Bad timing and a good time
16:08 Dec 07 2006
Times Read: 1,160
His right hand cradled his head upon the pillow – and fragmented memories swam into mind for the young man, as he lit a cigarette... and the sun shone through the barred window and directly on his face… recalling that days events.
Four burly men had rushed headlong into the poolroom shouting.
It had resembled a violent scene from the seventies cop show, ‘The Sweeny.’
For moments time had frozen for the young man as two of the men had run toward him. Then he had found himself beaten and kicked, till finally he had been thrown backwards onto the pool table. A bearded face had leered into the bloodied young mans face and the aggressor had said: “We’re the police, you’re under arrest.”
Handcuffs had been put on him an he had been sat out of the way awhile, as the man whose cannabis he had sold and his son were also arrested.
*
The police drugs raid had been costed for thirty days: a high tech operation.
Several micro cameras had been employed, four plain-clothes officers and about ten uniformed officers.
There had been three cameras located in the poolroom, where the operation had centred; one in the dartboard; another in the plaster feature above the door, whilst the last was located in the fan.
The pub manager’s husband, already in trouble with the law over a motoring offence, had persuaded his wife to let the police in the pub, to ‘get the dealers.’
The operation had been geared up for someone selling speed. But, for a couple of weeks prior to going to the bust he had stopped going to the pub, instead allowing someone to sell in his place.
Then, on the last day of the surveillance, they had struck, early in the afternoon.
Four officers had kicked and beaten a postman in his late forties of slight build; and a young man who was a care assistant ‘on the sick,’ with a stress-related disorder, due to in part to his relationship ending, to his best friend, as it turned out.
Perhaps the police had waded in as they did because they wanted to portray a good image for the Granada television cameras stationed outside the pub, as was evidenced by several passers-by at the time: or, perhaps, their overt aggression was due to the four hours of drinking upstairs, which had later been corroborated by the ex-barman.
Either way, both the men sustained quite a kicking and were soon subdued and in handcuffs.
None of the footage taken by Granada television of the bloodied suspects led out of the pub, their heads covered by blankets, ever made it to the television screen.
None of the kicking was on any of the one hundred and ninety two hours worth of videotapes surveillance, surprisingly.
In fact, there was a man made blank on a tape just prior to it ending, just after they entered the pool room and one officer is seen to lift a polythene bag of foil wrapped weighed eighths of cannabis resin up to the camera above the doorway.
The police had also arrested the father and son also charged: and eventually, after serving time on remand the young man had found himself out on police bail.
The charge had been ‘conspiracy to supply cannabis resin’ and the young man wanted to oppose the charge as it stood, for while inside on remand, he had read up the book Archbold, one and two and had decided to go ‘not guilty.’
The Crown Prosecution service would not accept a lesser charge and were pursuing, ‘conspiracy.’
In Archbold, a legal textbook, he had read of how one had to have ‘intent to commit a criminal action.’
There had been no intent to supply and this was how he would argue, he had decided, there had been no ‘conspiracy.’
Granted, he was guilty of ‘supply;’ but that was not what he had been charged with.
Plus, on the depositions, it had been stated that sixty-eight wraps of cannabis resin had been found, whereas only forty three had made it into forensics … and, officers had hurt him, using ‘undue force; he wanted that known; he wanted his day in court.
And, the young man, who I shall call Kevin, had returned to the place he grew up, fpr it was his parents who had stood surety for his bail; and, he was determined to make the best of every day of his freedom, until he had to go to court again.
*
Mrs L… or, Mrs Robinson, as I will write of her, was forty-seven when they had met.
As the young man had learnt, her husband had been involved in an auto accident that he had recovered from, but that he had sustained some irreparable damage, that had left him impotent, or so he had been told…
There were three children to Mrs Robinson, the eldest girl was married, the younger at university, whilst the lad was at college.
She had a good home, comfortable, with every modern household convenience that could be used to ease her workload.
She even had a part-time job, which gave her a break from the house and a little extra in his purse: and an interest in all things Italian, which manifest itself in her cooking and apparel.
Being well provided for and wore her expensive wardrobe of designer label clothes to her best advantage, wearing long flowing dresses that billowed like sales as she strode out on her walks, clinging to the woman’s slender body and long shapely legs.
As the young man had been a boy the woman had strode past his home and he had heard his father remark, “There she sales, the galleon.”
The comment had amused the boy, who had thought it appropriate, but a tad inaccurate for the long-haired, straight backed woman had reminded him more of a teas-clipper out on the high seas, as she strode along the pavement.
Yet, he hadn’t seen her for many years. Until that particular sunny afternoon.
The young man had only just returned to his hometown and it had been on his third day out and about that he had met her again.
The last time he had met her she had been the mother of the girl, her eldest, who had followed him everywhere, with the eyes of an adoring puppy.
But, this time it had been summer and she was wearing light clothing.
He was sitting near the back of the bus on the top deck when the slim brunette had stumbled up the stairs and down the upper aisle and toward him.
He was on his own as she had stumbled a little on her high heels, giggling to herself as she did so…
She was wearing a light tan summer jacket, white blouse and a dark coloured tight-fitting skirt that hugged her derriere and thighs.
“Hello,” he had said to her, smiling brightly.
Her heels had skittered slightly as the bus started up; and, grasping a support pole, she swung into the empty place next to him, sitting heavily, giggling girlishly.
“Do ‘scuse me,” and giggled, adding, “we had the office party and I think I may of drunk a little bit too much…”
And she had giggled once more, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle escaping wind, a burp.
“Oops… pardon!?!”
The young man turned to her at the sound and found he was looking down the brunette’s blouse, his gaze drawn to her deep cleavage. Her mauve lacy chemise fell away a little from her left, allowing the slightly drooping breast and the erect nipple to be fully in view.
He was entranced by what he’d seen…
With eyes slightly downcast, the older woman had turned towards him and caught the direction of his eyes.
“You like what you see?” Elaine Robinson had asked Kevin, who had not heard her words, at all, only the sound of her soft voice.
She was aware of him looking at her and with inhibitions loosened by the effects of alcohol, she had giggled once more, thrilling with the delight of the attention shown.
“Haven’t seen you go past for awhile,” he said in turn and her voice turned sad a moment as the brunette said, “My dog died.”
As she spoke, the young man heard little, for he was interested not in what the words said, but rather, what her body said, which showed her interest, as the nipple stood firm and erect: blood engorged and firm.
She was wearing suspenders, he had realised, very aware of the suspender clasp pressing into his thigh as the bus turned a corner and Elaine pressed against him.
“Good way to get to know one another,” he had said, smiling broadly.
And, their eyes had met: her brown, his blue; as he had noticed her lips part, just a little, lips that looked oh-so-moist.
They had stared into one another’s desires and he knew that she wanted him, as he wanted her; with a physical yearning for the contact of the others flesh.
She shivered, with thoughts of anticipation, of possible pleasure of the flesh; and he noticed, asking her, “Are you cold?”
“Oh no,” she had replied, aware that she was hot: burning with suppressed lust.
The two looked at one another again, their eye contact steady; and the little distance between their faces closed further still.
“I’m married,” she had said, very softly.
“So?” He had replied, staring into her eyes.
And, their lips had touched; only touched, at first.
Then the kiss had developed, as the couple’s lips had ground together, as his hands had sought to traverse every contour of the brunette’s body.
Brushing material away, he took the nipple between forefinger and thumb, as their eyes connected and her body thrilled with delight at his touch.
His hand on her stocking-clad knee… till they had parted as he said, “This is my stop.”
He had followed her backside down the stairs and they had both disembarked had walked in silence as he walked her homeward, until she said to him,
“Don’t come any further.”
She was worried the neighbours might see her with a young man.
Though rebuffed, Kevin had walked home, on a fine spring day, with passion on his mind and thoughts of how her body felt providing the fuel that stoked the fires of his desires…
And then several days later, he had increased his pace as he noticed her walking before him, a heavy bad full of shopping several days
“Can I see you again?” He asked her brightly.
He had taken the bags from her and they walked side by side as he carried her shopping much of the way home for her.
“Why don’t you come in for a cool drink?” she had asked, fully aware that he had been devouring her with hungry eyes.
They had entered and the back door to the garden closed; and the couple stood in the middle of the kitchen, very close, looking at one another.
He had reached out his right hand and caressed her cheek… slid his fingers into her hair and clasped her head in his hand.
Kevin found her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes feline; and quite entrancing.
The stared deep into one another’s eyes; and both realized they knew the physical yearning that each felt was reciprocated by the other.
He had drawn her to him and they embraced, kissing deeply, their tongues entwined.
They turned and twisted, their passion unbound, as they fell against the table, the door and finally the cooker.
Their tongues meshed together and Kevin hoisted her skirt high, to reveal her long, stocking-clad legs and bare thigh.
Gently pushing her against the cooker-top, he withdrew from her arms a moment and sank to his knees, drawing down her black silk panties.
She was trimmed and clean tasting he had discovered with his eager tongue, as Elaine ran long manicured painted nails through Kevin’s hair, saying, “Mia amore, that’s so nice.”
Her eyes closed, as she had centred her mind on the tongue opening her, licking and pleasing her.
Kevin took his hard, cut length out of his trousers slowly with his left hand, his right caressing nylon-clad flesh.
Then had stood, lifting the brunette’s legs up and wide, so her backside rested on the cooker-top and he sank into her moist warmth.
With intercourse, each sighed; he with pleasure at his conquest, she with the satisfaction that the pleasure of flesh upon flesh gave…
As Elaine lay back, eyes closed, Kevin viewed the delight the she demonstrated with her wanton behaviour with relish, realizing that this might not be the one-off that he had thought it might be.
The brunette opened her eyes, reaching down her index finger of her right hand, toward her glistening pubis, coating the digit with the young mans fluid: and Kevin watched this older woman, his own Mrs Robinson, savour with obvious pleasure, his ejaculated fluid.
Panting with exhaustion, he helped her stand, sliding his hands over her nylon clad legs and the naked thighs, to grasp her buttocks firmly.
“Let me?” She told him, sinking to her knees and licking clean his now flaccid manhood of any fluids left.
Only when she’d drained the young man did the sated Elaine L. stand, a little unsteady on her black stiletto high heels.
“Was that nice?” Elaine asked the young man, as she smiled and licked at her lips lasciviously, while Kevin finished dressing, smiling broadly.
“I do hope I can call again?” He had asked.
“Yes,” she’d responded, “and if you ring first I’ll try to arrange things for you...”
“Anything special?” He queried, as he opened the door to leave.
“Like dressing-up for you. That sort of thing… if there’s anything special you’d like?” she informed him, suggestively.
“I’ll phone,” he assured her, then closed the door behind himself as he left.
Kevin smiled a lot, as he’d walked home – already looking forward to calling again.
And so, a pattern had been established: Kevin would have his lunch with his parents, then walk past the post-box and toward the telephone box on the green.
He’d phone Elaine and say he wanted to ‘call round.’
She’d considered her time spent with him special, acting as it did to mask her sexual repression. Besides which, she’d enjoyed herself.
So, the summer had passed. He had told him of his crime and his expectation of ‘doing time:’ Kevin already had his tobacco and radio, ready to take with him from court, upon a ‘guilty’ verdict being given.
Elaine didn’t deny how she felt, revelling in his attention – almost needing it.
She’d considered her time spent with him special, acting as it did to mask her sexual repression. Besides which, she enjoyed it.
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