Underpool Chapter One01:33 Oct 31 2012
Times Read: 794
Underpool
Chapter One
With more than enough work to warrant it, I’d had my short-term contract renewed, again. So it was I’d worked till 9:30, having taken the overtime on offer to our section, if wanted. And, needless to say, I’d needed the overtime. Hell, with all the bills that had come in during the last month or so, I’d figured that I would do any overtime going.
The business had a contract to do the paperwork for the passport office on the floor above us, using scanners, to read the text put onto the application, which were stacked and collated, then boxed, waited to be attended to, by another team
I’d left the office’s, being sure that I logged out, then made my way down the short corridor to the main lifts. The India building dated back to the days of the clipper ships and the trading lanes and, a time when it’s said Liverpool made its money on the back of slavery. And the lifts sometimes felt as though they were just as old.
Just as I was leaving, the night staff had been coming in. Most of them were from the Uni in town, doing a few nights to top up their grant. I had a crush on one of them and whenever I ran into Hope, I’d stand their mouth agape, before finally saying ‘hello’.
Then, as my lift arrived and the doors slid open, a group of young people had left, all chattering away brightly. Hope had been there, with her eyes meeting mine for a moment.
She’s shorter with me, with skin the colour of dark chocolate and has a smile that lights up a room, when she smiles, which is not often. Hope always had her papers with her. And, during any quiet moments she had, she could be found studying.
Peter, with the bandana and, a penchant for dressing like Axl Rose had left the lift first, chatting away with Taylor, a well-built fellow with beard and glasses, who wore a red plaid shirt and a light-blue winter warmer.
I’d looked for Hope, who had already passed by, talking with two scantily clad airheads who I tried to avoid whenever I did lates. Both Lynne and Carol were party girls and were seldom off their mobile-phones. I’d been surprised to see her with those two and, that had kept me from responding to Peter.
“Hey distant, you carrying?” He’d persisted, grabbing hold of my right shoulder and shaking me out of my reverie. ‘Carrying?’ Ah yes, I like to smoke and, truth be told if they found out, I’d been on my ear, quickly.
I’d seen someone who’d not fitted in with company policy walked away from their desk, with the rest of their section watching, as they were led away. Eyes had cast down, as the fellows ID had been stripped from him and he’d left under a cloud, being told, “You should have told us of your past.”
Heck, all the fellow had done was omit the some dates from his CV. What on Earth would they have done if they had found out that I like to smoke a weed now and then?
Looking over Peter’s shoulder I directed my gaze to one of the security camera’s, then stood so that it couldn’t pick up my face, as I mouthed, ‘yes.’
“So what’s the chance?” He’d queried and, I knew what he meant, immediately.
Peter was salaried, meaning that he was paid monthly, whereas I was paid weekly and more often than not, when he couldn’t afford a smoke I had some on me.
‘A pot-pixie,’ someone had said of me once. It’d been his description for one who can be said, ‘the smoke magically appears.’ Like me. And, I’d liked that.
“Downstairs, alright? Door behind the main desk…” That’s where there’s a stairwell and concrete steps that lead down to the storage units, the maintenance-floor and seemingly endless corridor.
Like I said, the sandstone building is old, with pipe-work that should’ve been replaced several lifetimes ago. But, it’s a relic of Liverpool’s past.
Nodding his head Peter looked to me and grinned, “Well, see you then…” He’d turned away, thumped Taylor on his back, with an open palm. Then clocked-in, then followed the girls in through the double-doors to the office. Then as the lefts doors closed I saw Peter turned in the doorway and wink.
“Great,” I’d mused aloud, ‘got to sort the fellow, before I go home.’
Of course I didn’t have to sort Peter out, but I liked the fellow and, there aren’t many that I do like…
The doors closed and I had pressed the button for the ground-floor, feeling very wary, as the juddering and creaking that followed, prior to it’s descent.
Then mere moments later, the lift had ceased it’s movement , the lift stopping with a thud and then, the doors opened. Old Ted was not sitting behind his desk opposite the lift.
Glancing at the old fob-watch I tuck into the small left hand pocket of my waistcoat I’d idly wondered if the fellow was off on his rounds.
The puzzle had been the small tartan flask and the light blue butty-box, with a white-lid, left on his desk. ‘After all, there’d be noway,’ I’d thought, ‘that Old Bob’s just going to leave his stuff lyin around.’ It was just so out of character, for him.
He would lock up his sandwiches and flask in his desk, tilt the shiny peak of his cap, so that it just covered his eyes, then stand police-issue torch in hand, to illuminate every shadow on every floor in a uniform rote: a pattern he had established over many years.
“Yet, Old Bob was not at his desk and, his sarnies were not safely locked away,” I’d muttered, walking across reception.
And, although it had been unusual, it had provided me with access to the green door with a square of safety glass in the middle, three quarters of the way up.
It was through that square that I noticed a shadow move against the stairwell wall, moving downward; the stairwell that I knew was illuminated by a single strip-light at the bottom of the stairs and the corridor leading to the old wrought-iron staircase that spiralled down into the depths of the old building, dating back, way back, to the days of the clippers and, the tea trade.
I’d been as far as the wrought-iron stairwell once before, whilst I’d been idling time, waiting for Peter, several months ago.
Now here I was, opening that green door, again.
The Return
01:12 Oct 16 2012
Times Read: 813
Chapter One
I had decided to get the bus to town, from New Brighton, after I’d had a rather frustrating interview at a small reprographics firm, specialising in tailored calendars, using a bespoke computer system, based in a small business estate in Moreton.
The fellow who had designed the system had left the firm and his partner up the Swanee, after a disagreement, over a payment as I recall. Well, instead of a straight interview the fellow had me checking the system out.
When it had been realised I could not know the system immediately, he’d decided to dispense with my services, offering me twenty pound for my ‘inconvenience.’
Needless to say, I’d accepted the money, shaken his hand then walked to the end of the estate and the road, that led to the station, or the shore-front. I’d thought for just a few seconds, then turned left and walked toward the promenade.
It had showered awhile, as I’d walked, but I hadn’t minded too much, as I had money in my pocket and, a destination in mind….
*
I walked down the road, passed a few houses on my left and, a chocolate factory over the road, to my right.
`Then as my nose caught the sea-air, I passed an old fifties, old-style Café in blue and white, with sloped roof, ‘Café’ on the roof in red; and a few tables and chairs outside,
If I’d turned left several yards further on, I would’ve found myself at a four-hundred year old windmill without sails and a roof; but still white-washed twice a year by the local historical society.
As it happens, I’ walked straight on, then crossed the road, that led to a wide expanse of green to the right, common-land; used by many, including travelling people, at least once a year.
Ahead, to the left and broaching the field was the car-park, a scattering of bushes broken by a of surface of tarmac chips.
Amongst the bushes were six cars parked up, two to the left and four to the right of the small pathway leading up, to the break in the long wall of concrete leading onto the promenade on the other side.
I walked up the path, my shoes scuffing up a scattering of sand, blown on a breeze. And, taking a pace or so forward I took a right a moment to admire the vista, as a strong gust of wind suddenly whipped round me.
Ti the right there was seven or eight footwall, with the field, car-park and then the smooth surface of cultivated grass, a golf course, on the other side.
But, on the right side, my side of the wall, there was concrete promenade, leading to New Brighton ahead eventually and, West Kirby somewhere behind me. And, there to my left was the North Sea and the tide was in, covering at least two of the five or six feet spaced steps, interspersed with concrete blocks here and there, leading up to the prom. I’d watched the sea a few moments, caught by its constancy and not noticing the grey clouds forming overhead, as I began to walk onward, hands thrust deep into my jacket pockets.
And, as the rain fell drop upon drop, I found myself regretting not getting the train.
Chapter Two
The rain got heavier and, Blackpool in the distance was no longer visible, and somewhere ahead of me, I could see a small hunched figure.
Squinting I peered into the rain and the grey of the sky that somehow seemed to blot out the sun and, I had called out, “You alright?”
And, that’s when I’d seen her big wide eyes with green eyes and wide, wide pupils, as the girl had turned to look at me, her wet long dark hair matted and plastered to her scalp. Sitting on the top step, she had her arms tucked beneath her knee that were drawn to her chin and, all she wore ws a white cotton shift nightdress, that clung to her body.
“They left, without me…” she whimpered and, I found myself kneeling at her side, throwing my jacket over her shoulders, irregardless of the falling rain.
And the sea rolled in as the rain fell, I gathered the girl into my arm, momentarily panicking: ‘What to do?’ But, what was there to do? I’d been too far from home and the promenade was devoid of people.
So, I’d stood there looking down at the vulnerable-looking bundle in my arms and, finally decided what to do.
I began to walk back the way I’d come, back through the car-park and down the road, the chocolate factory on my left and, the girl’s eye’s were closed, with ne’er a sound coming from her.
“My name’s Craig, Craig Hunter. I should’ve introduced myself earlier…” I told the girl, who seemed unaware of her surroundings, but somewhat comforted by the sound of my voice as I continued to talk, about my day.
And, I continued to talk on and on, in a soft voice, as we neared the cross and, the police-station. I approached the double-double, then turned and pushed them open with my back, as I entered.
The black and white square tiles beneath my feet were already smeared with the footprints of those who had entered before me.
For a moment I squinted against the bright light from the overhead striplights, the bundle in my arms suddenly getting very heavy.
And, blinking several times, as rain-water trickled down my face, I’d looked toward the big fellow behind the desk, a few feet away. The desk sergeant had been reading the paper as I entered, now he looked up as I said, “I need help!”
“Aye,” he expressed with a light grin, on a friendly-looking face, “looks like you do.”
He’d opened a hatch in the counter and walked over to me tutting, “My my, you look like a couple of drowned rats…” He muttered.
“She needs help,” I told him, adding, “I found her on the prom, all glassy-eyed and… well, I’ve done first-aid an, I’ll swear she’s in shock.”
Stepping nearer, the fellow in black and silver looked at me, then peered at the large wet bundle in my arms and he looked at me and shook his head, “You’ve walked from there?”
I looked at him and, trying to smile, I asked the fellow; “Would you have left her?”
“Guess not,” he answered, reaching out with his arms, to take my charge from me.
And, that’s when she showed life, wrapping thin, clammy arms round y neck and opening those wide, wide eyes once more, she cried.
“Looks like I’m in the way,” the fellow smirked.
As the girl pressed her head to my chest, the sergeant smiled and told me, “Do you want to take a seat over there…?” He asked, pointing to a wood-slat bench-seat next to the wall opposite the desk: “You sit there and I’ll bring you a hot tea, a towel and some blankets, alright?”
“Uh-huh, thanks…” I responded, concerned for the girl in my aching arms.
Chapter Three
It was five years to the day, since I had found the girl. They had called her Leanne, at first; when my little foundling would not speak. And then they called her other things, when they could not tame what they had awoken.
That was the time they had told me I would be a bad influence, the time when they moved her again and again, until eventually there had been nothing more I could do to find her; and so I have always’ marked off that day I found her, no matter how many calendars I go through.
Yet, something in me has always’ said I’d see her again, one day.
*
I rose groggily, the hammering on the front door way too loud for a quiet estate like that I now live on. Picking up my glasses I reach for my robe and, stumbling toward the door I call, “Okay okay, shut up… I’m coming.”
Too much whiskey in the early hours when you’re seeking the muse, is definitely not conducive to good rest I’ve found: and, I just wish I’d remember that lesson, every time I learn it. But, I never seem to.
I look at the clock, as I make my way through the lounge to the front door: ‘its seven! It’s seven in the morning.’ I curse.
There should never be two seven’s in the same day.
‘Just never should…’ I muse, opening one lock then another; then finally slide out, the bolts top and bottom. Much has happened since the recession hit an, I intended to keep what I have left.
But, the morning is bright as I open the door and, the figure standing there before me is in silhouette: “I know you mister. You know me?”
The voice, the girl’s voice: it sounds uncertain, but also, very familiar.
Making sure the belt to my worn, blue terry-towel robe is fastened, I tell her, “Come in” and, I step aside, to allow her to do so, sliding the blasé back inside the knives body, which I palm easily and, slip into my right pocket.
She enters my home, closing the door behind her.
“It’s taken a long time to find you,” she tells me, as she walks toward me.
‘The eyes, those green wide eyes…’ I knew her. Of course I knew her.
She was wearing a black zip-up windcheater and combats, with eighteen-hole boots and a pack on her back and a black baseball-cap on her head, the little girl had grown, but I knew her.
“Leanne?” I asked.
“I don’t use their name for me,” she snapped, eyes aflame with anger, as she began to rain down blow after blow, on my chest, shoulders and gut. She was strong and sure it hurt. But this was… Leanne: she had to be…
Stepping forward and, ignoring the blows that continued to fall, I walked forward and wrapped my arms around her small, powerful frame.
“So, what name do you go by then?” I whispered into her ear.
“Ariel…” she whispered, as she sagged in my arms.
*
My little girl all-grown and I had breakfast, then talked. I’d made her an omelette, which she wolfed down in seconds; so I’d made her a second.
Finally she had finished eating and holding her mug of tea with two hands, she looked at me, with accusing eyes: “You left me… You…”
I did not interrupt her as she ranted and raved. Of course she was right; I had left her. Yet what other option did I have, back then?
“Do you know what it was like there?” She reproached, as she sat on the edge of the spare bed and I knelt down on one knee, to remove her boots.
“No,” I don’t…” I admitted, having accomplished a small miracle, by getting those boots of her small feet: feet that had toes with webbing between the toes.
“I remember now you know?” She told me. “My Mother got caught in a fisherman’s net and, my Father tried to help her…” And, Ariel put her face in her palms, as she wept, tears that seemed to wrack her body with pain.
“All I could do for you I did…” I tried to explain to this young woman… this young woman with baleful green eyes.
And she stared at me with that look of accusation, which tore at my heart.
“You did not have to leave me!” She suddenly shouted and, she began to hit me once more. And, though I’m not too old, or too small, her blows began to hurt, one after another. So I held her again and, slowly she calmed in my arms.
And, for a long moment I recalled the rain falling on us, that day I had met her and held her, for that very first time.
“Well,” I murmured in Ariel’s left ear, “you’re home now.”
The cap had fallen off as she hot me and, now her long dark tresses fell to her shoulders and halfway down her back.
“Home?” She repeated softly.
“Yes, why not? This place is big enough for two…” I murmured, slipping away from her a moment….
And, with a smile I told Ariel, “Now, let me lock the front door properly and, I’ll pour you a hot bath, alright?”
She seemed to think over what I’d said for a long time, then looked up at me and smiled. Oh how I rejoiced to see her smile.
“Cold water, please?” Ariel asked in a soft voice, “I prefer cold water…”
Fine feeling lingerie01:15 Oct 03 2012
Times Read: 837
*Contains Adult themes
~ *~
I haven’t touched any fine feeling lingerie for far too long. But, that’ll change tonight, courtesy of a meeting I had on the train, just this morning.
I’d been sittin there with the window to my right, as we travelled forward. And, as I’d been scribbling away with pen and paper when a shadow had been cast over my work.
There was this bouncy-looking slightly built Emo-boy looking to me, seeming to be aged anywhere from to sixteen to seventeen, no more.
“’Eh mate are you…” he had begun, hand immediately on my right inner-thigh. ‘Huh!?!’
“My names James Dent. My mates over there figure you’re queer are you…?” and, I’d had looked ‘over there’, where the other three sat, all girls, beehive, lipsticks and thin hips and red lips - y’know the kind?
“Well, she says I need to meet one and… well… I’m askin.” His eyes had been all brown and beseeching and, his hand felt good where it did, so I’d not told him where to go; but hissed: ‘You be quiet, sissy. Do you have somewhere to accommodate?”
“Accommodate?” He’d repeated, dumbly.
“Yes, place where we can…” I had begun, very aware that his friends were watching us and, he nodded quickly then said, “Oh yeah, my folks are out tonight and, all weekend and…”
“Shut up!” I’d hissed: “What’s the address?” And, he’d told me. Needless to say, I’d pushed the pen toward him, with the idea of writing it down; he had done so, quickly.
I knew they could not see what transpired between us, as all they could see was his back: “Now go back to your mates,” I’d told him, “And, tell him I told you to ‘piss off’ alright?” And I had pushed him away and toward the seat in front of me.
He had stood away from me and smiled, then answered, “Sure.” But his eyes had remained fixed on mine: and his fingertips had lingered a moment, before he turned away. It was as he did so, my eyes had fixed on the red and white yachting pumps on his feet and his fine pert butt, in those tight, ever-so tight black jeans; ‘my-my, he had looked good.’
Then as he went back to his friends I looked at the sheet on which he’d written his address, ‘to accommodate,’ which turned out to be near where I lived. Well, near enough to walk. And, there with the address was his phone-number.
Seeing that phone number gave me an idea.
I would phone him, to see just how interested he actually was, before I did anything else at all.
“I’ll give you a call,” I’d said quietly: “And, I’ll tell you what to wear, for me.”
“To wear?” He’d queried and momentarily I’d wondered if I’d lost my edge, if I’d had to explain it to him.
“You want to learn and, I’ll teach you. But, I want you to dress, for me. Alright?!” And I’d almost snapped ‘alright’, before realising we were being watched still.
“Alright…” He had repeated in a whisper shyly and, I’m realised that he was going to be mine, there and then.
I had then looked in the window a wry smile on my face as I watched his reflection as he rejoined his friends.
They had poked fun at him giggling, until they got off at the station before mine, stopping a moment at the exit, to look at me and giggle further.
‘Maybe I’ll have a young sissy giggling, for me later?’ I’d mused at that point.
And the image of that slightly built young man, dressed to please me, kept me smiling the rest of the journey.
Then once home I’d removed my coat, cap and glasses, then looked in the mirror: my open jacket revealing the shirt I wore, or rather didn’t, with three of the six buttons undone, to show off a hirsute chest on a lean frame and, the Ankh I wore round my neck.
My jeans fitted well, with the bulge at the front a real testament to my anticipation, for the evening. And, as it happens, I’d waited thirty minutes arriving home, before phoning young James. I’d made a distinct effort not to bring myself off, before phoning. But, I had two very stiff whiskies though… ‘Stiff…?’ Oh, how I’d been stiff, as I’d set my pad on the table and, dialled the number the youth had written down.
“Oh… hello…” he responded breathlessly, “I only just heard it… heard the phone…”
Then, he’d added, “I do hope you’ve not had to wait too long…”
It’d been obvious he was nervous and, anxious to please.
‘He’d even sounded like his subbie-side was coming out,’ I’d mused, thinking back to how eager he’d seemed back then. Almost like… a little puppy.
“I wrote down the address with the number Sir, what else do you need?” He’d asked me sounding suddenly very anxious. I had liked the ‘Sir’ bit…
“For a start, my young sissy, shut up and, listen… alright?” I snapped, trying to sound stern, as if it seemed warranted.
“Erm yes Sir…” He’d gulped, a distinct tremble to his voice.
“Now, you will be ready, for eight. IF, you’re still up for this,” I’d said simply.
“Oh Sir… I’ll be ready,” he’d assured me: “What should I wear Sir?”
“Just a pair of tight, stockings, or self-support hose and, a full-length slip. You can find those?” I queried of young James.
“I’ve… I’ve seen those things in my Mum’s room,” he told me, “I can get them…”
“Well,” I had begun, “you’ll be wearing those things for me, when you answer the door. And, perhaps a little lipstick would be nice… Yes, wear lipstick…”
“Yessir… Is that all?” He’d responded, once again sounding eager.
“Yes,” I’d added, “I want you to use two Vaseline coated fingers, to open your backside, before pulling on the tights… alright? ‘Coz you see, I will probably want to play and, it’ll make it easier for you, if you’re prepared.”
I wanted to know that he’d want this. After pausing a moment, I continued.
“I’ll ask again, are you sure about this, Sissy?” And, I don’t know why I called him that, but maybe I had reasons, somewhere in my backbrain.
“Oh yes,” he’d assured me eagerly.
“Then you’ll find a full-length slip, some tights and some lippy, alright Sissy?” I’d reminded him: “And, you’ll use two fingers, to get ready, for me?”
“Yessir…” he’d responded quietly.
“And, when you answer the door to me, you’ll be looking pretty and, be ready to be obedient, for me?” I added.
“Yessir,” he’d repeated quickly and, just as quietly.
“Well then, I’ll see you later… and, look forward to seeing all of me… if you want, that is?” I had teased.
“Oh… I so want more… much more than…” he trailed off: and I surmised then and there, this lad had stories of his own, to tell me.
Having set the receiver down, I adjusted myself, recalling my plan not to cum, before he would, though the temptation to pleasure, while contemplating the evenings events was great.
But, I had distraction; I had the computer and my emails to check, as well as deciding just what to wear for the evening. And, I check the clock, ‘nearly four.’
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