Katie, Part Eight

I took Katie back to her car eventually. The journey was quiet, as in spite of my attempts to keep a conversation going, Katie preferred silence. I was pleased to see that she sat gingerly in her seat and I can remember smiling at that before I switched on the radio to give me some company as I drove the car through the Pennine Hills towards where Katie's vehicle was waiting. Eventually I manoeuvred my car into the area where Katie's estate car was still waiting for her and then I walked her slowly to it.

"I hope you can sit down comfortably during your journey," I told her genially, before leaning forward to give her a peck on the cheek.

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said, getting into the car and sitting down very gingerly indeed on the seat.

"Shall I call you?"

"No, my husband might be there. Let me call you," she replied.

"You need to get another mobile, a pay as you go type," I told her.

"Sounds like a great idea," she said, switching on her engine.

"I look forward to your call," I said, knowing damn well that she would not get in touch. Not that I was all that bothered, as I had seen  what looked like a rather decent restaurant as we had headed into the little town, and I had already decided that having had my balls emptied it was time to fill my belly. As Katie drove off I gave her a cherry wave and sauntered off to eat, think that was that in the Katie department.

Women often have the capacity to surprise men and Katie was no exception because she called a a couple of weeks later. At first the conversation was stilted, as if Katie was trying to limber up to say something that was important to her.

"I want to say something," she said at length.

"Sure," I replied.

"Why did you make me do that to you?"

"I didn't make you do anything, Katie, so don't play the victim with me. It won't work," I told her, firmly.

"Yes, but I don't want you that way. I wanted you as my father figure," she said.

"Katie, listen to me. We had this conversation before we even met. You are bored because of your home life and you take lovers. You feel guilty about this so you latched on to me as your father confessor who would punish you  and cleanse you of your sins. But, Katie, did you ever for one moment stop and think that I might want something else?

"No," she had the good grace to concede.

"You wrote a script, didn't you? And what you needed was an actor to play the role that you created. But that's not me, Katie, because I'm a man, not a character in your play.

"I don't want you as a lover," she said, which left me feeling wonderful, I can tell you.

"Not to worry, one swallow does not make a lover," I told her between clenched teeth.

"Do you have to make a joke about everything?"

"Being treated as a stooge leaves me with the option of laughter or tears and I prefer the former."

With that the conversation ended and I never spoke to Katie again.

What can I say? Katie could suck a mean cock, and she had not cost me anything other than some time and petrol, but the whole incident left a nasty taste in my mouth.