Sniffing the fresh clean air

My, my, it has been quite a while. I don't remember all of this water...lol

I'm not sure if I will start blogging again but some of my new acquaintances begged me to restore the previous entries about Kim, Emily and John. To be fair, I made them beg but let's not be picky.

I begin again but, for the time being, must tend to the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy. I might see you again and then again I might not.

Loose ends

Emily has already become a great success in her new career, with a string of rich admirers clamouring for her attention. She has, so far, turned down two marriage proposals. One was from a super-rich Russian "businessman" who lives in London. The other was from a gentleman of middle eastern extraction, who has a penchant for racehorses.

Wisely, I think, she has politely declined both offers. This has only increased the ardour of her suitors.She has repaid them by putting up the price she charges for giving them hell. The laws of supply and demand are entwined in her double-helix. Thanks to another benefactor, she lives in a swish flat in Mayfair and drives a tastefully expensive sports car. What does she need with marriage right now?

Kim is living with Emily's father. No, I don't mean John. I mean her genetic father. After the DNA tests, Emily set about tracking him down. I'll not bore you with the details but the upshot was that Kim was re-introduced to the father of her children. Neatly, for our story, he was widowed a couple of years ago. He was very pleased to hear from Kim.

It was tempting to encourage a rekindled relationship, to then enjoy the pleasure of destroying it. As it turned out, it did not need me to blow on the embers of that long lost relationship. It bust into life immediately. Kim even apologised to me. She told me that, having re-found her man, she now realised she didn't really love me after all. To be frank, there wasn't sufficient amusement value for me anyway, to string this one out. I decided to let her fly free.

This was the last straw for John, who decided to step in front of a tube train at Tottenham Court Road station, at the height of the rush hour. There weren't many people at his funeral and I doubt that he will be missed by anyone. He was a weak man who craved being badly treated and then complained when he got what he wanted. It's a crowded planet and now there is a smidgen more free air to breathe.

Michael exited from our story, back in July, to go backpacking around the world with friends during the university holidays. Emily tells me that he was in New Zealand when John decided to create transport chaos. He didn't come home for the funeral. Apparently he was "confused" after discovering that John was not his father. He decided to stay down-under to "find himself." Emily tells me that she hopes he never comes back.

And what of me? I have my sights on a British politician who I think may go far. I might just let you know how that goes at some point.

Journey's end

Every journey comes to an end. I sense that it is the right time to end this one, publicly at least. There are some loose ends but tying them is unlikely to warrant regular posts. I may post occasionally, to let you know what happens to Emily, Kim and, perhaps, even John. I may get the urge to write and tell you about some other toys that I have played with in the past. Or maybe I will decide to chronicle a new journey, or just disappear back into the ether.  To be frank, I have no idea. A week ahead is, for me, what constitutes long-term planning.

So what of the loose ends? Emily has started her new career. She is getting used to the idea that mature men will pay her handsomely for the sort of cruelty that previously got her into so much trouble. Also, being aware of what happened between Kim and John, she has been trying to convince her mother to quit nursing and join 'the business'. Emily has already sounded out a couple of clients about what they might pay for a mother and daughter team; one that can be validated through DNA tests! The answer is: a lot!

I am undecided what to do with Kim. I know that I could destroy her life if I so chose. But to be perfectly honest, I am rather proud my role in helping her to escape the chrysalis of her marriage. This rankles with me because it smacks of weakness or, worse still, feelings. This, in turn, creates a very strong urge within me to snuff out her flickering flame of hope, simply to show that I am not weakening. Or I could just walk away from both mother and daughter. Maybe I'll decide tomorrow.

Liberation

Emily told me that John came home on Sunday morning but that Kim didn't let him in the house. They talked quietly and calmly but on the doorstep. Kim told John that that she needed some space and time to think. John wanted to talk inside but Kim refused.

I called Kim mid-morning, not letting on that I knew what had happened after I left on Saturday. I told her how much I had enjoyed our time together on Saturday and asked whether we could we meet for Sunday lunch. I suggested the pub where we had our first kiss and more. After a bit of hesitation she agreed.

I listened attentively to Kim, sympathising and agreeing with everything she said. Sometimes she would ask me what I thought. I responded, as I usually do, by paraphrasing something that she had said earlier. Inevitably, we got to the point where Kim asked whether I thought she should 'leave' John. I responded by asking her what she thought would make her happiest in the long-term.

And in that that moment she decided. Not an ephemeral, superficial decision. Her face, her body language and her eyes told me that is was deep, visceral, committed decision. My games had now liberated both mother and daughter. It wasn't my plan to do so, because I never had a plan, just some rough ideas, some of which have been realised and others not. Indeed if either or both had fallen pregnant, as I had intended, it may not have been much of a liberation. Such are games with real people as the toys.

Interestingly, Kim never asked me then, during the sex that followed, or even after that, whether she had a future with me. This despite my many mendacious protestations of love, in the past, and her apparently genuine reciprocation. The sex that followed our lunch was raw. I got the sense that she was doing it for herself, not in any needy way, trying to please me, or to ensnare me as a replacement for John. She is no Emily but she has come a very long way from the timorous mouse that I first encountered.

***

On Monday morning, John was suspended from his job. A number of his colleagues had received an email from him. It read as follows:

"You will probably be aware by now that Emily is not my daughter. Now that I know this, I realise what a hot girl she is."

Attached to the email was a picture of Emily in a compromising position with three black guys.

John, of course, denied that he had sent the email, protesting that his account was hacked by someone malicious. He said he had a pretty good idea of who had done it. Alas for John, a subsequent investigation by clever technicians verified that the email originated from his house. Yesterday afternoon, he was fired without notice.

John has only himself to blame. What sort of man is it that invites another man to fuck his wife? What sort of man tells another man of the dark desires he has for his wife? What sort of man is it who revels in his own submission? He has brought this upon himself. I could squash him like a bug beneath my shoe but cannot be bothered to cross the street to do so. I am done with him now.

The appliance of science

A schoolteacher once said that I was unable to express emotions. It wasn't meant as a compliment but I took it as such. Making a decision based on logic is clearly a superior course to one that is clouded by emotions. When I was a young, I used to watch Star Trek re-runs and wanted to emulate Spock. I never understood why his lack of emotion was the punchline for so many, end of episode, jokes. He was so clearly superior to everyone else in the show. It was Kirk that was laughable.

As it happens, the teacher was incorrect. Sadly, I am not like Spock. I do feel emotion. But my emotions tend to be polarised. I feel pleasure and anger, with very little in between. Pleasure is what drives me and anger is what, sometimes, gets me into trouble. 

These days I am good at controlling my anger. I know it gets in the way of getting what I want. Unfortunately, now and then, anger is triggered by a seemingly trivial provocation. When this happens, it seems as if there are two separate instances of me, both existing at the same time. One is doing and one is watching. The instance of me that is watching doesn't feel anger. It observes, detached, watching what the other instance is doing. 'This is not good,' it might say, or, 'this is very, very bad.' But it cannot intervene. The angry instance has to purge its anger through action. This can last for days, with anger building and subsiding in cycles, depending on the perceived responses to that anger. The detached instance just tut-tuts, like a disapproving aunt who foretells that 'this will end badly'.

It was just as well, therefore, that I had to go away for a short period, after my last encounter with John and Kim. I had been deliberately pushing John, so that he would resist but when he did resist I became annoyed. Not very Spock, I know. But yeah, yeah, I have already addressed that. Anyway, had I been around for the next few days, things might have taken a fairly nasty turn. Luckily, the break gave me time for reflection. It also gifted me the divine pleasure of Emily's complicity.

***

Isn't modern science wonderful? One can order a DNA paternity test on-line and get the result within just five days! Most testing services even have an "express service". The tests are not expensive. The cheapest I found was just £50. The most expensive no more than £200. I love the way that what used to be considered exotic technologies are now within the grasp of everyone. Democracy in action. Did you know that Picassa has really good face recognition for free? I have found it very useful.

Anyway, when I told Emily of Kim's suspicion that John was not the father of her and Michael, she was absolutely delighted. She described John as 'weak and ineffectual.' It would make total sense to her, she told me, if it turned out that John wasn't her real father. 

Gathering the material needed for the test was pretty easy, given the games we had been playing. Emily, however, wanted to gather some fresh samples, to ensure that there was no room for doubt. She told me that she came up with a bizarre story about an outbreak of something unusual and infectious at school. She told everyone, including Michael, that she needed saliva samples, so that they could be tested for infection. The school was going to do the testing which was why she was collecting them herself, she said!

It sounds pretty far-fetched to me but Emily is the sort of girl that one often decides to humour rather than challenge. So, if people had doubts then they didn't say. They never considered that Emily might have an ulterior motive. Naive, given that Emily always has an ulterior motive.

Emily decided to go public with the results on Facebook while John was at the rugby on Saturday. At the same time, I was having a romantic interlude with Kim in a nice country hotel. I like to alternate between nice and nasty with Kim, to keep her keen and malleable. I know it is a clichéd tactic but is a cliché for a reason. And of course, it wasn't all champagne. Kim likes it rough as well as tender. I was only too happy to oblige.

As neither Kim nor John are friends of Emily on Facebook, it was only on Saturday night that the news made its way back to John and Kim, via the parents of Emily's school-friends. Emily called me excitedly, to report what had happened. John got back from the rugby having drunk too much. He didn't deal with the news very well. There was apparently lots of shouting and tears, she told me. John had lost control and slapped Kim more than once. As a consequence, Kim completely lost it and, screaming and scratching, she turfed him out of the house. Emily presumes he went to stay with a rugby pal.

"Didn't anyone ask why you posted it publicly?" I asked.

"He was too busy blaming mum, the bastard" she said. "I just played the wronged little girl, acting in a fit of a pique."

Emily paused, and I swear I heard her lick her lips, before she said, "I told mum that I didn't know why she stayed with him. I told her she seemed so much happier since you started seeing someone else."