A Perfect Crime

I did have the same problem as all other long-stay prison inmates though. SEX!. If you didn't have the inclination to make use of the many available 'fairies', you were left to your own devices to relieve the tension as Archie used to put it whenever I caught him having a quick wank in the bunk beneath mine. Billy used to laugh at my refusal to visit one of the bum-boys, calling me a homophobic wuss for not availing myself any of the willing receptacles. However, what he did do was to make it possible for me, as he so delicately put it, to get rid of the dirty water from my loins that used to accumulate when I hadn't relieved myself for a while. He would take the piss out of me whenever I was in a bad mood, laughing at me and calling me a frustrated old woman whenever he caught me being an irritable cunt. Thankfully he had ways and means.

The only female in the prison was the Governor's secretary; a plain, chunky woman in her fifties who the lags only ever saw if they were summoned to the old man's office. She wasn't unattractive, just plain and dull in a matronly way. What she was however, was a sex-mad horny, but frustrated, old bitch whose husband hadn't fucked her properly for years and who loved to plumb the depths of society to fulfil her naughty carnal desires. She was also on Billy's payroll. Her soft, sexy body was provided for sexual relief to anyone Billy deemed fit and she fucking loved it...

Christine was made available to me at least once a month once I started working for Billy. I would be summoned to the Governor's office on some pretext or other, only to find that he was out golfing or whatever and instead, find her naked and in whatever position she happened to fancy that day. She loved sex. She liked it rough. She liked it hard. In any hole you fancied. She would take all you could give and still beg for more. She would probably still have enjoyed it without the payment, but as she told me one day, getting paid to fuck was her ultimate dirty fantasy so she was only too happy to help out 'her boys' - what she called those of us who had access to her body. Pregnancy wasn't a problem, she was past all that. Aids hadn't been invented yet. Consequently she would go home after one of her working days with all her holes full of cum and take great delight in sitting down for dinner with her cuckold of a husband and feeling other men's spunk squishing around in her knickers and running down her thick thighs.

* * *

Lags come and go all the time in prison. Sentences finish. New convicts arrive. Always a constant turnaround, even more so than 'real life'. Eventually, it was time for my mate Archie to leave. We parted with the promise from him that he would keep in touch, and that if I ever needed anything he was there for me. I had no other friends by then. My family lived too far away to make regular visits so Archie had been my rock. The only person I could really talk to. I had come to rely on him in a way I used to with my sisters, so when he eventually was released, he left a huge void in my life.

He kept good on his promise. I received letters from him at least once a week. He would tell me what he was up to, within reason anyway as we both knew our letters were read by the screws before we got them. He tried to visit me too but it wasn't allowed by the authorities- seemingly it would break his parole conditions if he associated with other convicted criminals. Instead we chatted on the phone once a month which never failed to cheer me up. I suppose because of my association with McVie I was allowed a single cell after my mate had been released. I have to say, having no-one to talk to and have a laugh with after lights-out was the loneliest I ever felt in my whole time in there. I missed him a lot...

Being locked away from your family places an unbearable strain on your loved ones and can bring devastating consequences. Me and mine were no exceptions. My father died a couple of years after I had been locked up, taken by a surprise heart attack. It really was a surprise. He had always been a fit, strong bloke, but the stress of his only son being locked up for 20 years took its terrible toll on him. My mother then died within 12 months of dad- of a broken heart my sister always said- leaving me with just my much-older siblings. My nieces and nephew didn't really want to know about me. They blamed me wholly for the loss of their beloved grandparents- something I totally understood, I blamed myself too.

By the time I was released- 20 years to the day after I had first been incarcerated- one of my sisters had passed away too and the other had simply stopped keeping in touch. Her return letters to me had gradually dried up until I eventually had no idea what had happened to her. I was a single man, in my late forties with no usable skills, no family to speak of, no place I could still call home. I was fucked...

* * *

That's when Archie showed what a true friend he really was. He met me at the prison gates and took me to a really, really posh hotel where we were met by two of the most gorgeous, dirty-minded hookers a man could ever wish for. It wouldn't have mattered to me at that time if the two of them had been ancient old hags with no teeth and saggy tits, but fucking hell! - They really were gorgeous.

Jenny and Annie were completely different physically. One was tall and slim, with long legs that went on forever, a tiny pair of beautifully upturned breasts that were topped by long and ridiculously hard dark-brown nipples, and a face that belonged on a magazine cover. She may well have been a natural blonde, it's difficult to tell when there isn't a hair on her body apart from her long, flowing locks. The other one was much shorter and thicker-set, with a soft, voluptuous body that included a gigantic pair of billowing tits and a well padded, rounded backside that just begged to be spanked. Definitely raven-haired, with a thick, luxuriant black bush prominent between her powerful thighs. She had a lovely, natural face with hardly a touch of make-up and a smile that lit up the room. I couldn't tell you now who was who, it was such a long time ago and the pair of them did tend to merge in my subconscious during the two days we were together. What I can say though is that unquestionably they were both absolutely stunningly beautiful in their different ways, and they shagged me to a standstill...

They were only the fourth and fifth women it had been my good fortune to have sex with, and were unquestionably the most desirable and sexual ladies I had met in my life. They took everything I had to offer and still demanded more, draining me of all the bodily fluids built up over my years of sexual neglect. I was still extremely fit back then, my exercise regime in prison ensuring I was a lean, muscular well-built man. I got the impression the two girls enjoyed themselves almost as much as I did, and I still look back fondly on those two marvellously exhausting days and nights we spent together. Fucking relentlessly; eating wonderful food; drinking good champagne. All from room-service. All paid for by Archie.

Eventually I ran out of steam, and everything else needed to continue fucking my two wonderful companions. With my wholehearted appreciation and affection they finally left me, giggling away together like two mischievous schoolgirls as they walked arm in arm down the hotel corridor.

Over dinner in the hotel restaurant with Archie that night- I was dressed in the expensive suit and shoes my mate had supplied me with- I finally got around to asking him where all the money was coming from. I queried as to whether he had returned to his criminal ways despite him assuring me when he was released that he would never again give the authorities the opportunity to lock him up.

"Not at all mate," he laughed in his cockney twang, "I finally did as you suggested that's all."

"And what did I suggest? Remind me." I asked, puzzled about what I had ever said to him that would have resulted in him going straight and still having the money to lavish on me the way he had been doing.

"Well, you remember the time we were laughing about some of the things I had done? And you joked that if I had spent as much time and effort doing lawful painting I would be rich and, more importantly, free by then?... Well that's what I did. I started painting properly and for some unbeknown reason, people wanted to buy my stuff."

"Really?... Fucking hell mate. That's terrific. I still don't understand how you can afford all this though," I replied, gesturing around us at our lavish surroundings.

My slightly drunk mate laughed loudly, almost falling off his chair as the rest of the diners looked on in amusement.

"You really are such a wanker." He giggled, loud enough to cause the whole dining room to look in our direction, "If you ever read anything other than the fucking sports pages you'd know who I am."

I looked at him quizzically. Totally bemused by my best friend in the whole world who had obviously gone completely off his rocker. Just then the Maitre'D approached our table and enquired softly, "Is everything satisfactory Mr. Squires?"

Laughing loudly, Archie turned to the man. "Yes, thank you, George. I'm sorry for the disturbance. I'm just with a very good friend I haven't seen for a long, long time and I'm afraid I'm a little drunk. Please pass my apologies to your other patrons."

"No problem at all Mr. Squires. Have a good evening." The smoothly efficient sycophant said, as he smoothly and efficiently pocketed the £50 note Archie had slipped into his hand.

"I still don't understand, mate. Just how do you come to have so much money?" I asked before draining the last of my champagne.

Just then a lovely looking young girl of about 15 years of age approached our table tentatively, enquiring softly, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Squires, but would you mind signing this for me?" as she offered her pristine cotton napkin to my friend.

"Not at all my dear," the one-time master forger replied, smiling and taking a pen from his inside pocket. I had never seen Archie look so happy as he continued chatting to the pretty girl, asking her name and establishing that she wanted to be an artist herself, whilst at the same time drawing a small caricature of her face on the white cloth, then signing and dedicating it to her beneath the sketch. He then returned the cloth to her with a grin on his face as wide as the Thames.

"Oh my God...Thank you so, so much... I really, really love your work so much... Thank you, thank you so very much..." The overwhelmed young girl stammered before she quickly returned to her table and excitedly showed her souvenir to her amused parents.

"C'mon, lets adjourn to the lounge," my host laughed, draining the rest of the very expensive wine as though it was lemonade.

As we passed the young girl's family's table, her father stood and put his hand out to Archie, shaking hands warmly with the grinning ex-con as he said quietly.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Squires. It's my little girl's sixteenth birthday today and you have just made it one she will never, ever forget. Thank you once again."

Taking the young girl's hand in his, Archie bent at the waist and, his voice only slightly affected by the vast quantity of wine he had drunk, said directly to his new number one admirer, "Amanda, it was my great pleasure my dear. I wish you a happy, happy birthday and hope you have many, more in a long and prosperous life."

He then kissed the girl's shaking hand, slapped her dad on the back, and swept me out of the dining room to a gentle ripple of applause from the rest of the enthralled diners.

* * *

"I gather I am missing something here," I said after we had two extremely large Napoleon brandies delivered by a fawning waitress. She was obviously delighted with the £20 note Archie insisted she take, almost curtsying as she left us alone once again in the otherwise empty lounge bar.

"Oh you think so, do you?" Archie giggled drunkenly, "I think you may be right my young friend."

He had always called me his young friend, when actually he was only a few years older than me, and even though I was well into my mid-forties by then, he continued doing so, in the full mischievous knowledge that it pissed me off.

"So, you fucking toss-pot," I laughed, "Explain yourself."

Sitting back into the deep, soft, leather Chesterfield, he grinned at me and said jokingly,

"Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin."

After dodging the cushion I had thrown at him, my only real friend in the world went on to explain what had happened to him since his release from prison...

* * *

It turned out that, after his release, he had decided to use his God-given talent for drawing and painting in the more legal pursuit of original portraiture. He had started by painting whoever he could persuade to pose for nothing, selling those small offerings on a market stall he ran on a weekend. He then progressed into nudes of various ladies who happened to be sharing his bed at the time. One of these temporary sexual companions just so happened to be the best friend of the daughter of one of the most prominent art critics of the age, and the girl in question was so impressed by the depth and quality in Archie's work that she had insisted on showing her father the rather explicit nude painting of her friend.

This critic had instantly raved about Archie's work, demanding that his daughter introduce him to the man who had painted such a stunning piece. It didn't take long after that first meeting between painter and critic for the ex-forger's reputation as a bona-fide artist to start to spread.

It all kicked off when another critic, the art correspondent for the Sunday Times no less, saw some of Archie's paintings and described him rather pretentiously in his column as "The best new portrait artist to appear in this country for hundreds of years"

After that, because of the two critic's standings in the art community, Archie's reputation as an artist, and consequently the demand for his work, sky-rocketed. His paintings sold as soon as they were finished. Collector's from all over the world clamoured to get their hands on them, hoping and anticipating that their value would increase dramatically. In the midst of all that, Archie unashamedly used his new found celebrity to entice into his bed, women of such beauty they would not have given him a second glance if it wasn't for his fame. He never hid the fact he was an ex-forger. Instead, he revelled in it. Exploiting the notoriety it brought him to aid his dedicated pursuit of the most beautiful sex-partners he could find.

* * *

I was staggered. My friend, the bloke I had spent seven years locked up with, was now a world famous celebrity artist. Known and respected wherever he went. Loaded, and with access to beautiful models and the like who would do anything to be the subject of his next work. I couldn't fucking well believe it...

"Fucking hell mate..." I gasped in open-mouthed bewilderment after he had finally finished telling me about how much his life had changed, "I mean... Just how rich are you? How long?... I had no fucking idea..."

Archie laughed loudly at my astonishment, waving to the young waitress and asking her to bring us the whole bottle of brandy instead just of another measure.

"Well let's just say the last painting I sold, a nude of an American billionaire's trophy wife no less, went for three fifty, so yes, I do rather well out of them." He affirmed, chortling away in his amusement as he poured us both huge measures of £500 a bottle French brandy.

"Wow! That's terrific... I mean, I'm so glad you're making a good living. You must have to paint a lot though, to afford all this." I replied, spreading my arms to indicate our plush surroundings, my admiration for my friend expanding even more.

Archie looked at me quizzically. Slowly a smile of realisation crossed his face before he burst into peals of laughter once again.

"Three hundred and fifty THOUSAND you pillock," he chortled, downing his drink in one go.

"Fucking hell Archie, mate... I mean...FUCKING HELL..." was all my befuddled mind could think of to say...

Chapter 10

The following morning I awoke to a loud thudding going on somewhere in my head. The inside of my mouth was feeling like the bottom of a parrot's cage and smelling like a dirty bar towel. I just about managed to get to the toilet bowl before hitting the floor and hurling the contents of my churning stomach down the white porcelain. My head ached horribly. My poor guts felt as though they had been dredged. And my eyes? Oh God my eyes. They adamantly refused to focus on anything at all and felt as though they were about to jump out of my skull. All in all, not a great start to a day...

Archie, on the other hand, looked absolutely wonderful when I eventually returned to my bedroom after having managed to wash my face and brush my teeth without throwing up again. Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, he looked like an older version of James Dean. Hair combed back and gelled, freshly shaved, and smelling of an expensive cologne. The only concession to our previous night's drunken debauchery seemed to be the aviator-style sunglasses covering his eyes.

"Good morning my friend," His voice resonated around in my head, his amusement unmistakable as he greeted me with all the cheerfulness of a fresh-faced six-year old, "And how are you this fine morning?"

I looked at him through the one eye I managed to focus with through its half open lid, "How the fuck do you manage to look so fucking normal?" I snapped, falling back onto my bed and moaning loudly.

"Ah... That would be all the practice I get dear boy. Now get showered and get yourself dressed. We have places to go. Things to do." he replied as he threw me a large, fluffy white towel.

"Oh fuck..." Was all I managed to say before I had to run to the toilet and once again try to turn my stomach inside out.

"I'll be waiting for you in the breakfast room," I heard dimly through the closed bathroom door and the buzzing in my head.

* * *

Much, much later, I finally staggered out of the lift and was told by the concierge that "Mr. Squires is waiting for you outside sir."

I found my much too cheerful friend sat outside in his convertible BMW with the top down and some heavy rock music blaring out of the sound system. I gingerly fell into the passenger seat and immediately turned off the radio, much to Archie's amusement.

"Fucking lightweight." he chortled as he set off out of the car-park at speed, spinning the wheels and sending gravel flying in all directions behind us as he did so.

We went shopping. I needed new gear he said. I needed to look as though I was a human being and not of some poor drunken down-and-out he said. Despite my frequent protestations, he bought me a complete new wardrobe from the most expensive shops he could find. When I tried to complain and tell him he didn't need to do all that for me, he angrily snapped back that he owed everything to me. That if it hadn't been for me taking care of him in the nick, he probably wouldn't even have been alive never mind rich and famous; That if I hadn't advised him to go straight he may even have been back in prison; That I was as close as he had ever had to him having a family: - "So shut the fuck up and enjoy it." - I turned away to hide the sudden moistness in my eyes and did as I was told...

We eventually stopped off at a delightfully old-fashioned country pub for lunch. Actually it was after 4pm so calling it lunch is stretching it a bit. I was ravenous. I hadn't eaten since dinner the previous night and what I had eaten then was probably swimming around in the local sewage farm by that time after being deposited down my hotel room loo.