Structuring an unstructured mind is like nailing a cat to a sail in a hurricane

The problem with having an overactive imagination is getting it to stop.  I can be walking along when I have a great idea, concept, lyric, line or something that flashes across my mind.  It's so great it puts the proverbial spring in my step as I let it run free and grow and build and I think 'I HAVE to get this down, this is amazing'.  Then something happens - someone speaks to me, a child punches me in the groin or a car tries to run me over (all have happened) and the great idea evaporates away before it has time to fully form in my memory.  It's a pain in the arse.

That said, a lot of idiocy and madness does survive that initial germination phase and makes it to a scrap of paper, a notebook, the back of a hand or any other place I can get it scribbled down, just enough to prompt the thought again when I look back at it later so that the idea is not lost amongst the noise of the world.

Even with all the loss, I still splurge out more ideas than I can realistically turn into worthwhile work.  This includes stories, songs and often just throwaway lines that I put on Twitter or to a lesser extent Facebook.  I've always written stories, even from a young age.  A couple of things stick in my mind from that period. Both involve the same English teacher, Mr Milner, who taught me at Oaklands School in York.  He must be dead by now, but he had a huge impact on my life, even though he doesn't know it.  In return, I never gave him back his copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.

My first memory related to his teaching - oh no, wait, there's three, not two - was when we were given a sheet of paper with a series of drawings, depicting a guy who gets a motorbike.  We had to use them to tell a story.  I sort of cheated, because I cut the page up, rearranged the sequence of pictures and turned one of the characters into a policeman reporting on the untimely death of the lead character at the end of the story.  Mr Milner wrote on it 'This is a work of the highest standard, well done.'  That stuck in my head because a) he was right, it was good and b) I didn't get why nobody else did the same thing.  It just seemed obvious to me.

Memory number two was a story about a raft.  I wrote it from the point of view of someone walking through a forest a spying on another person building a raft.  Mr Milner started reading that one out in class, much to my horror.  At that point I realized that I don't crave attention or validation for my writing.  I know when something works and when I doesn't.  I don't need other people telling me that.  If I let someone read something it's because I've gotten it to the point where it's progressed far enough to be presented to an audience.  That doesn't necessarily mean its the finished product.  That said, I do take onboard people's suggestions.  When people read my story I want them to find plot holes or any deus ex machina moments that need extracting and replacing with decent story telling.  I don't have a problem with that but generally by the time I have gotten to the point of letting someone read my work, such problems can be fixed with one or two lines of exposition.

Memory number three was a comment he put on a story about a deranged general trying to blow up a neutron bomb.  He wrote at the bottom - 'hugely entertaining, worthy of Jeffrey Archer!'  At the time I thought that was a compliment, but there will be more on that story later...

So that sort of brings me on to the point of this post.  I have a lot of stories in development, but a lot of them are pretty closely tied together.  In order to keep track of this, I need to set out a diagram of where they all fit together.  Apologies for the formatting:


Brotherly Love

                                                    Valiant Shield

Satisfaction                                Ghostwalker                                                      
Sympathy for the Devil               Ghostwalkers
                                                                                 Infinite Diamond
                                                                                 The Eye of Andromeda          Scorpio
                                                                                                                                  Northstar
                                                                                                                                  Nemesis

Okay, I have more than I thought, that's actually eleven books.  Given the length of book I seem to write, that's about a million words.  Seeing as I do at least one complete rewrite per story, that brings it up to over two million words worth of effort to complete all these stories.  Now you see why I see having too much imagination as being a bit of a curse.

Bear in mind that most of these are not written out in full, and that million word target is probably more around the three hundred thousand word mark at the moment.  In fact, only Satisfaction and Ghostwalker are completed to a reasonable degree, with Infinite Diamond close behind.  Brotherly Love has an outline and a few passages.  Sympathy for the Devil has a start and a premise.  Ghostwalkers has a premise.  Valiant Shield is based on the story Mr Milner likened to the work of Jeffrey Archer, and is little more than a basic pitch.  Infinite Diamond is the story I'm working on at the moment and is about half way through being rewritten. The Eye of Andromeda has an outline, as do the last three.

What links Valiant Shield through to Nemesis is one character.  He's called Nathan Hayes and in some of the stories he's a relatively minor player, whereas in others he takes centre stage.  The overarching span of these stories is really about his career, although you wouldn't see that reading any one of the stories.

The stories on the left don't involve Hayes and are a standalone little stories told from the first person point of view.  This is by far and away the easiest and laziest way for me to write, because I'm basically writing in my voice as I see it and hear it in my head.  If a character doesn't know something then they don't know.  I don't need to go away and research a subject or try to describe something I barely understand myself.  It really is much, much easier writing like this.  It's pretty much the same voice I use to write this blog, only it's fictional.  That's why when I start trying to publish, I'll be using thes stories on the left.  That way if I fail, it's at minimum damage to myself.  The other reason is to retain creative control.  I know where I want the rest of the stories to go and how I want them to fit together.  If I publish one of them without securing that creative control, it would run the risk of buggering up the overall structure that I have in mind.

The rest of the stories are very much more conventional fiction writing and range from thrillers through to straight action stories, mostly with a slight fantasy/sci fi element, although I don't include characters with names like Jxxfrkk or Gilfard the Great or anything like that.  It's a little more grounded writing than that, I like to think.  I do tend to write pretty visually and of course I think about how these stories could end up on film.  I'm also realistic though, and I know there's pretty much a zero chance of that happening, since they would be expensive to make.  So for now they will exist as novels, although another thought has occurred to me.  Being very visual stories, they could do very well as graphic novels.  I think the sort of stories I write could work in that medium and be marketed to the sort of audience who would pick up a graphic novel in the first place.

The only problem is that, like most things in life, I have no idea where to start.

Family (not very )drama(tic)

I don't think I have ever published the following little bit of writing.  It's probably the most personal thing i have ever written.  When I finish rewriting Infinite Diamond, I will probably tackle this story as my next project.

It doesn't have a title at the moment.  I'm calling it Brotherly Love as a working title, just so I can keep track of it, but I doubt that will survive as the title.  Mainly because I don't like it.

And when I say it's personal, I don't mean deeply painful or anything.  I mean the lead character in this story is pretty much me.  In another life, I could be this person.  It's a shame he's such an arse.

So anyway, this is a very small tease of the story.  You get a feel for the style and perspective.  I let my brother read it, since it's based on him as well as me.  He liked it.  It's told from his point of view, and he ends up with this utter imbecile of a brother living with him, driving him slowly to despair...

The usual crowd were there, and we all greeted each other warmly. We got on well and everyone was really nice. Dave kept quiet, which surprised me. I suppose I should have been suspicious but at the time I thought maybe he was just shy around groups of people or maybe, just maybe, he was actually in an environment where he would he would behave himself.

He actually seemed introverted. He didn’t push himself to be introduced and although he attracted a few curious glances from the class I didn’t push him forward, partly out of consideration for him but mainly out of dread.

Geoff, who led the class, came breezing through the door, all chirpy and excited as usual. He was an English teacher and somewhat excitable. There seemed to be fireworks going off in his head all the time, if you know what I mean. He never looked anything but scruffy and always wore the same olive green tweed jacket.

“Evening, evening,” he said to the class. He sounded as enthusiastic as ever; I think he genuinely enjoyed running the course. “How is everyone tonight?” We murmured our replies back as he sat on his desk, crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his knee.

“So class, the theme for today was revenge. Who wants to go first and tell us what they have got?”

Dave stood up instantly. I inwardly shuddered. Oh God please no, I thought.

“Ah…” said Geoff, leaping forward and proffering a hand out to Dave. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” Dave said in his usual dry tone. “I’m Martin’s brother.”

“Oh, excellent, excellent,” Geoff beamed. “How lovely. I didn’t realise Martin had a brother...” He left a pause, waiting for Dave to offer his name. Dave smiled.

“Gunter,” he said. A flicker of surprise ran over Geoff’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a broad smile.

“Welcome to the group, Gunter,” he said warmly. “I’m guessing you don’t have anything prepared...”

“Oh, no, I do,” Dave answered. “Martin told me about it so I came up with something.” That was an utter lie. I had deliberately said nothing about what we had been asked to do precisely to avoid this sort of thing. It seemed to have made no difference.

“That’s wonderful,” Geoff said, clearly excited to have such an enthusiastic new member in his group. “Would you like to tell us what you have?”

“Sure, replied Dave. “My story is about a child seeking revenge on the father who sexually abuses him.” Geoff nodded in appreciation.

“A powerful subject matter, he said. “ What made you choose that?”

“I dunno,” Dave answered. “I thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Geoff asked, his chirpiness dipping down a level. “You wrote it as a comedy?”

“Yeah, there’s not enough paedophile based comedy out there if you ask me.”

“Most people don’t find it that funny, Gunter,” Geoff remarked. The warmth had evaporated from his voice. I could feel everyone in the room looking between me and Dave with disapproving glares. I stared intently at the end of my pen wishing the moment would end.

“I like to see the positives in every situation,” Dave carried on blithely.

“Right…” Geoff said, looking to me. “Martin, why don’t you tell us what you have?”

“Don’t you want to know what happens?” Dave asked bluntly.

“I’m not sure it’s something we need to share right now,” Geoff answered slightly tersely. Dave completely ignored him and started to talk, obviously enjoying the attention. He looked around as he talked, making sure he took in everyone’s reaction.

“The boy has been abused for years, as long as he can remember. He’s living a nightmare; he can’t remember the last night he slept through the night without the fear of waking as his dad sneaks into his room to slip him his pork sword.” A communal intake of breath sounded around the room. I couldn’t look but I knew everyone was appalled. I closed my eyes, feeling my face burn. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me up. Instant death would have been welcome at that moment, but it steadfastly refused to put in an appearance.

“Okay, thanks Gunter,” Geoff said, trying to stop him but Dave ploughed on regardless.

“Then one day, he snaps and shoots his dad dead with a pistol.” There was silence from the group for a moment, the Maggie, a middle aged bank clerk, raises her hand.

“Where did he get the gun from?” she asked Dave. Don’t bloody encourage him! I screamed at her in my head, but it was too late. Dave was clearly on a roll.

“eBay,” he replied, happy at getting a reaction.

“Oh, Jesus,” I breathed.

“Thank you, Gunter, it’s certainly creative,” Geoff said, bravely trying to stop him. Once again it went over Dave’s head.

“I came up with a couple of titles,” he continued, looking at Geoff. Geoff paused. I knew he was deciding if it was worth asking.

“What are they?” he said warily, after a few seconds. He had obviously decided that it would be easier to see the moment through and get it over with.

“The first one was ‘The Face in the Mirror’”, Dave said. After a second’s consideration I sensed a ripple of consent around the room. The group seemed to think that that was actually quite a good title. Dave picked up on this and continued. “It refers to the times when he would be in the bathroom and he could see his dad in the mirror watching him and lusting after him, and the fear that would induce.”

“Okay, that’s not a bad title really,” Geoff said, echoing the sentiment around the room.

“I prefer the other one myself,” Dave said. Like a fool, Geoff asked “And what is that one?”

“‘Daddy Kept Fucking Me So I Shot Him’”

“Why?” I said to Dave angrily as we walked down the steps of the library. “What makes do this stuff?” Dave laughed to himself.

“Did you see their faces?” he said, ignoring my question. “I wish I’d had a camera.”

“Dave, they were appalled. I was appalled. I can’t believe I agreed to take you. I must be the first person to ever be thrown out of a creative writing class.”

“Second,” Dave pointed out. “Gunter was the first.”

Satisfaction Chapter Four

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Re-writes

Re-writing is agony.  Anyone who has ever written anything, be it an essay, report or short story knows that on the first pass everything seems fine, but when you go back and re-read you find yourself changing things around, picking up on inconsistencies and errors and generally polishing things up.

This is something I struggle with.  I am very critical of what I write.  If you look between the two stories I've been posting, Ghostwalker and Satisfaction, you will see that not only do they differ in style but that they are also a long way apart in terms of being a finished product.  There's a couple of reasons for this.  Firstly, Satisfaction is being proofread and critically analysed, to ensure it's a higher quality piece.  Secondly, it's the final version of a simple story, written in an uncomplicated manner.  Ghostwalker is some way behind in both respects.  It's a story that I have rewritten substantially, any number of times, and I think it is suffering for this.

The problem is that when I first wrote it, at eighteen, it was a fast-paced, exciting and fun adventure story about an eighteen year old guy.  Through subsequent rewrites, it became a multi-stranded thriller told from multiple perspectives.  While this may work in some instances, what I found was that I didn't have the experience to tell that kind of story.  I tried to make it into a convoluted political thriller, whereas the original premise was anything but.  I also made the character ten years older, which meant the story didn't work: why was a 28 year old living at his parents and so dependent on them?  I had to create an overwrought back story involving past criminal activities that dragged the story down and presented numerous plot holes.  In order to make this work, I went through several more rewrites, each increasingly turgid and boring.  The word count leapt from 75,000 to 105,000.  That's 30,000 words, or 100 pages of trying to explain why this guy is doing some stupid things.  That's not good writing.  That's pain.

So I have gone full circle and tried to re-write it as a fun story, bringing the word count back to 80,000.  I'm telling the story from Dan's point of view, cutting back on a lot of the extraneous material to keep the story simple and effective.  The opening is supposed to capture some of the bewilderment Dan is feeling, whilst hinting at the distractions Mel presents.  After the first three chapters, the story starts to leap forward as Dan finds himself becoming a suspect for his parents death.  Rather than following a mundane police investigation, the story leaps sideways into adventure, which is how it was written originally many years ago.

Now that's not to say that all the rewrites have been for nothing.  Each iteration of the story has brought elements in that have survived to the latest rewrite.  If anything, the over-analysis of the story has lead it to the final version being far more grounded in reality than the first version ever was.

As an example: in the first ever draft, Dan (called Oliver at that point) smuggled a gun through an airport security screen by dismantling it and pretending it was a lighter and a Walkman.  He also successfully talked an air line attendant into allowing him onto a plane so he could hijack it.

You can see why I had to rewrite it.

In my defense, I was eighteen at the time, and 9/11 hadn't happened.  But still...  I deserve being flogged for such lazy work.  So now, what I'm trying to write is a fun, fast thriller that isn't completely and utterly ludicrous.  I want people to get out of scrapes and situations through good planning and relationships (like real life) not through contrivances and utterly ridiculous, impossible plot devices.  This is why I'm rewriting again.  The fundamental premise of the story - a guy trying to prove his innocence in a race against time - is sound.  The way he was doing it wasn't.  People are far more interesting than any McGuffin, no matter how intriguing.  Let the McGuffin dictate the events of your story, and you will find yourself rewriting again and again and again.

Satisfaction Chapter Three

If you think Kristen was a one off then you’d be wrong.  What happened that day merely served to open my eyes to the possibility of how many girls would want to do the same thing.  The answer was, a lot.  Over the next few months I fucked a lot of girls.  It got so bad in fact that I actually lost count.  I know it was somewhere between thirty and forty, but that’s about as close as I can get.  I did all kinds of girls – tall, short, blonde, dark, slim, curvy – it seemed that the more girls I slept with, the hungrier and hungrier I got for sex.  I think it was the danger; the risk of being caught fucking during work was intoxicating.  How I didn’t get caught, God only knows.  Maybe people knew what was going on but nobody said anything.  If Sam knew, she’d didn’t let on when she made me a surprising offer.

I’d gotten into work as normal one morning to find her in her usual spot behind the front desk.  Instead of the usual happy, smiling face though, I found myself looking at a teary-eyed girl dabbing a tissue to her cheeks.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, genuinely concerned.  She shook her head, seemingly to upset to talk.
“Come on, you can tell me,” I said, leaning across the counter, bringing myself close to her.
“Me and Ben have finished,” she whispered, and then sobbed.  Ben was her boyfriend.  I knew things hadn’t been right, because I’d caught her couple of times on her mobile quietly arguing with him.  I hadn’t realised things had gotten that bad though.  I actually felt really sorry for her, because I liked Sam, and I didn’t like seeing her upset.  I had to get to my shift, but I agreed to meet her after work for a coffee so we could talk things over.
I got offered a session that day, from a really hot Dutch girl, but for the first time in my sexual campaign I spurned the opportunity.  I remember she’d seemed really affronted by that, which in retrospect wasn’t surprising given my burgeoning reputation.  But I had promised Sam my time, and I made sure I gave it to her.
We met up at Starbucks that afternoon, and she poured her heart out to me over a couple of lattes.  It turned out that Ben, far from being an ideal boyfriend, had been seeing a lot of girls behind Sam’s back.  Now, I know I’m not one to talk, but I’ve never cheated on a girl.  Yes, I’ve fucked a lot of girls, but not when I’ve been seeing anyone.
Anyway, Sam had a place she shared with Ben.  She’d thrown him out, understandably, and needed someone to move in there quickly to cover the rent.  I was still at home and was looking to move out.  It was seemed like too good an opportunity to pass over, and she’d fairly leapt at the idea when I suggested I move in.

You can see where this was heading, right?

By the end of that week, me and Sam were housemates.  We invited everyone down from the gym on the Saturday and we had a big housewarming party.  It was a great night, and Sam looked great, in spite of the fact that Ben had been round trying to patch things up that afternoon.  She’d none of it and there had been a massive row that I’d stayed well out of.  She’d been in tears when she’d sent him off, but by the time the first people arrived she’d recovered, and showed none of her fragility throughout the evening, in spite of knocking back plenty of drinks.  At the end of the night, she gave me an appreciative peck on the cheek, and a big hug.  I asked what it was for, and she said for being a mate, but it was obvious it meant more than that.  Ben could see it too, and I’d heard him accusing her of having something going on with me when they’d been arguing.  I knew it was bollocks, and yet part of me knew he was right; it just hadn’t happened yet.
It played out slowly and for a couple of weeks nothing happened.  Sam was still tender from the break up, and I was getting plenty of action with different girls at work.  I think Sam knew about that, but she didn’t ask.  Actually, I think everyone must have known.  It was getting ridiculous.  I was fucking three or four different girls a week and not just at the gym.  I was getting invites to their places and only spent a couple of nights a week in my own bed.  I made a rule never to bring them back to my place though.  I needed a refuge.  Most of these girls were one-nighters; a couple got it more than once, but they were the exception rather than the rule.
Whatever Sam thought about my exploits, it didn’t seem to put her off.  I’m not saying she went out of her way to do anything, but we seemed to have encounters at the most awkward moments.  You know what, I take that back.  I will say Sam went out of her way to have encounters.  In fact, she started getting ridiculously unsubtle about it.
For example, one morning, on one of my days off, Sam decided to bring me breakfast in bed.  She didn’t tell me she was going to do it and she didn’t knock on my bedroom door either.  She just came into the room with a bacon sandwich and a glass of orange juice.  I didn’t know she was going to do that otherwise I wouldn’t have been lying on my bed jerking off at the time, but I was and she saw the lot.  I reckon she heard me and came in deliberately.  I wouldn’t have minded that much, I mean I’m not exactly shy.  I probably would have let her watch if she’d asked but instead my bacon sandwich ended up on the floor and she’d run out screaming with laughter, so it ended badly for me in every respect.
I suspected her appearance wasn’t an accident and I got my proof the very next morning, when I was in the bathroom.  I’d just gotten out of the shower and was towelling myself down when the door opened and there was Sam in her dressing gown.  I stood there unfazed, drying my hair.  I was stark naked, giving her the full frontal, and she saw everything – again.
“Oh God, sorry,” she gasped, but she made no effort to look away or shut the door.
“You’re about as subtle as the Nazi party, you know that?” I told her dryly as I towelled my hair.  I took a few seconds doing it, and when I stopped she was still there, blatantly staring at my cock.  I took the towel and rubbed it round my groin, making sure she got a full view.  Sam bit her lip as she continued to stare.  I decided we had been waiting long enough.
“Come here,” I told her.  She didn’t need asking twice.  I told her to kiss me, and she did.  I told her to rub my cock, and she did that too.
Between kisses I told her, “I’m going to fuck you, Sam.”
“Yes, please,” she whispered feeling my rapidly hardening cock under her caress. 
“I’m gonna sink my cock right into your slippery pussy,” I whispered.  I could feel her trembling as I said it to her.  Sam liked dirty talk it seemed.
“I’ve wanted this for ages,” she told me unnecessarily as she caressed my chest as I untied her dressing gown and pushed my hands inside it, caressing her belly.  I watched as she ran her tongue over my chest.
“Let’s go to your bed,” I told her.  She didn’t need me to say it twice.  Her dressing gown was discarded on the landing and we were both naked when we fell on her bed.
We were all over each other, kissing, sucking, rubbing, you name it.  We ended up sixty-nining.  I had to really control myself and not fuck her mouth but she wasn’t put off by my size at all.  You might be surprised but there’d been a few girls at the gym who had upped and run when my cock had entered the arena.  Every guy wants a big cock but mine was too big.  Trust me, there’s such a thing but Sam did a good job sucking it, I can tell you.
Before I lost control and came in her mouth, I pushed her over and I fucked her on her bed.  She was the noisiest girl I’ve ever been with, even louder than Jenny.   She panted loudly with each of my deep strokes into her and that made me groan with pleasure too as I thrust in and out of her.
The sex with Sam was that hard and naturally passionate that it reminded me of being back with Jenny.  It was the first time any girl had done that since I’d left her.  She was also the first girl I came inside after Jenny, which was stupid because we weren’t using protection.  In all my conquests, I tried to be careful.  I hadn’t used a condom with Kristen but after that I had always made sure I was equipped.  I hated the things but I didn’t want AIDS.  Or a baby.  I’m not sure which would be worse.  But that moment with Sam was completely reckless when I came uncontrollably inside her.
Of course, in the cold light of day, it had just been a fantastic fuck.  I think it’s fair to say it was the best I’d had since Jenny.  We just gelled.  We shared her bed that night and I fucked her twice more before the morning.
Being friends and flat mates, this made things a bit awkward between us.  I was really fond of her, but not in love with her by any means.  For her I think it was just a kind of infatuation.  After a bit of drama, we agreed to be fuck buddies and we ended up having a lot of sex and I mean a lot, but there was never any emotion to it.  It was just sex.  But fucking good sex.

Having Sam as a fuck buddy really curbed my conquests at work.  Instead of trying to fuck every girl that walked through the door, I was now only having the occasional tryst, and usually nowhere near the gym.
I could see in retrospect that I’d been incredibly lucky not to get caught out.  The buzz of trying to sleep with different girls without letting them know about each other, and doing it in places where sooner or later we were going to get caught was all getting a bit much.  In that sense, Sam was a bit of a godsend.  She gave me the release I needed without it becoming suicidal.  It was a good job too, because right around that time was when things started to develop for me at work.

One Monday morning, I arrived at the gym ready for my shift.  I thought I was doing okay, despite all the indiscretions I’d had, and now I had put that behaviour to one side, I was feeling pretty settled.  You can imagine then how I felt when I saw the gym manager Martin waiting at the front desk when I walked in that morning.
Honestly, I thought I’d been caught out.  My heart stopped when I saw him stood there.  Of course, the irony of being fired after I’d stopped fucking every hot girl in sight wasn’t lost on me, but it didn’t make me feel a whole lot better when he spoke to me.
“Scott, have you got a moment?” he said, walking over to me.
“Um, yeah, sure,” I said, trying not to sound like I had been caught.  How has he found out? I remember thinking.  Shit, I needed the job.  It was too good to give up.  My head was full of those sort of thoughts at that moment.
“We’ll just pop into my office,” he said, and led me there.  I hated that walk.  It felt like I was walking the green mile.  I was certain I was going to be sacked, and when Mike sat down opposite me, grim faced, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.  But all of a sudden, his demeanour had changed.  He smiled, and spoke in a way that put me at ease.
“You’ve done well here, Scott,” he said.  “A lot of people don’t hack working in a gym.  They think it’s going to be a toss off, but you’ve found it’s not.”  I nodded in agreement, but I had no idea what he was talking about.  I was just coming to work and sitting around, then making use of the free equipment and fucking a lot of girls.  I didn’t say anything though, and let him continue.
“We’ve had a lot of good feedback on your attitude and your manner,” Mike said, “and I was wondering if you would be interested in coming over to work in the gym.”  I frowned.
“What do you mean?” I asked.  Sometimes I needed things spelling out to me in words of one syllable.
“I’m short of an instructor,” Mike said, “and I don’t want to advertise for a trainee when I’ve got a perfectly good applicant sat in front of me – if you’re interested, of course.”
“Well, yeah, of course I am,” I replied, trying to sound casual, but inside I was churning.  Not only was I drowning in relief from not being sacked, but now I was being offered an even better job than the one I was in.  I wouldn’t have to just sit around; I would be out working with the other guys in the gym and having a laugh and meeting girls… I mean, where was the catch?
Mike could obviously see my interest, as he grinned at me.
“You look like you’re keen on the idea,” he said.
“Damn right,” I said.
“Good,” he replied.  “You can start tomorrow.”

It was easy to slip into.  I found the atmosphere, the language, and the whole ethos so attractive that I felt like I’d been doing it forever.  I enjoyed the banter and actually found I was okay at instructing and advising people – after all, I’d been working out myself for a good few years, and a lot of the people I saw were already friends and acquaintances.  But even with the new people, I found myself able to help them, and I really started to enjoy myself.  It was the only time after breaking up with Jen that I felt really happy.
Of course, it wasn’t all work.  I was still living with Sam, and getting plenty of sex there, but I was still having other encounters.  Only a few stick in my mind now.
There was Claire, a Scottish model from Edinburgh.  She was stunning, but really vain, although to be fair she had every right to be.  I think the sex we had at her flat was a trophy conquest for both of us, nothing more.
Then there was Rebecca.  She was another Aussie, and it turned out she was a friend of Kristen’s, the first girl I’d fucked at the gym.  She came looking for more of the same, and she’d got it, but in the Jacuzzi at midnight, not in the shower.  She was a promo girl too, with an equally amazing body, but instead of a quickie we had a long, long fuck in the hot tub, one of the best I had at the gym.
Sam knew about them, of course.  I told her.  She actually got off on hearing about it.  I’d tell her what I’d been doing, just like I am now and she would get so turned on by it that we would end up fucking while I was telling her.  She always wanted to prove that whatever I was getting, she could give me better.  I really couldn’t say no to an offer like that.
I could have gone on and on like that, it was so easy.  And the scary thing was it got easier every time.  Whatever vestiges of guilt I’d had at the outset had evaporated so readily each time I laid my eyes on the next gorgeous girl who gave me a wicked smile.  After a while I realised that word was getting around, and some of these girls were coming to the gym purely to see me.  You can imagine how bigheaded that made me feel when I cottoned on to that.  I was king of the world, a fuck god.
Mike and Ian must have known, there was no way they couldn’t, but they never said anything.  I suppose they were just letting the extra business come in and then as soon as anything stuck to me I could be dropped like a hot potato.  I wasn’t completely naïve.  But I knew it wasn’t going to last forever either.  But the thing was it didn’t seem to be going downhill.  It just seemed to be getting better and better.
For instance, because I was getting along well at my job, Mike decided to start to introduce me to a wider selection of the clients, not just the people I was already working with and the odd newcomer.  This was a little bit daunting, because now I was dealing with a different class of people.  Suddenly I was working with some people with real money, not just lads who put all their earnings into keeping in shape.
These guys were the businessmen; the bankers with a lot of cash.  They would roll up in their brand new Mercs and Beamers and you knew that that was just the tip of the iceberg.  All their gear was designer label, and some of them had been known to give their trainers four figure sums as bonuses.  This was a different league to what I was used to, and it took a bit of adjusting to.
The first few guys were really aloof with me, really distant.  They’d look down on you like you were a piece of shit on their shoe, and I didn’t like that.  I wasn’t used to it.  More than once, I had to bite my tongue, and stop them from hurting themselves by benching more than they could.  God, that was tempting with a few of them.
Steve Johnson was the exception.  Maybe it was because he was a Yank, or maybe he was just a decent bloke, but his attitude was totally different to all those other wankers.  He was obviously loaded, but he never rubbed it in your face like the others did.  He didn’t make you feel about an inch high.  He reminded me of those old fashioned American smoothies, sort of like George Hamilton without the wrinkles.  It turned out he was an ex-dentist, which made sense really because he had one of those perfect Hollywood smiles; I’m surprised moths didn’t fly into his face when he grinned at night.
Anyway, me and Steve hit it off right away.  We would have a bit of a laugh and banter when he came into the gym and for an older guy he was in pretty good shape.  He told me once he’d been in the marines when he was younger and was doing his dentistry degree, and I believed him.  For all his warmth and charisma, there was something else behind those grey eyes.  You had the feeling he was like a caged tiger eyeing you up, saving his energy until you let your guard down and then he’d pounce.  In retrospect, that’s a pretty good analogy, but at the time he seemed great to me.  He helped build my experience and confidence as a trainer to new levels, and my new found friendship with him began to change my life.

It began a few weeks after he started to train with me.  After a session one morning, he told me that he ran games nights up at his house.  I didn’t really know what that meant so I asked him.  What it turned out to be was that on every first Saturday of the month he basically turned his house into a mini casino, with roulette, blackjack, poker and the rest – sort of like what you would see at a good wedding, except this wasn’t played for toy money.  The minimum entry fee was fifteen thousand pounds.  I remember he laughed for about five minutes when he told me that.
“You should see your face,” he kept saying.  Then he asked me if I’d like to go up there one evening.  Like a moron I said I would love to but that I couldn’t afford it.  That time I thought he was going to wet himself.
“No, no,” he said when he’d stopped laughing enough to be able to breathe properly and talk.  “What I need is a bit of eye candy to work as croupiers and waiters, to help bring a bit of sparkle to the night.  I’ve got a few girls lined up but in the interest of keeping things sweet for the ladies there, I want a couple of young guys and I think it would be right up your street.”
Now looking back with the benefit of hindsight, I would think this is a trap.  But remember at that time, everything was going great for me, and as far as I was concerned this was just another case of lady luck dealing me a fantastic hand (keeping with the gambling motif there, you see?).
So I said yes.

Satisfaction - Chapter Two

The next few weeks were pretty awful.  I’d never been one for staying in, and now I was kicking around the house all the time looking miserable as sin.  It didn’t take long for my parents to twig that something was wrong.  They soon found out that Jenny and me had split up, but I was a bit reluctant to tell them exactly why.  In the end I had to break the news to them when they started to buy me things for Uni.  They took it about as well as Jenny.  Well, they would have if I’d told them the truth.  After the barrage from Jenny and the whole break up situation, I wasn’t really up for an assault from them.  So I told them a white lie.  I told them I wanted to defer for a year and take some time out.  It didn’t take much to twist the facts around and blame the break up with Jenny on not wanting to go.  In the end, they were really sympathetic, which pinched a bit.  But I could live with the odd pang of guilt, especially compared to the endless grief I would get if I’d told them the whole story.  A little while later I got in touch with the Uni, but not to defer.  I told them I wasn’t going.
So that was that.  I’d split up with Jenny, I jacked in my education and I was footloose and fancy-free.  And skint.  I had no job or money, and no idea of what I was going to do.
It felt like I was rebelling against something, but don’t ask me what.  My family?  My friends?  Their expectations?  Or was I just lashing out at myself?  I really couldn’t tell you.  I probably needed psychoanalysing - I probably still do - but I’ve never been one for sitting around worrying.  Despite the situation, I had a feeling something was going to come my way; something that would improve my lot.  And I was right.  It did, and it didn’t take long to arrive.

Like I said earlier, I’m an athletic guy.  I was going running regularly, playing a lot of football and doing swimming too.  I used the pool at the local gym for that.  Strictly speaking, I wasn’t supposed to.  I wasn’t a member, but I knew the assistant manager Ian through football, and he made sure I could always get in, so long as he was on duty.
About a month after I’d split up with Jen, I turned up for a Monday morning sneaky swim.  I was still pretty down at that time, but I could always manage a smile for Sam, who worked on reception.  She was blonde and pretty, not beautiful but just really fresh faced, natural and totally unassuming.  She was the easiest girl in the world to talk to.  We had become friendly in the time I’d been going there, but nothing else.  She was a mate and I really didn’t think about her in any other way.
“Oh, hello, here comes trouble,” she said, looking up as I came through the sliding glass doors at the front of reception.  I shushed her, putting my finger to my lips and playing along.
“Don’t tell everyone.”
“Oh, I won’t then, I’ll keep it a secret… again.”
“What would I do without you?” I asked melodramatically.  This was pretty typical banter between the two of us.  “Is Ian about, gorgeous?”
“He’s running late this morning, he just rang in,” she replied, “but I won’t tell anyone if you want to have your secret swim.”  I grinned at her.
“You’re a star, Samantha,” I said, and headed off to the lockers.  As I got to the end of the corridor, I looked back, and she was still looking at me, smiling.  She’d given a little wave, and I sent one back in reply.  That was pretty typical of how I was with girls; I liked to flirt.
A few minutes later, I was knifing my way through the cool, chlorinated water of the pool.  I did the front crawl mainly; I liked the feeling of speed and power and it gave me a good workout.  I liked coming in early too.  It was quiet; the only other people around were business types getting in their half hour before work.  I was able to get fifty lengths in without interruption or having to worry about kids getting in my way – there’s nothing more frustrating than that.
The lifeguard on duty that morning was lad called Kev, a guy I only knew in passing.  You know, we would say hello but that was about it.  I don’t think he liked me getting in on a freebie but Ian had okayed it so there was nothing he could do.  Still, he never gave me any grief or anything.
Anyway, that morning was the morning I had the longest conversation I ever did with Kev.  It was also the morning my life changed.
He was standing by the side of the pool ladder as I climbed out after my swim and went to grab my towel.  We made eye contact in that uncomfortable way you do.
“Morning, Scott,” he said.  That caught me off guard for a start.  He never started conversations.  I didn’t even know he knew my name.
“Alright, mate,” I replied.
“You still coming down here for a swim on a morning?” he asked.  I just looked at him blankly.
“Er, yeah,” I said.  What did he think I was doing?
“Oh, well, I’m leaving on Monday, and there’s no-one to replace me and I was wondering if you’d like the job.”  It took a couple of seconds for this to register.  A guy I barely knew and, as far as I was aware of didn’t like me, was offering me his job?  I asked him just that.
“If you want it,” he said.  “I don’t see how Ian could complain” – a subtle dig, I knew, but I let it pass – “I mean, I can’t give you the job but I can put in a word for you.”
“Where are you going then?” I asked.
“I’m off to Uni, so I can’t carry on, and they need a replacement,” he said.  “Do you want me to put in a word for you?”
I couldn’t believe it.  This was a great chance.  Working at the gym would mean I would get free access to everything, not just the pool.  I knew Kev only worked six hours a day, so once I was finished my shifts I could go and train and get really toned.  I might even be able to become an instructor.  These thoughts were racing through my head, and I was getting myself quite worked up inside at the prospect of working there.  On the outside though, I tried to stay casual.
“Yeah, have a word if you want,” I said, coolly.  “I’m interested if they are.”

And that was it.  The next Monday I was a trainee lifeguard, complete with my own chair, my own trunks and most important of all, my own whistle.  Oh, the visions of power that went through my head that day.  No longer would unruly children make serious swimmers lives hell.  No longer would there be floats and armbands left discarded and drifting across my pool.  No longer would there be running, shouting or dive-bombing.  All these thoughts and more filled my head as I climbed the ladder up to my seat on my first day, a shift that would take me from seven in the morning until one in the afternoon, with a fifteen minute break at ten.
What happened during that shift was something quite different to what I’d been expecting.  I learned that Henry Kissinger had been right.  Power is an aphrodisiac.  That power helped me throw off the shadow of Jenny that day and awakened something in me.  That power brought me Kristen.
Kristen was one of those effortlessly pretty girls.  She looked like she’d stepped out of a commercial.  She had long dark wavy hair, gorgeous olive skin, green eyes and a dazzling white smile.  She was slimly built and really she looked like a model, which is what I thought she was on first impressions.  Actually, it turned out she was an Australian politics student on a gap year, but she was working as a promotions girl at trade fairs, so I was half right.  I could see why she got that job.  She could have sold sand to the Arabs.
The first I time saw her was about half an hour into my shift.  I was settling into a quiet, comfortable day, with not too many people in the pool and no-one I hadn’t seen before, so I knew they were all competent and that I’d probably have an easy day.  Then she walked in, in a white string bikini, and she looked up at me and smiled.  I grinned back, and couldn’t believe it when instead of getting into the pool, she kept on walking past the pool ladder and up to my chair.  She stopped beneath me and looked up, still smiling.
“Hi, you’re new, aren’t you?” she asked.  The twang in her accent was immediately apparent.
“Yeah, I’m Scott,” I said.  “I just started today.”
“I’m Kristen.  Haven’t I seen you round here before?” she asked.
“You might have – I’ve been coming here for a while.”  She nodded.
“Yeah, I thought so,” she said.  “I’d recognise those pecs anywhere.”  I laughed at that.  I wasn’t used to that sort of direct come on, which it clearly was.  After being with Jenny for so long, I’d effectively been off the market.  But here was a gorgeous girl virtually putting herself on a plate for me.  It might not sound it from how I’m telling it but trust me, it was there in the way she looked at me.  Maybe I could have turned a blind eye to it, and if I’d still been with Jenny, I would have.  I’d already done it plenty of times in the past.  But it was different now.  I was single and I couldn’t see the harm in trying my luck with a random hot girl.  In that moment, the gloom of losing Jenny lifted, and something animal awakened in me.
“Well, I won’t be forgetting you in a hurry,” I said casually, but the look in my eyes told her there was anything but casual thoughts going through my mind.
“Is that right, Scotty?” she asked seductively.  Scotty?  No-one called me that.  I was well in.
“That’s right,” I said.  “Unless you think you can make yourself even more memorable than you already look in that bikini.”
“How about how I’d look out of it?” she asked.  Woah.  This was Bugatti Veyron speed flirting.  I wasn’t used to this pace, but I wasn’t intending to slow it down either.  The fact that this random, gorgeous girl was hitting on me was fuelling my ego and my confidence better than a propane tank on a bonfire.
“Now that’s an offer that would be hard to refuse,” I said wistfully.
“You never know your luck, do you?” she said, grinning wickedly and turning away.  “Catch you later, Scotty.”  She walked over to the edge of the pool, giving me a good view of her toned arse as she lifted her hands above her head and dived gracefully into the pool.  I watched as she surfaced on the far side, running her hands over her long dark hair to push it away from her face, before turning to flash me a smile.  I smiled back, and she’d set off again across the pool at a steady pace, her slim agile body cutting through the cool water with ease.  You could see she’d been swimming for years.
I sat and watched her for the next half an hour as she swam back and forth across the pool, zigzagging up and down the length, giving herself a really good workout.  No wonder she was so toned.  I’d barely been able to take my eyes off her, and luckily the pool emptied out until it was just her in there.  Every now and then when she reached the far side, she’d lift herself half out of the water, resting herself on her elbows to catch her breath for a moment.  I didn’t know if she was doing it just for my benefit, to show of her wet, hot body but the fact that I kept catching her glancing up at me suggested to me that that was exactly what she was doing.
When she finished, she swam to the ladder on the far side and climbed out, towelling herself down.  She hadn’t come over to see me that time, even though I’d been expecting her to.  Instead, she slowly made her way to the entrance to the changing rooms.  Just as she got there she stopped and looked back over her shoulder towards me.  Even from that distance, I knew it was more than just a look.  It was an invitation.
For the next couple of minutes I sat there in the chair, not knowing what to do.  The pool was empty, and I knew the gym was likely to stay quiet.  Kristen was in the changing room, waiting for me.  Or was she?  Was I totally misreading the situation?  I just didn’t have the experience to know.  I sat there pondering until I came to an inescapable conclusion.
Fuck it.  If I went in there what was the worst that could happen?  Okay, maybe assault, rape, murder and life imprisonment.  But I knew those weren’t going to happen.  With this thought in mind, I climbed down from my chair and made my way to the changing room.
She was in one of the shower cubicles.  I could see the outline of her naked body through the shower screen, even though it was covered in condensation.  She lifted her long dark hair high and soaked it, drenching herself under the spray of the shower.  She had no idea I was there.  My heart was thudding, I remember that.  I’d never done anything like it before, never mind on the first day of a new job.  I would have been sacked on the spot if I’d been caught; there was no doubt about that.  I would have probably been arrested too come to think of it but right then that was the last thing on my mind.
I pulled open the shower door; she had her back to me, but felt the rush of cool air as the door opened and she turned her head to look at me.
“You took your time,” she said, as she turned to face me.  She made no attempt to cover herself.  In a flash I’d took in the sight of her toned, naked body and I knew she was doing the same to me.
“I’ve come to see what you look like out of the bikini,” I said.  She grinned a devious, flirty grin.
“I hope you approve.”
“Definitely,” I told her.  She looked amazing.
“Well, you’d better get in here with me, mister,” she ordered, “so you can have a good look.”
She didn’t have to ask twice.  I stepped into the cubicle and shut the door behind me.  It was cramped, and I had to press myself up against her.  She didn’t pulled away, but she started to giggle instead.
“You do this sort of thing often then?” she asked.
“I told you, it’s my first day.  I’ve never done anything like this.”  My hands slipped round her waist and hers were caressing my chest.  It just seemed so natural and easy and incredibly exciting.
“What if I’d screamed?” she asked, sliding her hands lower.
“So long as the were screams of pleasure, that would be fine by me” I said, shrugging.  She laughed.
“Well, then in that case, mister,” she answered, sliding her thumbs under the waist of my swimming trunks. “I’d better take these off you.”
“Be my guest,” I said, as she started to tug them down.  I had to move back against the tiled wall to give her room to crouch down so she could tug the trunks down over my knees.  Of course, this gave her a perfect vantage point to have a good look at my cock as my trunks slid down.
“Oh my God,” I remember her saying, and I’d looked down to catch her wide-eyed expression.
“What’s up, Kristen?” I asked, my gaze following the rivulets of water that were cascading down onto her.  She’d had to squint when she’d looked up at me.
“You, I hope,” she’d said.  “You’re huge.”  As she spoke she wrapped her left hand around my cock.  “How big is it?” she asked.
This reminded me of the first time I’d been with Jenny.  She’d had actually gone to find a ruler when she was in the middle of sucking me off, so I knew the answer to the question.
“Ten inches when it’s hard, Kristen,” I said to her.
“Oh, wow,” she said.  “I’ve never had one that big.”  She was stroking her hand up and down it and kissing it almost reverentially.  I had to laugh, but her touch was having the desired effect.
“You approve, then?” I asked as she began rubbing my now semi-erect cock.  She’d nodded.  She leant forward and took it into her mouth and started to suck me off.  I remember trying not to groan as she pushed her mouth over the head and started to lick me.
“Do you want that in you, Kristen?” I asked her as she gulped at it greedily.  She nodded, but didn’t stop sucking under the spray of the shower.  In moments my cock was fully erect, and she was really sucking hard, her hands stroking up and down the shaft and playing with my balls.  She pulled back and looked at my cock, letting the water stream down onto the swollen purple head.
“You like that?” she asked, as she squeezed it and licked her tongue around the head.  It made me shudder with the pleasure.
“God, I want to fuck you Kristen.”
“Go on, then,” she said, swiftly rising to her feet and turning away from me.  She leant forward under the hot spray, the water matting her long dark hair to her back, and pushed her tight little arse out toward me.  I slipped my hand up between her legs.  Her skin was smooth and wet, but not as wet as her pussy.  My fingers rubbed over her lips; she was as turned on as me.  I fingered her gently, pushing two fingers into her, and teased her soft lips with my fingers and thumb.  She started to moan a lot, pushing herself up and down on my fingers.  My cock was rubbing against her arse cheek, and it was easy to move it across and press it up against my fingers.  I slipped them out of her and pushed the head of my cock into her.  We both gasped, and through a combination of our moves I quickly pushed it deep into her.
She really started to moan when I began thumping it into her.  We didn’t try to be quiet at all.  If anyone had walked in at that moment my career would have been over before it had started.  My hands were all over her body, caressing her hips, her waist, and her small breasts.  I found myself slipping them back down to her pussy, touching and teasing her clit as she took my big cock easily into her over and over.
She came loudly and suddenly.  I let her savour the orgasm, dragging her spasming pussy up and down my thick shaft.  I looked down and watched her pushing up and down it, before I pulled my cock out.  She rubbed it hard and I was so turned on by her orgasm that it only took a few strokes before I came as well.
And that was my first conquest at the gym.  I couldn’t believe what I’d done.  It had been totally out of character for me, but it was without a doubt the biggest adrenalin rush of my life.
How we didn’t get caught out there and then I don’t know.  I’d only been away from the pool for ten minutes but if anyone had come looking for me I’d have been out the door in a flash.  As it was, nobody came looking, and a few minutes later I was back in my chair, looking over an empty pool.  It was just in time as well, as moments later a group of OAPs turned up for their weekly dip.  They weren’t backwards about coming forward and introducing themselves, and I made myself an instant hit with them, I’m proud to say.  But I can assure you that they’d didn’t get the Kristen treatment.

Satisfaction - Prologue and Chapter One

This is the opening to my novel Satisfaction.

How do you begin a story?  At the beginning is as good a place as any, I suppose.  That might sound a bit of a ridiculous statement but there’s more than one way you can go about these things.  Some people like to start at the beginning and work their way straight through to the end.  Others like to use flashback, and that’s generally the method that I’ve used to tell this story.  It might seem a bit disjointed here and there but all I ask is that you listen to what I have to stay.  I know it might not be the greatest work of literature ever committed to paper, but then its not intended to be.
I’d better warn you now that there’s sex, swearing and violence in this story.  If those sort of things appeal to you, great.  If they don’t, I suggest you find something else warmer and fuzzier to read.  There’s not much warm or fuzzy about my story.
That said, this isn’t a story about sex and violence.  It just has sex and violence in it.  This story is about choices, and dealing with the consequences of those choices.  Whether I made good or bad choices, well, I’ll leave that decision up to you.
Oh, one last thing that’s important to remember, because I’m sure there will be points where it will be easy to forget, and I don’t want you to.

Everything I’m going to tell you in this story is true.

My name is Scott North.
I’m nineteen years old.  Before you start thinking what does a nineteen year old have to say about life, hear me out.  I know it may not seem like a long enough time to have lived and have anything meaningful to say, but I’ve already got plenty of mileage on the clock, so to speak.  Some of the things I’ve done have been good; some of them not so good.  I’m not looking for judgement, or redemption.  I’m just want to make sure I’m not forgotten.  That’s why I’m sitting here speaking like some demented person into this Dictaphone and hoping it’s not the last thing I ever do.
In case I’m not making a whole lot of sense, let me give you some details.  I’m sitting in a room on the eleventh floor of a hotel in Copenhagen.  It’s June the fifth, and its nine thirty five in the evening.  At eleven o’clock, I’m supposed to be meeting a man called Lars to give him the briefcase that’s sitting on the floor beside me.  I have no idea what’s inside it.  I don’t want to know what’s inside it.  I don’t know who this Lars guy is.  I don’t even know what he looks like.  All I know is he’s coming to this room and I have to give him the case, and then he’s going to give me something in return.
I guess I haven’t really explained how an English kid has wound up sitting in a Danish hotel room waiting to do some kind of trade with a man I’ve never met in my life.  To tell the truth, I’m starting to wonder how I got myself into this mess. because believe me, this is a mess.  I’m not here because I want to be, I promise you that.  But I reckon I’ve just about got enough time to tell you how I’ve ended up here before Lars gets here.  It won’t take long, I promise.

We need to rewind about ten months, to the previous summer.  I was living in Leeds.  That’s in the north of England, if you don’t know.  Never been? Don’t go; you’re not missing much.  Actually that’s not fair, it’s a great city, its just somewhere I’ve seen enough of.  I’d just finished college and was enjoying my freedom after passing my A-levels.  I’d got four passes, including Grade A biology and chemistry.  So I’m not stupid, you know.  I’d even got a place at Newcastle University, to study Biochemistry.  Sometimes I wish I’d gone, but I’ve made a promise to myself not to regret anything I do, so I don’t, even though maybe I should, if that makes sense.
See, right the way through school and college, I’d always gotten good grades without trying.  Academically, school was easy for me.  And not just that.  I’m naturally athletic; I’m good at football, and I’m a good swimmer.  I’d represented the school at both.  Saying it like that it makes me sound like the sort of guy you might love to hate and I suppose a lot people did.
Now seems as good as time as any to point out my big weakness, and that’s girls.  Really, it’s because of them that I’m here now.  If I’d been different, you know, if I’d looked different, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.  Like most people, I tend to go on first impressions, and most people’s first impression of me is that I’m an athlete or something.  I’m really not complaining about this, believe me.  The last thing I would’ve ever wanted was to be was some sort of gimp with no chance of pulling anything except himself off.  God, if I was like that I’d shoot myself right now.  But anyway, the point I’m trying to make is, I’m an intelligent, fit, good-looking guy.  I know I must sound a right arsehole describing myself like that, but I’ve got to get the point across at the start otherwise the rest of this story isn’t going to make sense.  Oh, and to top things off, I’m well packed, if you get what I mean.  If you don’t, it’ll probably become clear as I go along.
Like I said, I was getting ready for the whole university thing, like most of my mates were.  My parents were chuffed to bits with my A-level results and so was I, to be fair because for the first time in my life I’d actually had to graft to get them.  But therein lay the problem.  Up until the last year of college, everything had been easy.  I’d never really had to try to pass my exams before that.  It just came naturally to me.  Even when I was starting to go out every weekend when I was fifteen my schoolwork hadn’t suffered, so my parents let it go.  And I never had to try with the sport.  But then, in the second year of college, when I was seventeen, things suddenly got different.  I know I chose difficult subjects but I wasn’t used to the concept of actually having to work to get the grades I was used to.  And I didn’t like it.  Suddenly I was having to stay in on a night and actually try.  I wasn’t seeing my friends, or my girlfriend Jenny.  And that started to rankle.  But I knew it was only for a few months, so I stuck it out and got what I wanted results-wise.
After that, school was out and it was back to the old ways, out drinking with my friends, clubbing, Saturday afternoon football, and plenty of time for my Jenny.  After a couple of weeks though, a nasty thought began to creep into my mind.
This wasn’t going to last.
When I went to Uni I was going to have to pull my finger out and really start to work hard.  That would mean jacking in all the fun things I liked to do.  It was partly my own fault.  I hadn’t picked some toss-off subject like Sociology or Peace Studies.  This was Biochemistry, and even by my own standards it was going to be bloody hard.  The A-levels had been like a warning shot across the bows saying ‘Hey Scott, you’re not going to have the easy life you’re used to’.  Even though I tried to ignore it, those warning shots kept flashing by in front of me and they wouldn’t go away.
It’s not that I’m lazy or idle or anything.  When I’m interested and focused I can give my all to any subject.  It’s just that I was starting to feel like I was going through the whole process for everybody else.  Jenny was going to Newcastle to study Law; she’d planned it that way so we could be together.  All my mates were heading off all over the country going to Uni as well.  And my parents were really pushing me to be the first person in the family to get a degree.  As a result of all this I was starting to feel a build up of pressure inside me that I’d never had before and that I didn’t like one little bit.

It came to a head on a hot Thursday afternoon in August.  I remember that day well.  I was meeting my mate Mike at the Cross Keys for an afternoon session, before heading into town to meet up with Jenny.  I’d gotten to the pub early so I got the drinks in and grabbed a table in the beer garden.  Mike turned up ten minutes later, his mobile phone stuck to his ear.  He saw me waving to him and walked over, making his excuses to the person on the other end of the line and hanging up as he’d sat down.
“Cheers, mate,” he said, picking up the pint that was waiting for him and taking a long gulp.  He swallowed it and let out a theatrical gasp of satisfaction.
“Fuck me, that’s nice,” he exclaimed, taking another long swig to catch up with my half-empty glass.  Mike’s a good bloke but his vocabulary would never have got him a job on kids TV.
“Who was on the phone?” I asked.
“Ah, that was Beth,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.
“Beth?” I sounded surprised and he raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at the tone of my voice.  Beth was one of the hottest girls we knew, and it was well known she was unobtainable.  Even getting her number was an achievement for Mike.
“You think Beth is out of my league?” he asked, feigning insult.
“I think Godzilla is out of your league, mate,” I told him, but that wasn’t true to be fair.  Mike was like me, a good-looking bloke, but Beth was a complete babe, and I had been chasing her myself until I’d hooked up with Jenny.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Scott, but for your information I am meeting Beth for a drink tomorrow night.”
“Bloody hell, miracles do happen,” I told him.
“I tell you what though,” he said, suddenly sounding all serious.  “Sometimes I can’t believe how fucking good I really am.”
“And modest too, don’t forget that,” I added, taking another swig of beer.  “So what did you do, blackmail her?”
“Fuck off,” he retorted.  “It’s just my natural wit and charm at work.”
“Oh yeah, you just ooze charisma, don’t you?”
“Well you can’t complain with your bird, can you?”  He had a point there.  Jenny was gorgeous; there was no doubt about that.
“Guess not,” I said, and took a long sip of my pint.  Mike looked at me in surprise.
“Christ, who fucking died?” he asked as I set the glass on the table.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your face.  You were okay until I mentioned Jenny and now you look miserable as sin.  You not getting any or something?”  I laughed at that.  Not getting any with Jenny wasn’t an issue.  I shook my head.
“Well, what’s up then?” he asked.  I thought for a moment about telling him how I was feeling.  Mike was never exactly the most sensitive of guys, and what I needed then was someone to sound off to.  But then again, I wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice at that moment and he was the best I had.  Besides, I figured his direct approach might be better than me dwelling on my issues.
“I’ve been thinking about Uni,” I told him.
“What about it?”
“I don’t think I want to go.”
“Why not?  It’ll be a right fucking laugh.  Everyone knows students just get pissed and fuck around.”
“Yeah, but…” How could I explain how I felt inside to someone who thought belching the Match of the Day theme tune was the height of sophistication?  “I don’t think it’s right for me, that’s all.”
“What’s brought this on?” he asked, suddenly sounding serious.  His change in tone was reassuring; it didn’t sound like he was about to take the piss out of me.  So I told him how I felt and to my surprise and his credit, he didn’t just laugh at me.  He actually helped.  At least, it felt like it at the time.  Looking back, maybe he did more harm than good.
“Don’t go,” he said, after I finished.  “If it’s going to make you this miserable, don’t go.  It’s not like you have no choice, is it?”
“My parents are going to kill me if I don’t go.  My Mum’s got her heart set on it,” I told him.
“So?  It’s your life, not hers.  Fuck what anyone else thinks.  If you go through life trying to make everybody else happy, all you’ll end up doing is making yourself miserable.”  I looked at him in surprise.  This sounded like good advice he was giving me.  Mike didn’t do this.
“There is one problem though,” he said, mulling over the beer left in the bottom of his pint glass.
“What’s that?” I asked.  He looked up at me meaningfully.
“What are you going to tell Jenny?”

I planned to tell her as soon as we met up that night.  After my chat with Mike, I called her and told her there was a change of plans and that I wanted to spend the evening in with her.  She didn’t argue at all; in fact she’d seemed happy about it.  I decided before I left Mike that I would bite the bullet and tell her what I was feeling as soon as I saw her outside the office where she was temping.  And that’s what I went to do.
I was there a quarter of an hour before she got out.  I’d even bought a bunch of flowers to try and ease the blow.  I don’t mean the blow of me telling her; I mean the blow from her fist when I broke the news.  Seriously though, I knew she wouldn’t take it well.  Jenny was an ambitious girl.  She had big plans to be a lawyer and have a career based in London.  She was only eighteen and she had her entire life planned out already.  That really freaked me out, and was probably a big part of how I felt.  But I didn’t want to lose her, even though she was becoming more and more the opposite of what I wanted to be.  It wasn’t that I loved her, not deep; obviously we meant a lot to each other but all it ever really boiled down to was that we had a fantastic sex life.
Jenny was absolutely stunning.  She could have been a model if she’d wanted, and I knew she’d had offers.  She had long blonde hair, long sexy legs and the biggest blue eyes you could imagine.  The first night we met it had been instant electricity and she’d taken me back to her place without much effort on either of our parts.  I could see she was special the first second I laid my eyes on her.  Her parents were divorced and she lived with her Mum.  I got on great with her as well, and she didn’t seem to mind me being there, no matter what we were up to.  So although I’d been thinking long and hard about what I was going to do with my life, I really didn’t want to say anything to Jenny until I was really sure.  And I knew full well that whatever balanced and objective reasoning I came up with, she would tear it apart and shoot it down in flames until I felt like a complete shit.
So it’s fair to say I was nervous when I saw her coming down the steps of the office.  It was partly the nerves that made me bite my tongue, but it was mainly the fact that Jenny was wearing the shortest skirt you could possibly imagine, and with those legs of hers and the dazzling smile she shot me as she’d started down the steps, all the words I had planned stuck in my throat.  She swept down those steps and into my arms and gave me a big kiss, and then hugged me as tightly as she could so I could feel her body pressing into mine.  I felt her breath against my cheek and then heard her whisper into my ear.
“Mum’s away tonight.  Why don’t you come and make me dinner and then we can have some fun.”
I wanted to tell her there and then, I really did, but that was an offer any red-blooded male couldn’t refuse.  I pulled back and looked at her, gazed into those amazing eyes, and heard my voice saying different words to the ones swirling around in my head.
“I got you some flowers.”

I remember that night like it was yesterday.  It started out great.  I made lasagna, and we shared a bottle of wine.  It didn’t take us long after that to head up to her bedroom.
Jenny was never one to hold back in bed.  She liked hard, loud sex so being the obliging sort of chap that I am, that’s what I gave her on a regular basis.  She was never quiet in bed but then again neither was I.  She didn’t just perform vocally either.  She was fit and agile and liked to fuck in different positions.  We must have spent a good hour going at it hard that night.  I did her in every position you can think of, mainly because I suspected it would be the last time I would ever get to do it.  Doggy style was always her favourite.  Jenny liked me going hard and deep into her and doggy style gave her just that.  It felt incredible fucking her like that and it quickly led to a natural conclusion.
She came hard; hearing her moan and feeling her climax tipped me over the edge as well.  It always did with Jenny.
We lay in bed together afterwards, getting our breath back, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around me.
“That was magic, Scott,” she whispered, kissing my chin.  She was right.  It was a special moment, even by our standards.  So quite why I chose that exact special moment to break my news to her is something I’ve never understood.  Maybe my subconscious mind thought that after such a high, the immediate low that I was about to impart would somehow be diminished.  Unfortunately, my subconscious mind is an idiot.
“I’m not going to go to Newcastle with you next month,” I said, staring blankly at her Artexed ceiling.  She didn’t take in what I said at first; I guess she was still in post-orgasmic bliss.
“When are you going?” she asked, rubbing the flat of her hand in circles on my chest.
“I’m not going at all.”  She got it that time.
“What?” She said it flatly and she lifted herself onto her elbow and pulled the covers of the bed against her chest, creating a deliberate divide between us.  No more physical contact.  Really subtle.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” she asked.  I could hear the strained tone of her voice already building.  I looked at her, struggling to find the words to defuse what I could see was rapidly going to become an explosive situation.  I didn’t do a very good job of finding them.
“It’s just…I can’t go.  It’s not right,” I said feebly.
“What are you talking about?  What do you mean it’s not right?  Not right how?”  She was frowning, trying to take it in.  I think she already knew what I was trying to say.  She must have suspected it for a while.  She wasn’t stupid, but like me, she didn’t want to throw everything away, even it was only superficial.  I tried to explain how I was feeling.
“It’s not what I want to do with my life, Jen.”
“But… we’ve got everything planned.  It’s all sorted.  You can’t just change your mind on a whim.”
“It’s not a whim.  I’ve been thinking it for ages.”  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“You never said anything.”
“I know; I just didn’t know what to say.”  She sat up then.
“Well, you’ve fucking said it now, haven’t you?” she spat out angrily.  She must have been furious with me; she never swore.
“Oh come on, Jen,” I said, sitting up too and trying to reason with her face to face instead of her dominating the conversation by sitting over me.  She didn’t give me much chance to even things out.
“You pick tonight to tell me this?  Of all nights?  And I notice you only tell me after you’ve had sex.  Why not before, hmm?”
“I didn’t have a chance,” I said weakly.  It sounded like a crap excuse even to me.
“Oh, no,” she answered sarcastically.  “What about when we met up?  Or the walk home?  Or maybe when we were cooking?  You didn’t think you might slip it into the conversation then?”
“I didn’t want to spoil the mood.  You seemed so happy.”
“Oh yeah, and I’m fucking over the fucking moon now, aren’t I?  You were just making sure you got your end away before you said anything.  I’m not stupid, Scott.”
“I know you’re not,” I said, trying to placate her.
“Stop treating me like I am then!”  She was shouting by then, and it didn’t get any better for the rest of the night, I can tell you.  I tried to explain to her how I felt, how having my future planned out for me was cutting me up inside, but she’d really didn’t want to know.  Thinking about it now, maybe we both knew it was coming.  Maybe we let it escalate into a blazing row because that was the easiest way to break up.  Maybe.  Whatever the reason, the fact is that that was the last time I saw or heard from Jenny.  We ended it that night.  She went off to Newcastle, and I didn’t.  I still miss her sometimes.  Maybe it was more than lust after all.