CHAPTER 9
There were, it turned out, more than a few sites that dealt with what I wanted, but most of them, to be honest, were either weird or simply not for me. I didn’t want some Japanese snuff-buddy, nor advice on how to exit with dignity and a terminal illness in Switzerland. Some parts of that country have struck me as a terminal illness in their own right, but never mind.

What I wanted was a simple guide to what I should take to ensure a nice, gentle sleep with no morning after. I am not fond of heights, and I REALLY doubt that I could take a blade to myself. Then again, those nights, sitting on the kitchen’s tiled floor, Sabatier in hand, sobbing…perhaps, if I were pissed enough, just perhaps then I might find the courage I needed. It isn’t cowardice, taking your own life, it’s far more courageous than most folk can ever be.

The thought then struck me that I had fucked up big style, by actually telling my doctor. Any chance I could have obtained some barbiturates, for example, would have been lost now. I was hardly a safe individual in the eyes of the NHS any more. The old and well-remembered stories of a shedload of alcohol, some nice sleeping pills, that would be harder to arrange.

I realised I was actually feeling slightly more cheerful, oddly. The fact that I could now see the way forward was lifting my spirits, even if the way indicated was into the dark. All a matter of timing…my phone beeped at me.

“Wht you up to tmrw? L”

Already? It threw me for an instant, as we had only separated a few hours before. I sent back a quick one asking what she had in mind, and explaining my lack of any plan at all. I left out the bit about spending all day surfing the net, and certainly what for. That was when I realised I was almost ready to forget about protecting Mam and Von, and just get it over with, and at the same time actually looking forward to Larinda’s humour and zest for life.

“Brighton then, Fsh n chps. Pier”

“OK. Time?”

“10 @ stn”

And that was it, a second date in two days with someone who thought I was queer. As the saying went, you couldn’t make it up. I gave in, and put the laptop down and started once more on Nelson’s flagship.

I woke confused, no hangover for a start to drag me back under the duvet, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a worn old tour shirt from Hawkwind’s older days, some shades and just for the hell of it my old denim jacket and a pair of trainers. Cool dude, no. Fat and hairy slob in a greaser’s costume, yes. I couldn’t care less, and tried to doze as the train bore me south, better to daydream about what might once have been.

Larinda was waiting just past the ticket barrier, and unlike me she had made quite an effort, and a nice pair of black suede heels led my eyes up her legs, past the just-above-the-knee skirt to her chest, which was definitely there, and I was treated to the traditional greeting of “Oy, the girl is up here, yeah?”

I got a hug from her, and a kiss on the cheek that was a little more than a peck but quite a way short of a snog, and then she linked arms with me and we started down the hill to the sea, her heels ticking away as we went and her hip bumping mine until I altered my pace and stride to match hers. It was a sunny day, but there were clouds to the West, past the wreckage of the old West Pier, and I regretted trusting to elderly denim. Over the pedestrian crossing to the promenade, Larinda chattering away about nothing at all as I led her to the railings overlooking the shingle, and leant there to watch the slow waves breaking noisily beneath the gulls, which was when she put her hand on my right buttock and squeezed. I jerked upright, and she shushed me.

“Just curious, Rob, you being a cyclist an’ all. Just wanted to feel what a girl’s heels would hook on, yeah?”

“And?”

She licked her lips and grinned. I used a finger to lift her chin.

“Thought you said this was all about a natter?”

“Well, a girl has to keep her options open, yeah?”

She paused. “And maybe her legs too, if she’s lucky”

Where this was going was pretty obvious, but little brain was in coordination with ego for once, the flattery of being desired doing what it would do to most people.

Desired as a man; that punctured my bubble.

“Come on, let’s get out on the pier, pet. See what we can win”

“I want at least one toy to cuddle, and something sweet to chew on”

“You are a wicked woman, Larinda!”

“Me? What did I say?”

Her mock outrage collapsed into a fit of giggles, and I realised that whatever she did it would be impossible for me to get angry with her. She shone with life, and I wondered if I could ever have been like that, if…if.

We worked our way up the pier, Larinda sticking to the boards laid down especially for high heel wearers, through both sets of slot machine halls and up to the rides, where she insisted we went on some whirling thing.

“You sit on the outside, Mr Carter. If you throw up, I want it flung away from me, this is a nice blouse”

I looked down, by reflex.

“Yeah, Rob, it’s nice to the touch as well as looking good”

She put her mouth to my ear then, and whispered.

“And the filling’s all natural and organic, and EVER so tasty…”

The ride started to move then, and as the thing sped up we were thrown this way and that, but mostly THAT, and of course she had to brace herself, which involved her hand on my thigh, and I was getting very distracted by the time we got off and back onto stationary planking. She was clearly aware of what she was doing to me, by the way she kept grinning.

“Is it time for fish’n’chips yet?”

“Why not? Where do you fancy?”

Thank god for the change of subject.

“Well, don’t like the one on the pier much, and been to Harry Ramsden’s lots, so why don’t we go up the marina? Take the train thing, yeah?”

I hadn’t been on Volk’s Electric Railway for years. She led the way, and found us seats on our own in the rear carriage, taking the coat she had carried over her arm and spreading it across our laps.

“Keep us from getting a chill, right?”

As the train jerked away, her hand, under the coat, went straight onto my cock.

“There we are, warmer already!”

She left it for an instant, to put my own hand in a similar place, where I realised she was actually wearing stockings and suspenders. She slipped her right hand back onto my groin, and with her left pushed mine up.

“Didn’t fancy wearing any today, Rob. Didn’t know what might come up…ooh, he has come up, hasn’t he?”

“Are you seriously that randy, Larinda? For a fat old bugger like me?”

She turned slightly in her seat, her hand leaving my groin for my thigh as she let my own hand drift away from somewhere very warm and moist. She was far more serious now, and settled down against me as the light wind of our slow passage moved her hair across her face.

“Rob, I wasn’t really sure about you. Still think there’s a gay boy in there, just thought I’d see how you reacted. And, yes, you are sweet, and it would be nice, and yeah… I’m randy as all hell. Always get really worked up just before my monthlies, yeah, and yesterday, you in that bike stuff, I just, well, a girl’s got to try and get a man’s interest”

“So you thought if sussies, heels and an eyeful of tit won’t work, then a good old-fashioned grope would?”

She grinned again, the mischief back. “Well, seems to be working so far, yeah?”

I couldn’t deny that, but thankfully the train was coming into its halt, and there was no opportunity for her to attack my zip. I carried her coat in front of me for a little while, till things could settle down, and we ate fish and chips and had a bottle of wine on a terrace as the sun stayed out and she settled back into slightly cheeky but bloody good company.

We rode back to the pier later, her hand simply resting on my thigh, seemingly content with the contact rather than needing to test my libido, and as we made the train back up at about six-thirty, she slipped her arm around my waist.

“Will be back in a bit, just need the ladies. You wait here, darling”

She strutted off, arse moving in an interesting way, while I checked the timetables, and in a few minutes she was back with a carrier bag, which clinked.

“Sometimes, a girl likes to be asked back for coffee, Rob. This one wouldn’t mind coming in for a glass or three of white wine. So it’s up to you now…”

“Tell you what, let’s see how we feel when we get to my stop, aye?”

“OK. But I think I know…”

She was absolutely right, of course, my resolution evaporating as each mile went past, and as we walked out of Redhill station the clouds opened.

“Shit! Left my coat on the train!”

We Went straight back inside, and the station staff put a call in, and ten minutes later it was found, to be secured at East Croydon station for her. Outside, though, the rain was getting heavier, and I hauled off my denim jacket and laid it over her shoulders. Another ten minutes saw us home, both soaked, and I ran through a quick mental checklist before the door was open.

Empty bottles? Gone. My skirts, shoes and tops? In the wardrobe.

Safe. I hung the jacket over the bath, and found an old dressing gown for her to change into as I towelled myself dry and did the same, pouring the wine as she busied herself repairing the damage done to her by the weather. I heard the sounds of classical music from the living room, Sibelius’ fifth, and when I entered with two glasses she was standing looking at my collection.

I realised she was still wearing her shoes and stockings, which was a little odd, and she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“Just sorting out a couple of discs more for your auto-changer. You sit down, stick the wine on the side, I’ll just be a moment”

I sat down, taking a sip from the glass, and as I leant back and closed my eyes to the music the lights dimmed. I looked up, and Larinda was standing in front of me. Smiling, she let the dressing gown fall, and there she stood, in suspender belt, stockings and heels and fresh air. Her breasts were full, and had dropped a little with age, but what I saw was more than just nice.

“You like?”

She bent forward at the waist, pulling my own gown open, and teased my penis erect through my underwear.

“Off, they’re in the way…”

Off they went, and then she sank to her knees in front of me and kissed the tip.

“Mmm, dessert…”

As her lips slipped down, I protested, but not too strongly.

“You don’t have to…”

She took her mouth away, just for an instant.

“I’m eating. Rude to talk”

She was very, very good at it.

The alarm shook me awake what seemed like no time later, and I felt the warmth beside me. My cock was sore, for she had woken me several times in the night, and I had somehow managed to keep up as she made up for her years lost to customised cars and neglect. I slipped out to get rid of the wine, and for once, just for her sake, I did it standing up.

When I returned, she was standing, naked, in front of my open wardrobe.