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Copyright© 2017 by Always Raining
Chapter 1
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - John Colshaw's wife suddenly divorces him, telling him he knows what he's done, but he doesn't, and his attempts to find out meet with rejection and even violence. Getting a job transfer proves advantageous, but this interferes with his quest for justice. Will discovering the truth make his life OK again? Not sure whether this story contains little sex, or some sex. Somewhere between?
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Slow
That evening, John sat in the Griffin Inn drinking his pint. It had been three years since he was last in there. It had been decorated and the bench seats round the edges of the rooms re–upholstered. The place smelt clean, faintly of paint, and mainly of beer. He liked that, the smell of beer that is.
He, John Colshaw, age 30, was a good looking man facially, tall, with a trim muscular body. He was the newly promoted Managing Director of the North West division of a successful British based international company, Freeman, Hubbard and Derby, or FHD plc. Originally it began life as an electronics manufacturer but had diversified into widely differing enterprises and had divisions all over the world.
He had risen rapidly through the ranks in this very division which was involved in the development and manufacture of dedicated computers, having joined it from university. He had been made Head of Research and Development, pulling in a very good salary as well as bonuses and share options.
It was just over three years previously that he had asked for a transfer to escape the hell he was in, and had been moved to Head Office. Now he was back in the North West eager for the challenge of a demanding new job.
The hell had originated in that very room of that very pub. It still rankled in his memory, mainly because the events and the reasons for them were still a mystery to him.
He wondered what had happened to Carol, and whether she had remarried since their divorce. He wondered about his erstwhile friends, from most of whom he had been estranged before he felt forced to move South. He had no friends locally any more whom he could trust – apart from Bill Trenshard and Tom Forstone of course.
Sitting in that room brought it back to him. It was here that she had stormed into the room and thrown her wedding and engagement rings at him, yelling a warning to him not to come near their house, and shouting that she was getting a divorce. He still didn’t know why.
In Britain it is no use fighting a divorce petition unless you are very wealthy indeed. To go that way is expensive enough to bankrupt the average person. So the only way, if one’s partner wants a divorce, is to accept it; to grin and bear it, though the smile is not mandatory.
Now, sitting in the same seat in the same room of the same pub, John remembered how upset and puzzled he had been then, and his face creased in a frown. He was still angry and resentful about it. His return had brought it all back; he wondered if he should have chosen a different pub. Problem was, he loved the beer.
“What’s the matter, honey?” the beautiful blonde woman said as she came back from the ladies’ and sat down beside him, kissing his cheek.
“Memories, Vicky,” he said dolefully. “Memories.”