Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. Double Exposure by The TaleWagger It was long ago and I was on a South Sea island where illusions replaced disillusion. My mind was awash with primitive sensations, as the ripples of a tropical sea lapped peacefully over my body and I felt the hairs on my chest sway to and fro like a bed of seaweed. I felt the hot sun blaze down from the cloudless blue sky of Paradise. It caressed my cheeks and made my blood rush. I floated above the bleached, white coral sand of the lagoon and I stared through closed eyelids at the fishing boats of a nearby island as the bobbed their way slowly to its palm-covered shores. Peace and tranquillity reigned. I was in my own little heaven. As time daydreamed by, I mused about my duties as an island chief and realised that it was time for important decisions to be made, and that my chores had to be carried out. If I was to remain the Great White Chief of my subjects, then no matter how pleasant my tasks were I must be strong and determined to do the best for my loyal female subjects. I sighed, and my heartbeat increased as I pictured Tiha, Moona, Sukey and Lahee as they waited to give me pleasures. Pleasures, which no other mere mortal has or will ever experience, but my stomach rumbled and my brain remembered that none of us had eaten lately. I was in need of food to boost my strength and while the cold breeze of reason threatened to divert me, the hot wind of Passion strove to keep me on course. My body was being sucked into a whirlpool and I fought to survive. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The sound of cannons thundered around the island. We had been attacked! I quickly sought refuge beneath the gentle swell, needing time to gather my thoughts and address the problem: time to find a way to save the island and my faithful subjects. I waited a moment and then broke the surface to scan for invaders. Boom! Boom! Boom! The cannons fired another salvo but this time it was followed by a coarse voice. "You going to be all bloody day in there? I want a bath before I go down the Pub." I slowly sat up, the soapy water stung my eyes but reality was more painful. 'Sod off and leave me in peace,' was what I wanted to shout, but softer words begrudgingly left my lips. "Okay! Hang on a minute! I've nearly finished." With my dream island blown out of the water by this loud-mouthed Man of War, I quickly dried myself and trudged the million miles back from the isolation of Paradise to the confines of my drab little suburban bed-sit. I gazed into the large, ageing mirror of the tatty dressing table that took up far too much of my small room, carefully applied deodorant and talcum powder and then posed. Before me was the reflection of my naked, tanned body. 'Not bad for a thirty year-old,' I kidded myself, as I am nearer forty. My bronzed body, lean and firm seemed to glow as the late afternoon sun shone through the window. I reminisced on how I had shaped it with years of constant action and strenuous exercise, in the British Army's Special Tactical Force, and honed it to sinewy perfection in the salty battle for oil on the wind-swept North Sea rigs. I relaxed my muscles, took a deep breath, raised my arms level with my head, clenched my fists and strained. The taut muscles in the upper part of my body caused the black hairs on my chest to stand out against the golden tan of my skin like a thundercloud passing over corn-covered hills. I stared deeper into the mirror and braced the rest of my perfect physique; my stomach was a mass of muscle, small tight and firm, and my thigh muscles bulged, like knotted rope. I gazed and wondered how it was that Janine could possibly have rejected me for somebody else! Still, this was the last few weeks of the last year of my life on the delivery van, before moving to a nicer area and finding a woman who was worthy of me. With my part of the divorce settlement coming through, I would be away from this boring job and dreary town. I would set myself up to find someone with cash as well as looks. My eyes watered slightly as I lay down on the bed to think about the past with Janine. Ever since that very special day, all those years ago, when we first met, I had remained faithful to her. For me it was love at first sight. I was a naive nineteen year-old while she was a sexually mature eighteen. Yes, I admit that I had often sought the sexual solace of other women in the fantasies of my mind, especially during the long and lonely hours on duty. However, my faithful body had longed only for the true physical satisfaction that freely abounded within the love and beauty of my Janine. Hers was not a body for childbearing, the Gods had seen to that! They had gently moulded her through the teenage years until she was perfection. She became, and still is, a woman to be lusted over, by many men, for many years, but what the full picture really was came as a complete surprise. July the twenty-seventh had started off as if it would be nothing special. The sun had risen early with the promise of a lovely day but by late morning the narrow ribbons of cloud had knitted together to form a thin blanket across the sky. It was keeping out most of the sun's heat and maintaining pleasant warmth with a hint of better weather to come. Perhaps if the day had been any hotter I would not have been able to control the intense fire of betrayal that later attempted to consume me in its flames. There was to be no warning of the pain that was to tear at my heartstrings, threatening to rip my body and soul apart. I had joyfully arrived home on the previous evening looking forward to a well-earned break and my intention was to spend four glorious weeks with Janine. The first week was to be spent decorating our bedroom and the hallway. It was a labour, but a labour of love. We would then jet-away on a two-week second honeymoon in Bermuda and renew our vows in Paradise. The final week would be spent relaxing and seeing friends and relatives. My happiness and plans were short-lived. Janine had left early to do some shopping while I cleared out our bedroom, hopefully she would return in time to do the final cleaning before I began the painting. It was while I was moving the bedroom furniture into the hallway that the incident occurred that caused my life to suddenly collapse. Her chest of drawers was too heavy for me to move so I removed the top two drawers and placed them, one on top of the other, on the bed. As I moved the chest I brushed against the bed dislodging the top drawer and it slid to the ground spilling its contents. I picked up the drawer and replaced the innumerable flimsy items as neatly as I could, wondering how one woman could possibly need so many sets of exotic and erotic underwear. There seemed to be more than enough just in that drawer, but the other one was also full to overflowing! My thoughts were still light-hearted as I went to pick up one of the last items. It was a silk bag full of skimpy and transparent bras and panties in either black or red and, as I picked it up, a small leather-bound book with a gold clasp fell out. I replaced the bag, picked up the book and sat on the edge of the bed. There was no writing on the book’s cover so I undid the clasp and opened the cover. To my amazement, I discovered that it was a five-year diary. In all the years that I have known and loved Janine I had not realised that she kept, or was even the type to keep, a diary. On holidays it was difficult enough to get her to send postcards to anyone and she very rarely kept a note of birthdays or addresses. The good times that we spent together deserved to be recorded, for us to remember in our old age and a slight glow of pleasurable anticipation spread across my face as I turned over the inner leaf. An inscription in Janine's handwriting was on the left-hand page and it read: ‘Dear Diary, You will be my sole confidant and share with me my most precious intimate moments and innermost thoughts. You will be a lasting record of my pleasures in the forthcoming years and a comfort in my later years. I give us a toast: To filling this diary and many, many more!’ I turned to a page and read the first entry. "January 6th. Hello Diary No.1. Welcome to my World of Passion! Your birth today will allow me a further indulgence." ‘A further indulgence’, what did she mean? I read more: "Today will be the start of the most wondrous phase of my Life, all that has gone before has been merely a taste of what the future has in store for me. I will make it happen, I will divert all of my efforts to satisfy the cravings that roar out from deep within this sensuous body of mine." Was this really my Janine writing about her life, or was it all a figment of her imagination? I was compelled to read on. "3pm. Faithful Ken arrived with his usual bunch of flowers. Went to bed all afternoon, enjoyable but I'm beginning to get bored with him and he's starting to get possessive. He wants to know who my other lovers are. Fat chance! I'll quickly get what I can from him, then it’s ‘bye, ‘bye Ken! 8 pm Lawrie phoned early, thankfully. Met Claire and we went down town to Tony‘s Bar. Claire met Des but no Allan, I wonder why? Introduced to Shaun. Came home for a party with them. Had a drink or two then we all went to bed. Shaun’s not bad at all for a teenager. 6/10, but has potential, and hopefully a lot of mates! Later woke up Des to find out what Claire sees in him, 9/10, lucky Claire. Still, 3 down today, a satisfactory start, you must agree my dearest Diary!" I couldn't believe my eyes, was this really my loving, caring wife or was it just her imagination running wild during the lonely days of my absence? I flicked through the pages until I was finally convinced by the entry on February 14th. I read the entry and found that the diary revealed far more of Janine than the see-through undies ever could! Until that fateful day, I had not known, or even suspected, that she had far exceeded the expectations of the Love Gods. She had picked lovers like grapes from the vines, happily ambling along the path between the rows feasting on their instant sweetness. She never had the intention, or desire, to keep them long enough to ferment and harvest the Wine of Love. Sometimes she enjoyed the juice from a single grape, at other times she gorged on a bunch. I cannot blame her, for she has been created to be mistress to all and mastered by none, and it was my own blind stupidity that had led me to believe that I could be allowed the luxury of her faithfulness, as well as her beauty. She is as lovely now as when we first met: perhaps even more so. I will never forget her azure-blue eyes that shine out of a spotless complexion and that cute button nose that is almost lost above her sweet passionate lips. Her uncut, blonde tresses carelessly cascading over her bronzed shoulders and flowing down her shapely waist to splash silently onto the smooth, round rocks of her small, firm buttocks. Then her long, shapely legs still melt into small delicate feet. How can I ever forget the pleasure of her ample round breasts, lightly-tanned, firm and outstanding; their nipples, always proud, were the cherry on the cake. Yes, Madeleine would have been an ideal name for her! Thinking of her, and I have become expert at that over the years, has always sent the blood coursing through my body. If only! Yes, if only ... but it's too late now! My regret forced me to thump my fist on the bed to help steel my mind against such futile thoughts. I must start afresh, our divorce is finalised and, although that tempting siren will always haunt my thoughts and be in the background of my other loves. I decided that it would be a waste to spend any more of such a lovely day moping about in a squalid room and quickly dressed. Fresh air, sunshine, food and much better scenery were just a short jog away. Mine. Wednesday My low front-garden wall at 23,Sharpstone Drive, maybe missing a brick or two and the window frames are definitely in need a new coat of paint, but my garden is something else: as with many other women, it is a sanctuary. My lawn is regularly cut and the dark-green of the well-fed and watered grass is in harmony with the myriad of delicate flowers that surround it. In the centre is a concrete birdbath, a present from a friend, always filled with freshly changed water. It lords over my happy little family of concrete animals, which I have acquired in times of mental stress. To some people they may look randomly scattered, but I have spent many exhausting moments moving them around to just the right position. My front and rear gardens are my only passion. In my long hours of solitude I do my gardening, for when I am gardening I manage to blank out my sorrow within their beautiful source of delight. As I go about my routine household chores, I look forward to relaxing, even for a few moments, in the garden with the looks and smells of my beloved flowers they are my love-children from a fragrant romance. I finish the ironing and look at the kitchen clock: it is a quarter-to-three. That's good, still time to phone Pat before relaxing and Christopher arriving home from school. I put the ironing board away; pick up the telephone and dial. It is answered almost immediately. "Hello Pat. It's me, Maureen." "I'm fine and you?" "Can you do me a favour and keep an eye on Emma tonight? There's a meeting at Christopher’s school at seven, but I should be back around nine." I hear somebody walking up the path to the front door and before Pat can reply to my request, the sound of knocking on the door hammers its way through the house. "Oh dear! Hang on a minute Pat, there's somebody at the door!" I put the phone on the table and go into the hallway. The silhouette of a man fills the frosted glass of the door. "Coming!" I call out, hoping to stop him knocking again. I partly open the door, and look at the man. He is smartly dressed in a dark blue two-piece overall suit and has a box tucked under his arm. I look into his face as he starts to smile a friendly, but tired, welcome but the cold grey blankness in his eyes instantly freezes the muscles in my face. "Good afternoon, Ma'am, Delivery for Buckton," he says and passes the box to me. In a daze I take the box from him. "Sign here please," he adds and offers his pen and receipt pad but my eyes are hypnotised by the box's label and time seems to stop still. My fingers automatically grip the box tightly as I feel that it might be something ‘special’. My face is cold as if the blood is draining from it, I feel faint and want to cry, so I open the door fully to get more air. I gasp in an urgently needed breath and say: "I wasn't expecting anything. Are you sure it's for me?"   Click to Continue

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