I woke sleepily when I heard the door as it sucked the air out of the house with a quiet whisper. Sue was home. I could sleep now. I happened to notice the green numbers mocking me on the alarm clock by my bedside. 4:04.

I heard her feet padding across the white oak flooring of the living room. She’d taken off her shoes. I heard the soft rustle of her coat as she took it off and put it away somewhere. I knew she had reached the second floor by the slow creak of the floorboard at the top of the stairs. A pause. Testing the air. A first slow hesitant step, perhaps the tip of a toe. Three more soft steps before another pause at the bedroom door.

The handle on the door had never become loose from overuse, so it made a certain little squeak when it was depressed. I had never gotten around to oiling it. She tried to avoid the noise by slowing the pace of the lever. It was quieter, but it elongated the sound. A soft click and the door pushed open.

I closed my eyes enough to convince her I was asleep. I saw her creeping into the bathroom by the light of her mobile phone screen. She quickly undressed and made herself ready for sleep, creeping out of the bathroom and around to her side of the bed. A loud noise, possibly a shoe she accidentally kicked in the darkness, forced me to abandon my somnolent tableau.

“What the fuck, Sue?” I said, as I lifted my head.

“Sorry, Des,” she whispered, “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

An odour of vodka tinged with a faint border of Dior Sauvage wafted over me. The clock ticked over to 4:35. I was wide awake. I watched the digits flip over, minute by tortuous minute, as my mind tried to work out what was going on, with whom, and for how long. The what seemed obvious, the rest was conjecture.

It seemed to me that there were a couple of obvious candidates, the main ones being her boss, Michael Travers, or the facility medical practitioner, Andrew Cullen. Neither could I exclude Michael’s Brother, Denis, the facility chief of psychogerontology. I suppose you could also throw the maintenance guy or a couple of the male nurses in for good measure, too, if it came to that.

At 6:00, it was getting light, and her snores were deep and strong. I slipped out of bed and threw on a pair of shorts and a sweater. The bedroom door still swung ajar, and I stepped barefoot through it, walked silently down the stairs and picked up the larger of two bags she had brought home with her.

I opened it to find a complete outfit of a black clingy top, tartan mini skirt, black tights, black lace bra and matching thong. I lifted the thong out of the bag between two fingers. It appeared to have been torn from her body and was in a parlous state of disrepair. I noticed the white remainder of dried semen, along with the familiar pungent smell of her ejaculatory fluid. It also retained a degree of residual dampness.

There also appeared to be remnants of semen around the cups of her bra and tights. Almost as though someone had ejaculated on her prematurely, while the clasp of her skirt was torn. Her top was almost transparent, made, as it was, with a black sheer material that would have shown her sexy bra underneath. I had never seen her dressed like this and had no knowledge of the existence of this outfit in her wardrobe.

A quick trawl through her handbag didn’t yield anything curious except for a cardholder containing a few business cards and a sheet of notepaper containing a few numbers. There was also a cheap little mobile phone placed snugly in a side pocket of the bag. It was still on, so I pressed a button on the face, and it asked for a PIN code.

I took a chance and typed in the code to the phone that I had given her. The phone came to life. I put it in my pocket, found a pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer, cut off half of the gusset containing the dried semen, and placed it into an envelope retrieved from my home office. I then tidied up her bags and went back to bed, switching the alarm off as I did so. She was still snoring.

At 7:00, she roused and jumped out of bed. Wordlessly, she donned a dressing gown and went to make coffee. I maintained the appearance of someone under the influence of sleep. I got out of bed and used the bathroom. I could hear her rustling through her bags, so I joined her in the living room. She must have heard me coming down the stairs because I made sure that she would. The rustling stopped, and I walked into the empty living room, ignored the bags on the table, and joined her in the kitchen.

"What time is it?" I yawned.

"After 7:00. The fucking alarm didn't go off," she said, "we'd better hurry or I'll be late."

"What time did you get in? I didn't hear you."

"It was after 1:00," she said, her back to me as she spoke.

"Yeah, well that's happening a lot lately. They can cut you some slack for being late occasionally. Take your fucking time and fuck them. If you like, I can have a few words with the Orla one."

"No! No, I can look after myself," she said.

"So, what was it last night?"

"An Alzheimer Society fundraiser."

"Where was that?"

"At the home. The Travers sponsor a lot of stuff for them."

"How did you get home? I thought you were going to ring me to collect you."

"I tried to call but you must have been asleep."

I picked up my phone and looked at the notifications.

"There's no Missed Call on here," I said.

"I called the house phone."

"Why would you do that? You know I carry my phone all the time."

"It was late, I had a few drinks."

"So how did you get home?"

"Taxi."

"Did you keep the receipt?"

"What?"

"The receipt, I can claim it back."

"I must have lost it."

"Which taxi company did you use? The one on the Travers’ account?"

"No, I don't remember. Why?"

"I could ring them and get the receipt."

"Leave it, Des, will you? It was only a tenner."

"A tenner's a tenner, Sue."

"I'll give you the fucking tenner. Will that shut you up?"

"Probably not," I said, and went to take a shower.

I drove her to work. As we passed through the gates I noticed, Andy, the maintenance man, sweeping the path. I continued on around the entrance road to the unit that Sue worked on.

"Where do they host those functions, Sue?" I said.

"Over at the main house."

"Who sets it up for them? Do they bring in a crew and catering?"

"No, Andy and his helper set it up and take it down. The kitchen supplies the food."

"Does Andy have to stay until it’s over?"

"Pretty much, but he lives on the estate so it's part of his contract."

"The Travers take the piss with the staff, don't they?"

"Well, Andy gets a free house so there's not much he can say about it."

"Was he there until 1:00, too?"

"He was there when I left," she said.

"He's a prick."

I dropped her at the entrance to the unit, and she opened the door to get out. She leaned over in an attempt to kiss me, but I ducked down to pick an imaginary piece of dirt off the floor. She shrugged and got out.

"Will you be late or early?" I asked.

"I should be on time; pick me up at 5:00."

"Some chance," I said to myself as I pulled away from her while she was halfway through closing the door.

She stared after me as I drove away. I saw her in the mirror still stuck to the spot as I drove around the corner and disappeared from view. As I exited the grounds, Andy waved at me, so I stopped for a chat.

"How's it going, Shrek?"

"Not bad, Dessie," he said, "where are you at it?”

"I'm up in Ballymun."

"What's going on up there? Anything for me?"

"I'm sure there could be, Andy. We're building an infill apartment and retail development. It's just coming out of the ground this week."

"If you need someone to help out digging or concreting, give us a shout. I could use the money coming up to the Christmas."

"I thought you'd be swimming in money with all this overtime you get."

"What fucking overtime? I was finished yesterday at 4:30 and it won't be much later today. That's fuck all use to anyone."

"Fuck, you're right. Do you not set up the place for these functions around here?"

"I do, but we haven't had one of those since Paddy's Day last March."

"Sorry to hear that, I'll certainly give you a bell if anything comes up, Andy, but let's keep it between us. Don't even tell the ball and chain, you know what they're like."

"I won't," he laughed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Sue Graham and I, Dessie Boyd, met in Upstate New York ten years previously. I had been separated from my wife, and the arcane family law act in Ireland meant that the process to obtain a divorce took four years from the initial separation of the spouses. Divorce was only made legal in the country in 1996, following several referendums on the issue. I was three years into this process at the time, and it was an absolute pain in the arse.

Sue was going through the process herself, but in one-quarter the time. She lived in a city called Watertown, close to the banks of Lake Ontario. We were visiting the Sherman Street Elementary School in the city to promote Soccer for Children USA, an initiative sponsored by the USSF. It was aimed mostly at girls in order to enhance their knowledge of the game and enhance their skillset at a basic level. It was during a difficult phase of my divorce, so I was happy to place the reins of my building company, Boyd Developments, Ireland, into the capable hands of my contracts manager, Davy Ellis, so I could get away touring the U.S. East Coast for a few weeks.

We were hosting a coaching session with local proponents, and it included two teams of girls from the school itself. There was a lot of interest in us because we were of Irish and Scottish heritage.

"England hadn't won the World Cup for a thousand years, so they were not considered adequate," was what we told everyone in the school. Besides, everyone thought our accents were much nicer and, dare I say it, sexier.

The second morning we were there brought out the sunshine, and a large crowd of interested spectators. The day before, I had spoken with a lady who had two daughters involved in the sessions. She was of Irish descent, and she had one grandparent who was Irish. I told her that I had four and she fell around the place laughing.

"You should meet my friend, Sue," she said. "Her son is majoring in Irish history."

"Bring her down tomorrow," I said, "she can buy me a coffee."

She laughed and said she'd try. She was as good as her word as, first thing the next day, when we walked out on to the field, Brenda, the lady in question, dragged a, seemingly, embarrassed Sue, out to meet me on the pitch as I set up for the morning. She introduced us and stood to one side while we chatted. Sue was very gregarious, literate and intelligent and she seemed to understand my accent. Twenty minutes later we were still chatting and hadn't noticed that Brenda had gone missing. I got a shout from the organiser, Tam McFettridge, and begged her forgiveness with a request to meet after the session to get to know her better. I was delighted when she said she'd wait until the session was finished.

After the session we changed into cleaner versions of our sponsored training kit and dispersed to enjoy some alone time to rest and take in the sights, such as they were. Sue was waiting as I exited the dressing rooms, and she took me in her car to nearby Public Square, where we grabbed a coffee and a sandwich at the Crystal Restaurant. Three hours and several coffees later we were still there. A lady who looked like she was the owner, came over and asked if we needed anything else. I could see by the frustration in her face that we had overstepped the mark. I apologised, paid for the coffees and sandwiches, and doubled the tip, hoping to mollify her somewhat.

Sue offered to take me back to where we were staying, at the Hilton Garden Inn, and I gratefully accepted. It was still early so I offered to buy her a drink in the hotel bar, she wasn't too sure if she had the time at that particular moment but promised to meet me in the lobby at 8:00 that evening. She hugged me and departed as I walked inside the hotel. I had a shower and a lie down on the bed with the TV on as I made a few calls home. Everything seemed to be ok so I opened my phone up to any calls that might come in. I left it to charge on the bedside locker and closed my eyes for a brief nap, the hotel phone woke me at 8:10. It was Sue calling from the lobby.

"Hi, Sue, Jesus, sorry I dozed off," I said.

"You said to drop by at 8:00," she said.

"Of course, I'm delighted you came," I said. "Give me five minutes, please."

I had already changed so I grabbed my phone and legged it down to the lobby in the lift. I smiled sheepishly as I met her. She kissed me unexpectedly and smiled. I indicated the hotel grill, and she was happy enough with that. It took me several minutes to recover from the shock of the kiss as I hadn't been kissed by anyone for a very long time.

The hotel restaurant was about half full when we entered through the lobby. We took a corner booth, and our order was taken quickly. We chatted about everything under the sun, and the time flew by. Before we knew it, we were being chased out of the restaurant as it was closing.

We adjourned to a quiet bar just off the lobby and found a quiet corner to continue our chat. The atmosphere was a lot more relaxed, so I ordered a beer and a screwdriver for Sue. I allowed myself to sit back as Sue pulled her chair closer to me.

“I seemed to have thrown you a little with that kiss earlier,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I won’t deny that it hit me for six. Four anyway.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It’s a cricketing term, sorry. Threw me for a loop, would probably be the local equivalent.”

“Ok, why? It was just a kiss,” she said,

“It’s been a long time, Sue.”

“How long, Des?” she asked, moving closer.

“I don’t have an exact date.”

“How long?”

“A few years maybe?”

She kissed me again, slightly longer.

“You’re a nice kisser, Des,” she whispered.

“Thanks, but it had nothing to do with me, Sue.”

“It takes two.”

“Yes, but one should lead. You’ve led twice; can I lead next?”

“Yes.”

I leaned in and took her hand, pulling her close to me. Our lips met, and she followed mine with aggressive lip movements. I backed off and she looked into my eyes with two pools of blue that held a look of confusion in them.

I took her chin in my hand and tried again. With slower movements, our lips moved softly against each other; within a few short minutes, we were totally in sync. I heard a low purring sound from her and slipped my tongue inside her mouth, continuing to rotate my lips with hers as they waltzed together in a deep and sensual rhythm.

We broke the kiss, and her eyes stayed closed. I realised that my hand was caressing her inner thigh. I went to move it, but she held it in place. She wore black tights and the feeling of the nylon against my skin sent a current straight to my penis.

The tips of my fingers were encroaching just under the hem of her short skirt, I could feel the delicious heat of her body through my fingertips. As our kiss resumed, I felt my hand slide further along her thigh, the heat building as my hand moved higher.

She broke contact and moved her head to a different angle, resuming the kiss and taking it deeper. Her breath deepened when my fingertips touched her damp groin, the weight of the fabric of her tights and panties acting as a foil, preventing me from appreciating the feel of her softness. I stroked her gently without success, relying on the depth of her breaths to assess her arousal.

“Would you like to come upstairs, Sue?”

“What have you got in mind?” she said, a grin forming on her lips.

“I need someone to clean the bathroom.”

She laughed.

“Do you have a brush?” she asked and kissed me.

“Is that what they call it over here?”

She smiled and let her tongue lick her upper lip. I took her hand and led her to the lobby. We got the lift to my floor, resenting the four other people already inside as they seemed to look at us, somehow knowing where we were going. We almost burst into the room and literally tore each other’s clothes off until I stood naked, watching her struggle out of her tights, leaving her naked save for a brief white thong.

She was beautiful, impossibly thin, with shoulder-length dark hair. Her breasts were merely a handful, but perfectly in proportion, pink nipples protruding as we launched ourselves at each other, our lips meeting with rampant desire.

I caught her in my arms, and we fell on the bed, our hands pawing each other, her soft white skin a magnet, her breasts a haven for my hands, her thong a casualty of our passion. I climbed on top of her as she opened her legs to me. There was no time for foreplay, we felt like the world as about to end, her hands held my face as she kissed and sucked on my lips.

“Fuck me, Des,” she demanded.

I moved my hips towards her soaked vagina, my penis slipped right inside her unaided and without guidance. It felt like a reincarnation of two lovers, finally together again from past lives.

Our bodies knew each other, recognised what we both needed. There would be time for sensuality later, this moment was raw, pure, undiluted desire, need and passion as we fucked noisily and aggressively, driving each other on to a rapid climax and a shared orgasm of powerful strength and depth.

My head felt like it had exploded, and my body appeared to have entered a jelly-like state of euphoric existence. We held each other tightly, two lovers reunited, fearing further separation. Kindred spirits afloat in the ether, joined in every way. Intoxicated by a familiarity inherent in each ragged breath and urgent kiss.

She sat up and ran to the bathroom, returning with a towel to cover the bed. A shy smile on her lips as she suddenly realised, she was naked with semen running down her legs. She ran to the bathroom, feeling a need to clean it off.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping me down with the towel.

“Yeah, but are you really sorry?” I said with a grin.

“I suppose not,” she said, kissing me. “I won’t be sorry in the morning either.”

We shared a bottle of water as we regrouped in the dimming light of the evening and spent most of the night making love and exploring each other intimately in a room of shadows, audible expressions of love and the regret of two beings who would be parted shortly by circumstances beyond our control.

Three months later, I took her hand as we landed in Dublin. Three months of longing, separation, and interminable late night trans-Atlantic calls, interspersed with several weekend visits where we never left the hotel room. Weeks of planning and her deciding to come to be with me in Ireland, to give whatever this was a chance to grow.

Ten years later, she was settled here, thriving in a productive, fulfilling and satisfying position as Director of Nursing at the one of the most renowned institutions, the State for care of the elderly. We were, up until the present, I felt, in love with each other and happy to be together.

-0-0-0-0-0-

I left the gates of her work and drove straight to see Devon Clarke, a good friend of mine who was also a bit of a mobile phone geek. Devon owned a retail unit in the Omni Centre in Santry and had supplied us with several phone lines for use in work. I knocked on his door, but I knew he’d be up because he hardly slept.

“Des, what’s the story?” he said, in his usual fashion.

“I need a favour,” I said, handing him Sue’s hidden phone.

“What are you doing with this piece of absolute shit?”

“I found it in Sue’s bag last night. I think she’s screwing somebody in work.”

“Oh, fuck, Des.”

“Yeah.”

“Did she admit it?”

“I didn’t let on.”

TBC