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champersIf you could see me now, the first thing you’d notice is the huge smile on my face; I have the next seven days off. A whole week to do nothing, but get up late, bake, read, swim, catch up with old friends and commune with the internet.

But of course it’s never that simple. There’s one of the spare rooms to decorate – in preparation for you know what. Will it be pink or will it be blue? Or pink and blue? There have apparently been several sets of twins in his family. Having twins would get it all out of the way at once, especially if it’s a boy and a girl. But just imagine the size of my belly. I’d be as big as a beer keg.
Or will it all be a waste of time?
Hell, I know we’re both fertile; he’s knocked me up once before, when I wasn’t ready to be knocked up. Now I am ready, my eggs are playing hide-and-seek with his swimming tadpoles.

What was it he said this morning after we’d made love? Ah yes, he stroked my belly and said, “Be good to my soldiers.”
Well, I hope his soldiers are up to it today.

On the sad side, there hasn’t been any news of our other cat. We are assuming that she’s either found a new home, or a fox has had her. She was a fighter, so I don’t suppose she went easily.

It’s Sunday and he’s in the garden tending to his runner-beans and tubs of strawberries. While he’s out I’ll continue to recount the shenanigans of my Canadian.

…..Follows Red Flag….

There were three men in suits, ties, shine shoes and self-important smugness, standing at the far end of the bar watching, as a pretty, blonde bartender with unusually fair skin, unwrapped the foil and popped the cork of a magnum of champagne. Their heads had swiveled in my direction, eyes licking at me when I’d entered and made my way carefully to the bar. Instinctively I’d tugged at the hem of my dress, conscious of the way it rode up as I walked.

I sipped my drink aware that twenty-seven male eyes were hungry plucking at the hem of my dress, trying to peek underneath to see if what they imagined was true. The women too were giving me the once-over, but with very different thoughts in their heads.

I should have felt a little shame or embarrassment, but I felt none; I looked good enough to eat, and at the end of the evening that was exactly want was going to happen. I was going to scream and writhe as the Canadian did what he loved to do. The very thought made me even wetter as I stood there basking in the lusting looks of the men, and the half disgusted stares of their wives and girlfriends.
I tied to behave, but the exhibitionist in me won the contest; so I revolved slowly on my heels, my glass to my lips, my face fixed in a smile.

“Can we buy you a drink, Miss?” I turned slowly to see one of the champagne group standing beside me. My spine tingled and little goose-pimples danced on my skin, as I recalled the note the Canadian had left;

 “If you are accosted by any men, you are to accept any drinks they offer and allow them to chat you up.”

“I am waiting for someone,” I began, “but I’m early, so I suppose I could accept your offer.”
There was a glint of victory in his grey eyes just before he turned his head, smiled and nodded triumphantly at his companions.

“That’s lovely,” he said, giving my nipples a visual lick or two, which were standing to attention and pressing out on the thin material. He raised a hand, and the barman acknowledged it with a nod.

“Viviane Richards,” I answered, when one of them asked me my name, surprised at how easily it rolled off my tongue. I had to wonder how genuine the names they had given me were.
“And what do you do, Viviane?” asked the one with the shiny ball head and eyebrows that looked like a couple of marching caterpillars.
“I’m a model,” I lied easily. I’d used that one before.
“I’m not surprised,” said the third, “You’re very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“What kind of modelling?” asked the one who had come across to talk to me.

“Oh, mostly underwear and swim suits,” I replied, telling them what they wanted to hear, “for glossy catalogues and such.” I could see their eyes light up, as their three imaginations developing pictures of me dressed in lacy suspenders and stockings. I quickly scanned their fingers; two were wearing wedding rings and the third had the indentation on his finger where his had been till recently. Mine was in my bag.

“And what is it that you gentlemen do, other than pick up women in hotel bars,” I asked. Their combined laughter was slightly stilted and I got the sense that if they got me alone I’d pay for that little bit of cheek.
“We’re in town on business,” put in the one who hadn’t yet spoken and whose eyes hadn’t come up from my legs. “We are here to close a very big deal.”
“Oh, how exciting,”
“It is. It’s likely to make us all very rich.”

Right one queue the barman arrived with another bottle of Moet and an extra glass, his smile in my direction letting me know that he knew all about the eventual outcome of evenings such as these. My mind drifted back to the note again.

‘….. should you be invited to join them in their rooms, I leave it up to you to decide whether you will accompany them.’

It was almost as if he’d scripted the whole thing, and the three men were actors playing a part.