The Wrong Address: Part Eight

This is the eighth part of a fiction serial, in 1080 words.

Between his bath and making a sandwich for lunch, Steve checked the laptop more times than he cared to admit to himself. It was past midday, and still nothing from Sophie. After making the arrangement with Ellie to be away for the whole of the following weekend, it now seemed that Sophie might have either changed her mind, or just disappeared without trace. As he munched the sandwich without tasting it, a thought occurred to him, for the first time since all this had started.

Sophie was very good at this stuff. The sexy voice, the rapid build up with the email seduction, making her seem so desirable and special. But perhaps she was too good? Maybe he was just one guy on a very long list of potential conquests, and she had tired of him as soon as she considered him to be well and truly hooked. One of the others had made her a better offer perhaps? Not married, no attachments, something like that. He started to imagine her flirting with every male customer that called in to her company, grinning to herself as she spun her web of sexy chat and photos around the unsuspecting admirers. By the time he had finished the sandwich, and started on his third beer, he could feel himself getting angry.

Steve resolved not to open his laptop until at least three in the afternoon. No point in constantly checking, when he was so convinced he would probably never hear from her again. He switched on the TV, and flicked through the couple of hundred channels available on the subscription service. As usual, there seemed to be nothing worth watching, so he rang his Mum instead. The phone call went pretty much as expected. He could have written the script. Dad was busy in the garden, Mum’s sister was having more tests at the hospital next week, and despite all the campaigns, that new estate was being built less than a hundred yards from their back fence. Dad was so furious, he was talking about selling up, and buying a static lodge home at the coast. Despite letting her drone on, the call still only ate up twenty minutes of the afternoon, leaving him staring at the laptop like a heroin addict surveying an empty syringe.

Long before his previously determined time, he gave in and opened the screen. Refreshing the page, he smiled. There was an email from Sophie, headed ‘SORRY!!!!’

‘Dearest sexy Steve, I am so, so sorry. My Internet went down this morning, and that left me in such a state. I made so many calls to the helpline, but it took ages to get back on. I was sick with worry that you might think I was ignoring you, and get angry with me. I would have sent a text, but had no way of knowing if you were alone. It’s wonderful that you are able to get away next weekend and come to stay with me here. I am already super-excited about it, even planning what outfits to wear, to look nice for you. Oh, Steve, I will give you such an amazing time, I promise you. I bet you won’t even want to leave on Sunday. 🙂 Lots of love always, your Sophie. XXXXX’

Of course, he would forgive her completely. It wasn’t her fault if the connection went down. It used to happen to their Internet all the time, until they spent the extra for the new fibre system. He made sure to calm her fears in his reply.

‘Dear Sophie. I am pleased to hear from you, and sorry that you lost your Internet. I know how annoying that can be. I wasn’t angry or anything, just a little worried that you might be unwell. Next weekend sounds exciting of course, but I perhaps should tell you that I am not that experienced. Honestly, I have only ever been with my wife. We were sort-of childhood sweethearts, and never dated any others before we got married. I don’t know what you are expecting, but this is all new to me, truthfully. Love, Steve. xxx’

He felt better letting her know about his lack of experience, as he dreaded the fact that she might have expected him to be some sort of super-stud.
Her reply took a little longer than usual, and started with a photo attachment. The heading was ‘Leave it to me’.

The photo was of her, full length in front of a mirror, and completely naked. Now he could see how all those different bits she had tempted him with added up to a whole. He felt his face flush, as there seemed something very personal about her unashamed image. As he had suspected, she was quite heavy, but not unacceptably fat. One hand was draping her dark hair around her face, but he could still make out it was her. The other hand was pressed flat against her belly, perhaps helping to reduce the effect of the obvious bulge. But the overall effect was suitably sexy, like a glamour photo from the past, something glimpsed in the magazines stored under the bed of a friend.

The text under the photo was pure Sophie.

‘Oh Steve, I am so hot for you, I had to show you what you will be getting on Friday. Don’t worry about experience, as your Sophie will take care of you in every way you can imagine, and some that you probably can’t imagine too. I hope you like what you see, sexy Steve. Let me know if it makes you feel sexy, my gorgeous man. I will send you some more photos during the week, just to make sure to keep you interested. Lots of love, your Sophie. XXXXX

Steve saved the photo, then added it to the anonymous folder. Before replying, he clicked on it, and enlarged it to fill the laptop screen. Not bad.
Not bad at all.

‘Dear Sophie. Thanks very much for the photo. It is very sexy of course, and I like it a lot. You look like a glamour model, very confident, and deliciously curvy too. I have never met anyone like you, Sophie, that’s the truth. I will be happy to have you taking care of me next weekend, I am sure about that. Love, Steve. XXX’

He had put the kisses in capitals this time, but left it at the same three. As he pressed ‘Send’ he wondered if he should have gone to four.

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