Would Like To Meet. No Strings Ch. 01

Then the phone rang. Dave's stomach did a little somersault.

"Why does the phone always ring at bloody meal times?" his father snarled.

Dave tried to act casual and asked if they would like him to answer it.

"There's no point, dear, it won't be for you, and you'd only have to take a message or ask one of us to go to the phone anyway. I'll go," his mother replied.

Dave's stomach was churning slightly. Then he heard his mother's puzzled voice.

"Dave? David, you mean? Yes, he's here. Who's calling? Oh, right, I'll get him. Just a moment..."

He tried to look surprised as his mother came back into the room to announce that "some Phil's mum" was on the phone for him. He hoped that his guilt and nervousness might pass as just surprise as he got up and tried to walk slowly and naturally to the hall. He pulled the dining room door closed behind him.

"Hello – is that Brenda? Oh, hi. Yes, I'm Dave."

He knew that as well as concentrating on the conversation he would also have to speak in a way that would not arouse his parents' suspicion. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"I guess you can't really talk, Dave. Would you like me to ring back later?" she asked. He liked the sound of her voice, and her accent was quite local.

"Er no... no, er... that wouldn't really make any difference," he replied.

"Okay. I'll try to make this easy for you. Shall.... shall we meet? Just... just say yes or no if that's easier, darlin'."

A surge of excitement washed over him at the endearment. It wasn't unusual where he lived but in the context it seemed erotic and enticing, a veiled promise of deeper endearment to come when they met.

"Er... yes. Yes, that would be nice," he responded, hoping he sounded relaxed.

"When? Tonight? Tomorrow?"

"Er... tonight would be er... difficult. Tomorrow would be better – if that's okay."

So far so good, he thought. He was content that his side of the conversation gave no cause for suspicion.

"Yes, that's fine," she said. "For safety I want to meet somewhere public. Where are you?"

"Just... just on the east side of Wallingborough."

"That's within fairly comfortable travelling distance for me, Dave. Do you have your own transport?"

"Er... no."

"Hmm. Let's think, darlin'. You're with your parents?"

"Yes... Brenda."

"Is the afternoon better? Say two o'clock?"

He could hardly believe his luck. Not only was this mature woman agreeing to meet him and hopefully then indulge in some "no-strings adult fun" with him, she was even offering to do it when he wouldn't need an excuse to give to his parents, as they would be out at work! He experienced another twitch in his groin.

She named a country hotel that was about fifteen miles from his home but on a well-served bus route. She stressed that she could not guarantee an outcome until she met him, but said that he sounded nice and that she was looking forward to meeting him. She stressed that he should arrive first and at least ten minutes before two o'clock, to save her the embarrassment of sitting in a bar alone.

All that needed to be arranged was a sign so that, when she arrived, she would know whom to approach. He tried to remain calm, though his mind was in an excited whirl. She suggested that he sit in a certain part of the bar, where it was usually fairly quiet, and that he bring along three small bunches of roses, one red, one pink, one white. She thought that it was just possible that someone else might be seated in a bar with a bunch of red roses, but that it was unlikely that any other man would have three bunches of differently coloured ones. If there was any problem getting one of each of three colours, she said, two colours would do, provided that three individual bunches were on the table of the bar when she came in.

Dave wondered how many times she had done this. It sounded very well thought-out. The cloak-and-dagger aspect aroused him, too, meeting her in a public place for a sexual encounter, appearing innocent and acting on coded signs. He blushed with embarrassment and excitement, but worked hard at replying in a way that would not betray his plans to his parents. He replied "Me, too! Thanks for ringing. Tell Phil I'll see him tomorrow. Bye!" as heartily as he could as she closed the conversation by saying that she was looking forward to meeting him. Then he went back into the dining room.

As he expected, his mum asked him about the caller. He tried to sound natural as he said that Phil, a friend and colleague from work, had been admitted to hospital for a hernia operation but had now returned to his mother's home to recuperate. His mother asked why Phil himself hadn't rung and jokingly hinted that he must have his mother around his little finger, doing all his bidding. Dave pretended to be chewing his food, to give himself time to think of an answer. He replied that Phil was still tired from the anaesthetic and, having tried to ring earlier when Dave was in town, had then asked his mother to ring.

He went on to say that planned to visit Phil the following afternoon, as it wasn't too far, and was on the bus route.

"Don't be daft, David!" his dad blurted out. "I'll drive you there tomorrow night! It will be much easier than hanging around twice for buses, and the bus stops every flaming two hundred yards! It'll take you forever to get there and back by bus!"

Dave began to think of an excuse why he had to visit his friend in the afternoon rather than in the evening. Fortunately his mother interrupted that it was best not to interfere, that David was an adult now and well able to make his own arrangements.

"Okay, okay, keep your hair on, love. Only trying to help, that's all. Leave it as it is, then..." his dad said, winking at him.

"Phil's mum sounds nice, David. Have you met her?" his mother asked.

"Er... no. I guess I'll meet her tomorrow. Phil always says she's... nice." Dave hoped he didn't sound evasive or guilty.

He went to the pub with his parents that evening and tried not to be too preoccupied, but later when he went to bed he could not sleep for ages. He kept wondering what Brenda would be like, and whether she would be anything like his sexy former neighbour Mrs Martin. Brenda's age was somewhere between Mrs Martin's age when he had lived next door to her and the age that she must now be, and her hair colour was different. But she still sounded a thrilling prospect, and if he was lucky, it would be the fulfillment of a longstanding fantasy – sex with a housewife.

When they got home from the pub he said he wanted an early night and went more or less straight to bed. He called to mind various women over the age of thirty five whom he had met over the years. He rubbed himself but in a restrained way, keen to save himself in case he got lucky with Brenda. He tried not to build up his hopes, but it was a thrilling possibility. His ultimate fantasy beckoned – sex with a hot housewife!

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She hardly slept. Nerves, excitement, guilt and shame prevented her. She got up early and showered. She had little appetite but ate some breakfast. She kept looking at the clock, and when she knew that he someone would be there, she rang her workplace to leave a message for her boss, asking for the day off. There was no crisis, she said, but something had cropped up that needed her attention and she would really appreciate being able to have time out. Her boss rang back about twenty minutes later to say that was just fine.

She then rang the country hotel where she had arranged her rendezvous with her caller. She made herself speak quietly and slowly to minimise the nervousness in her voice. Yes, they had a double room available. She didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed. The price was a bit more than she wanted to pay, but it was a classy place. She smiled to herself as she told herself that the money could easily come out of her divorce settlement.

As always happens when something momentous is looming, the time alternately dragged slowly, then mysteriously quickly, for the rest of the morning. Late in the morning she forced herself to eat a sandwich (she told herself it would be embarrassing if her stomach was rumbling with hunger while she and her prospective – partner – were sizing each other up, and even more so if it happened while they were having sex!)

She chose her clothes with care, wanting to appear sexy without overdoing it. She settled on a white shirt that was almost (but not quite) thick enough to mask the lace of her bra, and a white skirt with a big, bold lilac check pattern on it. The skirt reached half-way down her thighs to allow a nice glimpse without being too daring. The shirt fitted just tightly enough to show off her breasts without making them too obvious. She applied her makeup carefully. She wished she didn't smoke, and made sure that she brushed her teeth thoroughly. She even found a pill bottle, tipped the pills into some kitchen foil and rinsed the bottle thoroughly. She poured some mouthwash into it to freshen her breath with later and stood it upright in her shoulder bag.

She set off earlier than she needed, and probably earlier than she should, too. She almost failed to spot a red traffic light and urged herself to focus her mind on her driving. She arrived at twelve-ten. She found a place to park – she guessed that a conference was taking place, judging by the number of cars. She removed her wedding ring and slid it into a pocket of her shoulder bag. She took several deep breaths before getting out of her car, then walked into the reception area and introduced herself.

The lad on the reception desk was in his mid twenties and seemed to speak to her breasts rather than to her face, and she was sure that he noticed the ring-shaped indentation on her finger where she had removed her wedding ring. Although divorced she was annoyed and embarrassed at his false assumption that she was here to cheat on her husband. She tried to look on his interest in her breasts as an encouraging omen for her forthcoming rendezvous.

Her room was generously sized, light and airy, with a view over the ornamental lake in the grounds. She was relieved that it did not look towards the main road and to the bus stop. She did not want to feel drawn to watch for Dave's arrival or to be seen doing so. Net curtains hung over the windows. The decor was classy, and the double duvet cover looked fresh and clean, pale cream in colour with a pretty floral print. The en-suite had a shower over the bath and, though not large, was clean and tastefully decorated. The white towels were brilliant white and looked very soft, and there were two white towelling dressing robes, one bearing the word "His" and the other "Hers" in red italic stitching. She felt herself blush as she looked at them, and at the double bed that seemed to taunt and beckon her at one and the same time.

She emptied the contents of her small, overnight case into the chest of drawers and made herself a cup of coffee from the courtesy tray. She sat in the armchair for ten minutes or so, trying not to glance at her watch too often. She wondered whether he was on his way yet, whether he was even at that moment buying the requisite bunches of roses. She wondered whether he was nervous or oozing bravado and self-confidence.

She wondered mostly, of course, what he would look like – and how he would treat her. She had always considered herself a good judge of character, but was not infallible. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had guaranteed no outcome and that she had arranged to meet him in the bar. She would not bring him to the room unless she felt comfortable doing so. She reminded herself that she had resolved, however awkward or embarrassing, to decline to have a liaison with him if she felt any misgivings at all, however subjective they appeared. She was a strong believer in the maxim that the greater part of communication is non-verbal, and that "feelings" and "vibes" are often more reliable than some people might think. And if the worst came to the absolute worst, she could always scream for help, or at least threaten to.

It was just after twelve thirty five. An hour and a half to go. She decided to walk round the grounds for a while. She would rather be better occupied, but there was still a final debate to settle in her mind. There was still time to cry off, simply pay for the room and go, or hide in the room for a while until after he would have gone. There was time, too, to decide whether to try to get a sneak preview of his appearance as he made his way from the bus stop into the bar, or whether simply to use the "blind" tack and simply approach whichever man in the bar had three bunches of roses on his table.

She sat on a bench for a time, lit a cigarette, and enjoyed the warm sunshine. Her face did not show it, but the debate that she thought she had resolved still raged in her mind. "You can't bottle out now – if you do, you won't have the nerve to arrange to meet anyone else who contacts you!" one voice pleaded.

The other voice berated her. "Just look at you, you slut!" it said. "You're as good as offering yourself to a total stranger for sex, without even feeling any affection for him!" it continued. "How CAN you? And, besides – what if someone who knows you sees you? How will you explain what you are doing here? And if someone sees you with HIM...?"

But the other voice whispered softly and seductively, "You know you want to! What's the harm in it? You're hurting no-one, and nobody will know! You don't know him and won't ever see him again if you don't want to – you even live forty miles or so from his parents' home!"

It seemed to drown out the objecting voice with its reassurances and enticements. "You don't even have to go with him if you don't like him!" it reasoned. "Besides, you've taken the day off work and you've come this far in your plan! Might as well see it through now! Go for it! And, dammit, you deserve some fun after what you've been through!" it simpered to her, confident that it had won her over.

_________________________

Dave was indeed almost as nervous as she was. Partly, like her, it was the fear of being recognised by someone and having to explain himself to his parents. Partly it was the potential disappointment of really liking her but of her not fancying him, and even the possibility that she might not show up at all. She might have had a better offer since he spoke to her.

Partly, though, it was due to his chivalry. He genuinely didn't want to hurt her feelings. What should he do if he really didn't fancy her but she wanted him? Should he go along with it anyway or be honest?

He bought the roses in town, arrived at the bus station with too much time on his hands and got a bus earlier than was really necessary. He struggled to avoid looking at his watch too often, and tried to concentrate on the view from the bus window at the familiar scenes.

He wondered if any other passenger could hear his heart pounding as the bus got nearer and nearer to his destination.

Then he saw it, approaching on the right – the Lakeview Country Hotel, with its painted sign and ample, nearly-full car park. The bus stopped a few minutes later and he alighted, trying to hold the roses carefully yet casually. He glanced at his watch – yet again. He was fifty minutes early. He half-wished he had caught the later bus, but it would only have arrived with fifteen minutes to spare, not enough time to play with if it ran late. Better to have time to kill, he told himself, than to be on the last minute, or late.

To pass the time he walked past the hotel, glancing surreptitiously at the cars in the car park. It was unlikely that hers would be there, as the arrangement was for him to be there first, but it was fun to speculate. There were quite a few cars there. He couldn't decide whether it was good or bad to meet her with so many people around. Would that increase or reduce his feeling conspicuous?

He walked a little distance along the road away from the hotel, then doubled back. He tried to measure his pace so that he would still arrive in plenty of time without having too much time on his hands. He wondered whether she would be watching for his arrival, and half-hoped that she wouldn't. He considered himself to have a fairly average appearance, and didn't want her to judge him purely on his looks.

He strolled into the bar as casually as he could, ordered himself a drink, and sat down in the area she had described. He looked at the roses on the table and felt dreadfully conspicuous. He looked around as casually as he could manage, half-hoping to see a woman on her own answering to Brenda's description. He felt a little like a slave at auction. Would she buy?!

_________________________

She looked at her watch. Four minutes to two. She made herself wait another three minutes. That way she would arrive just after two, late enough to build his anticipation, but not so late as to make him anxious or annoyed at her lack of punctuality.

She called time on the debate still taking place in her mind. The enticing voice had won. She took from her bag the pill bottle into which she had poured the mouthwash, looked round to check that nobody was watching, and swilled it round her mouth to kill the smell of the cigarette. She turned and discreetly spat it onto the path behind the bench. She took a mint and popped it into her mouth for good measure, stood up, straightened her skirt, took several deep breaths to steady her nerve, and headed for the bar. She reminded herself that for the time ahead she was Brenda. She had decided to advertise under a pseudonym as a safeguard.

It was past lunchtime and the bar was past its busiest. She bought herself a fresh orange juice and made her way to the pre-arranged part of the bar. She felt hot and her pulse was racing. Although she was wearing court shoes rather than stilettos she worried that the sound of her heels on the floor might sound too conspicuous, but only two men's heads turned.

She noticed the roses on the table. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He had his back to her. She saw his short, dark brown hair, his striped shirt, his smart-casual trousers and black shoes. A number of people were seated in this part of the bar, but none near the table he had chosen.

The point of no return had come.

She stepped forward and drew level with the sitting figure. He turned round. She looked at him in horror, and saw similar shock in his face.

"MRS MARTIN?!"

"Oh hell! Oh, bloody hell! David! David Jackson! Oh hell! Oh bloody hell!"

She felt cold. She looked round but nobody seemed to have heard her or noticed her reaction.

He felt cold, too with shock, embarrassment and shame. Yet he could not resist glancing at her gorgeous, fleshy bare thighs below her skirt hem and her ample breasts under her blouse, the lace of her white bra showing against the white cotton.

"I... I can't stop, David," she blurted. "I'm really terribly sorry to have dragged you here, but... bloody hell!"

"I... I'm, really sorry to have done the same, Mrs Martin. I..."

His mind was in overdrive. His hopes were being dashed to the ground. He had been awake half the night thinking about today. It was now going to amount to spending half the day out of the house for two bus journeys to a country hotel for one expensive drink, and the purchase of three bunches of flowers. And his ultimate, his absolute ultimate fantasy had been presented, totally unexpectedly, then was being cruelly withdrawn before he could savour it.

A couple seated few tables away were looking, even though he was confident that they could not hear. Clearly his and Mrs Martin's behaviour had attracted their curiosity. Dave leaned a little closer to her so he could speak quietly but still make himself heard. It had the added but unintentional bonus of bringing his face closer to her breasts – the breasts he had longed for so often, the breasts of his sexy former, sexy neighbour. Fleetingly it occurred to him that they were slightly bigger than he remembered. He frantically tried to think how to salvage something of the situation before she walked away.