I closed the door behind her. She looked fabulous, wore barely any make-up, was naturally beautiful. Blonde hair cascaded over her dark blue silk shirt that was open far enough to reveal one strap of her black bra. Her faded blue jeans clung beautifully to her arse, created a perfect, inviting gap at the top of her thighs. If the phone had been a landmine then she was an atom bomb. Her diamond ear studs glinted, sent me lines of Morse code that said, ‘Danger, danger… intruder alert, intruder alert!’

‘Fuck, Anna… Gemma could be back here at anytime…’

‘No she couldn’t.’

‘She’s my girlfriend, we share this flat; she lives here… how could I explain what you’re…’

‘She won’t be back. Not for hours. Where did she say she was going?’

‘To the gym. What’s that got…’

‘Is the gym in a detached house two streets away? Is it owned by a pretty, blonde young man with the initials GT who hugs her and kisses her before leading her in for her… her ‘workout?’

‘What the fuck? You followed her?’ I was angered by her flagrant intrusion into our lives, but her facial expression demanded an answer to her question. ‘No, that’s Gareth, that’s his registration – GT something or other… she works with him, must have called there to drop something off. She was working on some papers before she left…’

‘And the… kissing?’

‘He is a bit too touchy-feely, never liked the bastard, but you’ve got that all wrong…’

‘He drew the upstairs curtains soon after she’d arrived.’

‘This is bollocks. What the fuck are you doing spying on us? One night of… of… whatever… doesn’t give you that right.’ I was shaken by her calmly spoken words, was still certain she was wrong, but she’d caught me off balance, got me on the defensive and I needed a moment to let it all sink in.

I’d just made Gemma cum. Spectacularly, I thought. Surely that would be enough for one day? Her appetite was never that big anyway… and she wouldn’t lie to me, would she? I’d just fisted her and then she goes round to Gareth’s for some more? And Gemma had just spent three nights in a posh hotel with the bastard - even if they were shagging, surely that would be enough for them? No, Anna was wrong, was playing some sort of sick game.

I remembered something: the flash of relief I’d seen in Gemma’s eyes when she thought I was going to turn her down. Suddenly I was not so sure. On every other occasion, as soon as she walked through the door after being away, we jumped on each other and fucked ourselves senseless. This time there had been well-disguised reticence on both sides. I’d been too wrapped up in my own trauma to even notice her reluctance, but I saw it now. It was now plain that the only reason we’d done anything at all was our joint expectation that the other would demand it. A lack of interest would have had the other party wondering… and neither of us wanted that.

‘Where’s her computer. I’ll prove it to you.’ Again, her words were quietly spoken, but carried great authority and I had no choice other than to go along with her. Besides, I was hooked, incredibly curious, wondering what was going on and just beginning to imagine the worst.

‘Computer? It’s… it’s through here,’ and I led her into the spare bedroom that served as an office for both of us.

As the laptop whirred into action and went through its opening routine she told me what she’d done that morning.

‘Listen. This is the truth. I didn’t go to work… and apparently,’ she held out her palms towards me, ‘unless you watch TV at work, neither did you. When I rang you and found you weren’t alone, I wanted to see her in the flesh. Her photos were lovely, as were her clothes, her shoes… and I was… curious, you know, to see her… er, in action, in the flesh… to see what was missing…’

‘Missing? Missing? Nothing’s fucking missing. Listen, nothing actually happened here between you and me. Nothing… Gemma and I are…’ but Anna didn’t seem to be listening.

‘I drove back here, parked up across the road where I could see your front door and there she was, just coming out. Nice car too! Sporty… it suits her. Again I was curious. I followed her… was amazed and even more curious when she pulled in so soon: she could easily have walked that short distance. I was still sitting outside his house - not a little stunned at what I’d witnessed, even with my experience - when you rang me, so I left the car and walked back here as we chatted…’ The glowing screen of the laptop now had her full attention. ‘Right, let me see. No password, that makes it a little easier. Open Explorer… mmm; remember to click on ‘Work Offline’. Now… ‘Tools’, ‘Internet Options’… Christ this thing is slow… ‘Settings’. Ok. ‘View Files’. Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘Are we… going to read her emails?’

‘No. I’m going to. You can look if you want. I’ve done this once today already… at home… it’s very… very… empowering.’ She scrolled down a page of compact text, knew exactly what she was looking for. After she’d clicked on a couple of items, her intentions became very clear. ‘Naughty girls should clear out their ‘Temporary Files’. But there were loads of Hotmail entries, dozens of entries to go through and I was starting to get even more nervous. If Gemma walked in now... ‘Ok, this is her ‘Inbox’. Ooh, look - surprise, surprise - several from a certain young man… Gareth… right, in we go. Lets find the last one he sent.’ She clicked on a few, instantly bypassed the warning box that popped up, and discarded them just as quickly. Mail order offers, holiday offers, Ebay. Then the last message from Gareth, with all their recent correspondence included underneath for convenience. Very convenient. It was from Tuesday night, the night we’d last made love together, the night before she went away.

I grabbed for the mousepad and scrolled down, frantically looking for similar references, hoping beyond hope it was merely a private joke between them. But no.

That was fairly emphatic. I slumped down onto my knees, then doubled over and wrapped my hands around my head, face burning and a sickly taste in my mouth. The thought that she could be unfaithful had never entered my head. I suddenly realised that the cunt I’d just been licking was probably still harbouring some of Gareth’s spunk. I rose quickly, stumbled to the bathroom, scrubbed my face and hands, cleaned my teeth, gargled and spat, gargled and spat, gargled and… Anna stood quietly by the bathroom door for a while then came in and held me, just held me. I was crying and angry, wanting to meekly ask why? Wanting to scream fucking why? Wanting to punch the door till my hand broke.

‘I’ll fucking kill him!’

‘It takes two, Alex. Don’t forget that. It’s not just him… I’m so sorry, sweetheart.’

‘I won’t forget any of it. She’s fucking her best friend, Amanda, too – Gareth is Amanda’s boyfriend!’ Anna’s jaw fell open at that and she shook her head as I continued. ‘So, she’s there now? Right! I’m going round! Gonna kick his fucking car in, knock his front door down, beat him to a fucking pulp. The bastard… the smarmy, fucking bastard.’ And because Gemma had always spoken so disparagingly about him, wiggled her little finger, I felt even worse, like they were laughing at me behind my back. What a fucking fool I was. As my rage erupted inside me, Anna simply held me tighter, seemed to absorb the vast majority of the energy that blasted from me into her solid but slight frame.

‘No you’re not doing that. I won’t let you. Believe me, it’s not the way…’

‘How do you know? How do you know how I feel?’

‘Because two hours ago I was thinking just the same thoughts. After all these years, I finally got the nerve, the impetus, to start checking up on him after spending the night with you; realised I deserved more than that bastard… you were so good to me, so thoughtful, so… non-judgemental. He’s fucking arrogant too, just like your Gemma, never imagined I might spy on him… I read more filth, saw more photos - of both himself and all these other women, some of ‘em no more than girls… even watched a couple of his videos. No wonder I’m so fucked up… no wonder I…’ She sobbed, controlled it then took a deep breath. ‘That bastard husband of mine has beaten me up for the last time, fucking cheated on me for the very last time.’ My stunned, quizzical expression and subsequent realisation told their own story. ‘No, I’ve never been paintballing, Fucking never. Do I look like…?’ Her revelations of domestic violence were perfectly possible: her husband wasn’t nick-named Mad Billy at school for nothing. It suddenly all made sense.

‘God, I’m sorry, Anna. The fucking sick bastard! He bruised me and several others at school a few times, but I never imagined…’

‘Well, fucking believe it. He’s jealous as fuck, beats me up for simply smiling at a guy… while he’s been fucking everything in sight: prostitutes, slappers, teachers, student teachers… there’s even been a couple of sixth formers. I was helping Ian… you remember Ian Walsh? … with his exam resits and Billy barges in drunk one night, accuses us of all sorts, cuffs Ian round the ear, throws him out the door then fucking puts me in hospital – that was a long flight of stairs I fell down that night… like the fucking Eiffel Tower… the nurse was incredulous, but what could she do?’

I was speechless, but words were not needed. I just had to listen.

‘The physical abuse is only half of it. He humiliated me at every opportunity, destroyed my confidence, pulled me down – my hair, clothes, my looks – then stopped me going to work so I lost my independence, my self-respect. But even when he was beating me senseless, calling me such fucking names, there was always a tiny part of me that said, ‘Bring it on. I can take all this. One day… one day I’ll get even, you fucking bastard.’

‘What now?’

‘It ends today! I left him a note saying I’ve catalogued all his abuse, copied all his emails, his sick photos – I have his sister to back me up too on how he’s treated me – and we’ll go to the police if he doesn’t move out and leave me alone. That would ruin him – he’d lose his job for sure. Alicia always begged me to get the police involved, but I couldn’t turn him in… I wouldn’t have given evidence if she’d reported him either, but I’ve fucking had enough now.’

‘Have you children?’

‘No, thank fuck. That’s one good thing to come out of this. I’d have loved kids, but he made it quite plain how he stood. I lost one baby through one of his beatings… the bastard.’ Again she broke down. For a while she was inconsolable then slowly began to regain her composure. This was a momentous day for her, the beginning of the end of years of abuse and I was so glad to be there for her. ‘We’ve got together now, Alicia and me, stitched him up. He might have killed me if I’d done this on my own, but he won’t kill both of us. I’ll give him a few hours to calm down then I’m going to call for Alicia – what a rock she’s been – going to take their old mum round too: she’s finally admitted she knew what was going on and wants to be there. He’ll be like a mouse in front of her. We’ll all go to our house together. My house! I’m going to face him and finally kick the evil bugger out.’

My lips were in her hair and I kissed her. It seemed natural. She started to cry again and it was my turn to support her. Instinctively, protectively, I picked her up in my arms, carried her to the bed and climbed on beside her. We propped ourselves up on our elbows and exchanged increasingly needy glances. I kissed her lips; she ruffled my hair. I kissed her neck; she tickled my belly. I squirmed and laughed then kissed her soft mouth with as much passion as I could muster. The buttons of her blouse were impossible to undo with one hand so I rolled her onto her back, sat astride her waist and used both hands. My mouth joined in too, moving from her mouth to her neck, down to her shoulders, into her cleavage and then lower to her belly, explored her navel. It was her turn to squirm and laugh and I let her playfully turn us over so she was now on top and in charge. It wasn’t long before my t-shirt was over my head and her bra too was discarded. At last I tasted her flesh. A delicious hard, brown nipple slid between my wetted lips.

‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Mrs Cheetham.’

‘Listen, she could come back… we ought to…’ but I was having none of it.

‘I want you, Anna. I’ve wanted you since I was fourteen. I’m not waiting any longer.’

We were naked in no time and kissing, touching, exploring. I reached out my hand, paused a finger’s width away from her nether lips to fully savour what was about to happen then touched her gently. She sighed as I rubbed her juice between my finger and thumb, brought it to our hungry mouths to share. Again I touched her, sought her hard clit and stroked gently. My fingers found their way inside her and I fucked her with them then rubbed her clit again. I felt a hand grasp my penis and start to wank me slowly. I was hard, rock hard, never a doubt that I could be otherwise. She stopped kissing me and looked lovingly into my eyes.

‘Lay back, big boy. I’m a woman of my word. This is going to be the best blow-job you ever had.’

She was everything I’d imagined and more. Her lips, tongue and hands moved teasingly, ceaselessly, imaginatively, surprisingly…when I thought I was riding the highest wave in a bottomless ocean of pleasure, she stopped and changed tack, carried me to new heights. ‘Don’t stop, baby, let it go. I want to taste you… then I want your cum in my every hole… again…’

The bedroom door opened. There was a scream. The door slammed shut. There was a pause.

‘Alex! You bastard! Fucking get out here now! And tell your fucking mother to fuck off home!’ I pulled my pants on and stepped to the door while motioning for Anna to stay put. She panicked at first, started to look for her clothes, but I kissed her, motioned to the bed again and she climbed gingerly between the sheets, screwed up her eyes, covered her red face with her palms then scraped her fingers through her hair. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, stepped into the hall and closed it behind me. She came at me with incredible venom.

‘How fucking dare you! You bas…’ I grabbed Gemma’s fists, half closed my eyes to ward off the spit she hurled at me, side-stepped her kicks and angular knees. ‘Fucking get out of my house… and take fucking grandma with you! Who the fuck is she? Where the fuck did you dig her up?’

‘Shut up!’ She’d never seen me really angry, rarely heard my raised voice. Tears pricked my eyes and my attempt at a calm and measured tone faltered, but I continued, shaking. ‘I’m going nowhere. This is my flat now. Fuck off back to Gareth’s and come back at 6 to get your things. It should be me that’s angry, me asking ‘how dare you…’ and with your best mate’s bloke as well. You should be ashamed.’ That shut her up, froze her too. Her face was white and her crocodile tears had stopped. ‘I would have trusted you with my life, Gemma. My fucking life! What a fool I have been. I’ve been loyal to you right up to today, till I finally had the proof.’ I bent the truth just a little, as the straight truth was too complicated, would have taken all day. ‘And as for Anna, don’t you dare say anything bad about her. She’s ten times the woman you are.’

‘Ten times my fucking age, maybe.’ I resisted the urge to slap her for that, though it wasn’t hard. I’m simply not that sort of bloke.

She must have been at least forty when she had her first child. A girl. We called her Alicia in honour of her God Mother. Then she went back to teaching, found new purpose in her life, began to look even younger, even more beautiful. At home, that wonderful woman taught me so much about sharing, giving, forgiving, caring, loving and laughing… and she was a fantastic mother too. Meanwhile, I stayed at home to look after our daughter and decided to study again. English. The subject I would have taken had I not been so influenced by Mrs Cheetham in my teens. The subject I was actually more suited to, the one I’d got the best grades in. She thought that was so funny:

‘But if you hadn’t listened to me, not gone on and worked at the lab, we would never have met again!’

And I started to write short stories. Some of the stories were completely true, some were entirely fictitious, and others were a hopelessly tangled combination of the two. Many of them were erotic and Anna loved me to read them in bed to her as a sort of literary foreplay. I read her this one, just before I’d finished it and, contrary to the actual historical events, her mouth brought me to a fabulous climax before Gemma barged in. Indeed, when she knew I was on the brink, she paused ceremoniously, delivered her naughtily paraphrased lines to perfection.

‘Now then class! The male’s erect penis deposits the semen in the woman’s mouth… and, if he’s lucky, she swallows!’ With that, she sucked me hard, worked her tongue around my glans while squeezing and pushing down on my cock as hard as she could. After experiencing a mind-blowing orgasm, the student’s penis deposited loads of semen: his teacher swallowed all of it. Afterwards, as she stroked my hair and snuggled her naked body up close to mine, she gave me her opinion of my latest, most autobiographical offering.

‘The story’s great, Alex, though I wish you hadn’t written that gang-bang scene in Part I. What was wrong with what really happened? Not that I remember much of what really happened… but you’ve told me often enough how fantastic it was. People will think I’m really like that! Bitch, slut, whore… dear me.’

‘You know I post them anonymously anyway, sweetheart, but, well… I wanted to keep the reader waiting, guessing… waiting to see if we’d get it together… keep them on tenterhooks thinking "Will they, won’t they?" And the gang-bang is a metaphor, it’s the cry for help of an abused woman… makes your redemption and our subsequent coupling even more dramatic and artistically rewarding.’ She pulled a face at that, an expression that said, "smart arse!". ‘And anyway, you gorgeous woman, it would have been too commonplace if I’d written it how it really happened. Hardly a story at all.’