by R J Butler
So have you always wanted to work in HR?
Sometimes, for a moment, when you see yourself as an outsider, from someone else’s perspective, the truth reveals itself. It did, at that moment, when Dawn asked whether I’d always wanted to work in HR. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d walked straight out, muttering, Is this as exciting as your life gets? A working life devoted to Human Resources, making sure others work according to the rules; not a single mention on the World Wide Web apart from one pathetic work-related article, the HR equivalent of angst teenage poetry. My life damned by Google, a non-entity, not even a footnote in cyberspace. I’d been humbled.
And so I confessed, merely to shift the focus away from myself. Actually, I have googled you.
Ah, she said triumphantly. And…?
Well, you’re all over the place. The people you’ve met and the places you’ve been.
I know, a wet Wednesday in Nuneaton to photograph a bit-part soap star was quite something.
Don’t be silly; it’s a really impressive C.V. And your work as a model?
Yeah, I mentioned that, didn’t I? Horrible business. So I stepped round to the other side of the camera. It’s not so bad there.
You know, you do take a very good picture.
Well, thank you, honey. She took my hand and squeezed it. I kissed her cheek. I do like you, you know, Robbie.
I know, I said quietly in her ear. And I like you too.
And so, with hands held, we chatted for the rest of the evening. She told me about her parentage: English mother, white; Brazilian father, black. He, Muslim; she, Catholic. So Dawn had to decide and was tempted to piss both of them off by becoming atheist. But a Catholic education influenced her and that’s where she’s been ever since. Not the most devout of followers, but she still attends the occasional mass, the odd confession, and wears a crucifix around her neck and a bracelet depicting various saints and the Holy Mother around her wrist.
Me – I was Church of England through and through, which means not very religious at all. Although as a boy I did sing in the church choir and even attained the status of Head Boy Chorister. But in a choir of 13 girls and only three boys, of whom I was the eldest, it didn’t count for much. Emily goes occasionally, dragging the kids with her. I go infrequently. I always come out feeling vaguely better for it but never truly convinced it was the best use of my time on a Sunday morning. Not that the alternatives are especially fruitful either – going back to bed for a kip, viewing dubious websites, or reading yet another book on the Second World War. Sometimes, when faced with such stiff opposition, church takes a poor fourth place. And very occasionally, if it’s not too cold and the wind is blowing in the right direction, I might go out for a bike ride.
I’m trying to lose weight. I’d always been a skinny youth, sometimes painfully so, but as soon as I hit forty the pounds piled on. I used to complain to Emily that my torso had gone from being a boy’s pidgin chest to that of a middle-aged man with paunch without the benefit of the in-between bit. So I decided to fight back – I started cycling to work, or on a Sunday morning, and eating more carefully. I’ve ditched my nightly two pints of beer. And it’s made a difference. I’d got to a stage, I said to Dawn, when my stomach became so large I could no longer see my willy. She laughed raucously at that, far more than my feeble joke merited, even if it was based on fact.
Oh, Rob, she chuckled. I so want to sit on your face.
My eyes popped. Did you just say –?
No.
You did.
Did not.
I must have imagined it then.
Yes.
Oh. Pause. Well…
No. It’s too soon.
OK. I went to take a sip of my beer but I think my hand trembled too much and gave up.
Kiss me, she said. And so I did.
I drove home, happy after such a lovely evening, collapsed into bed and fell asleep dreaming of Dawn sitting on my face.
Tuesday, 11th December
So now I am thinking about sex; sex with Dawn, and how to seduce her. I don’t stop to think whether, as a married man, I should, and the idea that I shouldn’t, that it would be plain wrong to sleep with Dawn, never enters my mind. All I feel is a sense of excitement. Emily and I have always had an active sex life so it’s not as if I have that as an excuse. I haven’t even seen another woman naked in all the time I’ve been married and for a couple years before that. The idea is exciting but scary at the same time – what if I duck out at the last minute? What if I can’t perform? Basically, what if I can’t get it up?
Dawn wasn’t due at work for the rest of the week. She sent me a text – the first. I saw the unfamiliar number but guessed it was her: Bonjour monsieur, it read. I wonder who that could be, I replied. I added her name to my address book. Gary – snuggled between Garage, where my car scrapes through its yearly MOT and Harriett, wife of Ralph, who as a couple are our best friends. She text me again, asking if I fancied going out Friday evening. She didn’t say where but it didn’t matter; I did.
I went to bed and lay there thinking of having sex with Dawn. I tried to visualise her breasts and the colour of her nipples. I drifted in and out of consciousness with a stiff cock, fantasising of Dawn on a bed on all fours, her cunt waiting for me, beckoning me in. In the end, my erection kept me awake. I tried to think of other things, anything to let me get to sleep but nothing worked; I kept coming back to my naughty thoughts. I looked at my alarm clock – two in the morning. Perhaps, I thought, a cigarette would help me calm my feverish thoughts. Quietly, I got out of bed. Slipping on my dressing gown, I opened the bedroom door, trying not to wake Emily, and crept downstairs. I stopped on the landing to stroke Ginger. I had my cigarette outside in the garden, the cold having the desired effect. Then, in the living room, I lay on the sofa, making myself comfortable. Yet, even here, I could not rid my mind of Dawn naked. My erection returned, protruding from my pyjamas. There was only one thing for it. I found a tissue in my dressing gown pocket. I started playing with myself. With one hand pressing down on my perineum, I used my other hand to wank myself. Boy, it felt nice. I was soon ‘jerkin' the gherkin’, ‘greasing the pipe’, ‘bashing the bishop’, while visualising Dawn lying in front of me, naked, playing with the cunt, rubbing her clitoris.
Are you alright, Rob?
Oh fuck. Emily.
What are you… Oh dear, having fruity dreams, were we?
Yes, sorry. I felt my cock lose some of its hardness.
Don’t be silly. Here, let me give you a hand. So to speak.
What?
She kneeled on the sofa, her knees either side of me. Now where were you?
Well…
Go on; let me watch you.
Are you sure?
Come on, wank for me, baby. I want to watch you cum.
Hesitantly at first, I resumed my tugging. My semi-hard man meat soon perked up at this unexpected turn of events. Lifting her nightshirt, Emily flopped her ‘double whoppers’ out, jiggling them side to side. Do you like what you see, baby? Do you like my tits? Are they big enough for you? Hmm? What massive knockers I have, and all for you.
God, yeah, you’ve got fantastic tits.
Let me see you jerk off, then. Let me see you spurt your creamy juice all over them. Would you like that? Would you like to shoot your load onto these puppies? Let me rub your hot cum into my jugs, then you can suck them dry.
She reached over and gently squeezed my balls. I could feel my cum building up at the base of my cock. God, yes, I’m coming.
Quickly, she leant down, her mouth wide open in front of my throbbing cock, while tweaking her nipples. I hesitated for a moment – I’d never cum into Emily’s mouth before. Are you sure? I said again.
Yes, I want to taste your cum.
I needed no second invitation. I came, emitting a long groan as huge gushes of white cum exploded into her inviting mouth, on her lips and over her cheeks.
Oh, yeah; that’s good, I grunted, tugging on my
cock, making sure I’d shot every last drop of cum. Wow.
Emily sat back up, her mouth open, revealing a pool of sticky cum on her tongue while more of it dribbled down her chin. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Hmm, salty, she said.
Finally, back in bed, I was able to sleep.
Friday, 14th December
I have thought of Dawn and nothing but Dawn all week. I may have paused briefly on Wednesday to try to think of a Christmas present to buy Emily, and then, with a panic realised I would have to buy one for Dawn too. And that is difficult. I’ve only known her just over a week (the months between her starting during the summer up to last Wednesday don’t count) and come January I may already be history. I don’t want to go overboard and even worse is the idea of her being underwhelmed. And what will she buy me? Will she be going through the same dilemmas? Somehow, I think not. But Friday solved all.
Come on, I’ll take you shopping. I love shopping, don’t you?
Yes! I say. But really I hate shopping. I am a typical man when it comes to shopping – fix in your mind what you want, make a list of required items, work out exactly where you need to go to buy them, do not stop to listen to carol singers, do not stop to buy the Big Issue, aim straight for the product, do not look left or right, do not be distracted by browsing or window shopping or by pushy salespeople, buy your product, don’t fall for the extended warranty bit, go home, and recover with a cup of tea. Job done. Simpler still, do it online.
By the time Dawn had finished with me I was exhausted. We’d whisked through the Men’s wear in M&S, Top Man and some trendy little gaff that normally I wouldn’t dare go into, and had numerous shirts, jackets and jeans held against me. Hmm, that would look nice on you, or That’s suits you perfectly, or Oh no, I don’t think so, and emerged from the other side feeling as if I’d completed an assault course.
Finally Dawn leads me to the Women’s department on the first floor of TK-Maxx, and tries on various coats and jackets. It astounds me how she suits them all. Her face and her colour simply brings any garment to life. They all look fantastic on her. She’s trying one on, a dark suede jacket with a fur collar, when an old gent with a colourful silk scarf, huge black Trilby and a long, expensive looking coat winks at us. What a lovely couple you two make.
Dawn wrinkles her nose. Oh, thank you, she says, purring.
It looks nice on you, he says. It’s got a good cut. Very nice.
Do you think I should buy it?
No, dear, get your boyfriend here to buy it for you for Christmas. That’s what I would do.
He disappears among the racks, moving with regal slowness, his eyes sparkling. Wasn’t he lovely? says Dawn.
I don’t think your gay radar needs to be too accurate as far as he’s concerned.
Wasn’t he so camp? And what style – that coat.
Watch out, he’s coming back.
This time I notice he was holding a pair of black leather gloves and had a set of gold rings on his fingers. You haven’t seen my wife, have you? Once again, so much for Dawn’s radar.
Five minutes later, still in TK-Maxx, Dawn is looking at women’s shoes and I am visibly tiring. I love shoes, she says. You’d be shocked if I told you how many pairs of shoes I have.
Go on, shock me.
Eighty. OK, I was shocked.
Hey, Robbie, tell me, what are you like in bed?
What am I like in bed?
Yes, I want to know.
Heck. What sort of question is that? I am hardly likely to answer with fairly dull really. I’ve never really assessed it before: 4.8 points out of five for effort; 3.6 for performance? Emily’s never complained and is often very complimentary so I suppose I must be OK but is a wife’s opinion anything to go by? My time is up, Dawn is waiting for my answer: Fairly animalistic, I guess.
Animalistic? Wow, I like it; that sounds good.
Well, you know, once I get going.
I reckon I could get you going.
Oh, I don’t doubt it, baby!
Oh fuck. Now, if we ever get to that stage, she’ll be expecting a bestial performance worthy of Stone Age Man. Nothing like putting yourself under pressure. I come away shocked by the way she casually asked, as if the two of us having sex was a foregone conclusion. Well, I thought, if so, bring it on…
Fancy a drink? Crikey, I wondered what she was going to ask then. But yes, after an hour’s hardcore shopping, I’m whacked and a drink sounds like a nice idea. We head for the same pub we went on Tuesday evening, and go upstairs to the restaurant part. Neither of us is hungry but feel we must eat something. We eat, nibbling at our bland jacket potatoes with a glass of chilled white wine each. I’ve not eaten a thing all week, says Dawn.
No, nor have I.
Not since the Christmas meal.
Nor have I. And it’s beginning to show.
Listen, Robbie, I’m going back to Westminster on Sunday.
Oh. Back to the husband?
Yes.
Oh. She has a husband; I have a wife. We’re equal. So why does my stomach feel so knotted up? What little appetite I had vanishes entirely.
Dawn can sense my unease. It’s always so chaotic when I’m here – working, looking after my parents, they need so much doing for them, doing the photography, hassling my agent. It’s different over in Westminster. Nothing to worry about. I can laze around, unwind, and I need that right now. I’m tired, Robbie. But hey, I might make it back for Friday’s drink.
What drink?
Friday, after work, the Horse and Carrot. Loretta invited me. Why, don’t you know about it?
Ah, Loretta – a rake-thin, red-haired girl of about 22, all elbows and gaucheness, who looks like Olive Oil from Popeye and about as sexy. Yes, course I do. I stab my fork into the potato. OK, I don’t. But what do you mean might make it back?
I’ll have to see how I feel. I’m a different person in Westminster, Robbie. More chilled. After a week there I may not want to come back.
I want to ask: but what about me? Am I alone not worth coming back for? And Friday next seems an age away, a whole week without a glimpse of Dawn. I can’t imagine what that will do to me. I manage to sit on my petulance. But it’s about to get worse…
I should warn you – things may be different when I get back.
Different?
You know, between you and me.
Dawn, don’t say that; it hurts when you talk like that.
I’m not saying they will be but just… just be prepared, that’s all.
She gave me a lift home. I got out near a bus stop in a leafy street. All was quiet but it was cold. It took me a long time to finally say goodbye, get out of her car and close the door. The act of leaving her was killing me. We kissed as we parted.
Saturday, 15th December
I woke up, my heart feeling heavy. As a form of distraction, I took Joshua Christmas shopping today, and now, thanks to Dawn, I knew exactly what to buy. The recipients on my list consisted of Emily and… well, that was it – a present from me and each of the children. Emily would do the rest – the children, my mother, far-flung siblings and their spouses, friends, the lot. Sometimes it’s so easy being a man.
The first place we headed for was TK-Maxx and straight to the first floor and the women’s coats and jackets section. There, in exactly the place I left it last night, I found the dark suede jacket with the fur collar that Dawn had so fetchingly tried on only a few hours earlier. And after a bit of searching I found another, very similar, a size bigger. Joshua approved although he’d be the first to admit that as an arbiter of female fashion his judgement may be less than sound.