“Alright, see you then.” Tom took a few more steps then stopped. “Don’t forget to tell your dad about what happened.”
“I won’t,” I said, holding my hand behind my back and crossing my fingers.
Chapter 9
Wednesday, 13 November 1968
“Where the hell is it?” Peter often spoke out loud when he was angry, but luckily he was alone in his office with no one around to hear him rant. He frantically sorted through the stack of papers on his desk for the third time. “Come on, where is it? It has to be here somewhere.” He had spent too much time preparing the report. There was no way he was going to write it up again.
“Bloody hell, it’s not here.” Peter put the papers back on his desk and ripped open a drawer. Ignoring the first drawer, which was full of stationery, he pulled everything out of the second drawer and dumped it on his desk with a thump. He sifted through the files, one page at a time. “Come on you bastard, where are you?” For a moment he thought he had found what he was looking for, but it was only the draft copy. He consoled himself a little. At least he wouldn’t have to prepare the thing from scratch in the event that he was unable to find the final version. Still, he didn’t cherish the thought of having to re-do the fifteen page report.
Peter piled the files back into the drawer and opened the third one. “Please let it be here,” he pleaded. So much for getting out of work early, he thought. If he were unable to find the report, there would be no likelihood of that happening. The damn thing was due today. The third drawer represented his last hope.
He rearranged the files in a neat pile before searching through them. As though the speed with which he had previously searched the files had everything to do with his inability to locate the report, he looked more slowly this time.
Defeated, Peter threw the files back into the drawer and slammed it closed. He was angry. It was not like him to misplace things. That was the sort of thing Maggie did, not him. Now he had no choice but to start the report all over again. “Damn, damn, damn!”
He tried to yank open the top drawer to get out a pen but it was stuck. “Shit, what next?” He took a deep breath and tugged on the drawer less forcefully, still getting the same level of resistance. He reached his hand into the small slot and felt for the obstruction. A piece of cardboard had folded back and lodged in the space between the top of the drawer and the desk top, preventing it from opening. He snagged the corner of it with his finger and forced it down. He impatiently pulled the manila folder out of the drawer and flung it on to his desk. “Who the bloody hell shoved that in there?” he cursed.
The manila folder slid off the pile of papers on the desk and fell to the floor. As Peter reached down to get it, he noticed a corner of paper sticking out. “Yes! You little beauty!” He picked up his report and kissed it. As he did so, he noticed a note with Barry’s scribble on it clipped to the other corner and remembered that he had asked him to proof read it for him. Barry had obviously done as Peter had asked and had slipped the report into his top drawer when he had finished.
“Why Sir, I didn’t expect you to be that excited to see me.”
The familiar voice made Peter's heart race. He looked up at Jane standing in the doorway. She smiled at him radiantly and shrugged, as if to say, here I am.
Despite his panic, he managed to sound calm. “I didn’t expect to see you, would be a more accurate assessment of the situation.”
She was all innocence. “Have you forgotten our four o’clock meeting?”
“Ah…sorry? What meeting?” Then he remembered today was the day they had originally planned to meet. How could he have been so stupid, he wondered. If he’d had any sense about him, he should have realised she would pull a stunt like this.
Without turning around, Jane kicked the door closed and leaned back against it with her hands behind her back. “I came up to see you earlier but you weren’t here.”
“Um…yes, well…I assumed you no longer needed the appointment since you…um…came to see me already last week.”
“Then I called – twice – but you never answer the phone.”
“Oh,” was all he could manage. The accusation in her voice made him uneasy. As did the knowledge that Charlie was still off work recovering from a burst appendix and Barry was not coming back today.
So, this is what it feels like to be the mouse, he thought, right before the cat pounces. As though she were reading his thoughts, Jane’s face softened into a pout. She slithered towards him and looked up at him with her big green eyes. “Never mind” she said, “you’re here now.”
“Um…actually, I was just on my way out.”
Jane never took her eyes off him. “Now why would you be doing that, Sir? You did promise to help me with my problem.”
Peter took a step back so that she didn’t have to look up at him so alluringly. “I’m…ah…not sure I can help you with your problem, Miss Lester.”
Jane hitched herself up onto Peter's desk and crossed her legs. “Well, Sir, how do you know that if you don’t even know what my problem is?”
Peter laughed uneasily. “I could hazard a guess.”
She gave him a cheeky look. “Come on then, why don’t you tell me what it is?”
Accepting that he had been outsmarted, he carefully considered how to respond. Even though he felt guilty for flirting with her in the past, he knew he was going to have to keep it together and be blunt if he were to get rid of her now. “Look, Miss Lester,” Peter put on his best teacher’s voice, “I am flattered that you have taken in an interest in me and I apologise if I have mislead you in any way, but I am a married man.” His tone indicated that he’d managed to find some of his usual composure.
“And?” she challenged.
“And, I am very happy with my wife.”
“I don’t want to be your wife, Mr Thompson,” she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, “but I think you know what I do want.”
He maintained his no-nonsense manner. “Yes, Jane, I think I know what you want. And, I am very sorry, but I am unable to give it to you.”
“Are you sure about that, Sir?” Without waiting for his response, she uncrossed her legs for the second time. This time she did not re-cross them, but rather, she let them fall open just enough for Peter to see the dark shadow beneath her short hemline.
Oh Jesus, thought Peter, she cannot be serious. From where he was standing it looked for all the world like she was not wearing any panties. He looked again. Sure enough, the hint of flesh shining through the dark shadow confirmed that she was indeed not wearing anything underneath her tiny skirt. Peter looked away, but it was already too late, the look on her face said it all. She smelt victory.
Without warning, she slid off the desk and came over to him. Running her hand up the outside of his thigh she asked him if he’d seen anything he wanted. “I think you should leave Miss Lester,” he said by way of reply.
“Oh no, not that line again, surely.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. As she did so, she shuffled backwards towards the desk. Still holding on to his shirt, she slipped her other hand behind him and pulled him gently towards her. Once he was in close, she propped herself on to the edge of the desk and wrapped her calves around the bottom of his legs.
Barely resisting her attempts to pull him closer, Peter stood stiffly. He considered pulling away altogether when her hand on his crotch stopped him in his tracks. Despite the anxiety the situation was causing, he felt himself growing hard beneath her hand and silently cursed his body for the betrayal.
“Mmm…it seems you saw something you liked after all,” she teased. As she emphasised the last two words, she tugged on his shirt, not so gentle this time, and he lost his balance and fell forward. She leaned back on the desk so that her face was within an inch of his. She slid a hand behind his head, and running her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer. Then, leaning forward, she kissed him.
Peter let out a small sigh as her soft mou
th pressed against his. The enormity of what he was doing dawned and he pulled away and tried to stand up. Jane held on tight, she tilted her face towards him, and kissed him again. This time it was more than he could resist and he felt himself kissing back, his tongue finishing the betrayal that his groin had started.
Needing no further encouragement, Jane traced the back of his thigh with her foot. All consideration of refusal momentarily forgotten, Peter slipped his hand under her blouse and ran his fingers along her spine. As his hand slid further along the bumpy ridge, he felt her smooth, warm skin shrink into tiny goosebumps. Her nipples hardened through the flimsy fabric of her shirt against his chest. He was well aware that what he was doing was wrong, but at the same time, she was everything he wanted. Without warning he felt the mounting excitement of the past couple of weeks, the playful taunts and innuendo, and the illicit touches, rapidly escalate until he was overcome with a desire for her so strong that only a monk might possess sufficient power to deny her.
With a sense of imminent success, Jane sat up just enough to allow Peter to straighten his back, her legs wrapped around him, her skirt slowly riding up, threatening to expose the nakedness that he knew lay waiting. In order to steal a look at what she was offering, he leaned back a little. She caught his downward glance and forced her thighs against the already straining fabric of her skirt. Despite the restriction posed by the denim, he managed to catch a glimpse of that which he so ardently sought before it was forced from view again by her protesting skirt.
Dissatisfied with only an appetising glance, Peter removed his hands from her blouse and without restraint shoved her skirt up beyond the point of resistance. Her thighs fell open appreciatively. Jane mumbled something that he didn’t catch. He reluctantly tore his gaze from her nakedness and looked at her face expectantly. Despite her dishevelled look, he thought she had never looked more appealing.
Instead of repeating what she had said, she interpreted the look on his face as one of understanding – and acceptance. She took his hand from where it rested on her bare thigh and placed it between her legs. He groaned as he felt her excitement wet his fingers. She changed her position, making it impossible for him to withdraw his hand, and slid forward on the desk, forcing his fingers inside her. Instead of arousing him further, her sighs hit him like a slap in the face and he stumbled backwards.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice breathless with excitement, “don’t stop.”
When he didn’t respond, she took the opportunity to reach for his trousers. With one hand fumbling with the button, she snuck her free hand under the waistband. She slid her hand slowly downwards, encircled him with her fingers, and gently massaged her prize. It took all of Peter's strength not to tear his clothes off and climb on top of her.
The slow, involuntary pushing of his lower body, and the small sounds of pleasure escaping his lips, told her that his momentary case of the guilts was forgotten. The smugness she felt at her own persuasive powers showed on her face. Peter didn’t notice, however, he was busy applying kisses to her hungry mouth and kneading her firm, full breasts.
With her free hand, Jane finally undid the button on his jeans and opened his zipper, liberating him from the confines of his clothing just as he had done for her. Then, releasing him from her grasp, she used both hands to slide his jeans and boxer shorts down past his bottom and over the bulging obstacle hidden behind the cloth; the newfound freedom caused him to spring to attention and silently demand to be encircled once more. This time, she didn’t fold her fingers around it like she had done previously, instead she leaned forward and gently stroked it with her tongue, lingering at the tip of the shaft long enough to lick away the slippery evidence of his excitement, before taking him into her mouth greedily.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled. It took all of Peter's self-control not to explode like a schoolboy. It felt so good that he knew he could not withstand the warm wetness of her mouth engulfing him for long, and determined not to embarrass himself with an early exit from the game, he withdrew from her mouth. Before she could object to the apparent rejection, he pushed her back on the desk, gently persuading her legs open as he did so. This time it was Jane’s turn to contain herself. Peter slowly tortured her with his tongue, lingering in each place just long enough to exhaust the taste that drove him wild, before moving on to the next delicious spot. What started as gentle sighs of pleasure quickly became stifled sounds of ecstasy as she covered her mouth to guard against uncontrolled noise, as he flicked his tongue, back and forth, probing with his fingers.
The difficulty she had in muffling her cries, and the frantic gyration of her hips pushing against his mouth told Peter that unlike him, Jane was not bothered about achieving a result within record time, quite the contrary. He wondered for a moment if he should slow down his actions and prolong the inevitable, but her pleas for him to go faster and harder told him that she was not prepared to wait longer than necessary to reach the climax she felt her due, so he met her demands, her cries and moans becoming louder as his fingers pushed deeper.
Jane let out an unchecked cry of pleasure as she reached the summit on which she’d set her sights. She slumped back against the desk with a long, appreciative sigh. Peter felt her grip on his fingers relax and slid them out gently, taking the opportunity to rub her swollen flesh one more time and causing her to shudder involuntary at his charged touch. Then, with a perverse sense of excitement, he watched as she robbed him of the opportunity to enjoy the glistening evidence that smeared his fingers by taking his hand and putting the offending digits in her own mouth, leisurely sucking them clean, and withdrawing them slowly.
“Mmm, that was wonderful, I can taste how excited you got me.” She sat up and shuffled towards the edge of the desk, looking very self-satisfied, her face flushed. The look she wore told Peter that she believed a victory had been had, and not by him. He began to pull up his trousers, but she slid her foot between his legs, preventing their ascent. “Not so fast,” she purred, “now it’s your turn.”
Before he could protest, she had him back in her mouth and was gorging herself on his hardness. Silently cursing his body for responding with so much enthusiasm, he took a step backwards, thereby robbing her of her feast. She looked at him questioningly, too smug to be offended by his rejection, the memory of her conquest still fresh on her mind.
Peter responded to her enquiry with a question of his own, “What if someone comes in?” He tried for the second time to get dressed, but before she could reassure him that no one would bother them, the phone on Barry’s desk started to ring.
“Don’t answer it,” she insisted.
Peter took the opportunity to straighten his clothes and take stock of the situation. What the hell was he doing? The persistent noise of the phone made it difficult for him to think straight, let alone answer a question like that. “I better get it otherwise whoever’s calling is likely to come looking for me.”
Jane agreed that his point had merit. “Just get rid of them and be quick,” she said breathlessly, creeping up behind him and reaching around to grab the front of his trousers, determined to finish what she had started.
Peter pushed her hand away and picked up the phone. “Hello this is Peter Thompson, can I help you?”
Jane watched the colour drain from his face and for the first time since arriving, she took a backwards step.
Chapter 10
Sunday, 16 December 1979
Since Uncle Harry is Grandma’s brother, that really makes him my great uncle, but because great uncle is too much of a mouthful, we just call him uncle instead. He’s pretty old now and lives by himself. He’s always forgetting things and gets everyone mixed up. Mum and her sisters take it in turns with Grandma to visit him once a week. Dad mows the lawn while Mum does some house work and a few loads of washing. Mum reckons he’d happily live in a pigsty if nobody came to clean up for him.
I like going to his place. Not because I like him that much, I don�
�t. His house smells like pee and he farts all the time. I like going there because his backyard is full of fruit trees. He never picks any of it, he just lets it ripen and fall to the ground. Every time we go there, we take plastic buckets with us and fill them up with fruit.
We always go to Uncle Harry’s on Sundays, that’s why Tom never comes; he has to go to church. Shortie usually comes with us though. His family never goes to church. Brian never comes either; he’s scared of Uncle Harry. He thinks he looks like Catweazle and he’s scared of Catweazle too. Kate and Tracy stay home and look after Brian.
Mum carried her mop and bucket out to the car. “You coming?” Shortie and I were sitting on the floor playing Snap. Dad was already waiting in the car. Mum shut the screen door behind her and called to Tracy and Kate. “See you in a couple of hours.”
Brian was playing in the front yard with Cameron. I bent down on my way past and spoke softly so Mum couldn’t hear. “We’re going to see Catweazle,” I told him, “better make sure you don’t answer the tellingbone while we’re gone, it might be him.”
“Muuum!” Brian whined, “Jenny’s being a retard.”
I checked to make sure Mum wasn’t watching and gave him a thickhead. “Muuummm!” he whined even longer and louder, “Jenny just hit me.”
Still not getting any attention from Mum, I laughed at him and ran to the car. Shortie and I climbed over into the back of Dad’s station wagon. We sat opposite each other with our heads against the windows. My tummy was even sorer today than when I first got punched, but I tried not to show how much it hurt as I climbed over. We could’ve sat on the back seat if we wanted, but we preferred to sit over the back where there’s more room.
Uncle Harry lives at Dora Creek, which is about half an hour’s drive from Toronto. To fill in time, Shortie and I played eye spy. I spotted a group of old people playing golf and thought of something to use. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with J.”
Shortie looked around him to see what he could find starting with J. “Jeans?” he suggested.
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