by Guy Lilburne
Copyright
Graham, Just One Shade
E-book, 1st edition 2013
Text by Guy Lilburne
eISBN 978-616-222-226-9
Published by www.booksmango.com
E-mail: [email protected]
Text & cover page Copyright© Guy Lilburne
Cover Model: Guy Lilburne
Cover Design: Su Pong
Edited by: Bernie Sinclair & Jules Lee
No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, stored or transmitted in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
***
Table of Contents
Copyright
Author’s note
Chapter 1: When you reach rock bottom the only way is up!
Chapter 2: Getting married was a big mistake!
Chapter 3: This is how it started!
Chapter 4: Another chance at Love!
Chapter Five: The Irish Princess.
Chapter Six: If every man is an Island, then I want to be Ibiza.
Chapter Seven: A very Spanish Affair.
Chapter Eight: A Lads’ Holiday.
Chapter Nine: A broken heart is not so funny when it’s your own!
Chapter Ten: Sometimes Love can just hit you between the Eyes!
Chapter Eleven: Holiday Romances! (With my mate Raz.)
Chapter Twelve: Mid Life Crisis!
Chapter Thirteen: Go East Old Man!
Lek’s Bar (A short story) by Guy Lilburne
About The Author
Author’s note
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are entirely drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Also by the author.
The Thai Dragon.
My Thai Story.
The Kiss of the Dragon.
Cocktails & Dreams.
The Flower Girl.
Tika.
Coming soon……..My Thai Story II (Paradise Found)
For my daughter Sasha. I love you
Chapter 1: When you reach rock bottom the only way is up!
I was in a bar in Gran Canaria. I had always proclaimed that somehow I had started to attract fatties through no fault of my own. I liked to give the impression that it was just one of those things. I was somehow an innocent victim, in the same way that some people attract mosquito bites and other people are never bothered by them. The truth is I had started to settle for big fat girls when I got drunk. They were an easy target and I had no competition for their affections. I was in this bar on holiday when three monsters walked into the bar. All the blokes in the bar averted their gaze. Eye contact with these heifers might risk a smile, or worst still, an approach! Some blokes dropped their head into their hands, some turned away and laughed. Some gasped in disbelief. A lot just groaned. These were three of the biggest girls anybody was ever likely to see, and the three of them together made a herd. I looked over to them as they walked in and, as they looked at me, I smiled broadly. I raised both eyebrows and flicked my head upwards in a ‘Hello’ sort of a way. The three huge girls smiled back. Contact! My smile turned to a grin and I mouthed the word, ‘Alright?’
“What the fuck are you doing?” the man standing next to me said in disbelief.
“Oh, they’ve got pretty faces…… if they lost some weight.”
“Fuck off!”
The three of them waddled over to stand next to me at the bar. Their fat bodies rippled like over-filled water beds when they moved.
“Hello” said the fattest one in a strong Scottish accent. “Can we stand here?”
I was surprised they could in fact stand at all.
“Yes of course. My name is Graham. Nice to meet you.” I continued the conversation and within minutes I had them all eating out of the palm of my hand, and by the looks of them, eating was something that they had lots of experience in. I was charming and funny and had them all laughing and wobbling a lot. The other men around me didn’t join in the conversation and drifted a little way along the bar. Two of the girls went and stood at a table, not risking sitting. Even they must have realised that the chairs might not have been up to the task. I stood at the bar with my next holiday romance. I don’t think that I had ever really believed in the Loch Ness Monster until I found myself buying her a drink. There was no doubt about it, I had pulled.
On many occasions, in more sober times, I had thought about the merits of shagging the first fat girl who I met on holiday, and the fact that it might ruin my street ‘Cred’ and destroy any chance of getting off with a slimmer more attractive girl. It all seemed to make perfectly good sense when I was sober. Around the pool I wouldn’t have to try and persuade them to stay in the water up to their many chins, in an attempt to hide their size. I wouldn’t have to avoid having my photo taken with them, and I wouldn’t get a mouthful of salty sweat when I kissed them on the neck. But when I was pissed, all that sense went out of the window, along with my healthy eating policy. I used to make love to beautiful slim girls but more and more recently I was shagging fat birds and eating kebabs!
I discovered that ‘Nessie’ was in fact a really nice person with a lovely personality, and would be quite attractive if she lost some weight. About 15 stone ought to do it!
We had stayed on at the bar where our holiday romance first blossomed. I was a bit surprised that she drank pints, and on a par with myself. I couldn’t help wondering ‘Where does she put it all?’ We went onto a nightclub later, but she didn’t actually dance. There’s a surprise! But she happily watched me as I did my thing on the dance floor. We talked a lot and she told me that she hadn’t had many boyfriends. I don’t think that even I was very surprised at this.
The night just drifted along and we had made a connection. We decided to go back to her apartment and have sex. She thought that her friends, ‘Tweedledee and Tweedledum’, would be drunk, asleep and snoring by now. We went back to her apartment only for me to be stopped from entering the building by a security guard. I can’t describe the astonished look on the guard’s face that turned into raucous laughter as he realised that I was intending to shag this Scottish babe.
Not to be done out of a night of romance and passion, Nessie decided not to go into her apartment without me, and we leaned against a very strong wall outside and kissed and cuddled the way young lovers do when they just don’t care who is watching them. We noticed the local black prostitutes taking young white youths, who had obviously had no luck out on the pull, along an alleyway. We followed them and found a small children’s play park that had more than its fair share of discarded syringes and condoms. I thought to myself that if I ever have children, I wouldn’t let them play in this park. It was a communal shagging area for the working girls. In the bushes and on various park apparatus girls were indulging in intercourse, giving hand jobs or blow jobs to young holiday makers.
Nessie bent over a child’s roundabout ride and I gave her one from behind; I thought that would probably b
e the easiest way. Some of the prostitutes had been back with two or three clients before I had finished my work and when Nessie and I left we said goodbye to all the prostitutes. It’s funny how you always seem to make friends on holiday, although we didn’t bother to exchange addresses and phone numbers. Nessie didn’t seem to have such a benevolent attitude towards the prostitutes and when she was leaving the park arm in arm with me she shouted “At least he didn’t have to pay to fuck me!”
I felt very proud of her, and she was right, I didn’t have to pay. The ten pints of lager and two kebabs that I had bought for her was just part of the courtship. My only worry now was that I thought that she really liked me and would probably expect me to talk to her if I saw her out in one of the bars. Girls can be so funny like that! I had already decided that the holiday romance was over, but for the next few nights I didn’t pull anything else, got drunk and ended up with Nessie at the end of the night and repeated our love making endeavours in the park. We got to know the prostitutes quite well. On the third or fourth night, as she was bent over the park bench, I managed to move a lot of her fat folds and saw that her pussy looked like a badly packed kebab. I worked up quite a sweat getting myself inside her but eventually managed it. I looked up at the bright stars shining in the black night sky and wondered ‘How have I got to become what I have become?’ My life was a mess and I didn’t know where it all went wrong. It wasn’t just one mistake, one bad decision or one bad relationship that had brought me to this point in my life. It was a whole series of them! I was just an old fashioned romantic man who was looking for true love and romance with the perfect woman, and this wasn’t it. Oh well! When you have reached rock bottom, the only way is up.
Chapter 2: Getting married was a big mistake!
It was like a sudden calmness that swept over me. A realisation of what I had to do. I stopped hearing the hatred and the abuse that was hissing and spitting from her contorted face. Almost detached from myself, I looked at her ugliness. All the misery, loneliness and indifference of the last 13 years of a terrible marriage came to a head there and then. I couldn’t even hear her anymore. I could only keep thinking to myself, over and over again, ‘God, you’re fucking ugly!’ Calmly and very quietly, almost in a whisper, I said “I’m leaving you.” It was like I was actually telling myself what I was going to do.
“What?” she said, taking a rest from her tirade of ranting and raging. I liked what I had just heard myself say and I repeated it louder, and with the confidence of a man who had just realised exactly what must be done. “I’m leaving you and, on Monday, I’m going to see a Solicitor. We are getting divorced.”
Her wild anger again surged through her. Her eyes bulged and her veins swelled until they were visible through her neck. It was a look that I had become used to over the many wasted years.
“No! We are not!” she screamed. “You are not leaving me. I’ll fucking destroy you. I’ll take everything. You’ll never see the kids again. I’ll destroy you personally, professionally, financially. I’ll fucking destroy you. You’ll end up living in a cardboard box!”
They were all words I had heard before. She had threatened me with them a few times over the years. Even in calmer times it was always her ultimate deterrent to me leaving her, but now I could stand her no more. I didn’t want to waste another minute of my life with this woman. I was going to leave her…..at long last! I picked up a set of car keys and walked out of the house. I was sad because my two children were not there for me to say goodbye to and explain what was happening. I was elated because I was doing something for myself, something I had always promised myself that I would. But I had always intended to wait until Sampson and Delilah had grown up and left home. I just couldn’t wait anymore. My spirit couldn’t take any more crushing. I needed a life again. I needed to be happy. (OK. I should acknowledge at this stage that ‘Sampson and Delilah’ sounds like a couple of Rottweiler dogs now, but back then, it was trendy to call your kids stupid names!) It was Saturday 3rd August 1996. I was 36 years old, and now I was going to be happy. I had nowhere to go, so I went to work. I sat in the office of one of the Superstores, where I was the Area Manager, and looked through some paperwork and that month’s figures, but my mind wasn’t on it. I left the office and parked the car on some waste land, where I hoped nobody would find me, and I slept in the car for two nights. I was in a state of shock. I was scared and I was missing my children.
On Monday I went to work, dirty and dishevelled. I knew that my wife would be at her work and I had planned to go back to the house and shower, shave, get some clean clothes and bits and pieces of personal belongings that I would need. I told my boss what was happening and he told me to take whatever time I needed to sort things out. I think just about everybody in the company knew what sort of marriage I had endured over the years.
It was 10.30 a.m. when I got home, but she had already had the locks changed. I went to a solicitors and started divorce proceedings, which would prove to be very expensive, financially and emotionally, but would end two years later with me getting custody of my two children and getting my house back.
This isn’t a story about divorce, it’s a story about love and romance and incredible sex. Fortunately for me, none of it concerned my ex-wife.
Chapter 3: This is how it started!
I really can’t think of anything now that I ever liked about my ex-wife. Whenever she was out and there was a phone call or a knock at the door, I would pray that it was the Police coming to tell me that she had been involved in a fatal accident. I had even practiced a ’surprised, sad face’ to put on at the ‘bad news’. People always say “You must have loved her once?” But the truth is, I never did. Then they say “Well, why did you marry her?” I always reply “It was an arranged marriage…she bloody arranged it!”
I was a sales rep before I joined the supermarket chain. I had my own house, a company car and I was pretty happy with life. I had first met my ex-wife at a youth club when we were both 16 years old. We ended up dating for about three months. It was nothing serious and we went our separate ways and grew up. She got married and divorced, then got in contact with me again after about six years had passed. We started dating again and she sort of just moved into my house. She was still going through her divorce.
The relationship between us was never anything better than just OK. Sometimes we didn’t like each other very much and then, other times, we just hated each other.
In any event, within 12 months I had joined the supermarket company, and that should have been the natural end to the relationship.
I was due to go off to the company training college near London for ten weeks. It should have been the start of a new life for me. I was 22 years old, and, when I told her that I had been accepted for the new managerial job, I was sort of hoping that she would just shake my hand, say “good luck”, “goodbye” and basically fuck off and leave me alone. The trouble was she was a strong dominant character. In fact she was a manipulating bully. To my surprise she went out and got a special licence for us to get married in the registry office on the Friday before I went off to the company training college on the Monday.
To this day I don’t know why I went along with it, but I did. Maybe it just seemed easier at the time than to suffer her wrath. OK, I admit it. I was scared of her!
We were due to get married at 3.00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon in September 1982. My younger brother Billy was the best man. At 11.00 a.m. Billy and I went to the pub to have a few beers. I was getting very drunk, easing the beer down with double brandies. I told Billy that I didn’t want to marry this woman, that I didn’t even like her so much. He said “You have to marry her. Everyone’s here now.”
I could see the look of panic in his eyes. The best man’s job wasn’t supposed to be so complicated. Maybe he was right. Maybe people do have to get married because ‘everyone is here now’. I drank like a man going to the gallows a
nd, the more I drank, the more I realised I was about to do something so very, very wrong. I already knew I was making the mistake of my life and, to my eternal shame, I didn’t have the courage to do anything about it.
We got to the registry office just before 3.00 p.m. I recognised a few people, but, funnily enough, I didn’t recognise my ex-wife who was standing there right in front of me. But then again, she did have a veil covering her face. That is how I guessed it was her. It’s a shame the veil wasn’t permanent! I can’t remember anything about it from that time, but people have told me what happened at the ceremony.
I was so drunk I didn’t know who my ex-wife was. I couldn’t talk, and I just wanted to go to sleep. I had trouble repeating the words that I was supposed to say. My ex-wife was furious when the registrar questioned whether I was fit to continue with the service. There was a lot of tutting and head shaking going on in the congregation when I had to sign the register, because I had to cover up one of my eyes with my hand so I could focus enough with the other one to write my name. I also found that this narrowed the choice of lines to write my name on, down from 8 to 4.
A hasty reception had been arranged at my mum’s house, but as soon as we got there, I went to bed. Some people stayed a while and had a drink, but most left quite quickly, including my ex-wife who went and stayed the weekend at my house. I stayed the weekend at my mum’s place. I went home to collect some clothes on the Sunday and, as usual, we didn’t speak. I went off to join the new company on the Monday.
That was the foundation on which our marriage was built, but it went downhill after that. The honeymoon period was well and truly over.
I had applied to join the company, like I had done everything else in my life, on impulse. Nobody was more surprised than me when they accepted me, but they did.