Chapter 6 -- Beginnings - Part One
That fateful Wednesday proved to be pretty boring at work and I spent most of the morning looking at figures that barely moved. Botswana was quiet again; Charlie was pretty much running the Central African currencies by himself and I had time on my hands. Once again I could daydream about Elaine and Jackson; I thought about that vision I had witnessed under the beach tower and Elaine's sudden increased interest in, shall we say, being a mucky little cow with me; it was a side to her I had seen rarely but I had to admit I had enjoyed.
It had all started when I had worked in a large bank in the City of London. As a single man, who was quiet by nature, I liked to take my lunch alone and disliked all that 'let's go to the pub' crap that my contemporaries needed; besides I preferred wine or coffee. Hence each lunchtime saw me in a local coffee house with a sandwich, an expresso and a copy of the Financial Times. I was, the typical quiet man in the corner, in a sober suit, minding his own business that is until one day.
"They've run out of brown sugar. May I have some of yours please?" I looked up from my FT and there she was -- Venus, Madonna, Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe and Raquel Welch all rolled into one; that is, in a 'regulation' grey trouser suit, white blouse, sensible glasses and just the slightest touch of a Cockney accent. I just stared. I couldn't help it, because nobody ever talks to the man in the corner do they?
"The sugar?" Her smile was one of kindness, but her eyes sparkled in wicked amusement because she knew she had made an immediate effect on me. But like the oaf that I felt, I could only mumble and point to one of the two bowls on the table (one for white and the other for brown sugar).
"Sorry," was my reply, "you caught me unawares. Please take the bowl." And from that incongruous start we chatted, found that we had plenty in common (I thought) and thereafter met every day to discuss the merits of banking, football (she was and still is an Arsenal supporter -- silly girl), her friends, my friends (a very short conversation) and whatever took our fancy. It was also becoming very clear that she looked forward to our lunchtime meeting where we shared our sandwiches, opinions and intimacies; similarly, she had become very important to me -- yes folks, I was in love with Elaine from the very first moment. And she? She had a 'live in' Boyfriend called Nathaniel (Nat).
Nat, it turned out was a black boxer from that famous pub in the Old Kent Road that had run stables of famous British boxers since before the war. He was a fierce fighter with a reputation for badly hurting his opponents; he was however, devastatingly handsome (even his scars made many a pair of knickers wet) and liked to play the field when he was not in training. Elaine was his 'Woman', as he called her and as one might expect of such a thug, he did not like others showing an interest in her. Elaine, I found out later, took all of this in her stride and never complained -- such was her devotion to him.
Although I did not know the guy, I had seen him in the newspapers I could see the attraction and I must admit there were times in the dead of night that I could visualise that monster of a man between her open legs. Even though I had fallen in love with Elaine, the very thought of him powering his manhood into her gave me unfamiliar feelings of arousal. As much as I wanted her, I couldn't shake those imaginations from my mind. Many nights would see me awake with delicious images of her with Nat -- maybe kneeling before him with his thick manhood between her luscious red lips, sometimes her riding his shaft screaming in orgasm as her breasts bounced and his dark hands clutching the orbs of her pretty round arse cheeks. But most of all, the delightful image of a frenzied Elaine, on her back on the bed with her knees up by her ears as her Lover powered deep into her with violent thrusts that always culminated in a roar of triumph as his cock streamed floods of semen deep into her. This image never failed to elicit a similar response from my own meagre offering of a penis -- always I came and always I felt good, not dirty or perverted, just happy; happy for her.
For nearly two years we met in that coffee house and as time went on I noticed that Elaine was slowly losing the bright spark that she had when we had first met. One day it all came to a head when she seemed a little distant and became a little fractious when I asked her if everything was alright at home. I became fearful that our daily meetings were starting to bore her, so I plucked up the courage to ask her
