Chapter 2

I said before that Barbie was pretty. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. Having found out that she wasn't nearly as top-heavy as she made herself appear, I was very taken with her indeed. I wasn't at all bothered by her 'deformity', which I, personally, thought much less of a deformity than H-cup boobs. So when I woke in the morning and looked at her sleeping face, I was happy. I felt her breasts pressing against me, her leg wrapped around mine, the pressure of her mons against my hip. Her face appeared the picture of sleeping contentment.

My hands stroked her silky back, the curve of her hip and buttock, and I kissed her forehead. Her eyes opened slowly and she looked at me blankly, before an expression of horror spread across her lovely features, she screamed, pushed me away, got out of bed, trying to conceal her breasts, grabbed a gown from behind the bedroom door, and was gone.

What was going on? She was in the bathroom and I tapped on the door.

"Go away," was the only response.

"Please, can't I talk to you?"

"GO AWAY!"

So, sadly and reluctantly ... I dressed and left.

I couldn't just leave it there, though. I tried, several times, to call her. I called at the house, but couldn't get a response, though I was pretty sure she was in. After a fortnight, I was almost ready to give up, but thought I'd try once more; I wrote her a letter.

Dear Barbie, (I actually used her proper name)

I'm truly sorry you were upset, that I was the cause of it. I just want to say that I don't think you are ugly, or deformed, that our night together was very sweet and I'd love to see you again. Please think about things and call me if you decide you'd like to see me again.

Yours With love, Charlie Townsend.

I had second, third and fourth thoughts about how to end the letter, but in the end put a line through the 'Yours' and wrote, 'With love'.

Anyway, I popped it through her door the next time I was in that area. Actually, I made a largish detour the next day to deliver it.

After that, I was more receptive to my (unattached, female) customers and dated one or two ... or three ... I got as far as sleeping with one of them, which lasted several months. It was enjoyable and I think satisfactory for both of us, but we decided 'enjoyable' wasn't enough and parted company amicably enough. She met someone and is happily married now; I got an invite to the wedding. It was good to see her happy.

But that was over. I never got Barbie out of my head, though, and thought about her more when I hadn't got the distraction of my 'friend with benefits'. Winter came round. I didn't just stay at home and brood when I wasn't working; it was rare I didn't have a date Friday or Saturday nights, but somehow none of them came to anything, though I thought one or two were disappointed I evaded a relationship. At Christmas I had a visit from my sister, Elaine. It was nice having the company, and good to relax with someone who didn't have any expectations of me. Did I say, no expectations?

"Come on Charlie! You still brooding about Shirley?"

"No ... actually, I don't think I brooded much at all."

"Then why are you on your own?"

"I'm not. You're here."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Pot. Kettle. Black."

She laughed. "Not good enough, Charlie. I have a life outside work, I just don't want to be tied down."

"I have a life outside work," I said, "I have a date, or dates, most weekends ... I just haven't anyone I want to live with."

She looked at me. "There's more to it than that, Charlie. I can tell." My sister and I were always close. No, I don't mean, like, incest close, I mean, 'I've got your back' close. Buddy close. If I looked her in the eyes, she could see my soul. And I could see hers, too.

I told her the tale ... leaving nothing, and I mean nothing, out.

"Oh, dear, Charlie. There are times..." she sighed.

I looked at her enquiringly.

"Charlie, I love you," she sighed, "if you weren't my brother, I'd marry you like a shot. There are times ... You need to resolve this, somehow."

"She wouldn't talk to me. I even tried calling from a payphone so she wouldn't see my number, but she hung up as soon as she heard my voice. I wrote a letter ... I told you that ... but never got an answer."

"She's been hurt, Charlie. I could speculate how, and I bet I know, at least in outline. How long is it since you called her?"

"Months," I said. "About ... seven, no ... eight months since the last time."

"Try again, Charlie."

She let me off the hook after that and contented herself with humorous accounts of her love life over the slightly under a year since she found her husband in their bed with their neighbour.

"I don't know how you can be so ... sanguine ... about it, Elaine."

"No point in letting it get me down. I was pretty sure he was cheating, I just hadn't worked out how. Good riddance. At least we didn't have any kids to mess up in the divorce. I'm just having fun for a bit."

The day before she left ... she wanted to be at home for a New Year's party with her best friend and their circle ... I was sitting in my lounge, listening to Enya and she came in with a glass of wine in one hand and a whisky in the other.

"Glen Grant," she said, handing it to me, then plunking herself down in my lap. "I really do love you, Charlie, and I want to see you happy. You need to try at least once more with 'Barbie'."

I cuddled my sister, thinking that perhaps it was a pity she was my sister; enjoying the closeness, her warmth and affection, and sipping my drink.

"I know, Elaine, I know. I will, I promise."

Then she kissed me and it was all I could do not to drag her off to bed...

I took her to the station the next day, half wanting to keep her, half glad she was taking temptation out of reach.

The first thing I did on returning to the house was to pick up the phone.

"Hello, Charlie," 'Barbie' said.

"Can I see you?"

"Charlie, I'm sorry about the way I treated you, I really am. I'm ... working on what's wrong with me. I'm not quite ready to see you yet. I'm sorry."