The Whiskerly Sisters (10 page)

Hi Intellygent, thank you for getting back to me. I used to enjoy Leonard Cohen back in the day when I was at college, but must admit that I haven’t heard his music for ages. I have three kids, but only the youngest lives with me. My main hobby is amateur dramatics and I am currently in the process of getting fit so I can be found down the gym most evenings after work. I am a partner in a holistic therapy business. No idea what a Rudge is but it sounds fascinating. Have you restored it yet? Do you compete in triathlons? Refresh my memory – is it running, cycling and swimming? J

Hi J, yep, that’s right. I compete within my age group both regionally and nationally. The Rudge is a motorbike and it’s currently in bits on the floor of my garage. My goal is to put it back together one day. The amateur dramatics sounds like fun – what sorts of things do you put on? By the way, everyone calls me PJ.

Well, PJ, I am a member of two groups. I prefer comedy parts to straight, but you have to take what you can get. I am not very good at singing, but I do love working an audience. One group concentrates mainly on serious dramas or musicals and the other does pantomimes, variety shows and comedies. We are currently rehearsing a Whodunnit – care to buy a ticket? J.

Well, J, maybe I will. Where are you playing? I am currently off work sick, having dropped part of the Rudge on my foot while working on the engine and can only get about on crutches at the moment. Bored as hell and spending my time watching repeats of Frasier. The woods at the back of my house are looking particularly tempting at this time of year and I am missing my runs. PJxx

PJ, Sorry to hear about your accident. How long will you be on crutches? The woods sound wonderful. Is that where you do your running? Maybe I should pop over to see you and bring a basket of goodies but then again is it safe or do I need to look out for the Big Bad Wolf? Jxx

Hey there Red Riding Hood. What goodies will you bring in your basket? Don’t worry about the big bad wolf – that’s me!! Xx

Oh my Mr Wolf, what big ears you have and what big teeth and oh Mr Wolf what a big er tail you have….lol…RRH xx

Jax’s Log – Playmate 71
Looking for LoobyLoo

Hi Jax, my name is Andy. I am twenty four years of age and looking for a long term relationship with an older woman. I know you will say I am too young for you but I have never had a girlfriend of my own age. I have always been attracted to older women because they are so confident and so sexy. Please email me back. Andy xx

Hi Andy, well I must say I was very flattered to receive your email. Call me ageist, but I cannot possibly see why anyone as young and good looking as you are would be wasting your time with someone old enough to be his mother. But thanks for the boost and good luck in your search. Jax

Hi Jax, thank you for mailing me. I know you are old enough to be my mother, but believe me you do not look like my mother. You are incredible for your age. You have such a sexy face and a great figure. Mmmm nice curves. I would be proud to be your boyfriend. All the girls of my age are such airheads. Mature women like you are much more interesting in every way aside from which they are very experienced in bed. Andy xx

Omg, I cannot believe I am even keeping up correspondence with you. I have a son only slightly older than you and I can’t help thinking this is all wrong. But I must say you are gorgeous. Jax x

Hi Jax, I am glad you think I am gorgeous. I am also young and fit with plenty of energy. I think we could be very good together and there is a lot you can teach me. I would be very willing to be your slave, do whatever you tell me to do and if I am a bad boy you can spank me. When can I come over? Love Andy xxxx

It wasn’t long before Jax wised up. She began by generally sifting through her messages, checking they contained both a clear image and a properly written profile before deciding whether or not to reply. New hits without photos, she ignored, presuming they must be terminally ugly, chronically overweight, frighteningly disfigured or married. She had heard every excuse under the sun for not uploading an image, ranging from “I don’t want the girls at work to know I am on here” (aka I’m married) to “my IT system isn’t compatible with the site, but I am happy to email you a private pic” (aka I’m married) passing through to “I have to use my works computer and am forbidden from uploading images” (aka I’m married). It was an interesting fact that the overwhelming number of men from whom she had heard described themselves as “IT Manager”, but they apparently could not figure out the interface between the differing software.

The spring had proved a fast and incredibly fun learning curve for Jax. She had learnt to read the agendas behind the profiles, to spot the losers, the control freaks, the perverts and the players. In turn, she had learned to give as good as she got. Late at night in her office at home and with neat, ruthless efficiency, she flirted, lured and led on married men claiming single status, but only virtually available during office hours or in the wee small hours of the night and never at weekends. It was amazing how many single 40+ ‘IT Managers’ there were in the UK. Most of them seemed to be on DesperDates and most of them had problems uploading a photo. More amazing was the fact that most of them had to work a 48 hour weekend because, of course, that’s when the servers were quiet and no-one was in the office. Furthermore, it seemed that most of these offices seemed to be situated in some remote part of the planet, which swallowed up its IT workforce, rendering them largely invisible from Friday evening, but, come Monday morning, back they were online, large as life, and well up for that midweek date just as long as it ended up with coffee at your place with your knickers off. To Jax, the most amazing thing of all was that each one of the idiots believed they were the only one spinning the line.

Then there were the dates. Within six months, Jax had met about ten men. None of them pressed any buttons, but she loved the excitement of those first encounters – what to wear, what to say, what to do? Surprisingly, all of the men she met wanted a second meeting, which did wonders for her self-esteem, sadly battered by her failed relationship.

Jax ought to have despised her ex. Despite having a reputation for being a good old boy, he was in reality, a cuckoo. He made his home in someone else’s nest, contributing as little as possible and taking as much as he could get and, all the while, playing Mr. Nice Guy. Discovered, he moved on. Jax had loved him deeply and it had taken her a long time to wake up to him, but eventually, as with all his relationships, the lady worked it out and he moved on to the next mother hen.

From time to time, Jax bumped into him in town. At first, it hurt but then, as autumn gave way to winter, then spring and summer, whilst the ache was still present, it had diminished to a grey shadow somewhere to her right and behind her. It was no longer the all-consuming, ever hungry monster that it had been a few short months ago.

For the first time in her entire life, Jax was living without a partner. In the beginning, she had hated it. It scared her to be alone in the house; she felt she would not be able to cope without the company of a significant other, but it hadn’t taken her long to realise that, not only was she wrong, she could actually do better on her own. Over the past few months, she had learned that there was an enormous difference between feeling lonely and being alone. She surprised herself by discovering that she actively enjoyed the latter and could strategise against the former.

The huge double bed in which she had forged many a happy memory with her ex was now totally hers. To begin with, she had felt able only to take up a tiny corner of it, unsure of her right to so much space. Later on, she relished sleeping slap bang in the middle and taking up as much room as she liked. Sometimes she threw off the duvet and lay naked on the top of the cover, spreading herself out like a star and luxuriating in owning every wonderful inch of its cocoon-like support. Furthermore, there was no one to grumble if she snored or took too much duvet or got up umpteen times to go to the toilet. There was no one else’s kit in her bathroom, no nasty boxer shorts in the wash basket and two fitted, double wardrobes for her to fill all by herself. She did not need to think what to make for supper; hell, she didn’t even eat supper if she didn’t feel like it. Housework took minutes and could be done at any time or, better still, not at all. She found she could go where she liked, when she liked and with whom she liked. Even better, she could come home if she liked, when she liked and with whom she liked.

She had had to learn how to decorate and remembered clearly her first time with a paintbrush. Her ex had a penchant for bright colours and their house was a rainbow of rooms – deep azure blue bedroom, bright mustard cloakroom, and cerise pink lounge. Jax, herself, preferred more subtle shades or contrasts. Having been told for too many years that decorating was not for the ladies and that ‘he would get round to it when he had the time, just stop the nagging’, Jax was naturally a little apprehensive about the task ahead. She had taken herself to the local DIY store, spent ages reading the labels on the various cans of paints and had finally chosen a soft, dove grey to cover over the ghastly tangerine currently resident in her en-suite. She knew it would take more than one coat. Loading her car boot with a variety of brushes, rollers, masking tape and white spirit, she brought her parcels home. They stood on the kitchen dresser for over a week while she plucked up the nerve to use them. As she worked the paint into the wall, she wondered how on earth anyone could find this difficult. In her imagination, she had a vision of the house collapsing around her at the first lick of paint. She was even more astonished at how little time it took, even with three coats and how easily all the bathroom accessories had screwed back into the wall. She was rather proud of her ability with a screwdriver and had moved on to become an enthusiastic amateur with the electric drill. When she finally got round to decorating her bedroom (a light, warm coffee), she put up the new curtain rail all by herself without falling off the ladder or damaging any the walls. How gullible she had been; how vibrant and alive she now felt.

Admittedly, she missed the sex. Making love with her partner had been fantastic and she wondered if sex would ever be fantastic again. Her current situation was becoming increasingly ‘not open for business’ such was the paucity of talent in her vicinity! In an effort to pep up her love life, one Saturday morning, Fresna took her on a hush hush mission to a shopping centre three towns away where Jax hoped she would not be recognised. They were on the hunt for the latest in ‘discreet battery products for ladies’. After a period of slightly confused browsing at the goods on offer and much poking and giggling, Jax had chosen something rather large in a nasty shade of pink that would send a real man off to the chemist for a large bottle of After Sun or some antibiotics! Fresna’s choice had been a rather vulgar deep violet colour, which she promptly named Pervy Peter Purple. Fresna’s open and self-deprecating approach to the whole venture had done wonders to offset the lurking feelings of shame fluttering away in a remote corner of Jax’s stomach. She’d never needed to do anything like this before and she was surprised at how guilty it made her feel. Laughing, Fresna told her to get over herself and to stop behaving like she was still at convent school.

A few days later, Fresna, for whom, at least to Jax, everything seemed to come easily, phoned to ruefully let her know that she had discovered that she was allergic to Pervy Peter and so her assisted encounter with her intimate self had turned into a total non-starter. Ever practical, Fresna had insisted on debating the merits of selling the useless tosser on EBay, but Jax had managed to persuade her that, in this particular case, the phrase, ‘one careful owner’ might be seen as tasteless.

It had taken Jax several attempts to even get to first base with her machine. The girls fell about laughing at the hilarious account of her ‘first time’! She had woken from a deep sleep, feeling horny but with no one to turn to. Remembering her recent purchase, she had leapt out of bed, and felt her way to the bureau opposite the bed where she fumbled around in the bottom drawer until she found her ‘inflexible friend’. Returning to her bed, in the half dark, she took it out of its box and felt around for the on/off button. It took her a while to find the right switch, but no matter how she tried, she could not turn the damn thing on.

“Bugger me,” interjected Celia, guffawing loudly. “You couldn’t turn it on? What hope have you got with a proper bloke if you can’t even arouse your vibrator?” she quipped. She was laughing so much at her own joke that she fell off her chair and landed in a heap on the floor where she curled into a ball and continued to giggle. “Oh Jax,” she cried between bursts of laughter, “What are you like? You couldn’t make this up.” When Celia’s fit of hysterics had quietened to a gentle series of hiccoughs, Jax continued with her story.

After several futile attempts, trying to switch on the unresponsive machine, it finally dawned on her that she had forgotten to put in any batteries. It had then taken her fifteen frustrating minutes in the gloom to finally get all three in the right way up, by which time she was bored and past caring. She lay back on her pillow exhausted. She smiled to herself as she recalled her actual first time when, at the age of seventeen, her teenage boyfriend, also a virgin, had spent so long fumbling with his condom, she had lost interest so they had sheepishly crawled out from under the hedgerow and gone to the chip shop instead, returning a few hours later for a second, and this time, successful attempt. “Woohoo,” she thought and decided she should try frying herself some chips, but the cosiness of her bed was too appealing and the idea was swallowed up by sleep.

“Why ever didn’t you switch the light on?” asked Fresna. Jax shrugged and couldn’t answer. She turned to Celia, still giggling in the corner, and knew she was going to get teased relentlessly. It would take her a long time to live this one down.