1. Everyone Has A Past


    Date: 1/25/2015, Categories: Reluctance, Author: PervyStoryteller, Rating: 20, Source: LushStories

    up in London for a series of meetings in advance of the publication of her second novel, one which all concerned believed would constitute a massive breakthrough. A huge publicity drive was being planned; TV, radio, the internet, magazine articles, the works. Which was why this note and these photos were doubly unsettling. They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. That may have been the case in the past, for rock-n-rollers, but in our own squeaky clean age, particularly for someone with serious literary ambitions, I wasn’t at all sure. Now, spread out before me was evidence that my wife’s life hadn’t been as uneventful as she’d made out. Exactly what it constituted evidence of, I wasn’t sure; these were graphic images shorn of context, but all the same. Before we proceed, I need to make one thing clear. I did not feel particularly shocked or betrayed by the idea that my wife had a different kind of past to the one she’d told me of. Age and experience have taught me that if the past isn’t exactly a different country, with some influence on the present, it’s nevertheless the present that counts. There were certainly things in my past I was happy to leave behind and not dwell on, or discuss with anyone, even the one person in the world who was dearest to me. So I could easily understand why Tina had kept quiet about what appeared to be a very active sex life – closer examination of the photos suggested that each one was taken on a separate occasion. After mulling things ...
    over I decided there was very little do be done until whoever had sent these photos had been in touch. I made no mention of them when I spoke to Tina later. I didn’t want to unsettle her when she still had important meetings ahead of her. There would be time enough to talk things over when she returned home. Contact was made sooner than I expected. After work the next day, I strolled to the nearby car park and found a woman leaning against the boot of my car, arms folded. She was wearing long, black boots with black leggings, a purple puffa jacket done up against the cold. Scattered, medium-length hair with blonde highlights and carefully applied make-up couldn’t stop her looking a little the worse for wear. I asked the obvious question. “Who are you?” “Let’s get in out the cold,” the woman said, tilting her head back. Fine, I decided, unlocking the car for her to get in on the passenger side as I took my place behind the wheel. “Now will you tell me who you are?” The woman didn’t turn her head to look at me, but stared straight through the windscreen at a row of small shops beyond the confines of the car park. “How did you like the photos?” she asked. I wasn’t going to answer that. “What do you want?” The woman took her time answering. “I’ve booked a hotel room a week on Saturday,” she said. “It’s a hotel in London. I want you to deliver Tina to me. Seven o’clock.” She had her hand in a pocket, bringing out a small card as I said, “Why should I?” “You’ll do it if you want ...
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