Every morning I walked the dog down the lane and along the cliff-top path. The last house in the lane, Cliff House, stood on a bank about a hundred yards from the cliffs. It was an imposing art deco house with views over the sea. When it was built in the 1930's it must have been impressive, so different from the flint and brick cottages which formed the bulk of the older properties in the village. It was now very distressed as the old man living there hadn't been able to look after it. The garden was overgrown and the walls were green with moss and grey with peeling paint; a far cry from the brilliant white it would have been when it was built.

The old man who lived there, Mr Sommers, was a recluse; no-one really knew anything about him, not even his first name. He had drawn his pension at the village post office for many years so he was obviously well over sixty five. Then he died. There was a small funeral at the parish church and the simple headstone told us more than we ever found when he was alive; his first name was Jeremiah and he was eighty two when he died.

The house remained empty all through the winter. I expected it to come on the market and had the idea that I may try and buy it if it wasn't overpriced, even though there was nothing wrong with our house. I say our house but since September last year it had been my house as my wife of twenty five years had walked out. When I say walked out, I mean exactly that. One morning as I was about to take the dog out she said, quite matter-of-factly, "I'll be gone when you get back."

I didn't get what she meant, I thought she was just going into town to meet her friends. I took the dog out thinking no more about it. When I got home there was a large brown envelope on the kitchen top, addressed to me. Inside were divorce papers, signed by her, walking away and leaving everything to me apart from her inheritance from her dad, who had died in Australia a few months earlier.

There were various papers, tidying her life up, and a letter to me.

The letter apologised for the suddenness of it and explained that we had grown apart (true), we argued about sex (true, to a point, but that's another story), and that she, Patricia, was going to live with her sister in Australia.

She went on to explain that I had done nothing but moan about the heat when I went out with her to the funeral and she could not see me settling out there, she was Australian. We had met in London when she had come over as a back packer, we fell in love and married. The following years were kind to us, I was successful, we had 2 children, a boy and a girl, and at fifty one I had semi-retired. I had a part time job at B&Q; not for the money, I could make more in a morning playing the stock market than I made in a week at B&Q, but I liked meeting people. As I was an engineer before I retired I soon graduated onto the help desk where I would explain to people how to tackle various DIY projects from changing a tap washer to building an extension.

I sat there completely at a loss for words. I tried to ring her mobile but it was turned off. I thought about setting out in the car to find her but she had a one hour start and I had no idea where she was flying from. In the end I just sat there for about an hour, doing nothing. The more I thought about it the more I thought it was for the best.

Her sister rang the following morning and told me that Patricia had arrived safely, and asked if I wanted to speak to her. I surprised myself by declining. Her sister said that if I needed to contact her about tidying up the things in England I knew the number and the e-mail address.

And so at fifty one I was divorced. Ben and Katrina, our children, were horrified and kept pestering me to go and see them. Ben lived in Edinburgh with his partner; Katrina had married her boyfriend two years ago and was now living in Yeovil. Both places were a long way from my home in a small village on the Sussex coast east of Brighton. Friends were shocked and you soon find out who your real friends are, they are the ones who don't abandon you.

And so life went on. Now the sex thing, I suppose the rot set in about two years previously when Patricia went off sex. We argued about it, week after week. Patricia said she couldn't help it. I told her to consult her GP, it wasn't normal, but nothing ever got sorted. She rarely granted me access to her body which was a pity as, even at forty five, she was still hot and I still fancied her sexually. It wasn't as though I had let myself go either. Since I had semi-retired three years ago I had time to exercise and I was in better shape than at anytime in the past twenty years. I took a long walk with the dog every morning and cycled to my job in Eastbourne three times a week.

I had always had the higher sex drive, and after about six months the lack of sex was making me moody and morose. Once I realised Patricia couldn't or wouldn't sort the problem I sought my release elsewhere. I started visiting prostitutes. I didn't go kerb-crawling, picking up drug addled street walkers, I would visit ladies who advertised on the internet and in the Daily Sport. Some were good, some were bad, and I soon had a little black book of names and phone numbers. It was discreet and there was no emotional involvement. Once I started backing off in my requests for sex with Patricia I thought our home life got easier. Patricia didn't ask any questions and I kept my secret safe, I was very careful to cover my tracks.

So, walking past the house one day in Spring, I saw a couple attacking the undergrowth in the garden with strimmers and shears. Some of the small trees would probably need a chainsaw. I stopped and spoke to them, they introduced themselves as Thomas and Sharon. We chatted for about five minutes, Sharon told me she had inherited the house from her great uncle and they intended to try and live there.

Each day as I walked past I would see a bit more garden cleared or a wall scraped and then painted. Sharon would sometimes be out working and we would chat for a few minutes. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties with long brown hair and a very eye-catching pair of boobs which always seemed to be squashed into jumpers a size too small.

Then one morning I walked past and there was a board in the front garden, 'For Sale, by Auction, 23rd June, Contact... ' I wondered why. The couple seemed to be doing a good job with the renovations, maybe they had encountered problems that they couldn't put right without a lot of expense.

I decided that I would see if I could buy the place, it would give me a project, and I had more than enough money to buy it even if it went for more than I expected. I could then sell 'our' house which would fetch a good price, as it was in a desirable village and in good condition.

I went to see the agents the next day to arrange a viewing. They phoned straight away and told me I could go around any time over the next four days. The auction was just over three weeks away.

I decided to call around while I was walking the dog on Tuesday morning. I knocked and Sharon answered the door. She looked pale and drawn. "I'm Mr Jenkins," I said. "The agent rang you about me yesterday."

"Oh sorry," she said, smiling weakly. "I didn't associate Mr Jenkins with Mike who walks his dog along here every day."

I looked around the house, the renovations were half finished but the work that had been done was to a decent standard. "Why are you selling?"

"OK, you may find out anyway," she said, looking upset. "I found out Thomas was having an affair just after we moved here and threw him out. I love this house but I can't afford to complete the renovations and the running costs on my income. Thomas was earning most of the money so I'm selling up."

I said the standard, "I am sorry," and continued to look round. The guide price was £650,000. I could write a cheque for twice that and still not be skint so I decided I would make an offer now, based on the guide price.

I said I was prepared to offer £620,000 if the place was withdrawn from auction.

"It's a good offer in the current market but the agents handling the sale have said that I should take it to auction because it's a gem, in a unique location, and somehow it has missed out on being listed even although the architect was a junior partner at Wallis Gilbert and Partners, so updating it should be fairly hassle free."

Authors note: In the UK any property which is architecturally significant can be 'listed'. Doing any work or improvements then involves a whole new layer of bureaucracy and additional costs.

I couldn't fault the logic and said. "I'll see you at the auction then, is there any point in making a formal offer through the agents."

"You can try, but I think their advice to me will be to await the auction."

"OK, till the twenty third then."

Sharon frowned and said, "I can't bear to be at the auction so I'm working that day."

She was nearly in tears and I left, feeling sorry for her. On the other hand she would have well over £500,000 to start again and while that wouldn't heal the pain it would soften the blow.

I called in to the agents and formally made an offer of £620,000. The agent who I saw was a small man in his early twenties. He was obnoxious, there was no other way to describe him, and the way he dismissed my offer actually pissed me off. I thought that, in the current market, it was a fair offer, possibly even more than the place would make at auction. I suspected the reserve would be around £590,000 - £600,000 based on a guide price of £650,000.

Over the next few days I put the wheels in motion to bid at the auction. I would do my own bidding but my solicitor would be there so that we could sort paperwork as quickly as possible. I wasn't bothering with a survey, I had made another appointment to return on Monday to go round the place and make sure that any horrors lurking in the structure were exposed. But my feeling from the first visit was that the place was well built, and the work needed was mainly a result of twenty years neglect.

I was working Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and had the appointment to go back to Cliff House at four o'clock on Monday. I went into my bank on Monday morning and spoke to the assistant manager. I told him of my plans to bid and said hopefully I would be making a large withdrawal on the afternoon of the twenty third. He explained that they could make an instant electronic transfer of the deposit for a small fee and we agreed that this was easier than any other way of paying if I was successful. (In the UK 10% of the selling price must be paid 'on the fall of the hammer'.)

I had the rest of the day to kill and decided that I needed an itch scratched that only a woman could scratch, and I got my little black book out. Actually it was a 'pay as you go' mobile which I still used for my sexual encounters. I was going to ring a girl in Brighton who I had seen a few times before. We had spent a couple of hours each time and, although I know that whores are only doing it for money, she seemed to be more into it than many (or was a better actor, but after the last few years with Patricia I was good at spotting faked orgasms). She also lit my fuse, she was around thirty, long black hair and big boobs on a medium size body. I hate skinny birds, I would rather have an overweight girl than an anorexic model type.

The maid answered the phone, she was an older woman who managed the girls at the address. She said, "I'm sorry, Gina no longer works here but we have a girl to take her place, Cindy, who I think you will find acceptable."

I had visited this place before and I knew that the maid was always accurate with her description and the establishment had a good write up on some of the underground web-sites. "OK," I said, "could I visit for two hours today and are Cindy's rates the same as Gina's?"

I gave a false name, 'Robert Johnston', which I always used when I was meeting prostitutes. The maid then remembered me and obviously spoke to someone, Cindy, I assume, and came back to the phone. "Would one o'clock be OK?"

"Fine," I said and hung up.

I drove into Brighton with an hour or so to kill so I went into a cafe and had some lunch. I then parked up in a public car park near the house and walked the last half mile. Another little precaution.

The maid answered the door and said, "Cindy is ready now." It was about five to one. She took me upstairs to the room Gina used to use and I saw Cindy sitting on the bed wearing a teddy with her back to the door as she was combing her hair in mirror. It was long and brown, much as the maid described. The maid said, "Robert's a regular, I'll give you a knock at about ten to three." The 'regular' comment implied that the bloke had been before and hadn't turned into a mad axe murderer or whatever once the bedroom door was shut. In the maid's opinion she should be safe.

I always find the first ten minutes or so of this type of encounter difficult with a new girl, you are both finding out what makes each other tick, that's why I have regulars.

Cindy turned around, and we both exclaimed "Mike!" and "Sharon!" together.

Cindy, or Sharon as I knew her, looked as if she wanted the earth to swallow her up. I was also feeling awkward. Sharon spoke first, after what seemed like ages but was only a few seconds.

"I suppose it had to happen sooner or later, meeting a man you know."

I had now regained some powers of speech and said, "I'm sorry, if I had known..." Looking back it was a pretty crass comment but there you go.

Sharon then seemed to put her 'Cindy' face back on and said, "OK, we're adults, we both know why we're here. I can't imagine either of us discussing it outside these four walls. Do you find me attractive?"

I agreed about discussing it outside the room and added, "Yes I do. In fact the maid's description was perfect."

With that Cindy pulled her teddy off to reveal a voluptuous body and said, "Come on, we have two hours, let's party." I liked what I saw and my dick decided that whatever complications this encounter might cause in the future, he was in control now.

I asked if could I have a quick shower as I had been walking around most of the morning and I always respect working girls by being clean. Sharon said, "Yes, do you want your back scrubbing?"

She joined me in the shower where I started to feel her tits and fanny. As soon as we had finished and dried off she dropped to her knees and swallowed my dick. I very nearly spurted on the spot. We made it to the bed and got into a sixty-nine very quickly. Either Sharon was a VERY good actor or I was ringing her bells as well as she was ringing mine. The hot woman smell, the juices, and the fluttering muscles when she came, these were not faked orgasms. We were both enjoying it, of that I was in no doubt, and I soon exploded in her mouth. Sharon had a shaved pussy and everything was clean and fresh. I even had a little stab at her anus with my tongue after she came the first time, and I know this had an effect.

We laid back for a while to give me time to recover and I decided to save the questions for later. I said, "That was nice, and I think you enjoyed it as well."

"You certainly know how to eat pussy," she said with a smile.

We chatted away for maybe twenty minutes. I was playing with her clit at the same time and we both avoided all the big questions. We stuck to what was happening locally and further afield, and sex. Sharon came across as 'lusty', she obviously enjoyed sex.

I was soon hard again and buried balls deep in her warm and wet pussy. I swapped from missionary to doggy and then Sharon rode me before I eventually came again. By now it was half past two so I said, "OK, what do we do now?" I was thinking of our four o'clock appointment at Cliff House.

Sharon said, "Carry on seeing each other if you want, either here or at home. I don't have a problem as long as we're both discreet and I won't be living there much longer anyway."

It was an answer to my question but not what I had intended. I replied, "OK, well I'm game if you are." I then got back to what I had intended, "How are you getting home?"

"Train and then bus."

"No car?"

"No."

"Well, I'll give you a lift."

"OK"

With that sorted we both got dressed and Sharon said, "Let me go and have a word with Jenny."

I heard her speaking to the maid. "Robert says he'll give me a lift to the station so I'm off now." I assume the maid also gave Sharon her share of my £220 for the two hours.

We walked out of the flat and I told Sharon I had parked about half a mile away. We walked down towards the city centre.

I decided to grasp the bull by the horns and said, "Are things that bad, you are doing this?"

"Yes and no," she said. "I was working as a prostitute when I met Thomas. I thought he was the one. He was attentive and made me feel good, we moved in together and I gave up working as a prostitute. We got married and Uncle Jeremiah died, leaving me Cliff House and about £300,000 in cash and investments. The problem was Thomas, he didn't give up visiting prostitutes and he started gambling. He spent all but a few thousand of the £300,000 in the three months since I inherited it. He was plausible and fleeced me but I have learnt my lesson. He only lived at Cliff House for just over a week. He didn't want to move there from London. I soon found out why when an old girlfriend from London told me what he got up to when he went to 'work'. The divorce was final last week."

I was silent, taking this in, and she said, "And what about you? Local rumour says your wife just walked out, without even a proper goodbye."

I explained what happened between me and Patricia, I was honest, I told her that I started to visit prostitutes because Patricia had lost interest in sex, and that she wouldn't even see her GP to find out if there was anything wrong.

By now we were in the car and on our way back to Cliff House, the drive took about thirty minutes. I then remembered that I had left my overalls and lights and things at home so I said, "I just need to stop by home and pick them up."

I pulled into the drive and Sharon got out and followed me in, I didn't mind. She was looking around, being nosy I suppose, while I went to my shed and got overalls and torches and the things I needed to thoroughly check the house over.

We got back into the car and in a few minutes we were at Cliff House. Sharon let us in and I went into the bathroom and changed into my overalls. I then asked for some ladders to get into the loft. It was obvious no one had been in the loft for years. The torch revealed that the roof was boarded under the tiles, and there was no sign of damp or leaks. It was quite unusual for the roof to be boarded first in a house of this age and it showed that the original architect had not skimped. Given the prestige of Wallis Gilbert and Partners, this was not surprising.

There were loads of old boxes and cases in the loft, coated with years of dust. Sharon stuck her head up through the hatch, and said, "God, what's all this stuff, I haven't been up here before."

"Didn't Thomas come up?"

"No. The roof was sound and he didn't need to. I ended up doing most of the work in reality, that day you saw him working in the garden was a first and a last. I threw him out the following week."

I went round the house from top to bottom, there were two large cellars and, apart from general neglect, there were no serious problems.

I came back into the kitchen where Sharon was making a cup of tea for both of us. She looked at me and laughed, "Look at you! Do you want a shower now? You're black!"

I went to the bathroom and realised that all the ferreting around in the attic and the cellars had made me filthy and I shouted down, "Yes I will."

"I'll bring you some towels in," she called back. I was washing off for the second time when Sharon walked in with clean towels.

"Come on don't be shy," she said. "Remember I had a close look at you earlier, the same as you did with me. Can I wash your back again?"

Well, the back wash very quickly led to a new round of bedroom activity and I sucked and fucked Sharon until she came, I followed very soon after.