses her, shouting as he winks at me.

  I giggle, saying, “SSHH!”

  “I fucking know that. You see that’s the reason why all this trouble started in the first place. Coco or you Brad, for that matter, couldn’t keep her fucking knickers up,” she establishes. I laughed even more since I wore none. I was standing in her newly embellished illuminated kitchen in my bare arse.

  Brad comes over to where I’m standing, holding me close he holds up my skirt; his penis feels hard against my stockings, he gently takes his finger over my clitoris, making me wet; his hand on my flesh results in my skin tingling at his touch, God, I want him. I push him away mortified, forgetting about the broth for now, both of us laughing at being sexually aroused; we wander through to the lounge where Megan is now seated. I cuddle up beside her on the sofa while we talk, the earlier animosity now laid to rest. Together we girls share a bottle of wine, albeit with none of the soup. Brad has some port just before we head to bed. Now the wine is making me feel relaxed, I feel tired; it has been a long eventful day for everybody, I guess.

  24th October, 11 p.m.

  We bid Megan goodnight, she is now left alone as her husband has also gone to bed. I am walking backwards up the stairs with Brad, giving me a kiss for every single step. Meanwhile, it is extremely dark and under my feet I feel the soft, rich and thick wool through the sheer silk of the stockings. God he can just take me right now, laying me down on this luxury carpet. Brad kisses are demanding me to climax as he runs his fingers through my hair. All the time I feel like a teenager in love who is desperate to have her first boyfriend inside her, but shaking, almost terrified at the thought, while at the same time talking rapturously to her friends about wanting to have her virginity taken and her first orgasm with him. I smile at my own stupidity as knicker-less I head into our given room. Coco, get a grip! You tease him by wearing no underwear, and then get all virginal, eh! I don’t think so. No!

  Lying on the bed, Brad pulls me on top of him; he gently slides the material of my skirt up over my legs once more, I feel his hard-on pulsing against my flesh, just then he pushes his fingers deep into me. I moan in ecstasy as he rolls me over, laying me down on my back. I raise my leg up to his waist so I can have his fingers further up me. I feel the cold quilt cooling the hot skin of my bare buttocks. Brad goes down on me, pressing his mouth against my clitoris, taking his tongue over it, touching me ever so ethereally, as light as if it was ‘The Angels Share’ of the alcohol evaporating from the barrels of whiskey, so much so it’s barely noticed in the air. His touch even softer than a feather tickling my little button hidden behind secret lips, he makes me climax as my whole body begins shuddering with the sensation.

  Brad stands up, taking his trousers off. I lean forward, taking him into my mouth, loving the familiar salty caramel taste of him. I can’t handle the tension any longer; I remove my skirt and bra, now I dominatingly push Brad down on the bed. He’s naked with me only wearing my suspenders and stockings. I move myself up the bed, kissing him on the mouth, before placing my secret lips just above his cock, then sliding down the moist warmth of my little tight pussy, which encases every inch of him deep inside me. All nervousness long gone. Now I have him under my control, picking up speed; he does likewise, moving his hips in rhythm with me, faster and faster. I fling my head back, his hands playing with my nipples, my lo
ng dark hair hits his legs behind my little firm bottom as my love juices cover him, enhancing the wet slushy sex noise he loves as he slides in and out of my little pink treasure.

  “Coco, I’m cumming. Fuck, I’m cumming!” he calls in a deep sexy tone, his warm sperm squirts time and again, shooting it way up into me. In his ejaculation he causes me to spray more of my womanly milk with him.

  Afterwards we lay in the arms of each other, he holds me tight, massaging my head, playing with my hair, he makes me feel so loved, so special.

  “I’ve made a mess, darling,” Brad announces, looking down.

  “No, no you haven’t, Brad, it’s all in me,” I respond, gazing into his eyes I smiled.

  Wishful thinking, Blake, but next time you will, because when you’re wanking yourself all over me, you drive me crazy as I think it’s so sexy and I just want you to do it endlessly, which by the way, Blake, you will be doing very soon, so next time yes, there will be a mess, believe me! We continue cuddling each other, I feel that I am safe in his arms, that nothing can hurt me now as I wish we could stay like this forever. Just the two of us, cast a spell to claim him mine, to keep him lying here beside me until the end of time.

  Sexually satisfied for now, we remain snuggled up together. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep is hearing Brad’s voice as he breathed in hushed tones, “Marry me, Coco!” It was more of a statement than asking me a question.

  25th October 2012

  I wake up this morning to the sound of a hoover (a fucking noisy old machine burring away inside), outside birds chirping. As I open my eyes, Brad is already up calling out to me: “Good morning, Coco, are you getting up now? It is quarter past nine.” Why is everyone so happy in the mornings? I hate the fucking mornings! I hate them, I think to myself as I struggle to wake up. I have always been nocturnal (a night owl myself). Way back in the days when I worked as a high-class exotic dancer (I danced on a stage and by the end of the very famous song, I was completely naked in a shower of water of that colour – standing in the nude in purple rain. I was totally an exclusive performer but in other people’s view, at the end of the day a stripper is a stripper) so it was in the night time that I thrived. I was awake all night, then slept all day, which suited me perfectly unlike Brad, who worked down the mines from a young age and was always up at the crack of dawn with little sleep at night, so you see his old habits die hard. Now he works nights in a forensic cum mental health unit yet he hardly sleeps at the end of shift, still functioning on very little sleep, although his night has been turned into day also. Fuck, I’ve no idea how he manages it. I hate the fucking daylight hours more so in the summertime. Brad calls me his ‘Princess of the Darkness’, which little does he know I am very much so and in more ways than one. He is not aware of the fact I am a Queen Witch. Seriously.