Dirty Deeds Done Cheap

by Peter Mercer

  One evening, while I was sitting in the local (just for a change!) I bumped into this woman, Kim. I’d known her for years but never really knew her, if you know what I mean. She sat down next to me and asked how I was and said that she hadn’t seen me for ages. I explained that I’d been out of the country for months and had only just got back. We were just sitting chatting when I told her that I hadn’t had a shag for months and months.

  She put down her drink and looked me in the eye and said, ‘OK, your place or mine?’ I had, unwisely, taken a big mouthful of my beer and I nearly spat it everywhere. She burst out laughing and blushed scarlet and said, ‘Oh, sorry. Wasn’t that a request?’

  ‘Too damn right it was,’ I replied.

  I told her that I didn’t actually have a place to call my own at the moment, since I was crashing at a mate’s. Once we’d both got over the embarrassment (I for asking and she for accepting with indecent haste), we decided to go back to her house.

  Funny thing was, once we got there, she opened a bottle of wine and poured me a glass and we spent the whole night talking. We were still talking at about five in the morning and were both a bit more sober. Eventually, she grabbed me and dragged me off to bed. We had great sex and then fell asleep.

  At about 9 a.m. Kim’s kids (she had two, a boy and a girl) started banging on the door. I had totally forgotten about that – the kids had been in bed when we had got to her place the night before. I was really embarrassed. I buried my head under the covers as Kim got up and dressed and went downstairs to see to the kids. I lay there considering the best way to escape this compromising and embarrassing situation. I looked out of the window and briefly considered jumping out, but that would be cowardly and it was quite high. I got up and took myself to the bathroom for a shower. While there, I heard Kim knock on the door. She said she’d made me a cup of coffee and that I should come on down when I was done. I’d never been involved in a relationship with a woman who had kids before, so I was more than a bit nervous.

  I couldn’t stay in the shower any longer without turning into a prune, so I had to get out. I dried and dressed and came downstairs. Neither of the kids was there: her son had gone out to play football and her daughter had gone out to see friends. I was relieved. She then offered to make me breakfast and I gratefully accepted.

  I was grateful, that is, until she placed my bacon and eggs in front of me. Ugh! Heart attack on a plate. I made a show of eating it while actually just chopping it up into smaller and smaller bits and pushing it around the plate. Kim laughed and said that she had many skills (she was a trained carpenter, had worked as a secretary, was a single parent and loved gardening) but cooking wasn’t her strong point. She said it was because it was just another chore, like housework, and if you had to do it every day, three times a day, you would hate it too. I suppose she had a point but I, though freely admitting that I’m not very good at it, love my cooking.

  Sex, though, was another of her skills, and, while Kim was chatting away, all I could really think about was that I wanted another shag – but I didn’t have the nerve to say it.

  Over the next few days I spent more and more time with Kim. She was a breath of fresh air with no airs or graces and barely any manners. Talk about blunt! Tact was obviously something that she had never learned. I found it quite endearing, as she was always brutally honest. I even got to know the kids a bit; they were nice kids if a little mouthy (like their mum I guess).

  Anyway, we were both single and lonely and sort of just got on. I’d been dating her all of two weeks when I invited her up to London to meet up with some mates. I was due to go back to Iraq the next week and I wanted to be with her, but I also wanted to see my mates. We managed to sort out the logistics of work and childminders and off we went. We had a really great time: we did mega pub crawls and visited a few clubs.

  We spent two really great days in London, I had a lot of fun with her and we laughed loads. However, all good things come to an end, and we had to return home – Kim had to take her kids to school, among other things.

  We caught the tube to Paddington but found that we had about an hour to kill before our train, so Kim challenged me to a game of pool. Now I fancy myself as a bit of a pool player, so I was well up for it. We got down to dares and bets or forfeits should either of us lose. I’ve got to say I had the best game of pool in my life. She is such a cheat and she totally stuffed my arse. She does not play fair.

  She can play really well but her distraction techniques when it was my go won every time. She danced to the music over the pocket I was aiming at. Then she’d pretend to be uninterested and plant her arse over the pocket with her back to me. She has the greatest arse I’ve ever seen and knows how to use it! I lost the game! I can’t remember what our bet was, but she won –it was the best game of pool ever.

  We had a few drinks riding on each game while we were waiting. She stuffed me but I’ve never been happier to lose a game! Time was short and we were having fun. After about an hour our train was due, so we grabbed our bags and legged it – of course, we’d left it a bit late and we were a bit the worse for our vodka-shot bets, which I’d mostly lost. But she still kept pace with me. What a woman!

  So we were finally on the train and just talking about things we had always wanted to do before we were forty years old. Kim produced a pack of cards and challenged me to a game – for forfeits. So I said that I’d never had sex on a train. Fuck me if she doesn’t turn around and say ‘OK, next hand for sex on the train or not.’

  Now she had been totally stuffing me: she’d already won about 5–2 on rummy (I’m sure she cheats, but I don’t know how!). So my prize was sex on the train. It was such a tense game but she dealt me a flush and I only needed two cards to win. I couldn’t believe it when I beat her. She went absolutely crimson and tried to squirm out of it. I was triumphant and gloating and winding her up. So she says she needs a drink. OK, I thought. I hadn’t really expected her to come through, anyway, but the gloat factor was well worth it.

  So, leaving our coats and bags on the seats, we made our way up to the buffet car. It turned out we hadn’t got much change between us and would need to go to the cashpoint at the station, so we barely managed to scrape the cost of a vodka. I needed the toilet and left Kim to get the drinks.

  There was a young lad with his bags sitting near the entrance to the toilet. I went into the little cubicle. I was quite happily having a piss and sort of whistling to myself when the door suddenly burst open – I jumped out my skin and turned to find Kim shoving me out the way so she could shut the door behind her.

  ‘Well I’m here,’ she said. I was so shocked I peed all over the toilet seat. Shit, shit, shit! I was thinking. Fuck me! This woman’s great. I managed to finish my pee and Kim very kindly wiped up the accidental spillage!

  Now you have to understand this cubicle wasn’t one of those nice big ones with the circular doors. No, this was an old-fashioned one – with a door with a small bolt-type lock – and really small (like that of a plane loo). So we’re both squeezed in and she starts to tell me this story about how the nice man on the buffet counter gave her the Coke for free because she didn’t have enough change. I was totally unable to understand what the fuck she was on about, and then she hangs her coat on the peg and says, ‘Well? How about it?’

  She undid her jeans and pulled them down, then her pants, and, after cleaning the toilet seat and lid with wipes, bent over and presented her fantastic arse to me. Well, what could I do? What would you do? I went for it. No, we went for it. The train was going at about 60 m.p.h. and I think we even stopped at a few stations. I could see people walking past the window but, fuck it, we went for it.

  People knocked on the door but we ignored them. I took my T-shirt off and dumped it on the sink. Kim kept saying, ‘Pete, sink!’ It took me ages to twig that the sink had one of those automatic taps and I’d dumped my T-shirt in it; the tap had come on and was soaking my T-shirt and jacket. I grabbed it out and threw it on the
floor. We carried on. Somebody knocked on the door just as I was about to come. How fucking frustrating is that? Talk about offputting!

  Kim was sort of kneeling over the toilet but we could see each other’s faces in the mirror. We stared at each other as we fucked. Her head was banging on the side of the cubicle but I really didn’t care. God, this was so fucking horny. I came, and took a minute or so to calm down, and Kim was trying to move when I realised that, no, I wasn’t done. I was going to come again.

  That was it. We started again. It was the most dirty and erotic thing I’ve ever done, a real knee trembler. But, fuck me, you should try it.

  So, thirty minutes later, I’m trying to put on my soaking-wet T-shirt and hoping to look casual (not really succeeding, I found, as Kim collapsed into fits of giggles). We came out of the toilet, Kim first. She looked around. There was nobody. Strange, that! She gave me the all-clear and we returned to the carriage and our seats, where we’d left our coats.

  As we were heading back to our seats a guy looked at me and smiled knowingly. I just grinned back! I didn’t give a damn about embarrassment – I was feeling too good!

  The train was just pulling into a station and a woman got up from sitting on Kim’s coat and Kim had the nerve to say something – we’d been gone nearly thirty minutes! We sat down and Kim produced the vodka and the Coke and cups. We poured ourselves a drink and burst out laughing. Both of us were unable to believe what we’d done. What a memory!

  Then Kim lifted her eyebrow and gave me a sly look. She got the playing cards out of her bag, started to shuffle them and said, ‘So, what’s the bet this time?’ We both burst out laughing and Kim dealt again while we both tried to go one better, suggesting the most outrageous bets we could think of. It was such a laugh, and I’ll never forget it.

  Later that night, once we’d arrived back home, I was cuddling Kim in bed when I realised that I was having the best time with her. The adrenalin rush that I had previously only got from doing my dangerous jobs was nothing compared with the adrenalin rush I got from spending time with this woman. The most exciting thing I had ever done was that risky shag in the train loo!

  I began to question the wisdom of returning to Iraq. I was really falling hard for this crazy woman and if I went back to work I might well get killed or seriously maimed. I might never have the chance to pursue this relationship to the end.

  I didn’t know when the end of this relationship was going to come but I knew that I wanted more. She was more exciting and fun than getting shot at in Iraq, that was for sure. I still hadn’t really told her what I was doing for a living. She had assumed that I worked for an oil company on the oil rigs, which I had done, admittedly. I thought that she would probably be disgusted, as she was quite anti-war and against guns. I love the action, my guns and, of course, the money, but I thought I might well be falling in love with this woman. Hmm, guns or love? I would need to consider seriously whether or not to go back to Iraq. I had only about a week left and I had been planning to go up and visit my parents, but I didn’t want to leave Kim.

  I eventually persuaded her to come with me to visit them. We travelled by train but there was no repeat performance of the toilet gymnastics, since we had to take her son with us. Nevertheless, we still had a really great time with my parents and even Morgan, her son, was entertained. My parents were gobsmacked because I’d actually brought a girlfriend up to visit them, and not only that but a girlfriend with children!

  Kim and my mum got on really well. They have a lot in common, anyway. After spending a long weekend with them and returning to the West Country, I was even more conflicted about returning to Iraq. Would I regret it if I went? Would she find someone new? Would I feel the same way with distance?

  I was down to three days until my scheduled return when I realised that I wasn’t going to go back. I was sorry that I wouldn’t see the guys again but realised that it was time to actually start to live my own life, for me. I could envision this future with Kim. I’d never imagined that with any woman before, so I was really keen to carry on.

  After much soul-searching I decided that I had done my time in Iraq. Next time I might not be so lucky, and it was time for a change. I was qualified for rope access work and bodyguard work, but decided that rope access work was the way to go. I rang around and had soon found myself another position with an oil company. All this while Kim was none the wiser, which made me feel a little guilty about deceiving her, but I convinced myself that I would tell her the truth eventually – not now. I hoped to have a more secure relationship before I told her what I had actually been doing.

  After I’d spent nearly eighteen months with Kim we got married. I never returned to Iraq and I can’t say that I’m sorry. I don’t regret going there in the first place, but I’m just thankful that I came back in one piece when so many of my friends didn’t. I know that I made the right choice and I eventually came clean with Kim. She was remarkably understanding about the whole thing and had heard gossip about me, anyway.

  I now work in the oil industry as a rope-access technician. It’s boring as hell – the hours are long and the working conditions are not only grim but soul-destroying, but I know now that I would rather be alive to spend my free time with my new family than return to that sort of dangerous situation ever again. Besides that, I don’t think Kim will ever let me go back. Of course, I could always lie, which she tells me I do quite well, but I know that she would see straight through it.

  However, as I’ve been writing this book, I have been offered work in Baghdad, so I can’t honestly say I won’t go back. Hmm, have to think hard – the money isn’t what it was but it’s still more than I can earn in the oil industry, and it’s far more exciting. Not sure about my chances of convincing Kim that it’s worth it. We shall see …

  Glossary

  blue on blue: action, or ‘friendly fire’, by allied or friendly forces, mostly accidental (a blueon-blue situation)

  bootneck: Royal Marine Commando

  click: distance of 1 kilometre

  comms: communications equipment

  contact: when you come under effective enemy fire

  debus: get out of your vehicle ASAP

  50-cal: 50-calibre heavy-duty machine gun

  GPMG: general-purpose machine gun

  Herc: Hercules aircraft

  hooch: personal room/accommodation

  Humvee: military utility vehicle (abbreviation of ‘high-mobility, multipurpose wheeled vehicle’); also called Hummer

  IA: immediate action (e.g. an immediate-action drill)

  IED: improvised explosive device

  intel: intelligence, information

  MRE: American forces’ ready-to-eat emergency food rations (stands for ‘meal, ready-to-eat’)

  ND: negligent discharge (of a weapon)

  PMC: private military contractor

  PSD: personal security detachment

  Route Irish: Baghdad Airport road, a 12-kilometre stretch of road that links the Green Zone to the airport

  RPG: rocket-propelled grenade

  RV: rendezvous point

  scran: informal word for food, commonly used by military personnel

  SAS: Special Air Service

  SBS: Special Boat Service

  shemags: veils that foreign forces use to protect their faces from the sand

  SUV: sport utility vehicle

  2IC: second-in-command

  VCP: vehicle checkpoint

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  Published by John Blake Publishing Ltd,

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  ePub ISBN 978 1 84358 227 4

  Mobi ISBN 978 1 84358 707 1

  PDF ISBN 978 1 84358 730 9

  First published in paperback in 2009

  ISBN: 978 1 84454 765 4

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

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