Thud....thud....thud....thud...
The dull hollow sound of my black suede boots on the thin carpet of beaulah court, brought with it delicious memories....and apprehension.
Passing room number 2 on my left down the brightly lit corridor... onwards passed 4...
The sequence of numbers triggering lyrics from an old song in my mind, '2..4..6..8.. ain't never too late..me and my radio truckin on through the night...'
2..4..6.....and number 8...
Number 8 was the reason for my apprehension that thursday afternoon as I dutifully carried out John's request to visit Sammy.
With all the excitement of revealing what had happened at Sammy's to my husband the previous night, I'd forgotten to mention the creepy old man at number 8.
Passing 6, I could see that the door to number 8 was open again.... quickening the pace, my heart beginning to beat faster...
It was my intention to speed past with my head down....but.
Getting closer I could see the door was open just a little.
I guess my curiosity was stronger than the apprehension, because I began to slow down.
I mean, seriously? Have you ever tried to walk past someone's open door without looking inside?
Making an effort to approach quietly, I drew level with number 8 and came to a brief stop at the point where I could see inside.
The layout was the same as Sammy's, front door opening up into living room, kitchen at the rear.
Just visible to the left was the back of a sofa with various items of clothing strewn over it.
The floor was covered by a carpet that may once have been beige, now covered in dark spots, dirty stains and litter.
The place looked filthy compared to Sammy's flat.
I hadn't noticed last time because my attention had been focused, only on the old man that lived there.
And there he was...
His back to me, leant up against the wall on my right....the dividing wall.
His head, covered with thin wispy strands of dirty grey hair, was pressed tightly up against the wall....he was listening to the sounds of next door....Sammy's flat.
Or what would be, his bedroom.
The guy was wearing a dirty old worn out dressing gown, and apparently nothing else, bare calves and feet poking out the bottom.
As I watched, he suddenly moved away from the wall, if he had turned around...he would have seen me. But he shuffled off into the kitchen, muttering something unintelligible.
Taking my chance I quickly walked on towards Sammy's flat, feeling relieved that I hadn't been seen, but also.... fascinated.
How did he know I was coming that day?
Had he some prior knowledge?
Or, did he listen periodically just on the off chance something interesting might be happening next door?
Intrigued, I made a mental note to ask Sammy later.
My knock on the door of number 10 was answered briskly and I was welcomed inside in the same jubilant manner as before.
Sammy, all smiles, told me in his heavy Indian accent how pleased he was to see me.
Looking me up and down as I removed my coat, "Oh my dear....you look beautiful today....as always....here...let me take that for you."
A true gentleman....for now.
Gentleman really do it for me, but so does that other side that I know he has waiting, ready.....to show me....when the time is right.
Today I'm wearing a short red, figure hugging dress with a deep v neck.
Underneath I have some very pretty black, patterned stockings, hold ups this time.
Black thong....and no bra.
Oh, and the boots which, as I'm in the process of removing, Sammy stops me...
"Pippa dear?....wait....are they clean?"
Telling him they're not too bad, he disappears into the kitchen for a moment, returning with some kitchen roll.
"Here.....turn around....give me your foot....that's it."
Sammy gives the boots a good wipe over.
Turning back around, I receive a hint of that wicked grin he has, "I like.. to see you...in the boots."
Sammy assures me.
Yes and that's not all he likes either.
The boys have been busy.
John asking Dave to find out from Sammy what he would like his gift wrapped in?
The garments I'm wearing are all Sammy's choice, with one addition. He has revealed to Dave that he likes the look and feel of a lady wearing lacy gloves.
There's a pair in my coat pocket, which I'll retrieve when the time is right.
The way in which my garments have been chosen for me, and how I'm being discussed and decisions made without me having any say....is electric...I'm loving being treated like this.
Property....their property.
This time, we stay in the living room. I'm directed to sit on the sofa while Sammy brings in the tea, sitting opposite me on a rocking chair.
My elderly boyfriend's kind, sweet old man image shines bright initially. Oh my, he does play that well.
He sits there gently rocking back and forth, being as good as gold. Talking about everyday things just like good friends do.
I like this calm 'ordinary' period, where everyday conversation is enjoyed before something.... extraordinary.
Any person secretly watching us would have no idea of what was to come.
The excitement and anticipation during this time is difficult to control, I cannot stop my thoughts from wandering to the erotic....images come flooding in periodically....memory still fresh of what happened last time I was here.
I wonder, if Sammy feels the same? If he does he hides it well.
While I occasionally let slip the excited state I'm in.
Getting tongue tied now and then, touching, playing with my hair....too often, crossing and uncrossing my legs.... Giggling too much at some of the things Sammy tells me.
Oh, and about a dozen other things I do subconsciously when nervous excitement is coursing through my veins.
Little indicators of how I feel, that I'm unaware of.
But I bet old Sammy is aware of them, he knows alright.
He knows I'm his, and he can afford to take his time with me.
We talk for a long time, maybe an hour. Sammy asks more about my job and our two boys.
I do note that he doesn't mention John, yet.
He tells me some amusing stories about his bus driving days too, really quite funny some of the things that happened.
Eventually, I do detect a change of atmosphere, subtle but noticeable.
The nature of our conversation alters to more, personal matters.
Sammy initially asking me about John and if my hubby had noticed anything different about me? Grinning wickedly while glancing down at my neck.
I answered no, and told Sammy I'd managed to cover it up with concealer and keep it hidden.
It was now that I came across my mental note about number 8 next door.
Taking the opportunity during this period of more risqué conversation I went for it and asked.
"Sammy?....erm....can I ask about your neighbour.... at number 8?....what do you know about him?"
Sammy narrows his eyes a little, frowning, and asks why I want to know?
While telling him what happened on tuesday and just that afternoon, Sammy nods and begins grinning, a look of confident recognition at what I'm describing on his face.
