Bittersweet Summer

CHAPTER 1

"ALL I want is someone who CARES!"......The same thought kept coming into her mind as she got into her Mercedes and looked up at the cheap and sad looking hotel.

She put the key in the ignition, looked down at her high heels, slowly took them off and dropped them into the passenger side. Being naked in bed was one thing but for her, driving with naked feet was an AMAZING feeling!

As she started the engine, she lowered the roof, and looked up again. One last glance. And as she left the car park, the "come down" was already beginning to bite.

The drive home was around 40 minutes, 30 if she really tried, but she didn't feel like trying today. So the sun beamed down, the music was loud, "C'est la vie " should have been her motto for life. But despite the Mercedes, the house, the shoes, and all the trappings of a beautiful life, she knew what was missing. She pressed the accelerator a little harder, she could hear the exhaust snarl, and the come down was already complete. She pushed replay and turned the volume up a little louder....the Stereophonics were right..."C'est la vie".

She pulled into the drive. Thank GOD Tommy wasn't home. She stopped the car. Put the roof up. And only when she went to the boot to get her bag...did she see the dent. She had TOTALLY forgotten about the bloody dent. MERDE! She got back into the car. And carefully parked the front end in the hedge. Just so he wouldn't see it, at least not today.

The key slotted easily into the lock. She needed to shower. She needed to get him off her. To cleanse herself. What had started as a drunken fumble a few years ago, had become an all-consuming drug that was both awesome and awful in equal measure. She looked around. A quick drink, and shower. She didn't need to go to the drinks cabinet, there was always a bottle in the kitchen. The rum was spiced, and she didn't need ice, or anything to mix it with. Just a hit. It burnt her throat, but she needed it. Ok. Composure now. Shower.

She stripped naked, watching the dress fall to the floor just as it had a few hours earlier. She caught her reflection in the glass of the oven door: lace bra, lace thong, hold ups. She still looked bloody good, despite her 48th birthday having just passed. She removed her bra. Her breasts hung, only a little, and the advantage of having 36B breasts and not those enormous 38DD things was, you could still look at them and think they belonged to a woman 10 years younger! She smiled and began to remove her hold ups. No matter how many times she had done it, she always managed to feel provocative as she peeled them down, even if there was no one else around to enjoy the spectacle. He had demanded she kept them on earlier, he definitely liked the look. Her hands went to the waistband of her thong, and she stopped, just for a second, and went back. The memory made her frisson, and unlike the few hours earlier, not in a good way. She had enjoyed "performing" for him. Allowing him to be the dominant male. Be in control. Roughly he had pulled at her thong. Desperate to expose what he wanted, and she had let him. But now, alone, the memory made her uncomfortable. she slid them down, could barely allow herself to look at the pile of clothes on the floor before scooping them up, and putting them into the machine. She needed that shower more than ever. As she bent over to load the machine, she checked herself and slowly lowered her body into a more elegant posture. Her mind was still too fresh as he had taken her bent over. Another shudder, as she threw the tablet into the machine, selected the programme, and heard the water start to fill the new Bosch.

She padded softly out of the kitchen, the cold tiles feeling good on the soles of her feet, and she climbed the stairs. Thank god for a sunny day, and golf. She checked the clock that read 18:30. She had at least an hour before Tommy came back, maybe more if he spent any time at the 19th hole. She heard herself let out a sigh and as she reached the bathroom door, she felt sick. She wobbled a little then had to run. Shit she was going to throw up. As she spat the last remnants of the prawn mayo sandwich into the toilet, she heard Tommy pull into the drive. WHY is back earlier than she wanted, than she needed. The bloody Aston Martin was so loud, most of the neighbours knew he was home too....She flushed and watched the loo empty, as she rose to her feet stabling herself with the toilet basin. Feeling her empty stomach too at least made her begin to feel better about herself. She turned the shower on, as the key entered the door, and a slightly slurred "hello!" boomed out from downstairs.....she said nothing, but stepped into the shower, and stood in its direct path, feeling the hot water pound her head. she ignored the setting and turned it up hotter. The water was almost too hot for her skin. But she wished it could be hotter, to burn the memory away. Why couldn't she just find the perfect affair, she thought to herself as she reached for her favourite L'Occitane shower gel. She knew it would cleanse the smell of him AWAY, but the memory would take a little longer. She muttered, "hello" as the almost scalding water turned her skin red, pointless, as she knew he couldn't possibly hear her, but at least she could say she had responded. She began to wash and scrub her face. She could feel "his" stubble touching her as she rubbed harder. She could smell his stale sweat, why couldn't he have bothered with some kind of deodorant or aftershave? And a bloody shower!! Even though she quite liked the stubble, the smell was overpowering and unpleasant. Although she had heard some women liked that... she definitely didn't.

She moved her hands to her breasts. She remembered he had pulled hard and pinched her nipples and she didn't want to admit it but she liked it. But because of his overpowering, unpleasant stale sweat smell, she started to massage her body hard, wanting that disgusting stench gone, wanting HIM gone. She was rubbing between her legs now and she couldn't escape the fact that he had felt good... Hard... REALLY hard. She started feeling lightheaded. The shower was too hot. She needed to get out of there. Back to reality and to normality. Finally cleansed, she turned off the shower as Tommy staggered into the bathroom. "I FUCKING WON" he shouted, and opened his fly. Holding on to the wall as he urinated, she said quietly. "good for you baby".

He turned and smiled. Looked longingly at her as she stepped out of the shower and dried herself, and continued to pee as she left the room.

She knew the drill by now.

She put on her silk robe and went back to the kitchen. Pinot was needed before he came down, so she opened the fridge door. Excellent, three and a half bottles. She wouldn't need to risk him hearing the "snap" of the seal, so poured a large glass, and downed half in one go. She refilled it, as she heard the bathroom door close, and rolled her eyes. Tonight would go one of two ways. He would either pass out drunk or stoned, or she would have to give herself to him. A thought that she genuinely despised.

She went to the living room and waited. Flicking the TV on, she didn't particularly care what she was watching, she just needed some company that would be ANYTHING but him. At least her mind was nowhere. Aimless drivel on the television taking away the memories. Allowing herself to be "empty", she waited for him to come down the stairs. As she flicked through dozens of channels, Mamma Mia, the first one, and definitely the best one, appeared on the screen. It was only five minutes in, so she decided to stick with a "chick flick" and wine. What the HELL else did she need tonight?? Her mind was fucked. She had been fucked, and now, at that moment, she felt her life was fucked too. A feel good movie, get pissed, and fall asleep was perfect.

She kept waiting, poised, listening, craning her ear to check if the stairs would creak as he came down. It was now starting to get dark, the wine was going down well, and most importantly, he hadn't appeared. She said to herself," he had more than I thought". Perhaps he only played 9 holes, then went to the club. Then, "shit he shouldn't have driven".

She remembered when she had said that before to him. When he had come home and could barely stand. He had looked at her, almost with a look of disdain, and simply said "don't you fucking DARE tell me what to do". He had pushed her onto the sofa, and leaned over her, "know your fucking place". Not shouted, but in a deep menacing, almost whispering quiet tone that had scared the life out of her. The man she had loved so deeply had become a monster. She had never mentioned drinking and driving again.

After the threat, he had stood up, quietly left the room, his point made, and he had gone to the dining room. As she had heard the decanter clink, and the gentle pouring sound, she had known that her night was done then, and she would be going to bed alone. He would pass out in the dining room, wake at 2am, and go into the living room to find solace on the sofa.

At least this evening she had not let her thoughts come out. And as she sat with the TV on, the wine went down easy, she welcomed the cold crisp feeling in her mouth, and she let her mind roll back to earlier in the day.