An Autumnal drizzle is trying to douse the embers of anger in my being as I arrive at The Irish Cougar’s friend’s home. I’m helping The Irish Cougar move today to her rich friend’s pad in central London. I’ve driven in motorway traffic during rush-hour for well over an hour. I’ve pre-paid the London Congestion Charge of £11, a toll-charge for driving through the centre of London on a weekday; she better not change her mind or not have the keys for her new place.
Again her friend greets me at the door and as I enter I see boxes crowding the hallway. Good, today’s move seems to be happening. Again the friend ushers me into the kitchen and makes me a coffee. After a few minutes of banter The Irish Cougar joins us and we kiss each other hello on the lips, which makes the friend smile.
Within minutes I’m carrying boxes out to my car in the rain while The Irish Cougar finishes up a few loose ends. Not once does she come out in the rain as I single-handedly pack my car to the gills. I’m a little disappointed in her lack of offering to help me. This serves to feed the seething sensation I have inside me.
We say goodbye to the friend and I squeeze The Irish Cougar into my heavily-laden car. She’s overly chatty and I guess it must be because she’s moving onto a place more private. After almost two hours of dealing with London traffic on a rainy day we arrive at the millionaire’s apartment overlooking Hyde Park. We eventually find a parking spot near the property and I begin unloading the car while The Irish Cougar goes to check the property out, to make sure it is as she expected and that no unwelcome surprises await us.
All is in order and I load as many boxes and whatnot into the lift, unloading again when we get to the upper floor where the three-bedroom apartment is. The Irish Cougar starts unpacking in the apartment while I go off to make another trip with the lift. I really am starting to feel like a hired hand being used for my body. My seething becomes simmering.
Parking in the area is by resident’s permit only so I drive a few miles to go park at a friend’s place. I’m counting on my car being there overnight, because tonight I intend to fuck this woman. Her deceit and selfishness typifies what I feel I have been enduring at the hands of women for years now. I feel justified in exacting a revenge that might just appease my overwhelming sense of outrage that I am beginning to feel towards women.
I catch a bus back to the apartment and that journey takes an hour, so by the time I see The Irish Cougar again she has pretty much finished unpacking. She gives me a tour of this apartment that is easily worth more than a million Pounds, possibly twice that. The lounge alone is bigger than my apartment and it has a raised ceiling, so there’s an impressive feeling of space. The furnishings are new, tasteful contemporary and obviously expensive. The centrepiece is the biggest television I’ve ever seen mounted into a wall and an enormous, plush tan sofa faces it. The adjoining open-plan kitchen is filled with expensive integrated mod-cons that I can only dream of having. Everything is shiny, new and white. The two large bathrooms are floor to ceiling Italian marble, each having a bath big enough for two adults as well as a large shower cubicle. A third smaller bathroom leads off from the main bedroom. The two “smaller” bedrooms are bigger than my bedroom; each has a kingsize bed with built-in wardrobes and ample space for two people to get dressed and not be able to touch each other. The main bedroom has a super-kingsize bed and enough space around it to play a game of badminton. That’s not the game that I have in mind for later though.
“I’m starving. Let’s go have an early dinner,” Irish Cougar squeaks.
Only then do I realize that it’s mid-afternoon; we’ve both been on the go all day. Must keep my energy level up for later I tell myself. The Irish Cougar and I walk along a street that runs parallel with bustling Oxford Street so as to avoid the mindless crowds. As we wait to cross a street I feel that someone is looking at me and my eyes meet a pretty face that I recognize. The woman staring at me is someone I’ve swapped messages with on a dating site but she couldn’t bring herself to actually meet face-to-face. Maybe when I’m done with The Irish Cougar I’ll contact her again. We cross the street and give each other knowing looks and suppressed smiles.
The Irish Cougar wants Italian food so we end up in a little-known side-street littered with quaint eateries and pricey clothing boutiques. It’s after the lunchtime rush and before the evening stampede, so we have the place to ourselves. As she starts telling me more about her friends who have loaned her this amazing property free of charge, it dawns on me that not once today has she said thank you for anything that I’ve done for her.
A small fire of anger sparks in me and it glows while she talks. I’m now not much in the mood for talking. She’s very talkative so she doesn’t notice that I’ve gone quiet. Anybody who truly knows me will tell you that if I go quiet, well, something’s going to happen.
Dessert ends and she asks for the bill. Ah, this must be how she’s going to say thank you, by buying me a meal. It’s the least she can do, right? After all, I laid on a vehicle, petrol, paid the congestion charge, did all the carrying, drove elsewhere to park my car for the night and caught a bus back. I could have spent my day doing other things.
The bill lay on the table, like a piece of shit that nobody wanted to acknowledge. It felt like a showdown between us as to who would blink first, like in a stand-off scene out of a spaghetti Western. The Irish Cougar’s green eyes occasionally peek at the bill from under her dusty sombrero. I chew on a piece of invisible straw, trying to keep my hand away from my wallet that is my side-arm. Shoppers scurry away and a tense silence descends. A plastic bag rolls by like a tumble-weed. A waiter raises his eyes from behind a counter to see if a card has been presented, then slowly lowers his head.
Like that we sit for several minutes, not speaking, barely making eye contact. Nothing and nobody around us is moving. The forlorn bill must feel as welcome as a fart in a space-suit.
She’s a fucking Taker!
Why did I not spot this sooner? How did I miss this? My mind races and I realize that all along I’ve been paying for almost everything. Even if someone might have money problems, it’s just a common courtesy to at least say “thank you”.
I decide to end the stand-off, to move the day along, so I pull my wallet out and pay with a credit card. As the waiter leaves The Irish Cougar becomes chatty again. Bitch. That’s what resonates in my mind. Bitch. Shall I say something? Before I get a chance she speaks.
“Can we quickly pop into a Marks and Spencer’s to get some groceries?” she asks.
“There’s also a Tesco nearby,” I respond, testing for any budgetary issue. Tesco is almost half-price by comparison.
“Oh no. I don’t shop at places like that,” she says as we stand and leave.
Places like that? What the hell does that mean? That you’re a snob to boot?
We find the local Marks and Spencer’s and I carry the basket for her. As we go around the store not once does The Irish Cougar ask me if there is anything that I would like. It is my understanding that I’ll be spending the night, so a little breakfast might be called for? Nope, she’s only shopping for herself. As I carry the three little carrier bags that came to seventy Pounds, it occurs to me this is more than the meal I just paid for. The meal I paid for? Hang on, she didn’t say thank you for that either!
Selfish fucking bitch.
It dawns on me that I have felt exactly this way before. It was with Country Girl. I wined and dined her, took her to a concert and she didn’t say thank you either. I should have taken Country Girl back to my place and fucked her. At least then I would have got something for my efforts and money.
Hmm, I’m learning. Fucking an ungrateful bitch is exactly what I’m going to do now. The Irish Cougar has shown me scant respect, consideration and appreciation. I’m going to give her the same. I’m going to do exactly what I want with her. She deserves it.
We pack her groceries away and I start to wonder if The Irish Cougar’s now going to show me the door. After all, she’s done with me now; my purpose for today is served. It has been implied that I’d be spending the night but now I’m not so sure given that I know for certain that she’s a Taker.
“How about we have a bath together?” she says with a naughty look in her eyes.
Game on! It’s playtime!
The Irish Cougar starts running a bath but the water isn’t hot because, as I discover, the hot water cylinder had been switched off. It was going to be a while before the water heated. It’s already dark outside and nightlife in London has started. I’m tired of wasting time, it’s time for action.
I’m standing behind her in the bathroom and pull her towards me, resting her back against my stomach. I start slowly running my hands up and down her body as she tilts her head back and rests it against a shoulder. An earlobe is in easy reach so I kiss it, then lightly suck it, but I resist the urge to give it a little nibble; too early for that, she needs to be more turned on.
TO BE CONTINUED…