Tel, Page 2

  Chapter 1

  I met Jess a little over two years ago. I was a young twenty four year-old, eighteen months out of University without clear direction in life. She was a more mature twenty three, blonde haired, slim bodied, naturally beautiful, sex appeal oozing from every pore, indicated by the tight black dress she had squeezed into for the night. From the minute we spoke it was clear she knew her own mind and knew how to get what she wanted.

  James, my best friend, was introduced to her on the same night but he had his hands full juggling another two women so even though he very obviously wanted to dry hump her into oblivion, trying to manage a third woman in a tightly packed bar would have been difficult even for that lothario. Compared to me he was a modern day Lord Byron but as he slipped between the red head he’d casually dated for a week and the brunette he had met the night before, I managed to befriend the lovely Jess, quickly establishing the relationship between us; I being infatuated with her and she finding me cute and endearing, like you would a miniature poodle.

  We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance, Fearsome Fran, a young woman I’d bumped uglies with on one unfortunate occasion and who I had managed to pleasure for all of thirty seconds before she asked if that was it, proceeded to snap my reading glasses in two, stormed out the door and informed all and sundry about the speed of my work via twitter. After that, I made it a rule never to sleep with anyone who had access to mutual friends via a social medium. Sex is scary enough but doing it with someone who has the potential to ruin you with their thumb makes you feel like Orlando Bloom in Troy, all pathetic and weedy next to Brad Pitt.

  Although Jess and I got on well that night, mostly because she spoke about herself and I feigned interest, no one was being set alight by the sparks between us. I’m sure she’d heard the loin tingling stories of my sexual proclivities so I didn’t for one minute think she would be entertaining the thought of partaking in a dalliance herself but, over the next few weeks, I was lucky enough to see her on several occasions and, to my delight, she would always find time to speak with me and I would always try to be as humorous and debonair as possible whilst catching sneaky glimpses of her cleavage.

  She was a flirtatious son-of-a-bitch, I’ll give her that. It started with her gently brushing my arm but soon led to full blown hugs of the kind which made my knees go weak. When she wrapped those arms around me and squeezed in tight all kinds of emotions rushed through my body, filling me with a sensation I’d never known before. As sad as it sounds, it was a mixture of heightened arousal and nervous longing to stay in that moment for ever.

  I know it sounds daft, what with knowing her for all of a few weeks, but I genuinely believed I’d fallen for Jess in that short space of time. I’d never known an aching like it before. I felt sort of special when I was with her and craved her company when I wasn’t. I did wonder if she knew the affect she had on me or if it was merely how she made everyone feel? She laughed, smiled and chatted with almost anyone but was she saving the best for me? I didn’t really know but it was too late to turn back, I was smitten.

  Soon we began spending time together alone where she would open up to me about her insecurities, hopes and desires and, as a result, our relationship grew tighter. I never once declined the opportunity to discuss how she deemed her legs too big or her chest too small because when we did, she would often give me a brief glimpse of her thigh or let me stare intently as she cupped her breasts without a care in the world, conveying how they were ‘barely a handful.’ I would always nod in agreement, discreetly trying to hide my growing admiration whilst simultaneously acting cool and unfazed, like a woman touching herself in my company was an everyday occurrence.

  It felt as if a moment was brewing between us, where we would suddenly confess our undying love and fall into each other’s arms, ripping at clothes before exposing those perfectly shaped breasts she kept banging on about. I won’t lie; I’d played out such a scene in my mind a thousand times. I got some good mileage out of picturing us writhing around a field, insatiable passion taking over us (a field strangely seeming apt for such a momentous and romantic occasion) and if it hadn’t been for James I’m sure my visions would have, at some stage, become a reality but visions rarely become a reality when they involve you being knee deep in wheat humping the living daylights out of a gorgeous woman.

  You see, Jess eventually did declare her love, quite openly, but it wasn’t for me. Oh no, instead it was my good buddy James who walked into the pub one Saturday afternoon, his hand intertwined with Jess’s, smiling like a Cheshire cat, overjoyed to be showing off his latest conquest.

  I should have read the signs really. After all, I knew he was a serial shagger and that they spent some time alone together but I always hoped nothing would actually happen between them. I mean, best mates are meant to know when you like a woman and back off as a result but this wasn’t the case with James, he just fired right in there, regardless of my wants and needs.

  Fair enough, I never actually had a conversation about Jess with him. I didn’t mention my feelings to anyone to be honest, just in case she didn’t reciprocate them and I ended up with egg on my face, but he must have known that a man doesn’t spend inordinate amounts of time alone with a woman unless they’re hell bent on getting something out of it. Still, I guess I was more upset with Jess than James. At least he could play dumb and confess innocence but she surely couldn’t. You don’t get out of your bed at two o’clock on a Wednesday morning to drive half way across town and fetch someone from a bar unless you’re head over heels for them. Why else would she think I did it? I’m a nice guy but I’m not known to make gallant crusades in the early hours of the morning unless there’s the possibility of a hand shandy somewhere along the line, so you can see why I was angry and upset with her.

  Still, I may have gotten over it in time if it wasn’t for a single drunken sentence she whispered to me the same day she announced to the world she was bonking my best friend.

  “You know if I hadn’t got with James, it would have been you.”

  That was it. Not a word else. I smiled, a little flattered but also kind of taken aback at why she said it. What purpose did it serve? I wondered if this was her way of telling me that I missed the boat, that I didn’t take the opportunity when I had it but I doubted it somehow. If she harboured feelings for me why didn’t she say something herself?

  For months I had dreamt she would reveal her feelings, imagined how it would play out, what would happen when the ice was finally broken but I never pictured the truth being acknowledged in such a manner. I never imagined she would open up to me the same day she started dating my best friend who I was now unable to confide in. What would I say to him? That could have been me in your shoes. I doubted he would have appreciated that now would he. Besides, I didn’t completely know if she meant what she said or, in fact, what was actually meant by it. Women are fickle; they say something one day which has an entirely different meaning the next. As much as it frustrated, slightly annoyed and excited me, I had to let it go. There was going to be no happy ending if I grabbed her by the hair and passionately necked the hell out of her whilst James stood by watching furiously. That ship had sailed I thought or at least until James became bored with her anyway.

  Her new boyfriend was a simple creature, a carefree soul who lived for the thrill of the chase. His favourite book was The Game, a bible on how to seduce women with your mind and so I figured, if history was anything to go by, a time would come when he would balls it up with Jess. Of course, he was my very good friend and I only wanted what was best for him but I also needed what was best for me and, even though I was trying desperately not to be selfish, it’s almost impossible when you’re on the receiving end of the shitty stick.

  James had no brothers or sisters and, as a result, expected to get what he wanted, when he wanted, which included everyone’s undying attention and his best friend’s one true love. He was the kind of guy who shoo
k his umbrella vigorously just so he could be heard and often came out with pearls of wisdom like ‘a man isn’t a real man unless he has suffered at least one black toenail in his life’, believing it to be the whole truth and nothing but the truth just because it came from his lips. He worked sporadically but, thanks to a generous father, did not want for money. All told, he should have been a right asshole and I should have passionately hated him but I don’t think I’m capable of it and unfortunately, he was a loveable character with admiral qualities. Yes, he could be pig headed and yes, he was thoughtless but he could also be exceptionally good company and an immensely trustworthy friend, most of the time anyway. At six foot two inches and with a mass of wavy but well-kept hair, he was also reasonably handy to spot when lost in a cramped bar.

  I’d known James since my first day at University where he called me ‘dude’ roughly one hundred and thirty two times because it was his latest colloquial fad although that was soon discarded with when the even more annoying ‘bro’ came along, as he figured that sounded hipper and edgier. Not long after we left University he persuaded me to rent a house with him on the edge of Marston Wood, a less than fashionable area of town but an area which James found fascinating on ‘a human level’, whatever that meant.

  At the time it seemed the wisest and most adult decision I had ever made, standing on my own two feet, living off my own money and doing whatever I god damn pleased but the novelty soon wore off when the expense of standing on my own two feet kicked in and I realised my own money didn’t stretch very far when I was required to pay Council Tax, Income Tax, full train fares and actually purchase my own food.

  My parents deemed living in such a dishevelled area as living on the edge which, I have to admit, I took as a compliment, almost like we were the last great adventurers. I had become a man of the world, fresh from University and ready to take on anything but after we had our garden fence spray painted with a veiny penis and I was asked to hand over my valuables in our third week the safety of my parents’ home didn’t seem so bad after all. Still, you can’t put a price on freedom or at least you can’t before it becomes too expensive.

  However, when Jess started dating James I was truly torn as to whether it actually was freedom or more of a poisoned chalice. Part of me felt blessed because I could see her almost every day but another part despised living with him because…well…I could see her almost every day, more often than not dangling off the end of his tongue. Still someone once said to me ‘what’s for you won’t go by you’ which I translated into ‘stop your whinging and just get on with it’, which is exactly what I did.