Life's Too Short

By Peter Wooton

Mike Hainsworth and Roger Dickenson have been friends since their school days. They are now both adults in middle age. After Mike's alcoholic wife died from breast cancer Mike became a virtual recluse. He seldom went anywhere other than work His social life became non-existent and his only friend is Roger. Roger is a confirmed bachelor. He dates a succession of dubious women whom he meets on a dating website. Roger is very concerned about Mike's health. He is becoming noticeably depressed. Roger decides the only way to save Mike from mental problems is to help him rebuild a social life. As a first step Roger suggests Mike joins a dating site. Mike isn't so sure. He still has feelings for his deceased wife and to meet another women would, to him,  be like cheating on her. Mike seeks help from a counsellor who advises him to follow Roger's advice. Mike joins a dating website and much to his surprise he manages to secures dates with several women. All goes well. His life starts to change. No longer is he the recluse he was becoming. Meanwhile, Roger forms a relationship with Michelle, the flighty barmaid at Mike's local pub. Michelle loves to flaunt what she's got by wearing very skimpy outfits. The way she dresses draws in the punters. Roger likes the attention Michelle gets and encourages her to go further but she draws the line at flirting, nothing more. Mik's lifestyle improves. From the dating site he meets the sophisticated, drop dead gorgeous, blonde haired, blue eyed Sophie. Sophie shares Mikes interests and is the opposite of Michelle. They get along like a house on fire. Mike has found the woman of his dreams. He cancels his membership of the dating site. He has found Sophie and Sophie is enough. With Mike sorted, Roger only has eyes for Michelle and when she asks him to become involved in an escort business suggested by Micelle's long-time friend Sharon, Roger is in his element….

• Language: English
• Publisher: N/A
• Release date: Oct 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215688564

Peter Wooton

Following a portfolio career that included working in Iceland, several years as a motor vehicle technician, obtaining a post graduate diploma in management from the University of Hertfordshire, many years in management within the public sector and in parallel to his day job, thirteen years serving with the Royal Naval Reserve at home and abroad and in several ships. Then In 2013 Peter opted for early retirement, Originally from Watford, Hertfordshire, Peter now lives with his Italian wife in the East Midlands where he spends most of his time writing novels featuring Mike Harding,

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mike Hainsworth was still in bed, unable to sleep. With his hands clasped behind his head, he rested his head on the pillow. Through half opened eyes, he watched as the shadows cast by the early morning sun filtered through the drawn back curtains. Hainsworth was having one of his ‘black dog’ days. He was alone. Not that being alone was unusual. Far from it. Being alone, particularly in bed, had become the new norm. Despite his nice house, good job and a decent car, what woman in her right mind would want to get involved with a forty something nonentity. Someone lacking the necessary good looks, bulging bank account and in today’s dating environment, the almost compulsory celebrity status. Never mind if the status be Z list or even non-existent, never let the truth get in the way of a good chat-up line. Lies rule. The truth is dead, so passé, darling! - as the current UK government fully understands.

While Hainsworth had several acquaintances and neighbours, persons he exchanged the occasional hello with as he left the house, his only real friend was his best mate and work colleague, Roger Dickenson. Strangely, the women in Roger’s life, he being a confirmed bachelor who revelled in one night stands, sometimes two or three night stands but mostly one, knew him as Todger. Why the women he met, mostly online it has to be said, nicknamed him Todger was anyone’s guess. However, in Hainsworth’s opinion, despite lacking the necessary supporting evidence, it didn’t take the investigative skills of Sherlock Holmes to realise the likely source of le sobriquet délicat.

Hainsworth contemplated his past. Back then, all those years ago, he never had any real friends. And so it remained until one day when he was in his early twenties, he met Avril.

Avril was a hot brunette about eight years older than himself. She was a very attractive street-wise woman, the type of woman other women seemed to look down on for some reason. With her long auburn hair, dark eye make-up, low cut tops and skirts that barely concealed the tops of her stockings, Avril always wore seamed stockings held up with suspenders. To Hainsworth’s eyes Avril looked absolutely gorgeous. While he thought she looked great many people, both male and female, considered Avril to be nothing more than a cheap tart, revelling in the looks men gave her, teasing them at every opportunity. From their first meeting at a local disco, Avril and Hainsworth had become firm friends. Never mind what others thought, Hainsworth liked Avril for who she was, not what she appeared to be. To him, she was interesting, fun to be with and very easy going. During the day, she worked part-time at a local film processing plant but in the afternoons and sometimes in the evenings, she was an escort. The first part Hainsworth knew about from the beginning; the second part he knew nothing of. Perhaps it was Hainsworth’s naiveté that Avril found attractive. Or maybe she saw him as a gullible fool, someone who would not question nor realise what her second occupation entailed. The truth was, he wasn’t all that bothered about what she got up to. They got on well and that was all that mattered. When Avril suggested he move into her place, a comfortable apartment just outside the town centre, he readily agreed. Prior to meeting Avril he had been in a succession of dead end jobs that paid very little and offered nothing in the way of career prospects. When she suggested he should go to college, get qualified, then embark on a proper career path he liked the idea but questioned how to pay for it. Avril told him not to worry about it. She earned good money so all he needed was a part-time job. He would work in the evenings or on the days when he didn’t have to attend lectures. And so it was. Three years later he graduated with a first class honours degree in computer science. They stayed together for a while before they both decided the relationship had run its course. Although they split up Hainsworth never forgot how Avril had helped him. It was something nobody else had ever done.

Next came Angela. Angela was about the same age as himself. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, a little under his height but not too short, stunning figure. Not as much fun to be with as Avril but certainly not boring. Far from it. In bed she was a porn star. It had taken a while before Angela agreed to sleep with him, after all she wasn’t easy like some women. Once in bed she was utterly amazing. Her bordering on nymphomaniac sexual appetite, coupled with her anything goes attitude, put Avril to shame. Hainsworth had struck gold and he knew it. After dating for almost two years, they married. Their marriage started off very well. They had no children, lived in a spacious newbuild three bed semi in the best part of town and were able to enjoy holidays abroad in exotic places. They lived the lifestyle others envied. All was going very well until Angela started to drink heavily. It became obvious to everyone except Hainsworth, that she was becoming an alcoholic. Things came to a head when Angela’s drinking resulted in her losing her job. That was quickly followed by a call from their bank revealing the truth of their financial situation. The mortgage was in arrears, her unpaid credit card bill and more. Then one of Angela’s friends demanded repayment of a substantial loan she had made to Angela while Hainsworth was out of town on a business trip. Hainsworth was stunned. Despite his pleadings and her rapidly deteriorating health, Angela kept drinking. Then on the day he was about to start divorce proceedings Angela was rushed to hospital. Two days later she was dead. A post-mortem revealed not only did she have cirrhosis of the liver but also early stages of breast cancer, however it was cirrhosis of the liver that caused her death. He loved Angela very much but as with many alcoholics, unless she wanted to stop drinking, there was nothing anyone could do to help. And now she was gone. His bouts of depression after Angela’s death almost led him to resign from his job. His intention was to sell the house then travel around Europe for a while, until suddenly, out of the blue, he was headhunted. The salary exceeded his current salary which pleased him enormously. His finances were in order, the mortgage was paid off and his bank balance was healthy, healthier still since his increased salary. The only thing Hainsworth lacked was someone to share his life with. As he lay in bed contemplating his current situation, Hainsworth realised he had reached an epiphany. It was pointless looking back. Nothing can change the past. Angela was gone and nothing would bring her back. He must leave the past behind and move on. Then he remembered something Roger had told him during a lunch break chat at in the office. ‘You need to get out more, mate. You are morphing into a miserable old git. Being a boring old fart is really not you. The problem is, you’ve got nack all social life. All you do is look back at stuff you cannot change, watch the bloody telly, pop into the Dog and Bone once a week for a pint of that cask ale you put down your neck or go up the Legion. You’ll never meet a woman in that crap local of yours, nor at the British Legion, at least not the one we belong to. Life is too short. It’s time to move on. You need to find an attractive woman about your own age who’s got big tits, nice legs, a shapely arse and an obliging attitude...’

Chapter 2

Stirring from his thoughts, it took him a moment to realise where he was. Rays of pale sunlight streamed through the lace curtained windows; there was a wardrobe, a chair, items of clothing strewn across the floor. Then it came to him. He was in the spare room of his sister Christine’s house, a very smart four bedroom detached she shared with her obnoxious, condescending prat of a husband, Charles. The house was in a desirable, much sought after location. Typical suburbia. Tree lined avenues with distinctly middle class neighbours. Yummy mummies driving around in large SUVs or four by fours which they used solely for taking the kids to school, to riding lessons or to shop at the nearest Waitrose.  

Hainsworth could never understand why they needed 4x4s. Neither the journey to school, to the local stables nor to the supermarket involved crossing raging rivers or negotiating rainforest tracks almost knee deep in mud while avoiding spear throwing cannibals. The vehicles were nothing but an ostentatious display of wealth. Many people want a car bur few need a 4x4. Like his sister, the women had mostly married wealthy husbands. Not all though. Some were successful in their own right having chosen to enter the professions;  doctors, lawyers, accountants and so on. One or two were definitely in the WAG category,  all big hair, weird eyebrows, fake tits, spray tan, trout pout, designer clothes and no class. The children had names from the gossip mags. Tabatha, Piers, Jemima, Jeremy or in the WAG’s case strange names such as Saturn, Chelzee, Cherri B, The husbands transported their golf bags in Audis, Mercedes, Porsches. To Hainsworth they were a boring flock of sheep who spent their time trying to outdo each other while ramping up massive debts in the process. He didn’t despise them nor was he jealous, it was because he rated class and good manners over shed loads of money. Money might buy a person freedom to do what they liked but it could never buy class nor good manners.

Suddenly there was a knock at the bedroom door. A voice called from the other side.

‘Mike, you lazy git!  Get up for goodness sake! It’s almost ten o’clock. We’re going to be late’

Hainsworth shook his head. Nearly ten o’clock! He cursed himself for not getting up sooner. He must have dozed off. It was Christine. She sounded irritated.  

‘Late? Late for what?’

Hainsworth couldn’t recall having planned anything.    

‘For lunch at mummy’s for goodness sake! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten’ said Christine, listening for any sound of movement from within the room  

Hainsworth groaned inwardly. ‘Lunch at mother’s! Oh no. Please tell me it isn’t true.’ He never used mummy. He though the use of mummy to be far too pretentious. Besides, he was in his forties. At over forty years of age a chap didn’t refer to his mother as mummy. Not in his book anyway. Lunch at mother’s was always a big deal. Arriving late was a huge social faux pas, ‘Mother’s?’ asked Hainsworth, bewildered. He opened the door cautiously, peering through the gap. Christine gave her brother a frosty stare.   

‘Yes, mother’s. We are going there for Sunday lunch. You’re coming too so don’t start any of your usual nonsense’ Hainsworth closed the door. In the en-suite bathroom he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The unshaven face staring back at him had dark bags under bloodshot eyes with hair like a crumpled haystack. He had a splitting headache and  felt like throwing up.

The previous evening had been spent in the company of Roger, Hainsworth’s sister Christine and her boring as hell husband Charles. Roger and Christine, concerned over Hainsworth’s lack of female company, had decided he needed to find someone. All he ever did was go to work, watch TV or visit his local pub, the less than salubrious Dog and Bone, or if not the pub the local British Legion. The Dog, as it was referred to by its locals, was OK but hardly the best place to find a woman, not unless a punter had a few bob to spare for a quick blow job in the gent’s. Looking to meet someone in the Dog and Bone was a pointless endeavour.

Ditto the Legion where the clientele comprised mostly old men hunched over pints of warm bitter moaning about anything and everything while their wives, old women with silver or blue rinsed hair cut very short, played bingo. Hainsworth had always felt an urge to be a renegade bingo caller shouting out things like ‘All the fives, sixty three...’ to an audience holding large dobber pens poised above their bingo cards, just to annoy them.

It was for that reason his sister Christine had arranged a night out. Despite Hainsworth’s initial protestations the night had gone surprisingly well, only slightly marred by brother-in-law Charles who, when introduced to Roger by Hainsworth, had replied in his usual condescending manner

‘Ah. Michael’s friend Roger, eh. Excellent’

Except that in Charles’s eyes it wasn’t excellent at all.  It was Charles’s view that for a man of Roger’s age to sport an unkempt ginger beard and dress like a Hoxton hipster in tight denim jeans and loafers without socks, meant he was obviously an ill-educated, left-wing socialist who existed near the bottom of the social pile.   

‘Pleased to meet you’ said Charles, lying through a false smile and implanted teeth.

‘Christine has mentioned you a few times. Odd nickname though. Where did Todger come from?’

Roger ignored the question. Whatever Charles had been told it probably wasn’t good. Charles continued.

‘I’m Charles, yah’

Roger’s opinion of Charles matched Charles’s opinion of Roger. Roger decided Charles was a brown-nosing right wing Conservative twat. In fact if brown nosing were an Olympic sport, thought Roger, Charles yah would probably win gold. What’s the betting he jogs, runs marathons, cycles up Kilimanjaro blindfold on a unicycle. That sort of thing. In Charles’s world everything would be all good, no problems of any kind. Money no object. Winter holidays spent skiing in Klosters or Verbier; summer holidays at their second home in the Loire Valley. When Hainsworth overheard Charles say ‘Charles, yah’ he groaned inwardly. He knew what Roger’s response to that would be. It would be Charles yah for evermore. He was right.

‘So, Charles, yah’ said Roger ‘pleased to meet you too’

Roger could be just as false as Charles.

‘Mike’s mentioned you many times. Something about climbing Everest, or was it Kilimanjaro?’

Charles gave Roger a strange look.

‘Everest? Kilimanjaro? I don’t know where you got that from’ It was downhill from there.

By the end of the evening and much to Charles’s irritation Roger was calling Charles yah, Chaz.  Hainsworth knew that from that point onward, should Roger and Charles ever meet again no matter how much it might annoy Christine or irritate Charles, Roger would always refer to Christine’s husband as Charles yah when Charles was not around and Chaz when he was.  Hainsworth just hoped that Roger and Charles would seldom, if ever, meet again.

‘Bollocks’ said Hainsworth under his breath, gripping the rim of the wash basin to steady himself. He had completely forgotten about Sunday lunch at his mother’s, and his mother’s was the last place he wanted to visit while suffering a massive hangover. But he had no option. Not to go would be considered terribly bad form. Charles had already said his piece about drunkenness while passing critical comment on Hainsworth associating with chavs. The reference to chavs being retribution for Roger calling him Chaz. No, Sunday lunch with mother could not be avoided. Stiff upper lip, a glass of seltzer, lots of water and an attempt at polite conversation should see him through. At least he hoped it would. Fortunately it did. By early evening the ordeal was over. He was back in his own house, fast asleep in his own bed.

Chapter 3

A week later, on a typically miserable Saturday afternoon in early December, Hainsworth was sitting alone at a small table in the lounge bar of the Dog and Bone. Having finished various chores and with nothing else to do, Hainsworth had opted to go for a pint. Outside it was cold and wet but inside the pub it was pleasantly warm. The Dog, as it was affectionately named by the regulars, reeked of stale beer with a hint of tobacco smoke from the days before the smoking ban, thus creating an ambience perfectly compatible with the worn seventies décor and sticky carpet. The Dog was a rubbish pub but the beer was cheap and it was close to home, which was all that mattered to Hainsworth when choosing where to enjoy a pint.

The pub was empty save for Hainsworth and Michelle, the thirty-something, peroxide blonde barmaid whose flirtatious manner, impressive cleavage and short skirts pulled in the punters, especially the pervs who mistakenly believed they might stand a chance of getting off with her. It was early afternoon. Many of the regulars had not yet turned up so until they did, Michelle busied herself polishing glasses, while occasionally checking her reflection the mirrored wall at the back of the bar, now and then adjusting her low cut top and tiny skirt. 

Hainsworth sat with a hand wrapped around a pint of real ale while reading a copy of the Daily Mail A premiership soccer match between two London clubs was showing on a wide-screen television. Hainsworth ignored both the match and Michelle. He preferred rugby to football and Michelle was not his type, although he was possibly the only man to visit the pub who didn’t fancy his chances with Michelle. He took a mouthful of beer, glancing at the television as he thought back to the evening with Roger, his sister Christine and her husband Charles. It had been a great night as it turned out. He hadn’t met anyone he fancied and had drunk far too much but he’d enjoyed it. Lunch at mother’s had been far less of a chore than expected, only slightly spoiled by her constant nagging about it being time he, Hainsworth, found someone new to share his life with.

Roger and Christine were right. The night out had done him the world of good but what next? He lived on his own and had few friends other than Roger. He stared into his almost empty glass, considering how he might find a nice woman.  Hainsworth liked women. In fact he liked them a lot. There were women at work of course, lots of them but they were either married, engaged, too young, lesbian, not his type or he wasn’t their type and those who didn’t fit any of those categories were, to put it bluntly, a weird bunch best avoided.

He was about get up to leave when suddenly someone plonked a pint of lager on the table in front of him, carelessly spilling drink over the table. Before Hainsworth could react, amber liquid had spread across the table-top, to drip into his lap. A wet circular stain quickly spread across the groin of Hainsworth’s trousers. He attempted to stop the flow but it was too late.  

‘What the bloody hell!’ He said, angrily.

He was about to have a go at the owner of the lager, when he saw the drink belonged to Roger.

‘Eff’s sake Roger! You’ve spilled bloody lager all over my sodding trousers! It looks like I’ve pissed myself!’

Hainsworth swept a hand across the wet patch, to no avail. In fact it only made matters worse. Michelle, her attention distracted by Hainsworth’s loud voice, stopped polishing glasses. Looking across the room she could see Hainsworth, with his back to her, was talking to another man while doing something strange with his right hand in the area below his waist. Michelle was about to tell him to stop whatever it was he was doing when Hainsworth sat down and the man he was talking to, took the chair opposite. Hainsworth resumed his efforts to dry his trousers but this time with a handkerchief. Realising what had occurred and now assured nothing untoward was going on, Michelle returned to her glass polishing. Amazed at how quickly the stain was spreading across Hainsworth’s loins, Roger offered a belated apology.

‘Oops! Sorry about that. You must have moved the table’ grinned Roger.

‘Bollocks! You are one clumsy bastard’ moaned Hainsworth in reply.

‘It was an accident! Could have happened to anyone. The table’s wonky’ said Roger, blaming anyone or anything but himself for Hainsworth’s misfortune.

‘I might have known it was you, you clumsy git! Look at me!’ Roger grinned.

‘Ah, you’ll soon dry out. Stop fussing. If they’ve got a hot air hand drier thing in the bog you can stick you crotch under that. Be dry in no time at all’

Hainsworth knew there wasn’t one. Well, there was but it had stopped working ages ago. His only hope was for his trousers to dry quickly but judging by the size of the stain that was unlikely to be any time soon.

Hainsworth was astonished to see Roger in The Dog. The pub was way off Roger’s manor and not the sort of place Roger would usually frequent. His tastes tended to be far more downmarket, should such a thing even be possible. Nevertheless, he was pleased to have the pleasure of Roger’s cheerful company, even if it did cost him wet trousers.

‘So, what are you doing in here then? And at this time of day?’ enquired Hainsworth. Roger took a mouthful of lager.

‘Just been to the bookies. Got a nice little runner in the three thirty at Haydock. Stuck a tenner on it. Twenty to one’

Hainsworth was not impressed

‘Twenty to one? The last time you placed a bet at twenty to one the bloody horse came in at ten past four’

Roger grinned.

‘Fuck off! At least I’ve got an interest, unlike you, you boring sod!’

Hainsworth ignored the comment and continued.

‘I thought you usually went up the Mayflower on Saturdays’ The Mayflower being an absolute dump of a pub that matched Roger’s standards when it came to places to drink. It was also frequented by the type of women Roger fancied. Roger shrugged.

‘I felt like a change, that’s all. I knew you’d be in here drowning your sorrows so I thought I’d come and join you. I had a great night last night by the way.’ said Roger, with a smirk.

Hainsworth sighed. He knew he was about to be subjected to a blow by blow account of Roger’s latest sordid liaison with some dodgy female he’d managed to pick up. Roger’s tale of debauchery had reached a crucial stage. Apparently a battery powered device plus lubricant and handcuffs were being put to good use.

Hainsworth could hear Roger’s voice but he was only half listening. He was more concerned about how he could meet a nice woman. Someone with a sense of humour, intelligent, fun to be with.  

‘Bugger it, Mike. If you aren’t going to listen to what I’m saying, I’m going to nip back to the bookies’

Roger stood up as if to leave but then changed his mind. Instead of going, he had caught sight of Michelle behind the bar. He offered to get a round in.

‘What are you having? Pint of IPA?’

‘Yes, IPA, thanks. But I’ll have a fresh glass’ replied Hainsworth. As Roger made for the bar Hainsworth continued to think about his lack of a female companion. Moments later Roger returned with the drinks.

‘Here you go mate.’ he said, putting a pint of IPA in front of Hainsworth. Roger remained standing, his attention apparently captured by something at the bar.

‘Who’s that bint behind the bar then?’ asked Roger, giving Michelle an approving look. He smiled. Michelle smiled back. Hainsworth was appalled.

‘Leave it out Roger! Don’t tell me you fancy Michelle. She’s a right miserable cow’ Roger ignored Hainsworth’s criticism.

‘So she gave you the elbow then?’

Roger sat down.

‘Not at all. I’ve never tried asking her out. She’s always been a bit offish, that’s all’

Roger kept his gaze fixed on Michelle, craning his neck to get a better look as she reached up to get something from a top shelf. As she lowered her arm Roger quickly averted his gaze by turning to look at Hainsworth.

‘You think? She seems OK to me. It’s you. You are always so bloody miserable. It rubs off on people, you know. No wonder she’s not interested’

Hainsworth took umbrage at the accusation.

‘Behave! It’s not that at all. I happen to know she prefers black blokes, or so rumour has it’

Roger was intrigued. He took another mouthful of lager.

‘Does she now but only a rumour. Nothing confirmed?’

‘No, nothing confirmed’ replied Hainsworth, despairing of his mate’s taste in women.

Roger paused for a moment, pondering Hainsworth’s comment. Michelle might show promise but if she prefers only gentlemen of colour it could be a waste of time. But if it was only a rumour then it might be game on.

He decided to push thoughts of Michelle to the back of his mind. At least for the moment.

‘Oh well. Never mind’ said Roger with a smirk, feigning disappointment.

Roger changed the subject by turning his attention back to Hainsworth.

‘So, come on then. Since you aren’t interested in what I’ve been up to, what have you been doing?’

‘What do you mean?’ replied Hainsworth, cautiously.

‘Don’t come all innocent with me. You know what I mean. Have you bagged yourself a bird yet?’

Hainsworth was embarrassed, reluctant to answer.

‘Nothing much. I’ve not been on any dates if that’s what you mean.’ He knew that was exactly what Roger meant.

‘Not one?’ Roger was incredulous.

‘Not one single date since we went out with your sister and her bloody boring pretentious git of a husband Charles yah! You have got to be kidding me! That was ages ago’

‘It was only last week! And no, not one. I’m not like you, you tart. I’m fussy. And it’s not Charles yah, it’s Charles actually’

‘Is it? I thought he said Charles yah but Charles actually will do’

Hainsworth ignored him. Roger continued

‘Anyway you’re too bloody fussy by half. No wonder you never score. Didn’t you do what I suggested?’

‘What was that?’

Hainsworth hated Roger’s interrogations. He tried to fend off the inquisition by pretending to have forgotten Roger’s suggestion.

‘For gawd’s sake pay attention! The internet. Internet dating! Even a boring git like you can’t fail to meet someone online. Dating websites are the thing, believe me’

‘I’m still thinking about it’

Hainsworth knew it was a bluff. He’d done absolutely nothing about joining a dating website.

‘Thinking about it? You’ll be dead by the time you stop thinking about it. Start doing something about it. Time waits for no man you know. The longer you spend dithering, the less chance you’ll have of meeting someone, unless you want to meet a nurse prepared to cart a defibrillator around on every date. In the meantime I’m going to pop back to the bookies’ Roger finished his pint then headed for the door.

‘I’ll be back in a bit.’ And with a jovial ‘Bi love!’ and a wave to Michelle, Roger was gone.

Hainsworth turned to watch the match still playing on the television. Perhaps Roger was right. He was dithering. He won’t meet anyone unless he applies some effort. He  was distracted by Michelle who now had her back to him as she replenished an empty vodka bottle in the optics then began wiping the several bottles placed on a shelf. As she stepped back from the bottles, she knocked something off the bar top. She came round to the other side of the bar to retrieve the item.  Bending over to pick it up, her already short miniskirt rose above her thighs, unintentionally exposing more than just a stocking top. For a few seconds Hainsworth found himself admiring her shapely backside. During his many previous visits to the Dog, he hadn’t really paid much attention to Michelle. She’d always seemed to be very offish with him. Maybe it was because of his changed state of mind, or perhaps it was due to the fact she was now exposing both stocking tops and the lower part of her bum cheeks, he realised Michelle was actually very attractive.

Chapter 4

Hainsworth had always