The mistress�s revenge

Chapter 8 - six weeks, six months or six years

While Stephen was away I found myself day dreaming about him with rose tinted glasses. I still loved him very much.
I tried to analyse the feeling. Was it real love or was it lust? I could not answer that question. I knew he was a liar, untrustworthy and a cheat, but being with him was so exciting! His unreliability made any contact with him exciting. I pitied Florence or whatever his ginger bitch was called, because she'd had to put up with his antics more than most.

The next moment I would chastise myself for being so fanciful. He would not ring. He did not care a jot about me. He'd hurt me twice before, why would I go back to him, just to be hurt again? It was absolute nonsense! If he did ring up I would tell him where to go! Surely I could find someone better than Stephen.

No one could have been more shocked than me, when Stephen rang me six weeks later. He wanted to meet. He said Gloria was away working again and invited me over to him house. I agreed immediately without analysing my answer. Afterwards, I could not help thinking we were both standing on very dangerous territory. Someone was going to get hurt, but this time I was determined, it was not going to be me!

Stephen said his house might be difficult to find, so he met me in town and we got the bus together.
He was very cool towards me in public, barely looking at me and staring out of the window. It was clear he did not want anyone he knew see him with me. He rushed down the street and opened the door of a large ex-council house. As soon as I was in, he closed the door behind me and closed the curtains. Now he visibly relaxed. He hugged me now, glad to see me after his six weeks away.
I told him I had not expected a call.
He reminded me of what he had promised me before he had left.
I reminded him of all the lies and broken promises he had made me of before. I didn't believe a single word he said.
Yes, he had to admit he was guilty of that. He promised to be better in the future like a good little boy.
I didn't believe him.

He was hungry. He confessed to being unable to cook. Gloria cooked everything.
It was not often that they were home together. She had several trips to make up to Scotland, while in the peak of summer, he usually had to spend most of his time in a hostel in the Lake District organising his mountain hikes.
This year was different. His diary was empty because he thought he was still going to be in India. Gloria and I were the only people in the UK that knew he was back.
He told me there was nothing in the kitchen to eat. When Gloria was away, he survived on Special K and takeaways.
That could not be good for him, he was sure to be missing out on several nutrients.
Then he pointed out that the cereal was fortified with vitamins and minerals. If he poured whole milk on top he would be getting everything he needed.
I doubted it, but I kept my mouth shut. When my cupboards were bare and I could not be bothered to go shopping, I'd resort to having nothing to eat but Weetabix all day.
Feeling more energised after his large bowl of Special K, he showed my around, proudly. He'd spent most of the morning cleaning and tidying up in preparation for my visit.
The house was in a rough area of Newcastle, in the middle of a council housing estate.
However, once over the threshold, I had to admit, the rooms were spacious and he had all the mod cons. He confessed most of the furniture was his parents from the house they'd sold in Easingwold.

The plot thickened. There was more to this than he was telling me, I was sure of that.
Why would a couple living most of the time in Oman, sell their large house on the edge of a sought after village on the edge of a national park. Why would they sell that and buy an ex-council property in a rough area for less than the standard market value for a property of that size?
Unless it was to support their very spoilt son, who, no doubt, had barely done a decent day's work in his life!
Unless it was to support a family... oh I had not thought of that! Stephen had not mentioned children, so I thought he mustn't have any. Maybe they were with the Ginge... or maybe they'd planned to have a family and something had gone wrong... maybe there was a deep tragedy there behind the facade.
There I was, speculating again. I had to stick to the facts!
The arrangements upstairs were strange too. His parents had the master bedroom, his ginger bitch had a large bedroom, one of the smaller rooms had been made into an office and he had a tiny little box room. Why was that? Why did he not share with ginge? I did note, mind you, that his bedroom walls were covered with maps of the Lakeland fells with routes marked on them up to the summits.
Maybe he had been more truthful than I had given him credit for. Maybe he was a mountain guide now and if he was a mountain guide, maybe he had been a member of the North Yorkshire moors search and rescue team! He had several carved walking sticks standing up in the corner that added more evidence to that theory. Stephen was certainly a very complex man. I did not know whether I would ever completely understand him.
As well as the maps on the wall he had a computer in there rigged up to a keyboard, the technology was squeezed into the room next to his single bed.
A single bed?
He confessed to not using the room much other than for the computer.
Oh, so he did share with ginge. That was all right then!
Now we were alone together in his bedroom, he turned amorous.
"Next time you come," he told me, I want you to wear a basque with stockings and suspenders."
A basque?
I did not have one of those. A girl who had been celibate for the last six years had no need for basques! Where was I going to get one of them from? Did they do them in my size, I wondered, as he removed my bra and cupped my breasts in his hands.
My mind was still wandering. Did I have to get one made to measure? They involved corsetry didn't they? There was only one shop I knew that had a proper corsetry department and that was a very old fashioned place. You could get some very unusual things there like feather boas and false eyelashes, even when they were not in fash...oh, now he was lying me down and getting into my knickers. Now we were getting into the interesting bit!

I had forgotten what sex was like. I had forgotten how good Stephen was at it. It was one of the reasons I had fallen for him so much. He was so thoughtful and skilled that he had my quivering with excitement before he brought me to a climax.
We lay together for ages in silence. We dozed off to sleep, both squeezed in the single bed.

Stephen made coffee. What did I want for my tea? Did I like Chinese? If I went to get them, I could order whatever I liked and he would pay for them. He would use the money from his pound stash.
He showed me a giant bottle almost full of pound coins. What was all that about? Was he raising money for charity? Why did he never have any money of his own? Did he spend it all, or did he simply not earn enough money in the first place. Was his parents still subsidising him?
It seemed odd that I had to go to the takeaway alone. He had to check the coast was clear first too. If he was that paranoid about getting caught out, he shouldn't have invited me in the first place. From where I was standing his relationship with the ginger bitch was very precarious at the minute. If he was happy, why had he bothered calling me when he came back from India?

When I got back, he organised the plates and served the meal from the cartons. He was starving!
I wasn't surprised. One bowl of Special K was not enough to see anyone through their day.
We talked about India. It did not go exactly as he had planned. He had gone there with no plans, no accommodation was pre-booked. He had expected everything to fall into his lap. He had expected to find himself there.
He had made one decision though. He was going to get back into the music industry. He was going to become an agent for different bands again. He was in negotiations with a Russian rock band at the minute.
He had enjoyed our day together. He wanted to see me again.
I suggested he came over to mine. He would not have to worry to much about being seen. He would be able to see my flat. I was proud of my achievements there, having bought and furnished it with no other financial help.
He shook his head. No. I would come to him. I would wear a basque and stockings under my very ordinary clothes.
I imagined how uncomfortable a suspenders and stockings would be underneath jeans. They were bad enough to start with.

The other question was did I want to see him again? If I did, I would become 'the other woman'. Would I be party to his break up with Ginge?
Of course! Having a part of Stephen was better than not having him at all! I didn't care about his relationship with her. She had broken up my relationship with him. I was time to exact my revenge!