10 am. Under the statue of Sir Matt. Old Trafford. April 5th.

It was like some stupid liaison arranged by a dating agency. Wear a red flower and wait under the station clock. Except here it would be wear a red United shirt and stand under the statue. I surveyed the crowd. Thousands of men, shaved heads and tattoos dressed in red United shirts. How was I going to recognise him?

I wondered whether he would just stand me up. No. He wouldn't. No power play in that. And he wanted to prove who was boss. Couldn't do that if he didn't show.

My phone rang. "Hi. Uma." I answered and then listened to the barrage.

"For goodness sake, will you go back to bed! Of course I'm all right. I'm in a public place with thousands of people around. What could be safer? No, he isn't. I am not lying. And if he were here, I wouldn't put him on. Get a life. Can't you think of anything better to do than worry about Adolf and me? I know you're concerned and it is very sweet of you but, if you ring again, I will change my number. Got that?" I hung up.

"...So, that's what a Manchester Tart looks like?" I spun round and there he was.

I looked back. Hando.  What was he playing at? He wasn't wearing what I'd imagined he would wear. I mean the hair was the same and the unkempt scruff but... no braces, Crombie, ankle length pants- he was wearing black jeans and a Berghaus. Quick check. No Docs! Caterpillars. Terry has a similar pair. Was he actually moving with the times? Skins dress like that here now. We are bloody years ahead of Oz - Aussies always look so quaint to us.

"Hello there, Handy Andy! Wondered if you'd show."

"Who was that on the phone? Dickhead?"

I ignored him. "Right. What'll be? Pint?' I asked.

He pulled me by the arm and dragged me back up the road, against the throng, to the 'Sir Matt Busby' -the MU pub. It was heaving. He walked up to the bar and I thought he'd never get served. Next minute there he was at the front. God knows how he did it.

"Oi, O'Cunt!" I realised that he was referring to me. He motioned with his head and passed me two pies as he went back and retrieved the two pints of Holts. My Dad calls it rotgut.

Slopping it over my hand, he thrust one at me while he drank from the other, belched and looked around. All the tables were taken. He moved. I groaned.

There were two Asian guys (in UK that means Indian) sitting there all kitted out in their red and white gear.

"Fuck off." Hando said and slammed his pint down.

"You joking, mate?" The young Pakistani guy answered. I smirked. This was their home turf - Hando was going to get a shock. "Kiss my chutees," his friend replied and they ignored him.

I put my hand on his arm. "They will have a gang in easy reach. You are on your own. I will dob you in it if you cause trouble here. In the UK we don't have submissive Asians. They are a force to be reckoned with. Just try it, buster..." I whispered. He glared across.

"Hi guys? Mind if we sit down? My mate here is a bit of a twat. Thinks he's hard. Comes from Melbourne."

"Melbourne? You an Aussie? We'll have your bollocks in the next Test..."

"He's not really a cricket fan," I answered. Hando merely glowered but sat down. We ate our meat and potato pies. In silence. I offered him a cigarette. He took the packet.

"Your shout, luv," he sneered. His pint glass was empty.

I looked at the bar- the blokes were ten deep. "You can't seriously expect me to get in there? No one will even see me!"

He grinned coldly lighting up one of my fags. "Try fucking your way to the front. That's your normal style, isn't it?"

I exhaled and stood up, jolting the table to knock his glass over. He didn't like the trickle of beer that was edging near his jeans. So, he's a bit anal about his clothes, is he?

At the bar I jumped up to try and see a route that I might take. I noticed him at the same moment that he noticed me.

"Uma! When did you get back? Fantastic! What you drinking?" It was Dave. OK, a bit of history. Dave is my great friend, ex-colleague and the world's greatest MU fan. I love him to bits. He was my HOD when I taught in UK and is a brilliant Classicist. I so wanted to tell him about my trip to Rome - but of course I couldn't. And the last thing in all the world I wanted was for him to meet my new 'friend'.

"Two pints, please, Dave," I answered. He ordered and shouted across.

"With your Dad?"

"No."

"Your Mike?"

"Er, no."

Ah ha! Your new Aussie bloke!" I know we are supposed to be discreet -but Dave and I are mates. He lives vicariously through me- he has been married forever to a wonderful, if fairly bossy, wife. He had mailed me and asked about my love life. I mentioned I was seeing a guy from Oz. Oh, Jesus- please do not let him think that it is...

"I'll bring them over..."

Caught.

Dave breezed up with the three pints; Hando glared.

"Hiya mate. I'm Dave, an old friend of Uma's. You must be Terry..."

Hando glared. Then he smiled, a pretty scary expression- a bit like a crocodile. "Yeah, mate. Terry."

Dave tried to show no surprise but I knew he was nonplussed. Hando and I are not a natural couple. But, fair play to David, he soldiered on...

"I believe you travel a lot. What's your field?"

Hando paused, stubbed out his fag and said... "Race relations." I choked on my beer.

"Great. Thought you were ex-army or something..."

"Yeah or something." Hando replied as communicative as ever. I whispered "Vermacht." to myself but tried to appear calm.

"So, you and Uma have been together for quite a while now. Must be serious." Shut up, Dave!

Hando looked across at me and pouted.  I could see it coming. "Yeah, mate. She's a great fuck. You should see her go."

I closed my eyes and prayed for the end of the world. Let it be soon.

Dave's eyes widened, he looked at me with great concern and shut his mouth. Time to change the line of conversation.

"So...er, Dave...you here with your Ged?" Gerald is Dave's younger brother (he is awfully cute) and he is a policeman. Actually he is with CID and works with the anti-civil disorder unit.

"Yeah, he's over there with a few of his colleagues," Dave indicated the bar.

"Terry dear, Dave's brother investigates National Front and Right wing Fascist groups. Is he working at the match, Dave?" I beamed at Hando.

"No, off duty, but he keeps his eyes open. Seems there's a gathering of the clans this weekend. They've got Aryan brothers coming from all over. Immigration reported one thug from Melbourne who came through last night. The clever dick flew in from the US- must be a smokescreen. This one's a right evil bastard, Ged says. Got some tasty form and seems to be a bit of a Fuhrer. And he's got brains. But they'll pick him up if he rears his ugly head."

I looked at Hando whose face was impassive but there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. Then I got it. The clothes and restrained demeanour weren't for me; he was using me as a front for some rumble he had planned. The bastard.

"Look Uma, I'll have to get back. Give me a call over the weekend and ...nice to have met you Mr...."

"Terry, mate. You know how Aussies are. We just like to be friendly," Hando smiled and shook his hand. I wondered if Dave had seen the tattoos that were revealed when he extended his arm.

Dave withdrew and I banged my head back on the wall. "You had no right to do that! He is my friend..."

"Then he must have shagged you. So he knows you're a horny little bitch," Hando muttered as he lit up another of my cigarettes.

"We were colleagues. He is happily married."

"Sounds like the sort you go for. Christ, they accuse us skins of promoting social breakdown. They haven't fucking discovered you yet!"

I ignored his attempt to bait me. "Terry will go mad that you used his name."

"Oh yeah? Thought Dickhead liked playing let's pretend. Seems I remember he used my name once. And you both got your rocks off on that, didn't ya? Well, this time I'm gonna play Thorne. But don't worry. I'll still fuck ya like Hando. And you'll know the difference, love. I guarantee it." He whispered the latter into my ear and I bridled. But before I could reply, he stood up and walked away towards the door.

I gathered up my belongings and ran after him. He was strolling down the road back towards the ground but turned into an alley; I followed.

"Look, Hando...I didn't invite you here for a go at me. Sex is not part of this deal. You got th..." I had been so intent on explaining my point that I hadn't realised what he was there for. He had calmly unzipped and was now urinating on the floor, making sure he only just missed my feet. He hadn't turned away. "You filthy pig!" I shouted.

He laughed, shivered, and made a mocking face at me. "Never seen one this big?" and he flashed it at me. I stormed back to the road.

He stole up on me and put his hands on my shoulder as I stared out at the passing throng. I felt him rub his groin against me and his breath hot on my neck. He made a deep and crude grunting sound. "I am going to enjoy you, bitch. And you know what...you will be screaming my name and begging for more. Guarantee it. You know you will. Bet you're already wet..." Then he licked my ear.

My ears are sensitive. Sometimes too sensitive. That was one of my too bloody sensitive moments. I felt a shiver run through me and hoped desperately that he hadn't sensed it as well- but I know he had. It was just his sort of tactic. God, I hate the bastard.

Shrugging him away, I stepped out into the crowds that were now streaming towards then arena, wondering what exactly had possessed me all those weeks ago to respond to his comments and set myself up this way. Terry was right. Bud was right. I hadn't even dared to tell Jack. What was I taking chances like this for when I had all that at the drop of a hat?

As if I didn't know.

He must have run to catch up because I was moving fast but I soon felt his hand grip my upper arm.

"You've got the fucking tickets," he snarled.

"What a pity if I managed to lose you and had no friend to sit next to," I retorted sarcastically.

We were nearing the turnstiles and I fished out the tickets to check our entrance door. I noticed a tout and was tempted to simply sell them for the king's ransom I could have got for this Premier match of the season. But that wouldn't have solved my little problem. I would still have Hando on my back. Or even worse- on my front.

"Gate Q," I muttered to him, "and I'm warning you- we are in the Stretford End and they are all United supporters. They might share your taste in sartorial elegance and dubious political theory but above all else they hate an outsider. Shout 'Liverpool' once and they will rip your little fascist balls off and ram them down your throat. Got it?"

He looked over and gave me one of his impenetrable looks. I think he was trying to scare me. I think it was working. Up the concrete stairs to our stand I walked ahead and tried to stop thinking about whether he might be checking out my arse and what he was actually planning in revenge.

We came out into the huge arena, found our row and realised that we were in the middle of it- why is that always the case? I began to ask 'Excuse me' when Hando began to use me like a riot shield and simply push me down the row, stumbling over feet and legs as men attempted to get out of our way. A few mumbled something but I guess no one wanted to wind up a guy like Hando. 

In our seats, I threw his hands off me and sat down, aware of the wry amusement on his face. He was having so much fun at my expense that he was almost beaming; God knows how much more sport he expected from this little visit before he was through.

The match kicked off and we settled back. Fortunately Hando seems to enjoy soccer and was soon caught up in the game. Unfortunately he appeared to be a Red - i.e. support my team - I had been secretly hoping that he shouted for Liverpool and got his head kicked in.  I'm sorry if I sound vicious, but this bloke just brings the worst out in me.

The game was buzzing from the first whistle. Within a few minutes there had been a major incident- cute Van Nistelroy, the Dutch wonder boy, was brought down in the area- a penalty and a sending off. Nistelroy to take. YES! Goal!! The stadium erupted. United fielding 11 men to Liverpool's 10 and most of the match to go. It was a scrappy first half after that- United strangely low key and Liverpool fighting hard. Half time.

Hando lurched up and began to thread his way through the row. I followed, my suspicions aroused. "Where are you going?"

He stared at me. "To see a man about a dog." When my Dad used to say that he meant he was going for a wee. Somehow I suspected that Hando might be planning something - maybe see and Aryan Brother about a rumble after the match? So I tailed him down the stairs and along the corridor until he stopped outside the Men's.

"Want to hold it for me?" He asked. I backed away. 

Leaning on the wall outside the Gents', feeling somewhat conspicuous, I saw a gang of young men approaching, all shaven heads and ear piercings, with that false jollity they exude when they are really just asking someone to stand in their way and give them a reason to start some aggro. I tried to disappear into the wall, well aware that a lone female on their territory was fair game. Just then Hando strutted out, still zipping up, and he appraised the situation immediately. I felt him move to my side and take up a position just out of my eye range- but I could feel his hand resting lightly on my arm.

"Hey! Hiya!" One of the young bloods shouted. I kept my head down.

"Hey, Dazza, look who it is! Aren't you goin' t' say 'allo, Miss?"

Hando stepped forward scowling as I raised my eyes. " James? Is it you? How're you doing?" It was James Morgan, one of my former pupils. And then I looked closer and there they all were - the class of 2000, God love them. Hard as nails and barely a brain cell between them.

They were as pleased as punch to see me- it is so funny how that always happens. You have endless trouble from these kids in a classroom but you meet them outside and they are sort of proud to know you. Poor kids- few of them have many adults in their lives who have ever even given them the time of day. So we chatted about what they were doing and how I was and then they began to nudge each other and I could see they were wondering about my friend.

"Is he your boyfriend. Miss?" Darren 'Dazza' Jones asked. "Hey, mate, great tatts! You one of the Moston Boys?"

"No Darren, he's not English." I explained.

"Miss, you going out with a wog?"

Hando pushed him against the wall. "Do I look like a fuckin' wog, wanker?" 

"Hey, steady on. Keep your 'air on. I was just saying. Where you from? You're not a Frog, are ya?" James asked, pulling his friend away. The group began to circle, annoyed at the treatment of one of their number.

I decided to intervene. "He's from Australia. I think he might be an Aborigine or something. On walkabout. See you around, lads!" I took Hando's arm and dragged him back towards the stairs; he was still giving my boys some serious eye contact.

"What is the matter with you? Do you have permanent PMS? They are kids I used to teach.  Why can't you leave things be?" I muttered angrily.

"I thought you needed a hand. Gang like that could mess you about," he whispered quietly but firmly. I shot him a look of disbelief. He couldn't have been protecting me, surely? Hando the White Knight? Get real.

The second half was stunning. United came on and blew the Scousers away. One more penalty- dubious, but we deserved another goal- Hando sneered and said the ref was either blind or ball-less. Then a searing strike from Giggs. Three- nil. OK, I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, it was a merry old crowd and we could smell the Premiership looming- only a month to go until the end of the season. The atmosphere was electric.

There were one or two minutes of time left on the clock when Hando suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the exits. I tried to pull back but he was too strong and merely yanked me harder and almost wrenched my arms out of my sockets.

"It isn't finished yet!"

"I've seen enough."

"I haven't."

"Too fucking bad."

That was it. He hurried me down the stairs so fast that I had to concentrate on my feet so as not to lose my balance. He didn't stop until we were in the tunnel leading to the exit gate. It was deserted and windy, food wrappers and paper cups blowing forlornly in the breeze. Suddenly he pushed me up against the bare stone wall and cupped my breasts, his mouth pressing against mine and his tongue licking at me in a crude attempt at foreplay. I shuddered and tried to twist my head away; he released one hand to hold my head firm.

"No!" I spat out at him.

"Think you can stop me?" He grunted as he raked his tongue from my ear down my neck and back again to plunge into my mouth. I struggled and tried to raise my knee between his legs, he simply leaned against me hard enough to render my move ineffective; it also showed me his arousal, hard and rigid against my lower belly.

"Are you going to rape me here? Because this place is crawling with police and there are security cameras. Look. CCTV. The coppers will be watching the activity around the ground. How far do you think you'll get? Open your pants and they will have you. And I will tell them I have never seen you before and you jumped me in the tunnel."

He grunted and pulled away, his eyes flashing at the camera. His look was intense and brutal; I think he was weighing up his chances should he smash it. It was his look that touched me. Haunted, angry, his sea-coloured eyes like sharp slivers of ice tempered with the hopelessness of failure. Those eyes- the windows to his soul. What kind of maelstroms were turning in his brain? For the first time I felt an emotion for him other than fear or lust. It was something else- pity, maybe...but more like empathy. I had known the struggle for understanding that he was enduring and perhaps I was still in its midst. What was he trying to do but know himself when every weapon in his arsenal was trying to tear down any hope of clarity or revelation that he had?

"Hey, Miss, is everything all right?" Two ground stewards with walkie-talkies approached at a safe distance, watching our tussle.

Hando let me go and turned his back on them, his face lowered; he was still thinking of the camera. I felt his body tense and wondered whether he was preparing to attack them. Placing a gentle but restraining hand on his arm, I shook my hair from my eyes and said:

"Just fooling about. Sorry. Everything's fine." Hando gave me a sidewards glance but said nothing and I felt him relax again.

"Well, if you're sure, love..." the two men walked past, still a little unconvinced that such an ill-matched couple could be together.

Hando walked ahead and I followed behind; he lit a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully.

"Why didn't you shop me?"

I shrugged. "You are one of the Brothers, I owe you that much."

"I was assaulting you."

"I know."

"You could have ..."

"...But I didn't. Not this time. But I'm warning you, Hando, you touch me again without my consent and I will call the police. I promise you."

He looked down and ground the cigarette out with the toe of his boot. "And what's the chance I'll get your consent?" He asked sarcastically.

"Does it matter to you? I mean I know there's the power trip and it makes you feel like a real man to abuse your strength but...do you really want me that way? Or even care if you have me at all?"

"You're just a randy little cunt who likes to play Lady fucking Muck. Consent? Who gives a fuck?" And he stormed off leaving me in his wake. But of course, he did give a fuck, didn't he? That was clear in his behaviour. Hando wanted me to want him but he was beginning to feel a little adrift - out of his comfort zone, in an alien environment and without the back up of a howling mob. Just me, a slender woman and him. And he wasn't sure if he was getting through to me. I smiled a little grin of satisfaction and sighed. I was beginning to like this game.

He was waiting for me at the top of the road.

"You got a car?"

I pointed towards the car park ahead, he strutted over and I tried to keep up with him as best as I could.

"Oi! Over here. The blue one." I scrabbled in my shoulder bag for my keys; he snatched them from my fingers.

"You're not driving my car."

He sneered over and opened the door, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Have you got a driving licence?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll bet you haven't. You ever taken a driving test?" He laughed and started the engine. "Hando, you can't drive it if you haven't a licence, you are not insured!"

At that he put his hand in his inner pocket and threw a wallet at me. I opened it and there was an Arkansas state driving licence. Good old Teener. I giggled. He shot me a look.

"What's so fucking funny?" He snapped.

"Your name. I never think of you as having a name like a real person," I observed.

"Why? Do you think I was just born a fucking skin?" He observed as he turned out into the slow moving post-match traffic and cut right in front of a car which horned noisily.

"I just didn't think much at all about you. You'll always be Handy Andy to me."

"Fuck off."

"Make me."

He looked across and licked his lips slightly. I heard him snigger and move in the seat. I couldn't stop myself. My eyes just gravitated to his groin and I stared at the healthy bulge framed by his jeans. Then I looked up and he was watching me with a heated expression.

"Oh, I intend to, luv. And so do you. You wouldn't pass up a chance to get your lips round that now, would you? Add it to your list of favourite fucking flavours?" And he licked his lips suggestively as I pulled my eyes away and stared out of the window.

He pulled up outside a hotel not far from the ground. Grabbing the keys out of the ignition, he got out and slammed the door. I sat wondering what he was playing at but he returned minutes later with a bag and threw it into the back seat. "My togs."

Back on the road, he suddenly asked: "Where the fuck d'ya live?" 

"Better side of town," I retorted. "Get on the motorway, M60, follow it north. I'll tell you when to get off."

We drove in silence apart from the din of the pop music from the radio. Its cheery vacuous jollity seemed incongruous to the atmosphere in the car. You could have cut it with a knife.

"Get off here- turn right at the lights," I continued the instructions in a monotone and he followed them without comment.

"That house. Park here." I jumped out and ran up the path hoping that he would not be noticed. This was one 'gentleman' friend that I didn't want my neighbours to see. He leaned into the back, pulled out his bag, and strolled in, casing the street and the house.

Once inside he busied himself prowling around like a big cat in a new surrounding. He picked up objects, placed them back, leafed through books and overturned cushions as if he were searching for something. Or was he simply marking territory with his own inimitable scent? I watched him, chewing at my nails, a nervous habit that I thought I had cured myself of; I was clearly mistaken.

"What's this?" He held up a handful of sea shells and pebbles that I had placed on a side table that I had picked up walking on the beach with Jack.

"Just mementoes."

"What of?" I wondered at his dogged curiosity.

"I just drove back from the sea. I spent a few days there with Jack Aubrey."

He laughed. "That fat bastard?"

"He is not. Don't be so childish"

"Does he know where his dick is?" Hando sneered.

I groaned. "You are such a bag of shite, Hando. Grow up!"

I left the room and went into the kitchen, beginning to prepare a meal to try to keep my temper.

"What you cooking? Foreign shit?" He followed me in

"Mixed grill. Aryan enough for you?" I snapped back and then put on the radio. They announced the final score of the match. 4-0. Solskjaer had scored a 90th minute goal."You bastard...I missed that!" I shouted at him. He grinned and hunched his shoulders in a 'who gives a fuck' expression.

"Got anything to drink?" I threw him a cold can from the fridge; he snapped the ring and took a drink. I felt his eyes on me as I moved around the room. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck and prickles of cold sweat run down my spine. I wanted to bite my nails again.

I peeled potatoes and washed them in a colander at the sink, normal meaningless activities that pretended everything was normal but I knew it wasn't. When I felt his body behind me and his hands upon my hips, snaking round to draw me against him, I froze and closed my eyes. I knew that I couldn't withstand him if he moved against me further

He did not speak. He merely rubbed himself against me and tilted back my face. His head was lowered to mine and I made one last futile attempt to pull away but he merely shrugged it off. His tongue licked the perimeter of my lips, I moaned in fear and desire and then he thrust back my head and sucked on my throat.

My body sagged at his animal-like presence and the power of his aura. He felt the moment and simply picked me up. Throwing me over his shoulder, he burst through the morning room, out into the hall, up the stairs and to the bedrooms. I think I held my breath, I know tears of anger ran down my cheeks. I couldn't stop him - I didn't want to- and I hated myself for my pathetic capitulation.

I was tossed onto the bed and he stood back and stripped in a slow and measured way. He wanted me to look; he knew I would. I sobbed as I knelt there, quiet sobs and tears rolling down. He had known all along that it would come to this. I don't think I had ever felt more humiliated in my life. Memories of men I had loved in this room passed through my mind, tender, passionate, wild and joyful moments to be besmirched forever by this act I was about to allow. How could I be so low? Terry, Max, Bud, Jeff - they had all been here with me and given me so much of themselves. And here I was giving it away to a charmless thug who wanted to teach me a lesson in power.

But I looked. And so did he. With a sneering half smile on his face as he disrobed he watched my surrender. He stood naked and touched himself, like a feral creature displaying himself before a mate, and I shivered at the sight. What is this control he has, this fascination over women of intelligence and poise who know their own minds and bodies? Is that the answer? Is he the nightmare, the ultimate devil of our subconscious dreams, the stalking wolf, the vampire, the beast? The only one who can unleash that other self, the feral woman who will bare her fangs but grovel beneath his will? Is that age-old animal instinct still latent within us all- the call of the Stone Age man?

"Say it." He stepped towards my face and held his cock before me. "Say it."

"Say what?" I gasped as my hands began to itch to touch him and my mouth salivated at the nearness and his overpowering male scent.

"Tell me that you want me." I caught his eye; he took my head in his hands and bent it back. "Say it!"

I whimpered but I told the truth. "I want you." 

"Show me. Suck it. Kneel down and suck me." He pulled me roughly off the bed and thrust me down to my knees.

I took a deep breath and touched him. He felt so hard and velvet soft, so young and virile; my hand explored his shaft and he grunted, slumping back against the wall, his hands raking through my hair. He forced my mouth against him and I tasted him: the salty- sweet drip of pre-cum indicating his arousal wetting my lips, now eager for more.

Before I could draw breath he pushed into me and I felt myself gag. He is so thick. All the Brothers are well endowed- he isn't any bigger than some of the others, but he feels as though he is because of his girth and the relentless pressure of his fucking. There isn't time to ease oneself in, he will not wait until you are ready and yet, his predatory force makes you ready- how to explain that?

I tried to calm myself, breathe slowly, take him in but as soon as I found a rhythm he would push it up a notch, catch me unawares until I wondered whether he intended to choke me with his prick. All the while I was subjected to a constant stream of filthy abuse spat out through his gritted teeth.

Just when I thought I would either stop breathing or vomit, he pulled away and took my arm, dragging me to the bed and holding my arms above my head with one hand while he ripped away my jeans and panties. He didn't even let me remove my boots- I was just left lying half naked with my clothes around my ankles.

"Please, Hando...no, not like this..."I begged, but he did not listen. Forcing me back onto the floor, he pushed me down on my hands and knees, used his knee to drag my thighs apart and then he plunged in- right to the hilt while I cried out. He began to thrust, hard and unrelenting, shunting me against the wall, his left hand resting for support while he jerked and hitched me as he fucked.

I groaned, he grunted. His sweat dropped onto my naked back. I should have been traumatised. I should have been dry. But my cunt was weeping and my desire was peaking. This was something I had never known- pure lust and bestiality. I screamed as he brought me on and his growl echoed his final rutting thrust as he shot his cum deep into me. There had not been one kiss or mark of affection; he had made no attempt to arouse or fondle me. This was about as far across the spectrum from lovemaking as it is possible to be. It was possession pure and simple. The making of hate.

Hando threw himself off and me and sat up, his back against the wall, staring straight ahead. He dragged his pants over and pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one and smoking in silence. I scrambled to my feet, yanked up my clothes and sat on the bed, my knees bent, my head buried and my arms clasped round them hugging myself for comfort. I was still shivering and sobbing like a child who had cried too long and cannot stop.

"Shut up," he said in an expressionless monotone. I ignored him.

"Can't you fucking shut up?" He repeated.

I raised my head. "That was a really horrible thing you just did and you know it. You had no reason to treat me like that. What have I ever done to you to deserve that? Or is that the only way you know how to make love?"

"I fucked ya."

"I noticed."

He dragged on his cigarette and allowed the ash to fall onto my cream carpet. That was the least of my worries. "Was it a punishment? Do you feel better now?" I asked.

Hando raised his head and I was again caught in that steely gaze. "Why should I punish you?"

"Because you think I buggered things up for Max. Hando - it's about time you grew up. He might be the nearest thing to a father that you have ever had but he is also just a man trying to get things right. Don't blame me for his problems. Trouble with you is you've swapped one blinkered viewpoint for another. First it was Adolf. Then it was Max as the military representative of the ancient First Reich. Don't you realise that no one is perfect? No one has the answer to everything? Nothing is black and white? You can't just pick a scapegoat and offload all your shit on them. What am I - the wandering fucking Jew?"

I observed him sitting there on the floor, in a similar position to my own, knees drawn up and arms resting on them. I realised he was as tense and uncomfortable as I was. But he looked magnificent. I dislike tattooed men but on him these marks become like an erotic script, regaling the animal-like grace of this young man and his instinctive power over women. Even in that vulnerable position, he did not look weak. His muscles were taut, his thighs were thick and shapely, his body lightly shaded with hair and the cock he was so proud of hanging down on his swelling balls, potent with virility and strength.

"You went for him when he was down. You screwed his head up." Hando snarled.

"He contacted me. He made the play. And what do you think he did to my head? How do you think I have managed to salvage my private life?"

"I don't give a fuck about you."

"That's the point. You can only see one side of the picture. I have a point of view but you're not interested in that. So what's the point in even trying to talk to you? It is sad though. You're an intelligent man but you are also the most stupid person I have ever met. It makes me so mad when people with brains don't use them."

He laughed. "You think you fucking know it all, don't you? Well, your little pearls of wisdom might work for some of the other sad bastards in this World but they won't work for me, love. Give it a fucking rest."

He stood up and picked up his clothes, thrusting his legs into his pants and zipping them up with a ripping, angry motion. I knelt up on the bed. "You are so full of need. What are you afraid of, Hando? Are you afraid that all your carefully built myths might just be about to come tumbling down? What happened to you in the portal? Has anyone even asked? Something has happened recently to take you to the brink. Why have you left Teener?"

At that he turned on me lips snarling and face contorted. "None of your fucking business!" He shouted.

I had hit a nerve. You know me. I just have to follow that thought...

"Do you know she's asked for Bud? And he will drop everything to help her out. Bud. Just what she needs. Big. Tough. Uncompromising. Violent Bud. But maybe she might get to like his tenderness and his support, his gentleness and his soul. See, mate, anything you can do, Bud can do so much better - I think you might have cooked your own goose, mate." I finished with a provocative pout; I really am totally fucking bonkers, aren't I?

Hando hit the wall with his fist and shattered a picture hanging there. It was a personal favourite, a print I had bought at the Tate Modern, Salvador Dali's 'Narcissus'. The beautiful young man who wasted away because he became enslaved to his own self image and could not let anyone else in, shunning the touch of those who loved him. I wondered if Hando would have understood the irony in that. The glass fell to the floor in pieces and I saw the bright red spots of blood spatter on the cream pile. His hand was bleeding badly.

Jumping up, I picked up a clump of tissues and grabbed his hand, squeezing at the wound to check that it was clean. I dragged him into the bathroom and ran water over the jagged slash. I reckoned it needed a couple of stitches.

"Come on... Casualty." I ordered and he shook his head, dragging his hand away and sucking on it. "Hando, it's a bad cut. For goodness sake, don't be such a flake! It needs a stitch. I don't want you bleeding all over my house, getting an infection, whatever. This is UK. Medical treatment's free. Might as well rip us off while you're here."

And he complied. He didn't have much choice, blood was spurting out and even he seemed to realise that it was a nasty one. I wrapped his hand in a small face towel and helped him dress. He said nothing but simply let me. I threw his jacket over his shoulders, grabbed mine and we went out to the car.

The large County hospital is only a mile or so away so we were there quickly but, of course, this being an inner city hospital and a Saturday evening to boot, we were soon stuck in a queue that would clearly take several hours to reach our turn.

I cannot think of many places less conducive to me than the Casualty waiting room of a hospital. Hando and I didn't say much to each other but there was plenty to entertain us. Apart from the usual stream of accidents, broken bones and untreated ailments that suddenly worsened once the regular surgeries were over, there were the inevitable drunks, drug addicts, lunatics and lonely people who saw company in offloading their neuroses on the already over-worked medical staff. An occasional fight broke out, police hovered around, someone would throw up or collapse and then everything would stop while a real emergency case was rushed through. Oh, yes. There was plenty to keep us occupied.

Finally it was our turn (which we almost missed when a nurse with an Oldham accent called his real name and neither of us recognised it at first- even Hando smiled wryly at that). He was stitched up and then...oh joy of joys...asked: "When did you last have a tetanus injection, sir?"

He opened his mouth to speak but I got there first. "Years ago, doctor- I'm afraid he'll need another."

Hando glowered but there was no escaping it. The female doctor asked him to lie on the bed and drop his pants to his thighs. Then a nurse swabbed his shapely butt which seemed to have been marked with what I assume to be female nails. I patted his hand and smiled beatifically while the young doctor gave him a jab. Revenge is sweet. I thought that he would explode with temper, helpless at the hands of three middle class educated women- but he somehow kept the lid on his humiliation. After giving him the usual advice about keeping the wound clean and dry, he was sent off with painkillers and antibiotics. It was nine o' clock at night and we still hadn't eaten.

Back home, I served the hastily prepared mixed grill, he ate it morosely and then I insisted he dose himself up with medicine.  I gave him double the recommended amount of painkillers- it had said 'you may experience drowsiness' and sure enough, he seemed to be nodding off. Staggering under his unsteady weight, I got him up the stairs, helped him off with his clothes, rolled him into bed and he fell asleep. I breathed a sigh of relief. Day One and I was still alive.

Hitting the computer I posted a message to say he had arrived safely. HELP!!! I was running out of ideas.

The phone rang. "Hi...Oh Terry, am I glad to hear your voice..." I suddenly felt my voice catch and knew that if I didn't take care I was going to burst out crying.

"You alright? You crying?"

"No. Just sleepy."

"Where is he?"

"Asleep."

"In our bed?"

"No, the spare room." I was lying. I hadn't thought to put him in the guest room. Why ever not?

"Has he done anything...Uma...if he's hurt you...?"

I forced a laugh. "Terry, everything is fine. Well, he is a bit of pain in the arse but nothing I can't cope with. If you must know he cut his hand and we have been half the day in the hospital. But United won. 4-0. You lost the bet."

"I can't lose, love. I still get your body whichever way. That's what I like about gambling with you. Cards are stacked in my favour..." He chuckled and the sound of his deep voice washed over me like a balm. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine he was there. "Hey, I'm in a hired car. Want me to pull over and give you the first instalment?"

I merely sighed and spent the next ten minutes listening to Terry's undoubted negotiating skills. That man could charm the birds off the trees - or more like the knickers off a busload of nuns. I flopped on the day bed in the study and had some fun. Little SID always works better with some aural stimulation.

Some time later, after a long bath and a beauty session, doing the usual shaving ritual- which I realised I had noticeably failed to do for Handy Andy's arrival and lathering myself in ridiculously expensive Origins "A Perfect World' Body Cream, I slipped on a light cotton negligee and brushed my teeth. I would sleep alone in the spare room. That way I wasn't exactly lying to Terry.

Mind made up, I tiptoed into my room to gather a few things for the morning. Hando was deeply asleep, lying on his back, his left arm thrown above his head, his right hand, the bandaged one, resting on the coverlet. His face was relaxed and boyish with a slight smile playing on his pretty lips. His eyes flickered slightly as he dreamed and his long lashes trembled. I stood over him and thought how beautiful he was, how young and virile, and what a tragedy that he had been shaped by life to hate so much.

As I stared, he rolled over onto his side and I saw his naked back against the white lawn sheets. I couldn't resist. As gently as I could, I crept into bed and lay next to him, running my left arm round his waist and drawing myself close. He stirred and shifted slightly, murmured something and then settled. His hand closed over mine. I smiled. He had called me 'Teener'.

I was lying on a beach and it was very, very hot. I tried to raise myself to take a dip in the cool waters of the swimming pool but something was preventing me. Struggling to see what the obstacle was, my eyes began to focus and I understood: I was buried beneath a body that was covering me, his leg straddling me, his arms about me and his head on my breast. I stretched languidly and let him love me but I couldn't fathom who it was. Not Jack. Not Terry. Maybe Bud? My brain jolted me awake as my hands smoothed over his stubbly scalp- Hando?

Eyes open and a whimper of amazement - I realised where I was and with whom I was coupling. Hando was easing down the strap of my slip and suckling at my nipple, a low groan of pleasure emitting from his throat as he writhed against me; I could feel the hard bolt of his morning erection against my leg. I could also feel his left hand running underneath the hem of my nightie and between my parted thighs.

"Hando! No!" I gasped and pushed at his shoulders.

"Yes. Say yes." He grunted and kept on with his foreplay. "Say yes."

My hands fell from his shoulders. His voice was gruff and deep but somehow there was a note of pleading in it. I wondered if he were fully awake or if his 'overdose' still rendered him drowsy- did he even know it was me?

"Don't hurt me, Hando. Please make love to me. Don't hurt me..."

He looked up at me- his eyes unblinking but I saw no brutality there. Just an appraisal of me and then a promise - which I knew he would never speak- that he meant me no harm. I gave myself up to his control of me, still unsure of what weapon he was holding that could render me so helpless.

His lips seared my nipples; he was aggressive but not painful- but his attentions made me cry out. I felt his tongue rasping and biting, pulling my tender flesh between his teeth- a hint of pain, a mark of his possession. Dropping down as he pushed my legs up, he settled in the space between my stretched thighs and licked a trail down my belly, lathing my navel until I screamed with the sensation of his wet tongue and his chest pressed against my sex. He rubbed his face in my hair, a feral moan escaping from his lips as he forced my knees against my chest, leaving me totally exposed to him; I sensed him smelling me before he tasted, like some beast about to savage a helpless prey. But instead of fear, it made me weak with desire- I responded in a primal way to his primitive lovemaking.

Oral sex with him is more akin to feeding than playing. He growled as his tongue lapped at my juices, he snarled as his teeth pulled at my passion-tinged lips, his lips sucked on me as if drawing marrow from a bone and his tongue snaked inside me, hard and long making me buck and moan- wanting to escape and wanting more all at the same time. But still he went on, even though I writhed and struggled, scratched and grazed the arms that held me, until in one wild frantic scream I sobbed out my coming. And even then he drank and lapped until I lay shivering on the pillows unable to defend myself anymore.

Silence fell on the room as he lay still buried in my nakedness - and then he moved. Sinuously, he snaked beside me, allowing my legs to fall down and relax. We lay side by side, bodies touching but in our separate space as I panted and sighed. I watched him take his cock in his right hand, saw that he winced and couldn't grip properly, tried his left and then grimaced. It made me smile.

"Let me..." and I rolled down to lie on his thighs, take him in my hand and masturbate him while he watched, his eyes lowered and his mouth slightly parted. I waited until his eyes flickered when I ran my hand down his whole length, pulling back the skin and then pulling it tightly over the large swollen head again. Then I took him in my mouth and heard his hiss and the instinctive hitch he made to thrust more deeply. His hands ran over my head but he was gentle, surprisingly gentle. It was almost like making love.

"Suck me. Suck me, bitch," He was fully awake and back to normal but I detected a lack of conviction in his voice. He didn't mean what he was saying- not really. They were words to mask the passion he was feeling for fear that anyone might suspect that underneath there was a heart and a sense of loyalty of which I think he is ashamed. He can accept it if it is expressed in male bonding or tribal obligations but never if it is directed at a woman. Is that what Hando fears above all else- that the only thing he has is his masculinity and love might bring his precious virility into the control of a mere female??

How strange the thoughts that pass into your mind when you are giving deep head to a magnificent and threatening naked Skin! I told you- I'm completely mental.

I thought he would want to come in my mouth, expecting that would re-establish control. I felt the moment when he was close- that sudden capitulation when a man no longer has the power to think his way forward, only react. Hando can play his games but at that instant all women know who is in charge- and all men know that, too. Isn't that half of the problem with most of them?

Just when I steeled myself for the thrust, shudder and inevitable torrent, Hando pushed my head away and dragged on my arms. With a quick and easy movement- even with one incapacitated hand- he tossed me back on the pillows and was on me- crowding me, going too fast, driving me insane with his physical assault and his predatory moves. I felt him rest his elbows on the pillow by my head, knee my legs wider and then plunge to wet himself on me. The first time he tried to enter he missed and his jarring lunge hurt. I cried out.

"Put it in. Fucking stick it in!" were his choked out words. I scrabbled to hold his prick, hot, wet, surging in my hand, and brought it desperately to my opening. He grunted, knocked my hand away and entered- his first thrust took my breath away and I gasped.

He didn't speak further. No words, no crude encouragement this time. At first he simply dropped his head and rutted faster and faster, deeper and deeper, pulling away and then banging back in. I could only stay with him and let this earth-shattering cataclysmic force take over and sweep through me. Nothing could prevent it, nor would I have wanted him to stop.

Just then, near, so near to both our coming, he raised his head and I saw his eyes burn through me. Pure animal magnetism, total desire, complete and utter possession - then the glaze of his own need, the tightening of his facial muscles as he tried to hold on and remain the master. But his body failed him and I saw the hazy light on his flickering eyes as my own body took me there. I gripped him tightly, raking his back until he hissed, and my walls contracted to squeeze down hard.  In a choking roar he came, his cock in relentless spasms as he spit out his come.

His body sank forward and his face fell to mine. And then he kissed me- deep and exploring, his tongue flickering like a sense gland against my own. A shiver of pleasure ran through me. Is oral orgasm possible? His kiss, so long denied, was more erotic than anything the rest of our bodies had shared.

Hando never speaks much in bed or out, so there was little to say as we lay side by side recovering. He got up, strolled out of the room, pissed and came back, aware of my eyes following him. Snatching up his pants, he fished out his fags and lit one as he tumbled back into bed next to me. He took a deep drag, holding the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, and wordlessly passed it to me. I took it and smoked. It was beginning to feel like intimacy. He just seems to ignore the usual conventional moves.

"How was it for you, babe? Did the earth move?" I taunted sarcastically.

 Hando looked at me sharply. "We fucked. You enjoyed it."

"And it was all in a day's work for you, was it, Handy? I laughed pointing at his bandaged arm.

He scowled. "I should have strangled you last night," he replied, retrieving his fag and dragging on it.

I giggled. "What- when you still had two good hands?"

And then he smiled. Well, sort of a scowling, scoffing expression, but I reckon it is the nearest he gets to laughing. "You really are a fucking annoying cunt, you know? How does Dickhead put up with you?"

"Wonder that myself sometimes, Handy. But then maybe you and I do have something in common. We get on most peoples' tits."

"Too fucking right- you, I mean," he added hastily. 

Silence settled over us again for a while. I ran my hand over his chest and explored the painted torso with curious fascination. He merely lay and tolerated me, no apparent expression on his face- but I could see that he was thinking.

"I was thinking of getting a tattoo," I announced suddenly. No response. Looking at him, I saw his wry amusement and perhaps some disbelief. "I mean it. I know exactly what I want."

He sniffed and lit another cigarette. "A butterfly?" he sniggered and blew out a cloud of smoke.

"No. A symbol. You're covered in symbols. You should understand that."

I had his attention now; his eyes narrowed. "What fucking symbol?"

"Well, not a swastika. Even the correct form - inverted it means peace- did you know that? Stand on your head and you will be the world's greatest living peace symbol!" I laughed out loud at the thought.

He licked his lips and pulled at his lower one. "You think you are so funny, don't ya?  So this tatt. What's it look like?"

I jumped out of bed, grinned as I grabbed a tissue and did some mopping, and then dashed over to the bookshelf. I found the one I wanted and ran back. Hando grabbed it from me and looked at the title. "What the fuck is this crap?"

It amused me. "It is 'An Introduction to Anglo-Saxon English'. Now the Angl- Saxons are your old mates, aren't they? Aren't you a direct descendant or something? Thought you'd approve of their culture. At the very least you appear to be rather fluent...fuck, cunt, shit...I'd say 50% of you speech is original AS."

I was awarded by another of his piercing glances. He put the cigarette into his mouth and leafed through it. I leant over and directed him to the page. "See that one."

He looked. "Not bad. Could go for that myself. A bit Gothic for you, isn't it, O'Cunt?" 

I pulled my tongue out and he grinned. "Wait till you find out what it means!" I pointed to the translation and he snorted. "You're fucking mental."

I shrugged. "Why not? Everyone believes in something. Sometimes symbols are important - you need to wear your colours proudly. Even left-winged intellectuals like me have some causes that we will die for."

I thought he would mock me but he didn't. He just lay back and stared at the ceiling. "Bet you don't have the guts to do it," he muttered.

I think he said that on purpose. I don't really think I would have done otherwise- I mean- I had been thinking about it for ages and was not doing much about it, was I? But Hando is smart and he was working me out. "Did you just dare me, Adolf? OK , I'll do it today. After breakfast. You can be my witness." I said it and then I already regretted it. But you can't back down, can you?

We took a bath- he couldn't shower with his hand in bandages and he needed help. Hando is a sensualist and I could see his body respond to my hands, his muscles tensing and relaxing. I suppose he felt it was his due, to be tended by a woman like a handmaiden. So I washed him, poured water over to rinse him while he sat and watched me. As I stroked his chest, he forced my hand down to his groin. "Wash my dick," he hissed, leaning back and adjusting his hips. I lathered him with soap and jerked back the skin to wash him intimately and felt him harden in my grip.

"You want me to...you know... jerk you off?" I asked. He closed his left hand around mine. "Yeah...do it. Watch me come. You know you fucking love my cock." He was right. It is magnificent and he is justifiably proud of it - his whole body is a feast for any woman. So I gave him relief and watched him lie back, close his eyes and enjoy it. I wondered who he was thinking of.

The tattoo parlour looked pretty seedy to me although I have heard it has a good reputation and the senior artist is the guy who does David Beckham's. I was a little nervous, not being the world's bravest person and pain being one of my least favourite things, but Hando steered me in, sat me down and spoke to the Morticia-like creature on reception.

"Oi, she wants a tatt. On her arse."

Morticia cast one black-rimmed eye on me and pointed her talon. "This way." I stepped beyond the curtain but then looked back.

"Come in with me. I'm scared." Hando rolled his eyes but followed and I felt strangely comforted.

We were led into an almost clinic-like room (well it was clinic-like, apart from the wall displays of photos of happy previous customers, a rogues' gallery of thuggish delight). An aging rocker with a thinning grey pony tail came in; he was covered with bright tattoos on every available piece of bare skin visible, introduced himself as 'Todge' and he asked me what I wanted. I produced the book and he made a detailed sketch of the symbol.

"OK, love, just wriggle out of your jeans and pop up there. I'll have to pull your knickers down but we'll be as discreet as we can. I've seen it all kid. Anyway, your boyfriend here can keep an eye on me," He chuckled across at Hando but soon lost his sense of humour in the charmer's gaze.

I blushed but did what I was asked; Todge covered me with a very clean white towel, donned gloves, opened a fresh needle from its packet and set to work. It bloody hurt and it took ages.

"This a present for your boyfriend?" Todge asked cheerily.

"Sort of," I answered noncommittally.

"His birthday?"

"No. Just his lucky day," I grinned.

"You're on a promise tonight, mate!" Todge observed to Hando who merely lit up and stared back. He is such a moody git when he wants to be. I whispered to Todge " He thinks he's hard. Take no notice of him." Todge winked at me and carried on with his task.

Finally it was finished and I had a chance to view it, squinting round at the large wall mirror. It looked great; elegant and cryptic, my little secret. Todge and Hando were in conference while I was admiring his artwork and then I saw Hando pull off his T- shirt to reveal his own impressive gallery. Todge whistled. He approved of the spectacle even if not of the message. "So where do you want it?"

"What? Are you having another?"

"Sit outside and keep out of the way. You'll see it soon enough." Hando dismissed me and I decided not to argue. I would have probably fainted anyway if I had to watch what Todge actually did.

It took another hour or so during which I read the whole year's back catalogue of Biker Weekly and numerous girlie magazines. But just when I thought I might actually have to lower myself still further and read the copy of The Sunday Sun that was lying on the coffee table, my lovely painted escort emerged and the deal was done. We stepped out into the spring sunshine and Hando almost looked jaunty. "Let's find a pisser and have a pint." A lovely Sunday afternoon. Me, my skinhead lover and a new tattoo - all celebrated by a pint in a rough inner city pub. How romantic. Just like a weekend in New York. Not.

We were lying in bed on Monday morning reading the newspapers. I still felt nervous in Hando's  presence but he was quite calm and quiet and we had made love the night before quite wildly but in a contained manner that seemed less threatening. Hando had made no move towards me this morning. It was like being in a lion's den without a whip- I never knew when he might pounce. It was scary but exciting- I could feel myself getting an adrenalin rush every time he moved or looked at me.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, feigning lack of interest.

"Had enough?" He lit up and eyes me through the smoke.

I shrugged. "Just wondering. Where you going?"

He dragged on his cigarette. "Home."

I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle. "Me too, next week."

"What will he say about that?" He indicated the new symbol proudly sported on my right buttock.

"Don't know. Too bad if he doesn't like it."

"You did it for him."

"Maybe he doesn't always see eye to eye with me about everything. You don't have to be identical twins to make things work. We live our own lives. Some people are like that, Hando. It works because they are different. It doesn't have to make sense- you don't have to stop being who you are to be with someone else. But everyone needs to belong somewhere, to have someone who knows the things inside. Without that, you might as well give up. Can't you see that?"

"I don't agree with you."

"Your right. But, think about it. Promise me you will think about what I have said?"

He grunted something. "Why do you care where I go?"

"Teener is my friend. And so are you- in a completely hostile, threatening, bloody-minded kind of way. You drive me mental, Hando, but you wouldn't be here if there wasn't something pulling me to you, and you sure as hell wouldn't be in my bed without my permission, whatever you think."

He sat up and flung the covers back. "I still think you're fucking trouble. But you've got balls, I'll give you that."

I beamed with the grudging compliment. "Well, that's another thing we have in common, then, isn't it, Adolf? Although I reckon yours are bigger," I snorted.

Hando turned and cupped his sizeable balls as if weighing them. He pouted playfully. "Yeah, but not as hard as yours, O'Cunt. Get up- let's shower. I want to fuck you before I go."

My God, his foreplay is class. Works for him, though, every time.

Later that morning I breathed a sigh of relief as he checked in and made his way to the departure gate. It had been a difficult weekend, one which I needed to think about deeply. But I reckon it had gone better than I expected. We weren't exactly bosom pals - I would never be the light of his life, let's face it- but we weren't at war either. Truce had been declared. We stopped at the Departure check point and looked at each other. He grinned that leering smile he has. His eyes were gleaming. I started to laugh.

"You're a good fuck, love."

"Not bad yourself."

I leaned up and kissed him on the mouth lightly. He didn't object. As I pulled away he shook his head slightly. "Now piss off. And don't call me Adolf. War's been over fucking years, ya know?"

"Fair enough, mate. Truce?"

He nodded and gave me his mocking look. Then he cupped his fist and gently cuffed my jaw. "See ya around?" and walked away.

I watched him go and shook myself. I had survived the Blitzkrieg. Time to go home. Warn Teener. I had seen his boarding card. Bloody hope she can stop Bud before he gets there!