As I entered the room my eyes were immediately drawn to the blonde sitting at a chrome and glass coffee table, facing me. She was an absolute stunner, so recognition was almost instantaneous, even in my slightly inebriated state. I'd known Natasha Kopolova since I was twelve and just starting high school. Not only that, I still saw her almost every day, every working day that is, because we both worked for the same company. There the similarities stopped, as I was a lowly IT technician for Kopolova Engineering, whereas Natasha was the owner's daughter, an only child at that.
I liked to think of myself as a reasonably pleasant person and tended to treat people as I would like to be treated. It was something that my parents preached and on the whole I had no trouble living up to. Natasha was different, she treated everyone with disdain and contempt, that is when she deigned to notice them at all, yet still expected everyone to fawn all over her and treat her like some sort of royalty. That expectation was no doubt helped by the majority's willingness to do just that. I didn't. Personally, I tried to avoid her and when I couldn't then I treated her with the minimum of politeness.
She looked up, as people often do when someone enters a small room. Recognition on her part wasn't quite so quick so it was only after a few moments of staring that she responded.
'Just what I fucking need, ' she almost screamed.
I wasn't sure whether that was aimed at me or at the young man sitting across the table from her, the pair separated by the coffee table, on which were a few lines of white powder that was almost certainly cocaine. The rolled banknote in the hands of each, said everything that needed to be said.
I took all this in swiftly, before just turning and leaving the room. I hate drugs and druggies. I struggle to even begin to comprehend why people do that to their own bodies. I headed back to the kitchen, the heart of this and most other parties, besides that's where the alcohol was hence why the majority of men were there.
'Hey!' I heard Natasha shout, even that sounding like a sexy feline purr.
I turned to see her following me. Every other set of male eyes studied her too. Long blonde hair, which I knew was natural, either that or she'd started dyeing it from around twelve, fell across highly tanned bare shoulders and gently touched the top of her breasts, framing her mesmerising cleavage. Long legs, full and firm, rose from perfect feet to disappear under a very short skirt. It was getting close to the end of the twentieth century and Natasha had that ageless beauty which would grace any calender or film of that century. She was a walking wet dream; at least to look at. She knew it and used it. I knew the real Natasha yet I wasn't totally immune to her looks.
'David, isn't it?' She asked seductively when she knew she had my reluctant attention.
That we started school the same day ten years previously and now worked for the same company, did little to erase the shock that she remembered my name, or more to the point, that she admitted as much. Oh, I knew that she knew it, as we'd crossed swords enough times, from none of which did I emerge victorious. I nodded.
She pulled me aside away from the prying ears of everyone else in the room and said smiling, 'Look it isn't what you think.' Her smile was something that made her more beautiful than ever. I was almost certain it was the first time I'd seen her smile, even one so obviously forced, at least at me. When I didn't respond she continued. 'I was just trying it. You won't say anything will you? At work I mean, especially to my father. I'll make it worth your while.'
Until the last sentence, I'd almost forgot who I was listening to. 'No Natasha, I shan't say anything to anybody, after all you're doing nobody any harm except yourself.'
I saw a frown at the perceived censure, quickly hidden as it was. 'How much do you want?'
'I don't want your money.' I answered calmly, not in the least surprised that she would make such an offer.
'I'll let you fuck me if that's what it takes, ' she said with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. That offer did shock me.
'Natasha. I don't play your games. I'll make you a simple promise. I shan't mention that or this conversation to a soul and unlike some I could name, I don't make promises lightly.' I said firmly. I had never had any intention of saying anything anyway, so the promise was easy to make. I couldn't live with myself if I'd been bought off and as for fucking her, then no way. She might be the most beautiful woman with the best body around but I knew what was on the inside and I wanted nothing to do with her. She'd stopped being in even my fantasies a long time ago. I always thought that she had to some goddess' favourite; not only had she been born into money as well as with those looks, she was also highly intelligent. She was easily the brightest pupil in our year and seemed to need little or no work to achieve that. Most people, me included, would have been happy with any one of those assets.
She made a few more attempts to buy my silence but in the end had to accept that my promise was all she was going to get. She was not at all happy as she was used to getting her own way with very little effort.
I'd been in two minds whether to attend this house-warming and the bored mind won out. Phil and Tony were two friends from way back and had just bought this bachelor pad along with a third man, Simon something or other, who was putting up most of the money. Tony had said that the guy was rolling in money but bankrupt in the looks and charisma departments. The latter of which, both my friends possessed in abundance. Phil had laughed when he said the guy just wanted them around for their cast-offs, something they tended to have a lot of.
That incident spoiled what wasn't that interesting a party anyway, so I sought my two friends out and told them I was leaving. They made a half hearted attempt to get me to change my mind before they accepted it and we arranged to meet later the following week for a few pints.
Not that unusual for my home city of Stoke-on-Trent, it was raining when I got outside, but as it was only a light drizzle, I decided to walk the few miles home with my mind filled with typical random thoughts as diverse as football (the one with a round ball), a lottery win, my motorbike and of course sex. The first involved Stoke City FC and Newcastle Town FC and how they were doing. The second on how I could better my life and that of those I cared about with a few million pounds. My bike thoughts were about my Triumph Bonneville and when would the weather improve so I could play on it again. As I'm a normal male, I don't suppose I need to explain the last, other than to say that Natasha didn't figure anywhere, although just about every other half decent woman I half knew did.
I was a few months short of my twenty third birthday and had had quite a bit of sexual experience, virtually all of it before I was eighteen. At 6' 6" tall with a reasonable body and not too bad to look at, I'd had more success with girls than most of my peers, though mostly because of my ability to listen and not talk out of place rather than my looks. I'd discovered early on that girls preferred boys that actually listened to what they had to say rather than just talked about themselves. Surprisingly it was my mother that gave me the best bit of advice. Never, repeat never, talk about a girl to your mates other than in the most general terms. Bragging about your conquests, whether real or imaginary, was the quickest way to ruin any future chances. I did find it embarrassing though to listen to my mother talking about me getting laid.
In my teens, one night stands were the order of the day, in fact I hadn't had a single long term relationship, and that's assuming a month is classed as long term. Because of my ability to keep my mouth shut, more girls were prepared to experiment with me, even those who wouldn't otherwise consider me as dating material. Natasha and her circle of friends never figured in my sex or social life.
My life, especially my attitude to girls and sex, changed one Friday when I persuaded Paul, my younger brother, and only sibling, to join my parents at their static caravan in mid-Wales for one of their regular weekend breaks. The trip was less than a couple of hours so whenever good weather was forecast for a weekend, by late Friday evening my parents would have loaded the car and set of for their refuge.
A stolen car, driven by a boozed up teenager, ensured that they never arrived that particular night.
'You owe me one!' were my brother's last words to me and those along with his smiling face as he said them still haunt me to this day.
The reason I wanted him to go was simple, it was so I could have an empty house for a couple of days to spend with a girl I'd lined up. The desire for a quick screw had cost me my only brother. I grieved over my parents' death but did not feel responsible, whereas I knew that without my pressing I would still have a brother. It took me a couple of years to come close to getting over it.