It was one of those Thursday evenings. Know what I mean? Not quite the weekend and you are already on your knees. Kids at school were bastards all day. Someone threw a coke can out of my classroom window at the caretaker so he was on my case for not supervising the little wankers properly. Then my Head of Department gave me the entire Department handbook to rewrite for next month. Plus I was on break duty and lunchtime duty, it was bloody pissing down and I had to break up a fight in the boys' toilets- have you any idea what they smell like? Even when the bell rang, it was still a bastard day - Committee C and little arse wipe Banks was giving us all the shits again because we were late with our monthly reports. So, I eventually get out and my car won't start. Had to push it down the hill near school, with the help of young Kieran, the new PE student (nice arse, Kiers!) and then was frightened to stop in case it cut out again.

As a result, I ran a red light and almost got creamed. Couldn't believe some bastard copper didn't catch that and book me. It was that sort of day - know what I mean?

Home. Open the fridge. No food. Not even any bloody booze. Maybe I should just put my head in the oven and be done with it? I forgot. I don't cook with gas. Typical of my luck. The table was covered with unmarked exercise books and coursework. My briefcase was overflowing with documents to be read, digested and turned into the usual gobbledegook expected by the Ministry of Education. Booted up the computer.

"You have ten million messages." Yeah. Junk. Want a longer penis? Would you like to look up Britney Spears' skirt? And so on.

And then the intercom rang. 

"Who the fuck is it?" I screamed down the receiver. 

A pause. Silence. And then. 

"Police."

Fuck, fuck, fuck! The fucking red light. They fucking tailed me home!""What do you want?"

"A word, Ma'am"

Ma'am? Who the fuck says Ma'am in Manchester? Some bloody smart arse, right wing, shit-for-brains copper who thinks he's really funny.

"Is this about the red light? I can explain. My car was cutting out... I couldn't stop..."

"Yes, Ma'am. The red light."

"And if I refuse to open the door?"

"I break it down."

"Really? Just for a red light?"

"That's the law, Ma'am."

I banged my head against the wall and hit the switch.

The next minute the doorbell sounded. I opened the door on the security chain.

"Warrant card. You could be a sex maniac. Just push it through."

A badge was passed through the door. I looked at it in confusion.

"This is not a warrant card."

"I know."

"Then you're not a policeman."

"Says there I am."

I read it again. Opening out the case, I saw the name. Officer White. LAPD. What the fuck is LAPD?

"London Arseholes Prat Department?"

"Los Angeles."

"Is that the new Spanish restaurant on Deansgate?"

I was confused. Could this be an hallucination? Had I actually crashed my car and was I now in some limbo state while surgeons struggled to resuscitate me? Who the fuck did I know in LA? Why were American police doing traffic duty in Manchester?

Isobel. Oh my God! I looked back at the warrant card in disbelief. It couldn't be. I mean it couldn't be. I mean - that was just a game. Wasn't it? Returning to the door, I pulled back the locks and broke a nail in my hurry to yank open the door. And there he was, leaning on the lintel, a wry smile on his face.

"Officer White? Bud White?" Gobsmacked would be a polite way of explaining how I looked at that moment.

He nodded.

I don't know exactly how long I stood there staring but he finally stepped back and said, "If it's a bad time..."

That woke me from my trance. "No...Not at all. It's perfect timing." Perfect timing for what? "I mean, why are you here?"

He frowned. "They didn't say nothing?"

"Anything." He looked confused. I wished I could bite my tongue off. After a day correcting children's English grammar, it kind of comes naturally - know what I mean?

"They? Who's they?"

"The Sisters?"

THE SISTERS? THE PERVE WORLD GAME? 

"Er...No, I mean, one of them might have done but I haven't checked my mails properly for days. Have you been sent here? Why?"

Stupid question. If they had been telling the truth about this PW then that should have been bloody obvious even to an idiot like me.

I blushed and prayed that I would be spared anymore humiliation... 'Let me die now, please God! No! Not yet. I haven't had...'

"Seems they thought you might need some company." Bud said, his eyes sweeping down over me and then fixing me with his intense gaze.

I gulped. My knees sort of gave way slightly and I had to grab the door handle to steady myself. If this was a bloody hallucination then it was the best my dirty little brain had yet come up with.

"Would you like to come in?" I mumbled.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said politely and picked up the sports' holdall that was lying by him on the floor and breezed through the door. I stood back to let him in and watched him as he did. Blimey, he really does walk like that. Maybe he has got three balls?

My small flat suddenly seemed to have shrunken like one of those scenes from Alice in Wonderland when she ...why do I always think these completely inane things at times like this? Then the famous words Eat Me from the same novel kind of floated across my consciousness. Did I actually say "Yes please!" out loud? Not sure. I tried to gather my thoughts and act normally. OK. Breathe deeply. Act normally. How does one act normally when Bud White knocks on your door? Can someone please explain?

"I expect you would like to..." my brain began to dislocate again "...um, sit down. Or would you like a drink? Something to eat? A shower? Are you tired? Would you like to go to bed? I mean on your own. I mean in the spare room..." God, please give me control over my mouth!

"Whatever. I don't want to be any trouble, Ma'am." Bud smiled and leaned back against the kitchen table.

"I'll show you to your room then. That is why you are here, isn't it? You need a bed for the weekend?" I asked tentatively wondering whether I was being too presumptuous.

"Yeah, something like that," he answered straight faced but did I imagine that his eyes were dancing? Probably. I have a very fertile imagination.

Leading him down the small corridor, he followed and I again had the impression that my house had shrunk. He simply seemed to fill up all the available space. I opened the spare room door and groaned when I saw the mess. GCSE coursework projects - all over the fucking place! Piles of ironing. All my sports gear thrown around. Why was I such an untidy cow?

"Right. Just give me a minute." 

I picked up the clothes and flung them into the wardrobe and shoved the work in a box and kicked it out of the room. Then I piled up the rackets and sports' paraphernalia and pushed it under the bed. I suddenly realised that I was on my hands and knees with my bum waving in the air wearing a rather short tailored skirt, which didn't really leave much to the imagination in this position... And he must have been watching me. I could see his legs if I looked between my own.

Get off the bloody floor, you complete idiot! He will think that you are...what? Gagging for it? Which you are. A complete and utter mental case? Without a doubt.

I crawled to my feet. "I think you can manage now. There are towels in the bathroom cabinet. If you want to freshen up, the bathroom's next door. I'll be around if you need anything..." Like help you off with your clothes? Someone to scrub your back? "Is there anything else I can get you?"

He smiled. "No. This is fine."

"I'll go into the kitchen then. Fix some dinner."

"Yeah. You do that, honey."

Out in the corridor, I took a breath. Must be lack of oxygen that was making me act like a mental defective. I tried not to think of Bud in my bathroom, stripping off his clothes, wrapping my towel around his waist... Dinner! What the blue blazes was I going to feed him? I mean he looks like a guy who eats food, not packets of crisps and a bag of apples washed down by a pint of vino blanco. (I know I should eat properly but I do have a school lunch. Eat properly? At school? Chips and meat pie followed by spotted dick and custard. Great diet, huh?)

Raking through the freezer I fell upon two steaks that my mother had donated on her last visit. She brings food aid. I had thrown them in the freezer because I'm too lazy to cook. Mum, I love you. Toss them in the microwave. Find a few potatoes. Bake them in their jackets - shove them in the oven. Salad? Thank God for salad. Booze? Shit. No booze. I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hi. Sue? Can you do me a big favour? I need some wine. And beer. And Scotch. No make that Jack Daniels. Or some American shit anyway. Can you go down the offie and get some? Well, I'm a bit stuck. There is someone here. I can't leave. I will owe you big time. Fifteen minutes. You beauty. Wait - must be red wine! Something strong and rich. Maybe a nice Rioja. And the beer - not bitter. Lager. He'd hate bitter. Who? Nobody. I am not lying. Look. I'll tell you later. Just bloody go!"

Sue next door would be nosing around now but - well she lives a boring life. At least this might give her something to talk about.

As I busied myself around the kitchen, I caught a glance of my reflection in the window. Christ! I looked like something the cat dragged in. More like something the cat refused to drag in because it was such a mess. I dashed into my room, stripped off and wondered what to wear. What do you think he would like? Women who look like women. Dress? Right. Black dress. Little cocktail number. Low cut, not too short, nice pair of heels, minimal jewellery, hair up, no - hair down, no - hair up, then he can pull it down, if he wants to... Breathe. In and out. Calm down.

Underwear. Black strapless bra. Satin thongs. Stockings? Hold ups? OK, hold ups, easier to get off. Perfume. Something traditional. Chanel? Maybe flowery - Estee Lauder? Like he bloody knows the difference? As long as I smell good...I need a shower. Is he still in the bathroom?

I laid out all the clothes on my bed, slipped on a robe and tied up my hair. By the time I had sorted it all out, Bud was in the kitchen, sitting down and flicking through the newspaper. He looked...do I have to spell it out? Jacket off, white shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar open and I could see the white wifebeater beneath the cotton. Beige slacks. Bare feet. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Do not let me wake up yet.

I slipped into the bathroom, locked the door and hyperventilated whilst sitting on the toilet. This cannot be happening. It is impossible. You will wake up in a moment and you will find yourself in intensive care...then I realised that the shower cubicle was wet. So was a towel that was lying on the floor. And there was a shaving kit on the sink unit. Whoever was sitting in my kitchen reading the news, it was clearly a man.

I took a shower. Washed very carefully. Shaved all the bits that looked like they needed attention. Dried off. Body lotion. Skin freshener. Apres rasage cream. Probably smelt like a tart's boudoir by the time I'd finished.

Sneaked into my room. Dressed. Made up. Ready as I'll ever be. Fuck! Doorbell. No! Sue!

I charged out of my room and made it to the door, just as Bud was about to open it. Opening it a fraction, I dragged the box of booze off Sue. "Pay you tomorrow. Thanks!" and I slammed it in her face. Then I turned round to find myself looking straight at Bud. He picked the box out of my hands and grinned.

"Want some help with this?" 

I nodded. 

We walked back to the kitchen and he set the box down on the table.

"I think we need to talk," says Bud.

"Talk?"

"About this weekend."

"This weekend?" I had suddenly become an echo.

"Yeah. You seem a little...unsure. It's OK. It's up to you. No strings. Understand, honey?"

I sat down on a chair by the table and put my head in my hands. "Can I ask you something? Are you real? Have I made you up?"

"Come here. Touch me. Feel for yourself." He stood there and held out his hands. I found myself walking over and touching his fingers tentatively.

"Oh my God! Flesh and blood!" I swallowed hard.

"How much do you know about this?" He asked.

I blushed. "Quite a bit. I read the stuff."

"Oh yeah? Seems I recall you write it too."

"How much do you know about me?" I questioned, suddenly aghast.

He smiled. "Enough."

Enough? What the shit did that mean? Did he know about the cuffs?

"Look, should I cook? I mean, are you hungry?" I said for something to say.

"I could eat. Or not. Maybe later."

"Later?"

"Yeah, later. Afterwards."

"After what?"

Then he said it.

"Baby, you know what I mean."

Bud stepped forward and I found myself backed against the counter top. He placed his hands on either side of me, leaning against the wall cupboard. His body hovered close to mine, not touching but so close. His legs straddled mine; I felt overwhelmed by his proximity and the intense gaze that he held me in.

"You want this, honey?"

I nodded.

"You sure?"

I nodded again.

"How sure?"

There are some times in life when you have to take the bull by the horn. No, be serious! I didn't do that. Well, not yet anyway. I simply slid my arms up his chest, over his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him down towards me. The sensation of his body, rock hard yet soft skinned with only the fabric of his clothes between me and his naked flesh sent me reeling; I could smell his fresh soap scent and that indefinable male aroma. His skin, freshly shaved, was cool and smooth, his hair beneath my fingers velvet, his breath was mint - and then he kissed me.

I can't remember much about that first kiss. I was just so lost in the moment. I know it was good. But what he did and what I did, I couldn't tell you. Not that first time. He simply took my breath away. My next memory was when his lips broke contact and he raised his head to look at me.

"You don't just write good sex then," he commented.

"I'd like to write it better," I replied.

"Practice, honey, you just need to practice," he murmured as he swept his hands down my arms, pressing them into my body and leaning in against me. I could feel him grinding himself softly against my groin, his arousal evident. He slipped his hand to the back of my dress and I felt the zip lowered down; he prised it off my shoulders and eased it from me. It fell at my feet and I stood there before him. He simply stood back and surveyed me.

"I sure do like you modern ladies," he whispered, spinning me round to view me from the rear. I heard him moan soft and low at the sight of my naked cheeks in their tiny black satin thongs. Is there any man who doesn't react like that? Bending me against the counter, he rubbed in close and kissed my neck, his hands swooping over my breasts and belly. I rested back against him. Oh Lord, did this feel natural!

"I want you. Now. Here," he whispered in my ear, his tongue playing hide and seek with my lobe.

"Anywhere." I gasped. It was enough encouragement. He pulled me to the nearby wall, but I pushed him back against it and he didn't struggle. Slithering down to kneel before him, I unzipped and, Christ, he was naked beneath. My hands shook as I reached for him, he groaned and I heard his head hit the plaster, dislodging a small plaque, which fell crashing to the floor. My eyes widened as I freed him from his pants - no one has been exaggerating on that score! - but he only has two balls. Now I know. But they must weigh as much as a bag full. Not that I'm an expert. Merely working towards as they say in teaching. Somehow I think the next few months might move me along at a faster pace.

For the first time since he had rung my bell, I managed to retrieve a semblance of control. As I gripped him gently but firmly, he seemed to sink slightly and moaned sweet and low, adjusting his legs to anchor himself more firmly to the wall and allow me greater access. I jerked him slowly familiarising myself with the unaccustomed feel of a cut one. My first. It's not an English thing. Or Irish. Or Welsh. Or Scottish. Or Kenyan Or Italian or...look do you have to know everything about me? Looks pretty, though, I thought, although I wondered if that was the correct choice of word. Look, I teach English, words matter to me, you'll just have to accept that.

But I couldn't resist. There was no time to lose. I still wasn't sure that I wasn't dreaming so I intended to get as much as I could in before I woke up. With a deep sigh, I ran my tongue down his shaft and it felt as real as can be. Thick, veiny, hot, throbbing - clearly more than a mouthful - more like a complete four-course meal. But I had a go. I was always one for stuffing my face - typical case of binge eater.

As I ran my tongue around his now purple ridge, he began to whimper - not a sound I had expected him to make - but all the more arousing for that. When I sucked down hard and then began to flicker him with my tongue as I pumped him up and down, he continued this weak little gasping. I raised my eyes and saw that he was watching but his eyes were beginning to roll towards the ceiling and his head was jerking back against the wall. His thighs were contracting - it was so fine to see him helpless like this - and I pushed him just a little further with one hand on his base and the other cupping those mighty balls and gently massaging him.

"Oh, baby, that is so good...yeah...aghhhh...fuck, yeah...Suck down hard...

Jesus fucking Christ..." He pulled away and grabbed me; his teeth were gritted and he was panting rhythmically. It happened rather too quick to comprehend. I felt him toss me over against the nearby automatic washing machine and jerk my legs apart. With a quick tilt to improve his access, he slipped straight in my hot little pussy. Don't know what had happened to my knickers - he could have rammed them right up me for all I knew or cared.

With his solid hands on my hips, almost circling my girth, he thrust slowly first, taking his time, each deep entry accompanied by a low grunt. Then he would pull back and slow thrust again. My body was beginning to adjust to him by then. He judged it just right. The moment I began to feel like more, he upped the tempo and the force just carried me away, enough to make me cry out.

"You like that, honey?" He whispered, leaning over me as he moved, rubbing his lower belly against my upturned butt.

"Hmmm," I replied.

"I thought you liked to talk..." he gasped.

"Hmmmm," I answered. I heard him laugh.

"Maybe you like this better?" With a sudden lunge, he pulled back and rammed so hard that I had a vision of being fired like a cannon out of the kitchen window on to the carpark below. A memory of a battle on the Surprise flitted through my brain. I suddenly realised how one of Jack's balls (sorry, cannon balls) must have felt. I think I screamed. I think he groaned. I know he started to jerk faster and faster and I was jiggled about so much that I thought the spin cycle had come on all of its own accord.

Have you ever wondered what you must look like when you have an orgasm? Thank God your partner is in the throes of his because I swear we must have looked a sight. As I let rip and screamed something extremely crude and probably physically impossible, lying straddled over a washing machine with a half naked man ramming me from behind in the middle of my kitchen on a miserable Thursday evening, I was so glad that I didn't have a housemate.

Suddenly I was aware that we had both fallen extremely quiet, apart from the rather exaggerating thumping of our racing hearts. He raised me up gently and turned me around to face him but seemed to have difficulty meeting my gaze. Pulling away from me, he turned slightly and ran his hand down his face and exhaled slowly.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" I asked, sure that I had screwed up - metaphorically speaking.

"It's not you, honey. It's me. I can't believe I did that. I don't know what came over me. I'm not that kind of guy."

"Well, I can't say that I normally...I mean not usually on a first date even and when I do get round to it hardly ever out of bed...er...correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that suggest we have some kind of affinity? I mean, like we just wanted each other so bad, we just didn't think? We just let our bodies do the thinking?" It was the nearest I had come so far to expressing a coherent concept and it still was not my finest piece of linguistic expression. But he seemed to be thinking about what I had said.

While he dressed and helped me back into my clothes (I'm afraid the thong had suffered irreparable damage) he started to open up.

"So, you don't think that I'm some kind of...?"

"You? Some kind of? What? I just think you are some kind of guy. A really special kind of guy. The kind of guy who knows exactly what to do to help a woman out of her difficulties."

He smiled, a little confused. "Difficulties?"

I giggled. "Something called Foot-in-the-Mouth disease that I suffer from. My friends say I just need a quick slap on my back to kick start my brain sometimes but you just came up with a rather more tempting alternative. Officer White - you came just in the nick of time - and I mean that in more ways than one!"

He inclined his head, a little shyly and smiled that half smile. "OK, Ma'am, but next time I show you my usual procedure. We are going to do it by the book."

Jesus, book? Has he read the Kama Sutra? Would he like to? 

He turned his face away and then looked back quickly, clearing his throat. "It's a fucking long way from LA, honey. I had time to think. About what you said. I guess I was thinking too much. I don't deal with pressure too good."

"About what I said?" Now it was my turn to be confused.

Bud sat down on a chair by the table and pulled me down on to his knee. 

"About the cuffs. Guess you just stumbled on one of my own secret fantasies." He licked his lips nervously. "Not that I'd ever do something like that to a lady." He grinned nervously, "Just think about it sometimes. Pretty hot, huh?"

I chewed on my lip and stroked his hair. "Yes. Pretty hot. Just like you. I said it, didn't I? Must have come from somewhere. Seems we may share the same fantasy. Isn't that what this PW is all about? Making dreams come true?"

Bud nodded, pensive. "But first, I want to treat you like a lady. It's what I do best," he smiled, this time with a wide grin, his arms circling my waist.

To be treated like a lady, by Bud White. I am almost ready to die happy. But not quite yet.

"And I am going to act like a lady for once. Treat you like a real man. First, I shall cook you dinner. I may even eat a proper meal myself for once! Then we can clean ourselves up - my bath will think it's Christmas already. And finally, Officer White, you may carry me to bed and treat me like a lady. All night. But bring your cuffs - just in case. Later I may forget myself and start misbehaving. I may need chastisement. On the other hand, I am a schoolteacher, famed as a disciplinarian - just ask my pupils! Perhaps I might have to show you what I do to boys in my hands who can't control themselves..."

"You sure you can handle the consequences, honey?"

"Do my best, Officer. I promise to use both hands." 

"So I don't have to sleep in the spare room?"

"No."

"You going to write about this afterwards?"

I paused. I said nothing. I couldn't lie to him but...

"I get to read it first. In case you leave anything out. I have quite a lot of experience in writing incident reports, "he reached down and slipped his hands round my butt. He rubbed his face along mine. I could feel his breath lightly on my neck as he nuzzled and sucked gently on the tender skin.

"I'm not going to mention..." I whispered in his ears, my own voice sounding husky and strange to my ears. My breasts were rising and falling towards his lowered head as I began to respond to him again.

Bud raised his head at my whispered comment and whistled softly.

"That too, huh?"

I nodded. "You think I'm a bad girl?" This time my tongue lingered round his ear. Bud groaned softly and pulled me closer to his groin. What remarkable recuperative powers this sweet man possesses!

"Bad girl. Very bad girl. Those cuffs are definitely coming out tonight." 

The jacket potatoes still had a way to go. The steak would only take a few minutes. There was still time. I didn't even have to speak. Bud simply picked me up and carried me towards the bedroom. "You really want to...?"

"Do I ever, Bud. But that is not going in the diary. I think I would prefer that to be our little secret..."

"You got it, Ma'am!" He kicked open the door, brushed through it even managing to sidestep neatly the pile of clothes I had earlier stripped off and left lying where I stood, the box of cosmetics strewn all over the floor before the long mirror, half a dozen pairs of shoes that I had tried on and discarded and finally we made it safely to the bed. He laid me down gently and laughed as I threw half a dozen magazines and a few novels onto the floor. His attention seemed to have been taken by something behind my head. I saw his fingers touch the bed head. He smiled. I think the wrought iron frame seemed to please him. Perfect anchorage for cuffs?

"Bud?" 

"Yeah honey," he said absentmindedly as he pulled my hair down and ran his fingers through to shake it lose about my face.

"How long are you staying?" He continued to stroke my face and watch me, his head tilted to the side.

"Couple of days. Maybe longer. Depends on you."

"Me?" He wanted to stay longer if I would let him?

"Remind me to make a call in the morning," I muttered.

"Call?" He ran his hands down and cupped my breasts.

"Telephone. Pull a sickie. Bubonic plague might work. Good long absence required. Could be days before I am able to leave my bed."

I pulled him down towards me and he rolled in at my side.

"Days. Apart from food. And necessary other visits." He stripped off my dress again. Why had I bothered re-dressing?

"And baths. Long baths. Very good for my condition." I was already into his pants again.

"Condition?" He buried his head between my breasts.

"Insatiable lust." I tugged his undershirt over his head.

"I think I just caught it." He kicked his pants off.

"I thought you gave it to me." I rolled him over and climbed onto his belly.

"Give it to me, honey," he moaned.

And of course, I did...