This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 15: Call Of The Hunter free porn video

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Today Sinterklaas arrived in The Netherlands! If you have no idea what that means, why not read my short story ‘Best Sinterklaas Ever’, available on this very website? It predates the events in ‘Best Sister Ever’. – RD

Having all that security gear installed in my house made me a tiny bit paranoid, I don’t mind telling you. It’s not as if I’m planning to assassinate the Queen or overthrow the government when I’m pottering about in the kitchen, but my private affairs are rather unusual and I really didn’t need a government dossier on them.

I told Mel about the request, but I didn’t dare do it at home, even now there were tiny little devices in the corner of each window, which made the glass vibrate randomly just enough to throw off any laser beams. Yes, I was worried about laser beams! Listen to me! That’s tinfoil hat talk, that is! But I needed to tell Mel what was up, which I ended up doing in a quaint old tearoom I’d never set foot in in my life. I figured a public place would not be bugged and I could keep an eye on people overhearing us. We left our phones in the car, which freaked Mel out. But she did understand, after I’d told her how I had been asked to be a spy.

“It makes sense now,” she said, finally breaking off a corner of her vanilla slice after having listened to my whispered story. “And having a burglar alarm is a good thing, I suppose. Plus, it’s probably not so much the government we should be worried about. I’ve often thought journalists would have a field day if they learned what goes on at our place. Having them on our doorstep just after they thought you landed a plane reminded me of that. I swear one of them stole a trash bag.”

I had to laugh at that.

“Dirty nappies?” I guessed.

“Oh yeah. And leftovers. Sushi. Oh, and Thai food.”

“Yuck! I almost feel sorry for that piece of ... Hang on, sushi and Thai food? Why’s that?”

“Because that’s what we eat when you’re not around. We order take-out. I know you don’t approve, but we do like it.”

I’m not really fond of Asian cuisine. It’s just not my thing. And I had to break both Melody and Kate from a nasty habit of ordering take-out almost every single night, because neither of them had either the time or the inclination to cook. Young people can eat anything, but I can’t and I’m fussy. That’s how I’d learned to cook for us, which I did most nights.

“I had no idea you had such a hankering for that stuff. It’s not as if you’re not allowed to order it, you know. If you let me know I can make something for myself.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” laughed Mel, as she stole a bite off my Bakewell tart. “I love your cooking, I really do. But I like a nice nigiri or a bowl of noodle soup as well, and that’s just not in your repertoire.”

“I could try, if you like.”

“It’s fine, really. You do so many dishes I love, you’re really spoiling us. Don’t worry about it.”

And so I didn’t. I’m not a great chef, but I don’t want to be one, either. I just want to be a proficient home cook, so my loved ones won’t have to subsist on take-out. Besides, it’s something to do, isn’t it?

British tearooms are the polar opposite of your average Starbucks or Costa. You’ll often find them in lopsided buildings that are so old even a short-arse like me needs to duck in doorways. The furniture will look like it was rescued from a skip. Doilies, fucking doilies everywhere. Handwritten notes on the till, to explain they don’t take anything except cash and you can’t have the carrot cake to take home because the little old lady who bakes it can only manage two a week. The teacups won’t match if you show up with more than two people, because they got them from a charity shop. That also explains the bric-a-brac on the walls. And there will be stainless steel tea kettles that have caused more burns than a Nigerian oil pipeline, as well as often quite mediocre pastry, half of which is on the menu but not actually available. I have no idea why I keep seeking out these places, although one in ten will turn out to be an absolute gem and just for a moment it feels like Saturday morning at your grandmother’s house. I miss oma.

Besides, no intelligence agency on Earth has a spook who can infiltrate a place like this without the gaggle of geriatrics seated at the largest table taking notice. In fact, Carstairs showing up nearly killed two of them (and with a black girl, no less!), but I just waved and took Mel to the farthest corner. We spoke only when they did, to stop them from listening in. But by now the novelty had worn off and they hadn’t worked up the courage to ask for a selfie, so Mel and I relaxed. We don’t get that much time to ourselves, really.

“Can I talk to you about this play you’re doing?” asked Mel, after I had successfully poured my second cup without getting second degree blisters.

“Sure.”

“How is that going?”

“Well, I’m meeting Diana tomorrow. She’ll tell me about the script she had commissioned. If I like it, we’ll work out a schedule, rehearse for about a month and then we do two performances a week, for as long as ticket sales hold up. Thursdays and Fridays. Not too bad. I can go after work.”

Mel just nodded.

“And that’s basically all I know,” I added.

“I see. Two shows a week is not much.”

“I don’t think she expects a big audience. We may have to move venues once or twice, just to keep the costs down. It’s her last public performance, apparently. She wants to do one piece that’s entirely to her own liking, which I can understand. And I gather she’s thinking of moving to Spain after that.”

“Right. She’s what now, fifty-five?”

“Or thereabouts. We’ll never know for sure.”

“Any idea what the play is about?”

“No, but I gather it will be quite serious. And it’s basically just me and her. Maybe a student to play a waiter or something, but small scale. One set.”

Mel nodded again and looked longingly at a glass display case with some scones, Chelsea buns and Eccles cakes in it, plus a large, mostly empty plate that was littered with chocolate crumbs. I could tell there was something on her mind.

“What’s up, sweetheart? Want to share something?”

“Yeah. But not cake. Listen, I don’t want to be one of THOSE women. You know I trust you. But I can’t say I like the idea of you working with Diana again.”

“I see.”

I couldn’t blame her, really. Melody is extremely generous in our relationship. Kate needs me, I need Kate and for a while I also played around with Samantha. She was also aware I sometimes slept with Caroline, in fact as recently as our trip to Qatar. But she knew about all of it and only ever asked me to use protection, which I did. It doesn’t turn her on, but she’s simply mature enough to understand that my life is complicated, and that marrying someone does not give you the right to make them your sexual hostage. Affection takes many forms and I have some catching up to do. Or maybe I’m greedy, I don’t know. But I’d never hurt Mel, or go behind her back. I told her everything she wanted to know, always. And I made damned sure she knew how I felt about her, and that’s not about sex. (Well, a little.)

“I know it’s a bit silly, considering how I trust you with other women. But ... It’s Diana, you know? It’s different.”

Diana Albinson. One of the most respected actresses working in Britain today. She landed her first role at age nineteen and never stopped working. And she was always, always sexy. Even when she played historical figures, such as Anne Boleyn. She never seemed to mind the reputation and in fact she worked very, very hard to keep her body in shape. But the UK has many fine actresses and show business can be unforgiving, so eventually the big, juicy roles dried up and what was left was the reputation of what Brits call a ‘sex pot’. Literally nobody in the country could imagine her without fishnet stockings, just like people always picture me with gloves and tails even if I’m standing right in front of them in jeans and a shirt. I’ve shown up to interviews in my leather bike gear and with a three day stubble, only to read back how I ‘entered the restaurant dressed like the quintessential British gentleman’, like my skin is actually tweed or something. Well, Diana had more or less the same problem, which is why I met her doing a rather frivolous comedy piece in a theatre one hour outside London. She spent half the show running around in her underwear and looked great doing it, but I fully understood that wasn’t the part she wanted to end her career on.

Diana was also the first woman to take an interest in me after my divorce, and if we’re not counting Kate, since birth. Monique was always more interested in my earning potential, but Diana and I met on the set where I shot the commercial that would ‘launch my career’ (there aren’t any extra heavy irony brackets in the UTF8 character set, are there?) as Carstairs. She found out I didn’t like being kissed, even it it was fake, for very childish reasons, and took an interest. I don’t know why. I guess she picks up stray dogs as well. Coincidentally, I also met Melody that day, but I managed to turn her against me in a matter of hours. I’m great at that sort of thing. It’s effortless, it really is.

A few days later Diana offered me a job as a lighting technician, which paid almost enough to cover the cost of public transport between Kate’s house and the theatre. Luckily, there was a free bus and so I took the job. It came with a perk. Two perks, actually: her left and her right boob every Friday night, plus whatever else I fancied. And I fancied a lot.

She’s a little older than me, but not by so much that it’s weird. Her body is in great shape and she’s really good company. I thought I’d fallen in love, I really had. But what the hell did I know about love? I was in lust, that’s what I was. Love came later, when someone helped me to escape the press, drove me around to find an apartment and then decorated it for me, spent time with me doing something other than having sex and basically made me very happy. But that person, as it turned out, was Melody. Not Diana, who just thought she’d landed a friend with benefits for Friday nights.

And so I confused all these emotions, thought it was all about Diana and felt betrayed when it turned out she was actually married and had no intention of sharing her life with me. That wasn’t malice on her part, mind you. She just had no idea I was so immature, that I had no idea what was really going on. I thought I’d found the woman I’d grow old with, finally. She thought everyone in the world knew she was married. Well, I didn’t.

It hurt, at the time, but I’ve forgiven her since. I count her as a friend now, even though the last time I saw her was at my wedding. I really have nothing to complain about in my life, at least when it comes to love and family. Why hold grudges, especially with someone who meant well?

Still, I could see Mel’s point.

“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re honest about that. Obviously I don’t think there’s even a small chance of anything happening, but if you’re worried then I won’t put you through that. I’ll let her know I’m not available. Okay?”

Mel shook her head.

“That’s not ... I don’t really want you to do that, either. You’ve never expressed any kind of interest in acting. Everything you’ve done as an actor you did kicking and screaming, even that movie. Now you’re finally interested in going out on stage, without Kelly even, and I really like that. I do think you’re a good actor. I’d like to see you grow in that.”

“I did a Hollywood movie, how much more can I grow?”

“That’s not what I mean, Martin. Carstairs is just a very two-dimensional character, it’s basically you with a haughty attitude. Colonel Meisel ... That was you, too.”

“Now hang on!”

Mel hushed me.

“I’m not saying you’d have been a Nazi, okay! Hear me out. It’s just that Meisel is a nice guy, good at his job, but then something happens and he snaps and he takes drastic measures. That’s you. If anyone puts a finger on me or Kate or Kelly, you go berserk. That’s Meisel’s story too, isn’t it? They killed his wife, they crippled his daughter and that broke him.”

“Thanks. Very kind of you, this free psycho-analysis session...” I growled. It’s very hard to growl with a pink and blue tea cup in your hand, by the way.

“What I mean to say is that whatever play Diana has selected, it will probably have a mature, fully rounded role for you. A chance to prove you can do more than put on a uniform hat or some gloves. So I’d like for you to try that, but at the same time ... I just don’t trust Diana. I’m sorry. She sees what I see, what we all see. Except she has thirty years more experience at getting what she wants.”

“Okay, like I said: I’ll cancel. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not! Look ... Can’t I just tag along or something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come to rehearsals with you?”

“Isn’t that a bit ... weird?”

“Yeah. I suppose it is. But I could be useful! I’m a set designer, after all. Well, I could do it. I’ve done all aspects of it, except carpentry. I could also do costuming, or make-up. Hell, I’ll do the lights if I have to. I’ve spent countless hours on all sorts of shoots, from commercials to drama. I’m sure I can do theatre.”

I was sure of it, too. Even though Melody was becoming a prominent figure in the London arts scene, she was a jack of all trades when I met her. She did everything from dressing sets to bridal make-up and drove tens of thousands of miles a year in her van, going from one production to another. There isn’t a motor service station on the British mainland she hasn’t been to.

“Okay! I’m absolutely fine with that. I’ll tell Caroline we come as a package. In fact, it will be nice to work with you.”

“Really? You think it’s a good idea?”

“I do. She’ll be lucky to have you, no matter what you bring to the production. But you have to be nice to her, okay?”

“When am I ever not nice?” she laughed.

“Well ... You can be a bit grumpy now and then. We don’t get a lot of sleep nowadays.”

“I’ll be good, I promise. I’ve dealt with actors for longer than you, Carstairs. I know better than to put them off their game. Oh, this is going to be fun!”

And that’s why Ali dropped off me, my darling wife and the apple of my eye, along with a stroller, in front of a rehearsal hall cum ballet studio cum folding chair theatre on Edgware road, not that far from the office as the crow flies, but millions of pounds away in terms of property prices. The Edgware Road (the ‘The’ is practically mandatory) is what you might call ‘multicultural’. The Odeon, at one point the biggest screen in London, now plays mostly Arabic movies. You can book your pilgrimage to Mecca, have your pick from at least ten different kebab shops, buy a gold-coloured iPhone cover and smoke a shisha waterpipe all without having to turn a single corner.

“There you go, guv’,” said Ali, who was double parked and hurried to help me get the stroller frame out of the boot of my company Mercedes. Mel was holding Edwin and waited patiently on the sidewalk.

“Stop calling me ‘guv’, I’m not a prison officer.”

“Sorry, Mista King. Any idea how long you’ll be?”

“I don’t know. An hour or so. You can go back to the office. I’ll let you know.”

“Cheers. I’ll get off this double red then. Bye Missus King! Bye Eddie!”

Five seconds later he merged with the traffic that moved through Edgware Road at a snail’s pace. I unfolded the stroller, placed the seat on top of it and then it was ready for Edwin. I remember the first couple of times we had to do this: I nearly snapped off my own index finger and I sweated so much Mel complained the handle bar got slippery. These folding contraptions are like an IQ test on rubber wheels, and I’d failed mine more than once. There’s always a button or a grip or a latch I forget about, usually when I’m also the one holding up Edwin. We can’t put him down because he can walk, so he’ll throw himself under a bus faster than a British MP will lose his massage parlour receipt. But by now I was practiced, so it only took two tries and a really very mild curse.

“Right, so where do we go?” asked Melody, when Edwin was strapped in.

“We’re looking for a glass door between a tobacconist and a Maplin,” I said, looking around.

“GUYS! RIGHT HERE!” yelled a man on the other side of the street, which was four lanes wide at this point.

“Is that for us?” asked Mel, who spotted him first. I turned round and recognized Nigel, Diana’s husband. (I had no idea they were married at the time. Long story.) Nigel is a dour looking man, who played the long suffering man of the house in I Married A Murderer, the play Diana was doing when we met. He’s really quite a good actor and I’ve spotted him in more than a few really nice roles since, but in real life he’s not exactly the life of the party. Particularly when his wife is shagging someone else. Me, to be precise.

But right now, as he waited for Mel and me to find a zebra crossing and join him, he was all smiles and warm handshakes and how have you beens and what a lovely boys. He guided us to a door I’d never have found in a million years.

“The Maplin’s moved last year. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t updated the instructions,” he chatted, as he held the door open so Mel and I could carry Edwin’s stroller over the threshold. And then, somewhat unexpectedly, he found it necessary to place his hands on my upper arms, much like I do when I try to impress on Edwin that he shouldn’t scrape his toy cars over the TV cabinet. Except Nigel didn’t have to squat. He meant well, as it turned out.

“Martin, listen up: I’ve seen Fatherland and it is REMARKABLE. Really is. I’m really happy things turned out so well for you, and that you want to do this for Diana. I know we weren’t best mates back in the day, but ... well ... that was then and this is now and I just hope we can all have a good time doing this. We’re looking forward to it and we should be a team, right?”

I smiled back at him and somewhat clumsily patted his ribcage, trying to return the friendly gesture.

“Sure. Absolutely. Considering what went on between me and Diana, you had every right to beat my head in with a tyre iron. So you’re forgiven for being a bit of an old grump.”

“Ah, but you didn’t KNOW! So ... Melody, lovely to see you. You’re very welcome here. I’m sure we can find a good use for you. And uhm ... We’ll keep an eye on them. The pair of us. Right? Haha!”

Melody smiled magnanimously. She knew what this man had been through over the years, perhaps better than anyone.

“Happy to help,” she said.

“Good. Good! Well, fortunately there’s a lift so if you’ll follow me!”

I must admit I was a bit nervous about seeing Diana. Even though I was really over her, and we’d talked about it, there was the undeniable fact I was in awe of her from the moment we met. You’ve probably never met someone as kind and confident as her. Just as confident? Well, yes, if you’ve met Caroline Keller, then you have. Just as kind? Well, I’d married the one woman alive who was just as kind. But both? No, there is only one Diana Albinson and the odd wrinkle that had inevitably appeared really took nothing away from the impression she made.

I found her upstairs, in a pantry that was clearly used by all sorts of creative types year round. In other words: it wasn’t very clean, there were passive aggressive notes on almost every surface, no two items of crockery matched and the garbage can wanted emptying last week. Not that I blamed Diana for any of this: she just rented the space for a few hours.

She was dressed very simply in tight blue jeans, a checkered shirt and wore a scarf around her head, tied in what I can only describe as a hippy-esque style. She was brewing coffee and had put out cups and saucers. Right now she was scooping coffee grounds into a brown filter.

“Hi there,” I said, accidentally startling her. She spilled some coffee.

“Oh! You’re here! Already! How lovely!”

“I saw them getting out of the car,” said Nigel.

“Darling, how wonderful to see you!”

She gave me a very chaste hug, then showbiz-kissed Melody (who reciprocated, because she knows that drill) and began to fuss over Edwin, which is one of the best ways to make my day. You can lie, that’s fine. You won’t have a reason to because he’s absolutely gorgeous and perfect, but if you really hate kids just say that he’s the cutest little boy you ever saw and that he should be signed up to a casting agency as soon as possible and you and me will be friends for life.

“Oh he’s lovely! Isn’t he lovely, Nige? Will you come say hello to Aunty Diana? No? You’re shy? Well, who wouldn’t be, with all these new faces? Oh my God, Martin, he’s adorable. He’s got your eyes.”

My eyes are blue. Edwin’s are brown, if not outright black. My genes contributed next to nothing to his appearance, although he’ll probably have to contend with male pattern baldness and rather sturdy thighs later in life. But it’s fine, it’s all fine. He gets his looks from the woman I love, thank God.

We had coffee and tea as we chatted about nothing in particular, as people do. It wasn’t about the stories, but about reconnecting and establishing new relationships for what was about to happen. For instance, I’d never thought of Nigel as someone I’d be on friendly terms with. Civil, certainly. But not friendly. Fair dues to the man: when I had to fill in as The Inspector in their play, not having had a single rehearsal, he did his level best to feed me lines and make sure I faced the right way. He had every chance to make me look bad and score some cheap laughs, but he was the consummate professional during every performance, even though I was shagging his missus. Which I didn’t know at the time, but he certainly did.

But now we were suddenly on track to be buddies, because as it turned out he would be directing the whole affair. And he was a lot less grumpy than I’d ever seen him before, that was for certain. Mind you, I’m sure he could say the same about me.

“So what’s the piece going to be about?”

Funnily enough it was Melody who brought it up, because Diana seemed far more interested in my adventure on Tower Bridge and my recent meeting with the Pope.

“Yes dear, shall we get some work done?” suggested Nigel, stroking Diana’s back. “You’ve made Martin tell you his story twice over now.”

“Have I? Well, it’s quite a story, isn’t it? But you’re right, of course. So where’s my ... ah...”

Nigel handed her a red folder, which contained a nice thick stack of paper.

“Right. Nigel keeps track of this now. I keep losing it. Found it in the microwave the other day. Ha! So ... This is what I’ve had commissioned. It’s written by a dear friend of mine, Andrew Walters, who ... Well, he’s just lovely, he really is. Have you seen The Cross? He wrote that. I was Penelope in that, for the first season. We were in Cornwall for the summer, it was...”

“Diana?”

“Oh yes. Nigel is always here to keep me on the straight and narrow! Thank you, darling. Right, so it is called I’ll Be with You Shortly and it’s the story of a man and a woman who meet in a hospital waiting room and they get talking, as you do, and they find out they’ve met twice before in their lives. Once as teenagers, later on as busy adults and now in old age.”

“How old, exactly?” I asked, envisaging endless nights in make-up.

“Sixties. Don’t worry darling, we won’t hang an artificial chin on you, or paint liver spots. Neither of us are thirty anymore. It just takes a wig and some old-fashioned clothes and we’re there. Which is good, because we’ll also be doing a scene set when we are in our thirties. You’ll just need a darker wig and I can just about pull it off if we dim the lights and maybe blind the audience with lasers or something.”

“Nonsense darling, you can easily do that,” said Nigel. I agreed.

“Thank you, you’re such sweet boys. Anyway, it’s mostly the two of us but Andrew said we should make this our own so it’s got a couple of gaps here and there and I’m hoping we can improvise there, to make up the backstory of our characters. The script is about seventy minutes right now, which is a bit on the short side.”

“Don’t worry too much about that,” said Nigel to me. “Andrew will join us after a few weeks and help flesh out anything we haven’t gotten around to.”

I wasn’t that worried yet, because although I am pretty much the last person who should be doing improv, I knew that quite often a script is just a starting point. Unless you’re doing a classic, such as The Mousetrap or Shakespeare, obviously.

“Guys, Edwin has almost nodded off,” said Mel. For the past hour Edwin had been happily running around the kitchen, playing with his toy car. We kept him away from the grimy bits and took turns sitting him down on our laps to browse one of his musical books. He loves those books where you push the page somewhere and a sound clip is played. They’re two quid each. Sadly, a battery change is six pounds. As we’d given him a rice waffle, Mel had put him back in the stroller. And now he had dozed off, with half a soggy waffle stuck to his fingers. I took a picture. It was only the third one that day.

“It’s dark in the wings of the theatre,” said Nigel. One rehearsal space had a small stage and some curtains. Mel nodded and rolled Edwin away. Once he’s asleep he’s usually good for an hour and if he needs you he’ll let you know. We hadn’t used the baby monitor in our house for quite some time.

“Sorry about that,” said Mel, as she joined us. “So why don’t they recognize each other? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Because people change. Hair, glasses, dress style, things like that,” explained Nigel.

“Oh, right. So they meet for a third time. Then what?”

“They talk. They find out they met before. And as they wait and wait, they speculate about what might have become of their lives if they hadn’t gone their separate ways. And they come to the conclusion that this time, they’re not going to let it happen. That is, if they’re given the chance. Because one of them, the woman, might receive some very bad news that day.”

“Oh, I see. So it’s very dramatic.”

“Yes,” said Nigel. “It is in its current form,” said Nigel. “But I’m pretty sure that Martin and Diana will find ways to liven it up as we rehearse and shape the back story. This piece is going to need some big laughs, or else the entire audience will just walk into traffic like a bunch of lemmings at the end of it. We may even do a song.”

“Yes darling, we can have some fun with it!” said Diana, reaching out to touch my upper arm. “Oh and it’s called I’ll Be With You Shortly.”

“That’s good, I like that ... Oh, excuse me.”

My phone rang. It was Kate. I could tell by the ringtone, which is ‘On The Street Where You Live’ for her. I had a bastard of a time setting that up, by the way. Why can’t you just pick an mp3 file from your music collection?

“Hi Kate. I’m...”

“Martin, I’m outside. I just can’t seem to find the bloody entrance.”

I shook my head. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but she could track me and Mel via our phones.

“I’ll send someone out. Go stand on your tippy toes, so Nigel will be able to spot you.”

“You fu...”

I rang off.

“It’s the showbiz police. I guess we’re being raided,” I announced. That piqued Nigel and Diana’s curiosity, but as soon as Kate appeared at the top of the stairs there was a flurry of kisses and ‘darlings’ and ‘I adore this’ and ‘So lovely to’ that’s. It is at times like these I see my sister as the rest of the world does: a highly regarded professional you do not, under any circumstances, want to upset. Someone who knows everyone, particularly their flaws, and who is aware of all major goings-on. She is royalty, even at twenty-six, and has been for a while. I take very little credit for how amazing she is, but I do take some. If I hadn’t carefully removed that marble she stuck up her nose once, who knows where she might have ended up, right?

Kate wasted very little time after the pleasantries were over.

“Right, so is there a script?”

“Yes. We’ve done this before, you know,” Nigel couldn’t help saying. He and Diana are not with Keller & Fox. Diana and Caroline are close friends, which is why they decided not to have a business relationship. If I were to sign on to this I would be ‘on loan’ from Keller & Fox, which was the only excuse Kate had for being here. But then, that was all she needed.

“Of course, Nige, that came out wrong. I’m just curious what you’re up to. Looking out for Martin is kind of what I do.”

“I was about to suggest we have a read-through,” said Nigel. “But what with Edwin being here, I’m not sure if there’s time. It’s been a while since Lola was his age, but I recall they can’t be strapped in their strollers indefinitely. And this isn’t the best place to go off and explore.”

Lola was Nigel’s stepdaughter. I don’t know all the details, but he and Diana got together when Lola was very young and her real dad was out of the picture. When I met Lola she had some social anxiety issues, which had given her the nickname ‘quiet Lola’: she hardly ever spoke and if she did she was almost inaudible. (Which was a bit of a problem because she managed the ticket office!) But then I found out she could get over that by acting, so I had a very interesting though not very pleasant hotel room adventure with her.

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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 6 Something in the Air

Monday, July 13th. Gatwick Airport. What the hell was wrong with me!? Why had I worked so hard to get here? How did I not realise that pretty much the last thing I ever want is to be away from my family, particularly my little boy? Why the fuck was I going to a country where I’d be practically illiterate, dependant on the good will of the very people I was going to spy on to speak English with me! And how in the world was I going to be a spy when I had a sodding Wikipedia page and an IMDB...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 7 Miles from Home

The last time I was at Hamad I had been escorted off the plane soon after landing. This was much better. For some reason we didn’t use a jetway to get into the terminal building, so I was treated to a blast of the familiar heat of Doha. It felt strangely comforting, for some reason. It’s not quite the same as the heat of Los Angeles, or Las Vegas. Maybe it was because we were so near the sea. For the first few seconds it felt a bit like a warm hug. Isn’t that odd? An airport bus drove us to...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 18 Teach her a Lesson

I suppose it’s only normal that you take on the English accent to which you are most often exposed. In my case it started when BBC 1 and 2 were made available on the Dutch cable network. I loved almost every show they put on and that shaped my theretofore rather unremarkable Dutsj Ekssent. Well, Lexy grew up watching shows and films like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Beverly Hills 90210, Clueless, The Twilight Saga and related TV trash. Not every character on those shows speaks Valley Girl, but...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 2 I Spy With My Tired Eye

Saturday June 27th, 2015. Dallas Road, Ealing. “Good morning.” “You’re up early?” said Kelly, who I found scooping yoghurt into a bowl of muesli when I sauntered into the kitchen. She’d spent the night at my house, in her own room. “Are you kidding? It’s five minutes past eight! I’ve been staring at the ceiling for half an hour, trying to get back to sleep.” “Well, give it another go. Or give me ten minutes and I’ll come and wear you out.” “Cheeky cow,” I muttered, as I filled the tea...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 8 Now Pay Attention 327

I signed another document and followed Miles into a cavernous space, which was rather dark. Two men in lab coats scurried away. Miles waited until they were gone and then flipped a switch on the wall near the door. Bright lights in the ceiling clacked on and unveiled a turning plateau with a car under a black tarp. I could see the tyres, but not much else. Miles and Hugo shot each other a look and grinned. “Carstairs! Your new vehicle! Feel free to do the honours.” I stepped onto the...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 10 Come on Saudi Letrsquos Go Party

I woke up around eight in the morning, an hour later than I’m used to. I walked to the other side of the house, to Asim’s bedroom, and heard snoring. That was good. I had a quick yet annoying shower and took some time to spruce myself up. I’m not one of those men who are completely hopeless when they’re single, but what with Mel being a professional make-up artist and hairstylist, amongst many other talents, I rarely needed to groom myself nowadays. But now I was spending time shaving around...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 26 Si Vis Pacem Nolite Exacerbare Carstairs

It was about ten minutes to showtime. I’d be at the mosque in three minutes or so, although K-T would drop me off at the mall entrance and then proceed to another destination. We were making good time, because although some traffic kept moving, many cars just pulled to the side of the road wherever there was space near a mosque. Sometimes cars were abandoned in the middle of the road, blocking each other in. The police never made a fuss: after all, everyone was supposed to be praying. Men...

4 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 2 Mosque you bring this up

Kelly was very quiet on the ride home, but fortunately (and I use the word fortunately as in: ‘I have learned to live with this as a project in personal growth’) my driver, Ali, has absolutely no problems filling a gap in any conversation. Even when no actual conversation is presently occurring. Kate texted with Melody about the contents of our fridge, so I could prepare a shopping list. Okay, so I’m now officially a guy who pulls up at a Waitrose in a chauffeur driven car, but then I buy...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 4 Ask Me No Questions

Still Monday July 7th, 2015. A government building somewhere in London. (smiled.oddly.hosts) I was made to sit alone in a room for about ten minutes, so ordered by a man who clearly had no intention of getting me a cup of tea. And I did ask, twice. He was a bit shorter than me, but also a bit wider. Instead of a suit he wore something that was supposed to give him a military look but made me think of a fisherman: a brown shirt, brown carpenter pants, army boots. He was ginger, but his hair...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 9 In Which our Hero has Lots of Dates

“Crank up the A.C, sweetheart. Let me get some water ... Oooaaahhh...” “Sweetheart? Again?” “Yes. I suddenly cared for you in the wilderness, in the land of great drought. And especially for that bag with bottled water. Let’s get a move on. You drive.” “Destination?” “The most expensive hotel in Al Hofuf. Unless you can find one with a charger?” “I cannot execute that search. We will reach Al Hofuf in two hours.” “Okay. Then I’ll do a search and you drive. Stop at the next empty rest...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 14 In Which our Hero Sings for his Supper

If you’re anything like me (but maybe you got lucky and you’re not) you’ll know this feeling: there will be something on the news that makes you explode with rage. Say, some idiot gets behind the wheel, drunk as a skunk, kills three people who were just standing at a bus shelter minding their own Instagram and then he sues the bus company for placing the shelter near a pub. That sort of thing. Or a Belgian man locks up some girls in his basement and starves a couple of them to death before he...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 19 Cooling Down in Riyadh

They waited until her heart stopped pumping blood, which took about twenty seconds or so. Then the pressure got too low, and the trickle stopped. Two men dressed more like medics than soldiers came out of the main building with a stretcher. They wore gloves and aprons. Hurriedly they placed the body on the stretcher. The executioner helpfully placed the bag with the head above the neck, but only after he was done wiping down the blade and carefully sliding it back into its sheath. The Imam...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 20 Unexpected Benefit of Some Religious Instruction

There were also some messages. One was from Mr. Constable, the MI6 officer at the embassy. He told me they had analysed the recording, but that I’d have to come to the embassy to read the transcript. By appointment. But not on Thursdays. Another message was a transcript of a text message from Asim, which contained an invitation to join him on his next visit to Dubai. It seemed he was in the mood to catch a movie, and Dubai had cinemas. Well, two. The third message consisted of a somewhat...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 25 I had a Cunning Plan

Sunday, 30/8/2015. Saudi Royal palace. My day started slowly, with breakfast being served without any extra items. I called on Anaïs with an eye on a cheeky kiss or a bit of a fondle, but was told by a rather indignant Malaysian chef who caught me looking around in her kitchen that she had been seconded to another palace for the next few days, to help prepare for yet another banquet. He then demanded to know how I knew her and what my business was with her, but I just told him I was acting...

2 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 11 Game Check Point

I’ve never been one to make much of a fuss over cars. I mean, I enjoy comfy seats and power steering as much as anyone and it has been said I’m a tiny bit obsessive over vehicular cleanliness, but by and large I am not very interested in the roar of an engine or how many horse power it has. So it was odd I found myself so completely enthralled by this Aston Martin Vanquish. Not just the paint job, which was a deep, dark, shiny, sparkly, magnificent blue, but the stitching on the seats, the...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 3 There is an I in MI6

I was met by Kelly in the hallway. “Hi,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. A chaste one, on the cheek. More than enough for me, thanks. Although admittedly I’d have been disappointed with less than that. “Hello, gorgeous. I think you might have come at an awkward...” “Oh, I know. I was summoned. Caroline has been here all afternoon. She even had a lie down, because of a headache. Mel and Kate know everything.” It was ominously quiet on the other side of the door that led to the living...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 21 The Ugliest Laptop Ever Made

I woke up at nine, which was fine except a bit too late to attend the buffet in the main building. Never mind: I called the kitchen again and ordered breakfast. It would take a while to reach me, but as long as I didn’t order any hot items that was fine. Yoghurt, a bun and some jam would do me. I selected a suit and showed up just in time for my daily session with Alexandra. Technically this was the start of a new week, although neither I nor Alexandra got any days off. It was crunch time...

1 year ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 12 The Stein Way

As meetings go, I’ve had worse. I had no particular reason to doubt John Stein, but you never know what Americans are really up to. The Saudi government is only one of many undemocratic regimes they support to the hilt. They’re also not particularly interested in bringing people to justice. Generally all they need is a set of coordinates, a license plate number or the exact time their target will be driving past a hospital or day care centre. I was fairly sure a couple of terrorist attacks in...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 23 The Beginning of the End

Tuesday, August 25th, 2015. My garage. Total.hilltop.digital. It was about one a.m. when the door to the garage opened and K-T rolled in. I had called ahead, to let Anaïs know that I was fine and on my way. “How are you doing?” “I am drinking water and eating uh ... Maltezers. Very poor chocolate.” “Yes, it’s English chocolate. Could be worse, though.” “Hershey...” she shuddered. “Exactly. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Can you hang on?” “I can go nowhere else, Anglais. It is...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 5 My name is Carstairs Reginald Carstairs

Caroline summoned me to my office on Friday. My ticket for travelling the next Monday had just been arranged. I was actually discussing something with Daphne, which always takes a while, but Alice, her secretary, was quite clear: I was to report to the fourth flour at once. “Sorry about that, but I think you got the gist of it. Winston will certainly be able to flesh out the code. It will give you a chance to hang out together.” “I still want to know why you’re leaving,” said Daphne, trying...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 22 Say it Donrsquot Spray It

I went over the call with Kate in my head, slightly upset at the fact I had broken off our conversation just to get out of the heat. Maybe it hadn’t been the heat so much as the fact I didn’t want to be reminded of how much I missed her. That girl isn’t just catnip to me: she’s oxygen. And every time we were apart, there was nothing for it but for me to practice holding my breath. I also worried about the fact people had started to miss me, all over sodding Doctor Who! It’s the shittiest...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 24 Mosque Not Get Caught

Friday, August 28th, 2015. Royal palace, guest annex. The next morning I called Asim and offered to cook for him, so I’d be able to intercept any packages that might be delivered to his house. He was glad to have me and I took delivery of five boxes while he was out. I made us roast duck (honey roasted, with creamed cauliflower) and an old-fashioned trifle and then I stole one of his outfits: guthra, igal, thobe and sandals. Two thobes, actually, just to be sure. He only had fourteen left, I...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 28 All Out of Gum and Ass to Kick

Darkness had come and gone. Musa and I had worked all through the night. When I had answers to all the questions I could think of, and had copied the contents of the SD-cards to my laptop to make space on one of them, I had written a script for him to read. It was based on what he had told me, but we still went through it line by line. By that time he was struggling to stay conscious. The wounds on his wrists in particular hurt terribly, so much in fact that I had to cut him loose and bandage...

3 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 14 Therersquos no office like the Home Office

The trip back home was luxurious but uneventful. I had taken Caroline out to dinner for our last night in Doha, after an afternoon spent in Souq Waqif. I liked it there, because even though it was rather sanitized, there was more than enough to see, smell and taste. Sure, one or two of these hole in the wall shops sold the inevitable Gucci handbags, but it was actually fun to learn from Caroline how to spot fake goods. “Take this GG canvas horse bit hobo bag,” she said, while the salesman...

4 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 12 Next Contestant Please

Hi! This story contains some sudden scene transitions. This seems to confuse many of you. In the print version these jumps are clear(er) because only new paragraphs get a blank line. However, on this site every hard return gets a blank line. Fixing this would require going through the entire book to add the right display codes, and I can’t be bothered. So if you’re suddenly confused, just go back a few lines and you’ll likely figure it out. Cheers! RD. On the way out I shook quite a few...

3 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 5 lsquoWell I can see who wears the trousersrsquo

So there I was, in a homeless shelter somewhere in Rome, with a nun, a priest, my wife and the head of the Catholic church. So the bartender says... Okay, there was no bartender. Too bad, because this was supposed to be a vacation, damn it! A honeymoon! But what do I get? I get to go from one potential aneurysm to the the next! Someone walks in on me fucking my wife! Then there’s an orgy in my apartment! I seem to be on a painting made well before I was even born and to cap it off THE...

2 years ago
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Taylor and Hunter

This is a sequel to the story "the brotherhood of swain" by Elegy. If you haven't read it. I highly recommend it. You really should read it first. So just in case here it is: https://fictionmania.tv/stories/readststory.html?storyID=340208591745235906 ... Hunter stood there his gaze transfixed while his semiconscious best friend was loaded onto the scooter and then the man drove off. He watched as the tail light receded into the darkness and then disappeared. Hunter stood there...

4 years ago
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Jake and Hunter

Introduction: Prequel of one of my stories ( Guardian Angel ) During a calm saturday morning, Jake slept peacefully in his room. There was a knocking on the door, and the door was opened slowly and quietly. A boy entered Jakes room, and gently sat next to the sleeping boy. Jake felt someone breathing next to his left ear, and as he opened his eyes, the boy joined his lips with Jakes. After a moment, the kiss was broken: Morning, sleepy head! shouted Hunter, who started laughing and playing...

1 year ago
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Jake and Hunter

"Morning, sleepy head!" shouted Hunter, who started laughing and playing with Jake's hair. "Hunter! Can't you see I was sleeping?" complained Jake. "Not anymore! C'mon, we got stuff to do!" "Like what?" asked Jake, as he tried to fully wake up and get out of the bed. "You promised we'd go to Mount Gloria today!" shouted Hunter, as he followed Jake, wherever he went in the room, as the boy looked for some clothes to wear. "Mount Gloria?" asked Jake. "Yeah, it's where we...

4 years ago
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Sexy Snow White and the Hot Hunter

NAUGHTY FAIRY TALES: Sexy Snow White and the Hot Hunter Once upon a time there was an evil queen who ruled the Kingdom of Vaenia. This queen was called Goldoria. But despite her evil nature and her age (she was three hundred years old), the queen was the most stunningly beautiful woman in all the land. She had pale white skin, fiery auburn hair and striking emerald eyes. She was strong and powerful, capable of fighting or even talking her way out of a fight. Hells, she didn’t even...

3 years ago
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  • 59
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Bearly even a hunter

Slowly peering over the rock, the dull glow of the setting sun provided poor visibility for the hunter, he saw shadows all around him and heard more noises than just wet snapping of branches under heavy bear paws. Trying to focus on the bear's shadow and sounds, blocking out all else, he moved into a somewhat open space with a clear view of the shadow, he raised his rifle, and with the head of the grizzly shadow caught in its crosshairs he fired. But instead of a thud of bear corps hitting...

4 years ago
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The Hunter

Part One: Showtime When our new neighbor forgot (?) to pull her shades down she put on quite a show for my husband and me. "Honey," my husband called to me from the bedroom. "She's doing' it again. Come watch." We had a new neighbor, a single woman named Shayla. We had talked to her over the fence a few times, but really didn't know her very well. We thought she was a little shy. We were going to be proved wrong on that. A few weeks after she moved in Lee and I were lying in bed with the...

3 years ago
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  • 50
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MIBD Artemis The Hunter

M.I.B.D. Artemis The Hunter Synopsis:Is the sequel to The Academy where The Agency and Hunter Enterprises face off against the Academy in a final showdown that changes the world. ~*******************~ Synopsis:Jo Ellen is the heir of Diana Hunter: the tragic heroine who was Joe Rossi. Joe was a Mafia "wise guy". Joe was often bullied by the larger boys due to his small size. Joe soon developed a reputation as a small, tough and wiry fighter. His speed, dexterity and agility made him...

3 years ago
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Hunter HuntedChapter 4 Hunter

Mirage rose to fill his glass after he drained it then returned to her seat, crossing her legs uncomfortably. She wasn't used to being dressed like this in front of anyone but Lineal and Lynette and she was feeling a bit naked in front of Hunter. It might have helped if he wasn't looking at her the way he was, as if she were sitting here in that extreme state of undress. She drank more of her whiskey, clearing her throat. "Okay, anytime you want to start. I don't have all night...

3 years ago
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The Grim ReaperChapter 35 Tolley Hunter

It got truly strange that evening. At 1800, just as we were being served dinner, a major showed up wearing a crisply starched ACU. Starching Army Combat Uniforms was prohibited since it supposedly screwed up the flame resistance and infrared signature patterns on them. Maybe he never got the memo, or maybe he didn’t care. By that point they had me up and walking around. He sat down at the table we were at and introduced himself. “I’m Major Duckworth and I’m with the Public Affairs Office. I’m...

3 years ago
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Autoloading ShotgunChapter 3 The hunt for Hunter

I spent a lot of time in Mr. Schwartz's firing range practicing a quick draw with my shoulder holster. He let me use his range because I bought a lot of ammunition from him. I have been at it for three weeks, and Mr. Schwartz said that I was the fastest he had ever seen at drawing a gun. That made me feel good, but I knew that there was surely somebody around who was faster than me. I worked on making up for that flaw with my accuracy. I got to the point that I could draw and hit my target...

4 years ago
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The Hunter

The gun season for white-tail deer starts a week before Thanksgiving and even though ‘my’ woods are privately owned, hunters encroach on them from neighboring game lands. My grandfather's brother really owns the land, and he doesn't give a shit about hunters, so none of it is posted. When I hike into what I call ‘my’ cove during hunting season, I have to be careful or I could get shot. After what happened last year though, I’ve learned the risk can be worth it.My great-uncle owes 125 acres of...

Gay Male
2 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 4 Begin the legume

“Okay, so maybe it’s me. I’m on TV, sometimes. I did a movie. Someone made a painting and thought of me. Or they saw an ad or something. This happens to Emma all the time.” Melody shook her head. “Except in her case they Photoshop her face onto pornography. That’s her actual face, not a portrait. This is one, and it’s fairly well done. The painter wasn’t very experienced, but certainly talented. I’d say he used a live model, not just one reference picture.” When Melody says these things,...

3 years ago
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Grel Becomes a Sree Hunter

I had fifteen Summers, and had reached my full growth a span of seasons before. It was past time that my clan consider me Sree. I'd first spilled my seed on the ground during my twelfth Summer, and had, right after that, spent my half moon's time alone in the forest, in order to prove myself to my clan a Mek Hunter. In my clan, Mek means boy and Sree means man. For a Mek to get to be a Sree, there had to be unanimous agreement from the Sree hunters. At my last petition, I'd only received...

3 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 6 Whatrsquos in a Name

“Martin, get up. It’s gone ten. The Pope has been up for over five hours, you know.” “Good for him. Show-off.” “You’ll miss breakfast!” “I told you: get them to deliver a tray to the room.” “I don’t want to eat in the room! I want to eat on the rooftop terrace again! Come on, you can’t stay in bed all day!” “Yes, I can. I’m on vacation.” I was being truculent, although I like to think it was in a playful way that women secretly find boyish and charming. Mel would probably not agree. Nor...

2 years ago
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  • 36
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Catherine and Callie

I met Catherine when I was 16 and she was 14. She had a high school crush on me, a shy, skinny boy who she had seen playing basketball in her neighborhood park. We were introduced by a mutual friend, and spent a few hours that first day just talking on the swings, until her mother called her in for dinner. Catherine was a beautiful girl, with deep brown eyes, dark brown hair, and an hourglass figure even at her tender age. Though we dated for a few months, we never went farther than kissing...

Straight Sex
4 years ago
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  • 19
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 3 When in Rome

I knew Mel was all talk when she said she could easily leave Edwin in Caroline’s care. But I didn’t blame her. I just sat on the couch, next to Peter Fox, in Caroline’s luxurious apartment on the corner of Hyde Park, just over the Aston Martin dealership. He lived there now, on a trial basis. “It’s a much shorter commute,” was all he said about that. I knew his home. The man liked marble statues, preferably with a penis or at least a six-pack. (No replicas of David, then.) He liked Persian...

2 years ago
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 17 The Faint Light at the End of It

Well, there we are: the final chapter. You have until January 1st to read this story before I make it available to premium members only. Your comments are welcome and if you find you like this sort of thing: there’s plenty more available on my site. – RD It rained. I think it should rain, at funerals. Most people stood under black or transparent umbrellas, but I wore a Macintosh over my black suit and I just didn’t care. I needed to focus on not crying. Rain on my face might help to conceal...

3 years ago
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  • 16
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This Is Your Carstairs SpeakingChapter 16 Deep underground

All was well until we arrived at Paddington. It was busy, but not too busy for the crowd to give us half a second so we could lift Edwin’s stroller over the infamous gap and onto the platform. But then there’s an escalator, a fairly long one that leads back to street level. You see, the track slopes downward from Edgware road to Paddington. Trains aren’t generally good at inclinations, but it’s a fair distance between those stations. One of the escalators was being serviced: a man in a blue...

3 years ago
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Catherine and Callie 3

When Catherine arrived, I met her at the door and gave her a huge hug. Callie came bouncing down the stairs and joined us in a group hug. After we were finished, I carried Catherine's bags up to her bedroom and helped her unpack. "So have you two been good?" Catherine asked. "No, Mom, I'm afraid that we've been very bad" was Callie's response. "Excellent!" said Catherine. "I was hoping you'd say that." "Mom, I wanted to say thanks for allowing me to fuck Bob this weekend. He's been the subject...

Straight Sex
4 years ago
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Catherine and Callie 2

"Bob, I have a favor to ask of you." Catherine and I had just finished a long and hot fucking session; now both of us were trying to recover our breath. "Anything for you. What is it?" I responded. We had been seeing each other for over a month now, and not only was the sex hot, but I could see this relationship lasting for a long while. "You remember that I have to be out of town for three days next week, right?" "Yes, three days that I'm not sure I can survive" I said with a smile. I said...

Straight Sex
1 year ago
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  • 26
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Hunter

I was raised on a feral wilderness planet. My father was a hunter, trapping and killing for their meat the ferocious animals that dominated the planet. My mother ran a smallholding to raise grain, fruit and vegetables, heavily protected by fortifications and electric fences. My sisters showed no aptitude or inclination for hunting but readily took to helping my mother expand her smallholding. I took to hunting like a duck to water, surpassing my father's skills by my mid-teens. I could walk...

4 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 15 In Which our Hero Comes out of the Closet

Right. How to get to deck four, and more specifically into Omar’s private quarters? Doors wouldn’t be a problem: only the guest rooms had those card readers. Deck four was for family only. No, my problem was with the guards. One had already denied me access once. But there was that lift near the pantry, so that’s where I was now headed. I passed the Sayada lounge, where two guards eyed me as if I was going to take out my dick then and there and burst into the room, turned a corner and found a...

4 years ago
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  • 16
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 16 And Now the End Is Near

I had to put my jacket back on in the hallway, so quickly was I ejected from the kitchen. Two phones really weighed it down, but if the Professor had recorded the meeting, I was sure my spymasters would want me to hang on to it. The pen had served its purpose, so that went into the water as soon as possible. And then I felt really odd for a minute. A man was dead right now, because of me. He was hardly the first, but it was different from all the other deaths I have caused. I planned this,...

4 years ago
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  • 18
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 11 My French connection

I like to think I’m a decent man. I don’t leer at women, not even when I’m absolutely sure they’re not watching. I don’t turn around to check out ‘cabooses’, I don’t call women ‘darling’ unless I know them very well indeed and by and large you can trust me with your daughter. Unless she’s REALLY insistent and/or has grown legs and breast that make Marilyn Monroe look like a coat hanger. But even then I try really, really hard to ignore that. But being in a country where women were nothing...

3 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 13 Irsquom something of an Esobe myself

When Asim and I came home, it was as if nothing had ever happened. I examined the lock, but that was only because my instructors had told me it’s a good habit to see if you can spot the scratches most lock-pickers leave. This guy was good: there were no scratches at all. I also reviewed the footage from my spy-cam, but learned nothing more. I also had no idea what prince Omar had been doing in other parts of the house, because I only had enough gear to monitor my own room. By the looks of...

2 years ago
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Carstairs of ArabiaChapter 27 It Only Hurts When I Laugh

As soon as the rolling door had shut behind me, I began to undress. The plastic segments that allowed in some sunlight were so badly scuffed nobody would be able to see inside. Not unless they pressed their face up against them, anyway. My suit was in tatters. I wasn’t even sure why I wasn’t wearing my slacks and button down shirt. It’s think it may just be that wearing a suit seemed suitable for the occasion. If you’re going to commit mass murder, you should at the very least dress for it,...

3 years ago
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  • 22
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John Henry Bain Bounty Hunter

In January 1869, the flat, featureless plains of Texas were known as the Staked Plains, after the early Spanish explorers who had discovered the desolate area drove stakes into the ground as markers to lead them back to safety. A lonely, desolate area of dirt, grassland, and Indians, it would be easy to lose one’s sense of direction if unaccustomed to such terrain. In the distance the dust rose in the wake of a lone rider as he moved across the desolate grassland. John Henry Bain rode a dark...

1 year ago
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The Sex Hunter

Greetings. You’re probably wondering what’s going on. Well, let me break it down. I am Gabriel Dominguez. I was your average high schooler senior. I had gotten a full-ride to Princeton, and had the hottest girl as my girlfriend. But, everything change when ‘it’ happened. What happened was that, due to unfortunate circumstances, the world had come undone. A virus was contracted in a lab, and it caused to spread around the country. It killed millions, including my own father. A vaccine was...

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The HeadHunter

The Head-Hunter By Katharine Sexkitten I'm not sure who had the biggest look of shock on their face, me or him. His oft-spoken words kept ringing in my ear. "The Yakasuchi 9500 is never wrong". Six months before the world shut down, my wife of thirty-one years announced one day that she was leaving me. Empty-nesters then, our three children out of the house and making their own way in life, she said, matter of factly, that while she still loved me and always would, she...

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