My Secret Love
Copyright© 2026 by AMP
Chapter 1: Alan’s tale
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 1: Alan’s tale - This is an old-fashioned romance echoing a song your granny will know. It is a homage to Homer and the Sagas who first told the tales we recycle. Shakespeare used their ideas and so did Star Trek!
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Sharing
A Gauntlet Picked Up
I arrived at my usual time of seven, although I was five minutes late getting to my office because of a delay in the canteen when I collected my usual cup of coffee. Edith, the formidable manageress, was usually ready and waiting, handing over the fresh brew while we exchanged smiles and clichés. Today, I could hear her voice behind the scenes, but I had to tap the counter to win the attention of the latest recruit, a weedy youth, the token male in a room of women.
Perhaps I should have paid more attention to what Edith was saying, but I had had a bad weekend considering the failures in my personal and business life. The immediate cause was a disastrous date on Friday, which occurred three days after the three-month anniversary of my new job. Henry and Jenn worked hard to convince me to take the job, and I had insisted on a three-month trial period.
I booted up my laptop while I waited for the coffee to be cool enough to drink. There were several emails, including one from Peter: ‘VP Rice meeting R&D at ten on Monday. Any ideas?’ My guess was that it was another attempt to make my life intolerable. What is annoying is that I have no one to blame but myself.
Six months ago, my path through life had been without let or hindrance. The son of a Maths teacher and a ward sister, I was loved and admired even by my older sister. I was expected to live by a code of conduct that was strict, but my many slips were treated more with sorrow than with anger. School and university were easy, so I finished as a Doctor of Philosophy without breaking sweat: Dr. Alan Stuart, of whom great things were expected in academia. I went straight into university teaching.
Then, four months ago, I was challenged by Henry Paterson, whose grandfather, also Henry, founded Paterson Engineering. We met when he was looking for a graduate to join the company’s research team. I had been working with Peter Burgess, who was offered the position on my recommendation.
“It’s all very well locking yourself into this ivory tower, Alan, but how does that help everyday people to live better lives? My company makes artifacts that improve the quality of life. Could you do that out in the real World?”
That was the start of an intense discussion. I suppose I considered myself a good person, and now I was being challenged to prove it. I was invited to dinner where I met Henry’s wife Jennifer – ‘call me Jenn, everybody does’. Henry was always polite and complimentary about my achievements, but Jenn went straight for the jugular.
“You’re hiding, Alan. You’ve had it easy all your life, and you’re still dodging reality to keep you safe and comfortable. Do you have a girlfriend? Have you ever had a girlfriend? You don’t have to admit the answer is ‘no’. Learning what another person wants and needs is too much like work.”
You must understand that Jenn is a warm and loving person. She and Henry were about fifteen years older than my twenty-seven years at that time. I did not take offence at her blunt assessment; I think I recognised that she was expressing real concern for my welfare. Standing, standing, you might say, in loco parentis
Their joint campaign resulted in my joining Paterson Engineering as Chief Scientist. It was the first wholly impulsive decision I had ever taken. Then, I lost my nerve, only to allow myself to be persuaded to accept a three-month trial period. Once Henry had me safely enrolled, Jenn shifted her campaign to my personal life. I had, she assured me, much to offer the female of the species if I would only put myself on the auction block.
I was slowly building resistance to Jenn. In the matter of partners, I clearly established that I would never date anyone closely associated with my place of work. Jenn conceded that as a valid argument. That kept me out of the dating game for some weeks before I was undone by Emily, my first recruit to my research team. She had moved into a house with three other girls, one of whom was selected as a match for me.
Demi is a theatre nurse in the local hospital. Emily set everything up, but I had to make the telephone call inviting Demi on a first date. Jenn coached me on what I should say to get the date, then she and Emily trained me on how to behave and what subjects to avoid during the dinner. I reported to the shared house right on time – a vital courtesy, apparently. Demi kept me waiting for half an hour, which turned out to be the most interesting part of the evening.
The ambience of the restaurant was romantic and the food was good, but the conversation was rather stilted. Over our starters we exchanged basic information; Demi screwed up her face in distaste when I told her I was a scientist. That confirmed the advice of Jenn and Emily to say little or nothing about myself. Over the remainder of the meal, Demi told me a great deal about life in an operating theatre. I truly hope she was exaggerating the near disasters that seem to be daily occurrences.
The most interesting part of the meal was when she told me about her name. Her mother had once been mistaken for the actress Demi Moore, and she became a devotee as a result. Her only child was named for her heroine. My date was saddened when I did not exclaim on her likeness to the famous actress. The truth is that I had never heard of her, although I later bought a DVD of Ghost, one of her movies.
In fairness, I must record that I could detect not the slightest resemblance either in looks or in the character portrayed in the movie. My Demi is short, voluptuous, and entirely self-absorbed. At the end of the evening, we parted amicably enough but without any physical contact. It was a pleasant enough way to spend an evening and a wonderful change from cooking for myself.
To my astonishment, Emily reported that Demi had enjoyed the evening and wanted a second date. I had a brief vision of myself as Don Juan, which lasted long enough to arrange to meet her again. This time, when I arrived at the house, it was to the news that Demi had had to rush away to visit her sick grandmother. I judged our brief fling to be at an end.
My social ineptitude was further revealed when Demi called me three days later to invite me to partner her at the Hospital Dinner Dance. She called me at work since I hadn’t thought to exchange numbers with her on our solitary date. She seemed keen that I should accept, so I accepted. I was to go to the office of the hospital administrator to collect the tickets, and I must wear a tuxedo on the big night. My first surprise was a demand for three hundred quid for the tickets. Um.
Emily arrived within minutes of the first call from Demi to tell me how fortunate I was to receive such a sought-after invitation. Jenn soon joined us to add a reminder that Demi was the prettiest nurse in the hospital. She did at least reassure me that my dinner suit qualified as a tuxedo. The hotel where the big bash was to be held is less than a kilometre from Demi’s house, but I was strongly advised to hire a limousine for the journey. A costly evening already, and drinks weren’t included in the ticket price.
I will admit to being excited at the prospect. It was nice to get dressed in a starched white shirt with the gold cufflinks Mum and Dad bought me when I graduated. Demi was on time, more or less, and she did look stunning in a sophisticated ball gown showing yards of cleavage. It was split to the waist, affording tantalising glimpses of thigh when she moved. I was permitted to look but not to touch.
Our arrival in the reception area was perfectly timed, so Demi made a grand entrance, leaving me in her wake as she swept in, loving the admiring attention. I was a pace or two behind, happy for her to enjoy the adulation. My smile began to become somewhat strained when she shouted, “G&T, heavy on the gin,” over her shoulder as she plunged into a welcoming sea of friends and admirers.
I located the bar, where I was greeted by a young barman who gave me a knowing grin. He is a medical student who took this gig to find out what his life will be like after he qualifies. He pointed out that the ice was likely to melt before my partner won free from her admirers. He suggested that I open a float, so I handed over sixty pounds and sat with him in desultory conversation for a long time. I drank an expensive bottle of water.
Suddenly, I was at the centre of a crowd led by Demi demanding her G&T. While the barman poured it with a flourish, I explained about the float. “What a wonderful idea, darling,” Demi shrilled. “Alan’s in the chair, everyone. Drink up!” Once the barmen had filled their orders, they all headed off again. When I set off in their wake, I was called back to settle the outstanding bill. My one round of drinks had cost £74.65. By the time I had handed over another twenty and told him to keep the change, Demi and friends were nowhere to be seen.
The barman quickly wiped the condescending smile off his face when I turned towards him, rushing to the other end of the bar to serve another customer. I was beyond furious! I like to think of myself as calm and reasonable, but at that moment I would gladly have punched Demi’s admirers, taking them on one at a time or altogether at their pleasure. Fight or flight were my only options.
Fortunately, it occurred to me in time that nothing would be gained by earning a conviction for assault, so I walked away. When I stormed out of the hotel, I intended to go straight to the house to confront Emily. I blamed her for introducing me to Demi. Walking in the cold without an overcoat soon convinced me that going home and soaking in a hot bath was the best option. I stayed indoors for the rest of the weekend, pondering my future.
I came up with a plan for my business life, which I will implement before the end of the day; the news that the VP for the research division is holding a meeting without me simply reinforces my decision. Matters are not so clear in my private life. Admittedly, my fling with Demi is an unmitigated disaster, but I have no wish to slip back into the shadows. Jenn is right to point out that there is more to life than solving equations in a quiet, dark room.