20171217

Xmas Romance Collection Promo Update - It made it inside the Top 20 FREE for one of its categories. Yahoooo!

Christmas Special Romance Box Set     https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078852NBF                    (promo - 17th Dec)

Where my Xmas collection started before the Free Promo

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #4,801,305 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store) 
#16128 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Collections & Anthologies
#42834 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Romantic Comedy      (Sat Dec 16th)

Where my Xmas collection ended up after the Free Promo (#5) - Xmas competition is fierce





20171013

Links to the 2 Youtube Video Book Trailers Repaired

The links to the two book trailers for The 'Dear Roz' series have been repaired. Look under the Alex Bahscot's Books Logo, just to the right of      'Home 1'

The Red Carpet Book Trailer:        http://youtu.be/jkgX4IS5gWM

                                                 and

The 'Dear Roz' Book Trailer:         http://youtu.be/uENi4PM4aDQ

20170831

On writing several books at the same time AND explicit topics normally avoided


Contrary to most sage writing advice, I enjoy writing several books/novellas at the same time. What I find is, one of the stories will call to me, and by that I mean that a scenario appropriate for a specific book will pop into my head (even if the topic might be considered inappropriate) Truth be told, the scenario offered immediately below was considered for book 2 in the 'Emergency Hotline' series but might end up as a scene in 'The Idiot Savant of Dating' (a title which Tom Leveen suggested could be either great or terribly offensive) Due to the nature of the participants, it might be suited to YA. Although scenarios concerning young men can be challenging for a female author, my friend (and erotica writer for men) Xaviera, never fails to provide me with plenty of suggestions for salacious topics and tips for writing them, as you will soon see.

Please bear in mind that these were first drafts and each written in about ten minutes.

The priest and widow Smith

(Calvin and Bob were chatting in their shared apartment after inviting in a couple of unexpected visitors as they prepared lunch)

"I knew I shouldn't have opened the door," Calvin said to Bob. "I figured it was too early for Alex."
Bob and Calvin looked over their shoulders. The new village Priest and the widow Smith were seated opposite each other at our kitchen table. Apparently they were making impromptu visits to the wayward. Both Calvin and Bob fitted neatly into that category. Sunday school was the last time Calvin had visited any kind of church and his funeral would be the next, he was pretty sure.
"Would you like some white wine with your soup?" Calvin asked the uninvited duo.
"That would be much appreciated," replied the priest.
"No point in asking widow Smith," Bob observed. "She spends more time in bars than Alex."
Calvin glanced over his shoulder again. "I don't believe that, Bob. She's in charge of bible class, so I'm told."
"Kids will drive you to drink, mate," he replied.
Bob carried the plates filled with vegetable soup and placed them in front of the visitors while Calvin followed suit with the wine glasses. Bob sat down next to the priest but Calvin was in no hurry to perch beside the priest's companion, so he made it look as if he was busy putting stuff away. The priest took a sip of wine.
"A little rough around the edges," the priest remarked, staring into his glass.
"You're getting the good stuff," Bob said, clearly miffed at the priests comment. "That vintage is up to five dollars a gallon, now."
Widow Smith tested the soup and gave every indication that it, at least, passed muster.
"It’s been a while since we entertained any clergy," Bob said.
"The God squad were here before?" Calvin asked, clearly not remembering the incident.
Widow Smith tilted her head back and poured half of the wine into her mouth.
"You remember," Bob said. "I was in the kitchen beating my meat."
Widow Smith pitched forward. Wine exploded from her mouth. Any liquid that failed to drench the priest's upper torso peppered both his soup and the tablecloth either side.
"Tenderizing." Calvin clarified the situation. "He was tenderizing the steak we had for dinner. I remember, now."
"Father, I am so sorry." Widow Smith was mortified.
Bob turned to me. "Did you ever see that scene from the exorcist, where—"
"Not now, Bob, although it was one of my favorite clips."
"Not to worry," said the priest. "I'm sure white wine won't leave a stain."
"Stain?" Bob said. "That stuff melts plastic."
"Perhaps we should reschedule this visit," the priest suggested, getting to his feet.
Widow Smith looked daggers at Bob.
"No rush," Calvin said. "I'm sure there are members of your flock more worthy of your time."
"Can I expect to see you both at Mass, sometime this week?"
"This week? Ooh... not sure about that," Calvin replied.
Bob shook his head. He couldn't squeeze it in either.
"Next week then?"
Calvin emitted a whooshing sound as he mentally searched for time to fit in such plans in the coming week.
It was Bob who laid the corpse to rest.
"We're not very religious, Father."
"Don't hold your breath for our appearance," Calvin agreed. "I attended Catholic school, so as you might guess, my memories aren't all that wonderful. Those nuns were a bit—"
Bob tried to save the situation. "What he's trying to say, Father—"
"I think the picture's pretty clear," widow Smith interrupted, her face a stony mask.
"If you should change your mind?" the priest said.
"You'll be the first to know," Calvin offered. "Thanks for stopping by. Sorry about what happened to you." Calvin looked accusingly at the young priest's companion.
Widow Smith marched to the front door, the priest a step or two behind. Bob closed it behind them.
"When was the last time you went to confession?" Bob asked.
Calvin took a slurp of wine. "I was in high school. The nun I hated the most was called Sister Amelia."


 The scene below might find its way into 'The Idiot Savant of Dating' novella. 



The Handjob scene


Dave leaned back in the chair, leaving it to balance on the two back legs.
"Bessie Wright gave me a handjob behind the village post office when I was in the ninth grade. I was amazed when the load I blew caught me under the chin. Later that night, the police asked my parents if they wished to view the closed circuit TV footage taken by a concealed camera not six feet away from the action. My dad was game, but my mother declined on their behalf."
Ted asked what punishment was attached to the possibility of my encounter going viral.
"My dad gave me a five minute 'dressing down' in front of my mother, before slipping me five bucks for giving him the best laugh he'd had in ages after my mother headed upstairs."
"No doubt that curbed your early foray into teenage masturbation," Ted suggested.
"On the contrary. Spurred on by the thought that there was probably as yet no entry in the Guinness Book of Records for the farthest distance ejaculate could cover, I set out to improve on that effort. For some reason I had become attached to the possibility that my intake of cauliflower was responsible for the velocity of my ejaculate," Dave said.
"Broccoli did it for me," Ted replied. "Eating greens tends to make it thicker, too."
"That's an old wives tale," Dave stated. "I eat a lot of greens and my cock never got any thicker."
"I was referring to jizz consistency."
"Oh! Anyway," Dave continued, "two weeks after that episode, Suzie Marshall was in my bedroom, helping me go for the record, when I made an important discovery."
"You realized that Suzie wasn't actually jacking you off. She just had an advanced case of Parkinson's?"
"No, no. That wasn't it. Getting a fright at the crucial moment can add ten percent to the distance ejaculate can travel."
"What led to that discovery?"
"My mom walking in just as the countdown reached zero."
Ted burst out laughing. "Oh my God. I think I would have died."
"It might not have been so bad if some of the evidence hadn't landed on my mother's shoe. I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head."
"Go on. I can hardly wait." Ted was clutching his sides by this time.
"Suzie bolted for the door and freedom, leaving me with a red face and an erection that refused to go down as my mother screamed for my father to get-his-ass-in-here and deal with his son."
"Do tell."
"I was ten bucks richer that night, although I did have to listen to a lecture on the merits of locking my bedroom door. Needless to say, I couldn't look my mother in the face for a few days."
"Do you think she's forgotten that incident?" Ted asked.
"Would you?"


























20170810

Cover update for the 'Dear Roz' Serial


The current cover for a physical book due
to be replaced.
























                                                    The original Box Set cover as used just now.

My updated cover for the 'Dear Roz' Romantic Comedy Serial

In an effort to improve visibility, I updated my original cover for this book. 'Dear Roz' was supposed to mimic 'Dear Abby' the well known Agony Aunt advice column, but at the time it didn't occur to me that many (or most) might not make that connection. I eliminated that problem with the updated cover, plus I changed the sub-title with (hopefully) better suited keywords.

The updated cover for a physical book





                                                    The updated Boxed Set cover for the Serial:-

























When this serial was first promoted as Free, it claimed 1st and 2nd place in its two categories and when it entered the paid ranks it made it into the Top 100 (briefly at #96) of the whole of the kindle store. So I added a couple of Bestseller badges to the eBook boxed set and also to what will be the cover of the physical book (as soon as I can get my procrastinating butt in gear)

Shoot! I've just thought of a way to upgrade the upgrade. (Will it never end???)












20170730

Love, Sex and My Ex an introduction to my first attempt at an unusual romance story.

                                                            Love, Sex and My Ex


                                                                     Foreword

The book is written in UK English, Primarily because the scene is set in Bermuda, a British Overseas Territory.


This story will hit a nerve with hundreds of thousands of people who have the same plight as our protagonist, Robert Arden. He wants his ex back, in the most desperate way possible. The focus of his efforts lies in his unending search to achieve OBE's (out of body experiences) to connect with his ex-wife.  Anyone, man or woman, could benefit from Robert's experiences in this tale of love, lust and regret.

Happy reading...


                                                           
                                               


                     





                                                 






Love, Sex and my Ex
                                                               
An Erotic Romance Novella
  
                                                                               
                      


Introduction


How many of us have lost the only person we ever truly loved. That one partner, we now realize we can't live without. The one person whose mere touch can turn a lousy day into a great one. The one true love we desperately want to get back, no matter what.

What if you just wanted to be with the only person you have ever truly loved, but no longer loves you? Such was my dilemma. I wanted my ex back, to fill the void in my life as only she could. This particular story deals with this issue. Perhaps, just perhaps, you could learn from me.
           
My name is Robert Arden and I'm going to take you on a most unusual journey. My story begins shortly after my divorce. Is it a love story? Absolutely. Is there filthy, depraved exhilarating sex? Of course. Humour? Who can live without it? Swearing? A bit, but mostly from a rather unusual 'man of the cloth.’  Travel? Like you wouldn't believe. If the preceding synopsis doesn't pique your interest, check yourself for a pulse. Chances are you're dead, it's simply that nobody told you.

Love... sex... and my ex. The first two words are in the correct order, if you don't want to become the third. Read it again. We men tend to get the first two words in the wrong order, (wrong as far as women are concerned) and that’s my point. That is why we become ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands, ex-lovers.

Women often fall in love with the way we smile, the way we speak, the things we say, and the manners we demonstrate. The key to their heart, however, is the look in our eyes when we see their face. After a while, sex becomes a natural progression.
           
Men on the other hand single out a woman they find physically attractive for whatever reason, initiate sex ASAP, and then fall in love. Both routes can lead to a happy conclusion, but we are going to discuss the ones that may not. Specifically, we are going to journey through my failed relationship (which left me an ex-husband) and the lengths I went to try and win my ex back. Did I succeed? You tell me..........

First, let me ask you a question. How many of you have experienced a lucid dream? A dream so real you couldn't believe it was only a dream? How many of you have killed someone in such a dream, or experienced incredible sex, or met up with people who have been dead for years?

You've dreamt you were flying or being chased by some horrible presence that gained on you as you fled in agonizingly slow motion. I know you have. How do I know? First, let me tell you what was gaining on you. Death, that's what. If it had caught up with you, you wouldn't be reading this right now, so relax. We all dream. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.


                                          


THE DREAM
                                                                                                  

Chapter 1 - Robert Arden

As I stretched and began to wake up, the dream started to recede. One of the tricks I had learned to recapturing a fading dream was to imagine myself spinning slowly round and round in an anticlockwise fashion. I employed that technique now and was rewarded with the dream that was slipping away coming back into focus.

She is so incredibly alluring, my wife of five years and ex-wife of one. Eleanor Arden, now Eleanor Wilson once again. She lay naked beside me, the bedclothes pushed off to the side as she did almost every night of our life together. I smiled at the habit that left my ex-wife exposed to my view. My hand gently traced the shape of her face as it slid down the exquisite jaw line and continued slowly down the side of her neck to her shoulder.

I still couldn't remember what had gone wrong. I loved this woman so much, I could never understand how after only five years we had parted ways. As my hand now moved gently over her right breast, the nipple stiffened and tickled the palm of my hand as my fingers continued on their way towards the swell of her perfect stomach. She was older than me by just over a year, and now in her late twenties.

Continuing down past her soft jet-black pubic hair, over the outline of her slender right hip, down her thigh and coming to rest on her knee, the pangs of regret washed over me now causing the dream to once again recede. I let it go and was again for the millionth time left with only hurt and longing.

Fully awake now I lay there, thinking about Eleanor, wondering if she ever considered our divorce a mistake. Perhaps even wanting me back, wishing as I did that she could turn back the clock. She had never remarried and for that I was somehow grateful. As long as we were both single, I felt there was still a chance, no matter how slim, of us rekindling the love that for me would never fade.

We had remained casual friends (casual to her, not so casual to me) and bumped into each other from time to time. She had even invited me for lunch at her house on several occasions and I had always accepted, studying her body language as she flitted around the kitchen, trying my best to read more into it than was really there. We had always hugged when the inevitable time came for me to leave, but I had always left feeling empty, wishing I could have poured my heart out to her but scared that rejection would crush my only dream.

I swung my feet out of the king-sized bed and reached for the notepad resting on the bedside table. I stared at the title I had written on it. Dream Diary #12. As I had faithfully done for the last two  years, I opened it up to the newest empty page and wrote the date in the top right corner. After a moments hesitation, I began to write. Slowly at first and then faster, trying to recapture my latest dream in as much graphic detail as I could before it faded forever. This (I was assured) would reveal any common dream thread. The common thread, was always Eleanor.

Satisfied, I had caught and transferred to paper as much of the dream as I could honestly remember, I replaced the note pad to its regular spot and opened up the largest of three drawers that my bedside table possessed. The other eleven volumes were stacked up in two piles inside the drawer alongside several other books. These other books now engaged my attention. I looked at the titles of some of them even though I knew them by heart. The Key to Lucid Dreaming. Easy Solutions for Lucid Dreaming. Astral Projections and You. Out-of-body Experiences (OBE's as they are commonly known) How to Turn a Lucid Dream into an Out-of-body Experience (a step by step guide) I rested these books and another five of similar content back in the drawer and closed it.


Eleanor is the only daughter of an American Diplomat and his wife. Washington, DC was home to the Wilson family. As for myself, my mother was English, and my father Scottish. They had taken up residence in Bermuda, a year before I was born. Tucker’s Town in Bermuda was all I knew. Half of my life revolved around various beach activities at Tucker’s Point, a mere ten minutes from our house. It was there I had first glimpsed the woman who became my wife.

I lay back down and quietly took stock of my life after the divorce. Within no more than three months, Eleanor had returned to Washington, and, to the best of my knowledge, had settled there. As for myself, I had poured my energy over the same period of time into growing a small but profitable local landscaping and maintenance business. More through luck than good judgment, I had secured several large contracts for my company by way of referrals including that of a Persian Prince, who had purchased a second (or was it third) home abroad, this one here, in Bermuda, and who only stayed here for three months of the year, but requested that "Robert and his crew" properly maintain his extensive and beautifully manicured property all year long. This lucrative contract alone allowed me to hire my crew, three brothers and their uncle, on a permanent basis and was responsible for tiding us over during the slower winter months.

The Wilson family, including Eleanor’s grandmother, had vacationed for almost three weeks, at a home belonging to a friend of the family. The house was of medium size, but its claim to fame was its proximity to the beach. I was pretty much relentless in my pursuit of the Wilson’s daughter. She resisted my charms (effortlessly it seemed) for the whole of her vacation. Not so the second time her family visited. Against both her father and her mother’s wishes, we married barely ten months after we first met. Five blissful years in Bermuda, tarnished only by a divorce I never saw coming. How could I be so blind? I lost the very best part of me. I took her for granted, I guess. What else could it have been? What could I do to win her back? She didn’t need me, that was quite plain, but is a relationship based on needs only, or are there other factors which could tip the scales in my favour?
                                                                                               

Chapter 2 - Robert


I bumped into Eleanor unexpectedly at the airport on St David’s Island, where I delivered a much needed suitcase to one of my forgetful friends, going away for a two-week vacation to Florida. That awful longing returned full-force the second I saw my ex. Her gorgeous long black hair swirled about her face in the morning wind. The slightly lopsided smile that accompanied her attempts to keep the hair away from her face made my insides melt... as it always had. She gratefully accepted my invitation for a ride to the house of the women whom she had always considered her best friend. Ashley, an artist, had been pursued by many suitors, but never married. The two women were of similar age and almost identical interests. The good news, Ashley had always liked me, the bad news... just not for Eleanor.

20170628

The Lady's Man - Catriona meets Lord Ochil and Rufus


In this chapter, our heroine is desperately trying to find a job with the help of her friend and her friend's mother. Irene and her mother were taking inventory up to Lord Ochil's castle and hoped that he would consider her as temporary help during the upcoming fair.


Chapter 26   Catriona


“You look very nice,” Irene’s mother said, glancing back at me in the rear view mirror.
“Thanks Mrs. Best,” I replied, “I wore flat shoes so that Lord Ochil would know that I’m not just a useless city girl. I wanted to wear jeans, but decided that a skirt and blouse might make a better first impression.”
 ”Catriona, feel free to call me Heather. Not you Irene, just Catriona.”
“You can’t go wrong with Royal Blue against white,” Heather continued, alluding to my skirt and top.
“Fashionably hemmed just above the knee,” said Irene, “I wish I had legs like yours.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said. “You’re just making fun of me.”
Heather said, “You both look very...”
“Posh,” I said.
“Elegant,” said Irene.
“Suave,” I added.
“Refined,” threw in Irene.
“Neat and tidy,” Mrs. Best concluded.
“That’s it?” Irene asked. “We’re neat and tidy. Not irresistible or divine. Just neat and tidy?”
“Trust me girls, you can’t beat neat and tidy when talking to a Lord, assuming that is, that you do get to speak with him,” said Mrs. Best. He is a very busy man as you might expect. Running an estate is not a job for a lazy person.”
“Doesn’t he own three such estates in Scotland?” asked Irene.
“Indeed he does, but Catriona’s Aunt Emily told me once that he has each of them managed by a separate land agent and only physically checks on them every four weeks or so,” Mrs.. Best said, as she maneuvered the van around a bend. Apparently, most of the time he is simply in telephone contact with the agents in charge.
We rounded a corner and without warning, the castle was in front of us, towering majestically toward the heavens. What an imposing sight. We parked in a spot reserved for guests and waited for the stable lads to carry Lord Ochil’s inventory inside. Agnes, his secretary came out to greet us, hugging Mrs.. Best and shaking our hands.
“Can either of you type, or use a computer to prepare spreadsheets?” Agnes asked in a joking sort of way.
She must have seen the puzzled look on Heather’s face.
“I’m retiring,” Agnes said. “It’s official this time. Twice I let Lord Ochil talk me out of retirement, but not this time. I turn sixty five the Monday after the Fair, and I will not be coerced into staying one day after that. My husband insists that he has me to himself from that day on.”
Agnes’ infectious smile grew ever wider as we all congratulated her. Agnes looked younger than her years, and spoke highly of her boss.
“I can’t let just anybody replace me though, “ Agnes went on. “I need to know I’ve left Lord Ochil in capable hands. I owe him that much.”
“How are your computer skills Catriona?” Heather asked, trying her best to get the ball rolling.
“I used to teach computer skills, but that was only for a year,” I replied.
A look of delight came over Agnes’ face. “You did?” she inquired.
“I was a secretary for a couple of years and took a part time job teaching computer skills at Aberdeen University, to make ends meet when my boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend that is, lost his job.”
“Heather,” Agnes announced, “you and Irene can escort the stable lads to the rooms. You know, the ones we always use to store inventory for the Fair.”
”Yes, yes, of course we do,” Irene said, winking at Catriona. Mrs.. Best squeezed my arm, and gave me a well disguised, thumbs up sign.
“What’s your name girl?” Agnes asked, as she watched the pair walk away.
“Catriona, ma’am,” I replied.
 “Catriona, you and I are heading straight to my office.” she said, before grabbing my arm and dragging me off towards the main entrance to the castle.
“I’ve got a good feeling about you Catriona. Agnes stopped to peer into my face. Darned if you don’t remind me of someone, but right now I’m so excited I can’t think straight.”
Once inside the castle, I was so overwhelmed by its immensity, that I didn’t even realize that I had stopped walking and was rooted to the spot, just staring at the huge open hall we had just entered.
Agnes continued walking and talking, unaware that it was to herself. She stopped, turned round and began looking around the great hall herself, as if seeing it for the first time.
“Beautiful, isn’t it. Strange to think that in a few weeks I’ll never gaze upon these walls again.”
“You won’t even visit?” I asked.
“Of course I will,” she said. “What was I thinking. I shall come here for the Fair every year. Some habits are hard to break.”
I admit it, I was a bit scared of getting lost in this... city was what came to mind. A city posing as a castle. Eventually Agnes stopped, took a left through a narrow archway and opened the door at the end of it.
“Here we are, dear,” she said as she ushered me in, “this, is my office.” She stood in the middle of the rather large room, spread her arms wide as if to hug all that was her domain, and had been for the past forty plus years.
I was impressed. The castle may have been hundreds of years old, but this office and its equipment were as modern as its furniture. Top of the line computers, three of them no less adorned three separate desks, each like a clone of the next.
“How many people work in here?” I asked.
“Just me,” Agnes laughed, “Lord Ochil never takes chances that a computer might break down and has to be out of commission until it gets repaired. Not Lord Ochil. He has two back-up computers, and as you can see, no need to set up another one, just switch desks.”
“Wow,” was all I could say.
“Do me a favour Catriona. There is a voice recorder, on the left hand side of that desk,” she pointed a crooked finger to the desk in the middle, “with ear buds sitting next to it.” She tapped her forehead, “I forgot to ask you dear, do you audio type?”
I smiled at Agnes, sat down and arranged the buds comfortably in my ears, and pressed the start button. The recorder had already been in operation and Agnes herself must have been typing out the audio report when we arrived. A man’s rich voice started talking. My fingers flew over the keys as I effortlessly kept up with the pace of his speech. I liked his voice from the start and hoped that it belonged to Lord Ochil.
Agnes clapped when I burst out laughing in the middle of a sentence. I paused the recording.
“I imagine I have to edit as I go?” I asked Agnes.
“Catriona dear, Lord Ochil’s choice of words can get colourful shall we say, and yes, you will indeed have to edit as you go.”
For the next twenty minutes, Agnes puts me through my paces, clapping excitedly as I passed all of her tests.
“That’s enough, dear, that’s enough,” she said, hugging me as I got up out of the chair. “You are going to be my replacement, and I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to find one in such a short time. You do want the job don’t you? Please say yes, Catriona.”
“Doesn’t Lord Ochil get a say in the matter?” I asked.
“No, he doesn’t,” came back the reply. “Say yes and you are my replacement.”
“It’s yes, then,” I said hardly believing how fast fate had handed me this opportunity.
“Come with me,” said Agnes barely able to hide her excitement. “We are going to see Lord Ochil this very minute.”
We wandered out the same way we came in, but turned to the right when we got near to the main hall. As an elderly gentleman passed us, Agnes attempted to stop him.
“Have you seen his Lordship?” she asked.
“He’s feeding Rufus,” the man replied, without breaking stride.
“Rufus?” I asked.
“You’re going to love Rufus,” said Agnes as she stopped by a huge arched door and knocked.
“Come in,” said the rich voice that had been on the audio tape.
What confronted me was almost comical. The biggest Irish Wolfhound I had ever set eyes on, was standing on its hind legs. His massive front paws were perched on top of the shoulders of a man with his back to us, his large slender head looking down at his owner. It appeared to all intents and purposes as if he was smiling at his master. When Rufus barked, the man looked round. Rufus nonchalantly disengaged himself from the man who was indeed Lord Ochil. The huge dog walked over to me cocking his big head to one side. I was used to going down on one knee to pet dogs, but there was no need for that with Rufus. I took his massive, hairy head in my hands. As I scratched behind both ears, the huge animal groaned his appreciation.
“You’re looking at your new secretary your Lordship,” Agnes said, without further ado. “Although I hate to admit it, she may well be better than old Agnes, here.”
Lord Ochil smiled and extended his hand to me. I accepted his handshake and we stood there, staring at each other. No words were exchanged. His face looked confused for a second as he gazed at mine. His eyes started to blink rapidly, then mist up. He raised his hand as if to touch my face, then gently dropped it back to his side.
“She’ll do perfectly Agnes,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Without another word, he strode past me and out of the room. Rufus trailed behind his master, head down sensing his pain.
“Did I do something wrong, Agnes?”
“Not at all child... wait here a minute, dear, I’ll be right back.”
Agnes flew out of the room as if she was twenty and not almost sixty five. I was at a loss. Rufus seemed to like me, that couldn’t be all bad. Agnes spoke highly of me and yet... it looked like he wanted to... to weep. His eyes were full. Something about me had upset him, that much was obvious, but what?
I sat down in a huge armchair, my head hanging dejectedly, staring at my hands in my lap. I really wanted this job. I looked up as Agnes returned, followed by Lord Ochil.
I jumped to my feet. “I-I’m sorry, sir... if I upset you,” I said, wringing my hands together.
“Good heavens no, child,” he replied. “It was just the thought of losing Agnes, after all of the years that we have spent in each other’s company. To tell you the truth, I was rather hoping to persuade her to stay. I was successful twice before wasn’t I, Agnes?”
“Twice but not thrice your Lordship. I’ve suffered enough for one lifetime,” she joked. “I’m going to leave you in Catriona’s very capable hands.”
“If she meets your standards Agnes, she must be good. Welcome aboard Catriona. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Gone was the strange behavior his Lordship had exhibited not three minutes ago. His eyes were dry, if a little red, and they were smiling now.
“Th-Thank you, sir,” I stammered, relieved.
Agnes nudged me gently in the ribs. “It’s my lord,” she said under her breath.
“What’s my Lord?” I said, confused.
Agnes smiled at me and whispered, “It’s my lord, not sir.”
“Oh crud, ” I said, “I’m so sorry, sir... for calling you sir... my Lord.”

Lord Ochil’s chuckle came from deep inside his chest. “She’s perfect Agnes, as are you.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Agnes said, digging me in the ribs again.
 I could feel his eyes following our progress, as Agnes took me back to the main hall. Before joining the other’s, she informed me that she wanted me to start Monday morning, at seven a.m. sharp, as Lord Ochil was a very early riser.
“It will give me plenty of time to bring you up to speed. There are many things you need to know as assistant to Lord Ochil.
As we neared Irene and her mother, they were both staring at me, eyebrows raised. I gave a brief nod and flashed a grateful smile. Agnes said her goodbyes, and headed back into the castle.
“We finished offloading the stuff fifteen minutes ago Cat, so, what happened?” Irene asked, linking her arm through mine.
I pulled away and addressed Mrs. Best in a rather condescending voice. “You really must keep the peasants away from people of a loftier status. The personal secretary to Lord Ochil can’t be seen fraternizing with the local populace.”
“Aagh!” screamed Irene, “ no way, are you kidding me?”
Irene’s mother laughed at our antics. “You must have made one heck of an impression in what must have been less than half an hour.”
I will tell you both all about it on the way back to Aunt Em’s,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement.
For some reason I chose not to mention his reaction to me when he and I first shook hands. I probably misinterpreted the whole thing anyway. He had never set eyes on me before, of that I was almost certain. No, I have to believe that it was the imminent departure of his trusted assistant and possible confidant that was responsible for his behavior.
As Heather’s van started to put distance between us and the castle, I related every detail to my friend and her mother. I even mentioned the fact that it was Agnes that gave me the job and not Lord Ochil.
”So you never got to speak to Lord Ochil?” asked Irene.
“Actually, I did, but only after Agnes had given me the thumbs up,” I remarked casually.
“Really?” said Irene, her eyes wide.
“He’s a quite wonderful man, isn’t he?” said Heather.
“Wonderful," I agreed.
“I’m going to have to learn how to address nobility now,” I said, to nobody in particular. “We actually had to learn all of that at our high school, as a project. Talking about high school, there was this one boy, Daniel, a pale scrawny youth with a crew cut and a cheeky grin. I had a terrible crush on him, and he thought it was all rather cute. I was built like a twig, with a short hairstyle. I think he was three or four years older than me. The only reason we shared a classroom once a week was because there was an end of term school dance rehearsal involving all year groups. I remember there was one weekend, about midday, I was picking blackberries for my mother, and Daniel came limping past me pushing his bicycle. His bicycle tire had burst and he had fallen onto the road, taking the skin off his hands and knees, plus a few cuts.”
“Is this a true story?”
“Irene!” said her mother, “don’t be so quick to disbelieve everything. Carry on, Cat.”
“He looked so dejected that I offered to help him push his bike home. He said he could manage, but I grabbed the bike anyway. The two of us pushed it until I was close to my house. He thanked me, even though he hardly said a word for most of the journey.”
“Doesn’t sound too friendly to me.”
“Irene, give it a rest, please,” Heather said.
“Just saying.”
“He wasn’t unfriendly,” I said. “Just quiet. He knew I had a crush on him, but he never teased me about it.”
“That’s probably because you were the first girl who did.”
“Irene!” exclaimed Heather, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
“Just saying.”
“The day of the school dance came and the boys and girls were paired off as dancing partners. There were about six of us left with no partner. I felt awful. Everybody else was having such fun. Everybody but me and a few others. I remember screwing my eyes shut. I just wanted to slink back home and away from those who could see my embarrassment.”
“Nobody could blame you for that,” said Irene. Her mother sighed and chewed on her bottom lip, but chose to say nothing.
“I had seen a couple of girls approach Daniel and felt sure he had already picked a partner. Imagine my surprise when I felt an unexpected tap on my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, Daniel was smiling down at me. Would you do me the honour of being my partner, he asked.” I paused as my throat started to tighten as I re-lived the moment.
Heather sniffed. “How sweet Catriona. I think I like this Daniel.”
“We danced all night. When the evening was over, little ol’ me was bold enough to kiss him quickly on the cheek before dashing off."
“Oh, you are the reckless one," laughed Irene. Heather couldn’t resist a giggle either.
”You didn‘t check to see how he reacted?” asked Irene. I smiled. “Out with it McCaffery. You checked, didn‘t you?”
”I might have stolen a glance,” I replied.
”And?”
”I‘ve never seen such a pale face turn so red,” I said, exploding into laughter. Heather and Irene burst out laughing simultaneously. The mood in the van was light and cheerful as we neared the coffee shop.   
"This Daniel,” said Irene, “does he really exist, and if he did, do you know where he is now?”
“Good heavens no,” I replied, “but I can tell you this, when he found out that he was moving away from Aberdeen, he wrote me a note. In it, he professed his love for me. Said he’d never forget me, and would love me forever.”
“And to what do you attribute that incredible show of devotion?” asked a skeptical Irene.
 “He had fallen under the McCaffery spell,” I pretended to brag as I fluttered my eyelashes.
“You are so full of it,” said Irene.
“I still have the note,” I said rather smugly.
“No way!” said Irene. “Oh, you can tell some whoppers, Catriona.”
“It’s inside a Valentine’s card he gave to me... along with a tear shaped Crystal pendant... in my room... if you must know.”
“Don’t listen to this deranged woman, mother. Getting this job has addled the poor girl’s brain.”
Heather looked over at me. “I believe her.”
“Thank you Mrs. Best, you are obviously a better judge of character than your jealous daughter.”
“Jealous... jealous you think, really? Okay, I’m jealous, but only if it’s true.”
“I’ll show you the note, and the Valentine’s card,” I said.
“Damn right you will,” she replied.
“Irene!” exclaimed her mother.
“Sorry mum, it slipped out,” said Irene glancing at me and raising her eyes heavenward.
Heather’s van pulled up outside Ye Coffee Shoppe.
“Thanks once again, Mrs. Best,” I said preparing to leave the van.
“Heather," she corrected.
“Thank you Heather."
I was quite aware that her idea to bring me along, was what gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. I stepped out of the van and hesitated. Irene was in the process of exiting out of the other door, when I heard her mother address her.
“And exactly where do you think you are going?”
“Cat’s imaginary love letter, I have to know mother, two minutes I promise.”
“Etta has been holding the fort on her own, for well over an hour. My shop can get really busy as you well know. We are going to relieve the poor girl, Irene.”
“Two minutes mother, please. Two measly minutes, I’m begging you,” said Irene wiggling two of her fingers in front of her mother’s face.”
Irene’s mother looked over at me as if requesting permission for her daughter’s two minutes.
“I think it might take me... three, or maybe even four minutes to locate it... if that’s okay.”
“No,” replied Mrs. Best, “that’s not fair to Etta. Get in the van Irene, you can do this another time.”
Irene looked over at me as if I had stolen the winning lottery ticket from her back pocket. I shrugged my shoulders and gave her one of my very best ‘what can I do’ looks.
“What! But the note.”
“Just not enough time right now, your mother is right, the shop and Etta come first.”
Irene just stood there with a look of total disbelief on her face.
“Get back in the van please, Irene,” her mother said.
“Bye,” I mouthed with a grin on my face.
“You had better find that letter, McCaffery. I’m coming back as soon as I finish work, you have my word on that. I’m bringing Etta with me, as a witness. Find it before I find you.”
“Irene, get in, ” her mother said, in a tone that would not brook disobedience.

I put my fingers to my mouth and blew her a kiss as she stared at me from the van’s rear window. She carried on shaking her fist at me as the van picked up speed and disappeared from view. I was still chuckling at her antics as I entered the coffee shop. I couldn’t wait to break the news to my Aunt.

20170625

Alex B.


Alex Bahscot of Scottish descent, has lived in the Bahamas for several years. It was in the sunny Caribbean climate that a forgotten passion for writing was reignited. Growing up, Alex had a passion for stories of the macabre and the occult. It was only in her late twenties that she took more of an interest in writing Romance.

Her first written work in this genre, was 'Love, Sex and My Ex' which (written in the first person) followed the unusual efforts of Robert Arden, desparately trying to win his ex-wife back. This novella was heavily into the topic of 'out of body' experiences. We briefly meet characters in this book who are destined to be the main characters in her second book.

Her editor tore the book to shreds and suggested a total rewrite, but not because the story wasn't a good one. She loved it, BUT as her editor mentioned, the female protagonist is unlikeable and Alex's use of tenses were better suited to a time traveler (present to past and back in a manner described as effortless) Therefore... a total rewrite it will be.

The Lady's Man, (also written in the first person) is a romance book in excess of 70,000 words touches every emotion felt by men and women, on its way to its conclusion. Humour not being the least of them. A scarred but tenacious Scottish lass (Catriona) leaves a broken relationship to live with her Aunt in a small Scottish village. There she meets Caleb Carter, an up and coming professional golfer, who is the wayward son of a Presbyterian minister. Caleb has broken the hearts of Catriona's childhood friends, and must be made to pay for his sins. Catriona is roped into the plot to exact revenge... but finds herself drawn to the man she is to help punish. Who will she betray? The friends who begged for her help, or the charismatic heart-breaker they have targeted. Catriona finds a job working from a castle in the Scottish Highlands. It is here that tragic secrets are brought to light, by her Aunt, who has more than a few of her own. This tale needs a thorough editing, but Alex has been too busy. When time permits, this book will see the light of day.

Alex decided at this point, that she enjoyed writing novellas more than lengthy books, and chose to write a romantic comedy trilogy, which soon turned into four books and then five, as a prequel was added. Romantic comedy quickly became a favourite.

Dear Roz, (book 1 - Chapter 2) opened with Sue Peoples (a vicious magazine critic) taking square aim at our protagonist, Rozlyn Rook. As well as being the author of a newspaper's 'Agony Aunt' column, Roz runs several two-day workshops. These clinics are designed to teach women how to catch and keep the men of their dreams. Sue joins one of Roz's clinics, for two reasons. Roz must be punished for stealing Sue's boyfriend, and her career must be destroyed in the process. Thrown into the mix, is an English upstart (Nathan Knight) who writes a similar column for a rival newspaper. His advice column is geared towards helping men understand, and deal with women. Roz has never met Nathan, but loathes him as a matter of principle.

When Nathan's friend and chief editor conspired to seat these two columnists together at a charity function, his aim is to see sparks fly between these two. The sparks turn into a firework display. Roz can't believe that she could be attracted to a man she despises. Now she has to deal not only with a woman who wants her professional career cut short, but with an annoying Englishman, who is handing Roz a beating in the one-upmanship game. This is a totally unacceptable situation to Roz. She must deal with both entities, and deal with them, she will.

Dear Roz (book 2) deals with the ever changing relationship between Roz and Nathan. She is incensed that he is stealing her idea, and intends to run similar workshops to herself, only targeting men, looking for their perfect mate. Rozlyn's assistant, Maxine, and Nathan's assistant, Betty, see what their bosses cannot. The two are in love. Between them, Betty and Maxine engineer a test for the two headstrong columnists. Betty's 'Lesbian List of Love' must be completed (unwittingly) by both Roz and Nathan. What happens next? Read the book for yourself, and see.


Dear Roz (book 3) is where the action escalates. Both of our protagonists enjoy playing pranks, and the flair each brings to the table is exposed time and time again. I dare you to keep a straight face as each 'up the anti' in the prank playing stakes. Disaster strikes, however, during one of their workshops. Is their romance nothing more than a shattered dream, or can Maxine and Betty find a way to bring clarity to a situation nobody could possibly have seen coming?

If this book doesn't make you both laugh and cry, ask for a refund. I don't want your money. If however, you fell in love with the characters, and the story itself, please consider leaving a review. Here is the link  The Dear Roz Series Review   and thank you.


Next, Alex had the urge to write a story that has a strange thread of romance running through it.

The Emergency Hotline, is the first novella in what promises to be an interesting series. Steve works as an intermediary between people calling up his  online 'Emergency Hotline' and the professionals who will actually deal with whatever situation is presented. His mother is vacationing in Hungary, and has gone missing. Steve asks his friend Calvin (a bit of a likely lad) to cover for him while he tries to find his mother. Steve explains that the business basically runs itself. He has a Rolodex and a cell phone with all the numbers Calvin needs in order to run the business during his absence. What could possibly go wrong?

Calvin manages to lose both to unusual circumstances, in short order, and now has to answer the calls himself. He conscripts a friend and his friend's girlfriend, to help him in his hour of need. Talk about the inmates taking over the asylum. The first two calls that come into the office phone are from persons contemplating suicide by jumping from tall buildings. How do people with zero professional training cope with such dilemmas? Next comes a call from a seriously wealthy individual, whose mother needs a companion for a few hours while he conducts business which can't be put off. It is only after coming face to face with the gent in question, that the truth is revealed. His mother suffers from multiple personality disorder. Her condition is sparked by whichever room she enters.

Let the fun begin, as Calvin navigates his way through Sylvia's reality. His sense of humor is put to the test on a regular basis. Meanwhile, a stripper (whom he persuaded not to jump to her death) has decided that Calvin is in love with her and is preparing him for marriage. All the while, Calvin has to find a way to earn enough money to replace Steve's expensive cell phone and Rolodex. It's a rollercoaster of a ride with characters that shouldn't be left on their own.



A series of Short Stories in the making, by Alex Bahscot

Out 4 Revenge

Book 1 - A Wife's Revenge
Book 2 - He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
Book 3 - Sister Sister
Book 4 - Two of Everything

The Love Triangle Trilogy

Book 1 - Odd Man Out
Book 2 - Odd Woman Out
Book 3 - Best of Both Worlds

Unfaithful 5

Book 1 - When the Music Stops
Book 2 - Til Death Do Us Part
Book 3 - Seeing is Believing
Book 4 - Unfaithfully Yours
Book 5 - Maid for Each Other

The Emotion Series

Short Story 1  Love
Short Story 2  Hate
Short Story 3  Betrayal
Short Story 4  Revenge
Short Story 5  Ambition
Short Story 6  Jealousy
Short Story 7  Obsession
Short Story 8  Injustice


Standalone books (in the works)


I can Write Romance, I Swear
The Idiot Savant of Dating
Stealing Romance



20170616

The Lady's Man - Irene's Story. Cat's friend and ex-girlfriend of Caleb. Did not make it into the book as shown here.

Irene Best - Three months ago  

The shade of the chestnut tree was heavenly and the two of us leaned against its thick trunk.
       "I think I'm pregnant," I said to Caleb never taking my eyes off my tired looking shoes as I did so.
My name is Irene Best, and I am dating the twenty five year old son of a Scottish minister. I am not pregnant. In my own childish way, I am testing my boyfriend to find out if he thinks enough of me to stick around, should I accidentally become pregnant. You don't have to tell me, it's shallow and deceptive at the same time. The truth is, I don't think I'm good enough for him. I have terrible insecurities. Throw in the fact that I've always wanted a large family when I get married, if I get married, and what do you have? A potential recipe for disaster that's what. He told me right from the start that he didn't want kids. Did I listen? Like all women 'hell bent' on being the only one who can change a man from the proverbial 'bad boy' into a doting husband with three or four kids, I chose to put him to the test.              
       "I'm going to wait one more week, then make an appointment with our family doctor," I said, running my fingers idly through a deep crease in the trunk of the chestnut tree.
Still no response from the man of my dreams.   Is he pondering the idea of marriage? More likely is the possibility that he is toying with the idea of giving me the boot. I wish he would just say something. Anything.
       "Of course I'll have to tell my parents, and I would appreciate it if you were there for support."
I want to make eye contact, but I can't afford to. For one thing, it should be guilt that keeps my head looking down. Looking up would be like having a 'tell' in poker, signaling the fact that I am bluffing. I desperately want to see his face and gauge how the news is affecting him, but I manage to fight the urge.
       "They're going to be terribly disappointed in me," I said, still looking at my feet.

I know what you're probably thinking. If he decides to stand by me, then I will go ahead and try to really get pregnant. This I won't do. If he commits and then finds out that I'm not pregnant, chances are he will still be one step closer to thinking about marriage having already considered it, am I right? That's the hand I'm betting on right now. Why doesn't he say something?
       "I would imagine your father will be equally devastated, what with him being a minister."
       "You know what?" he said, "you're absolutely right."
       "I am?" I said, taken aback at his sudden willingness to join in the conversation.
       "Absolutely," he confirmed, "let's go straight to your parents house and break the news together, just like you suggested."
       "I think it's probably best if we leave it for another week, just to make sure, don't you?"
       "Nonsense," he said, grabbing my hand and dragging me away from the shade of the chestnut tree.
       "Now that I think about it, I can't believe how excited I am at the prospect," he said with that tone of finality in his voice.

I should have been elated at his last remark. Why then was my stomach churning. What if I couldn't persuade him to wait another week just in case my 'fake overdue' period showed up? The chestnut tree was perhaps three hundred yards from my father's front door and at our current pace, no more than three minutes away from either me coming clean or him addressing my father. I had three minutes to persuade him to wait just long enough for me to 'find out' that I'm not pregnant.
       "I really, really think we should wait another week," I said, trying my best to keep the fear out of my voice, "my period has been known to be a month late. Really, it has."
       "Irene," he said, "I know your dad is going to be really pissed when I give him the news, but please don't try to dissuade me. As the man involved, it is my duty to give him the news, not yours."
       "That's okay," I begged, my voice close to breaking now, "you go home. Knowing my dad, that kind of news would probably be best coming from me, anyway."

He stopped in his tracks, my father's front door a mere hundred yards from where we stood.
       "What kind of man would I be if I let you do that Irene? He must be home, his car is parked outside, come on."
       "Okay, okay! I'm not pregnant, I was just... testing you." The world stopped turning right about then. At least my world did.
       "What!" he gasped, the sheer horror of the enormity of my betrayal etched all over his features. You would do that to me?"

Shakily I sat down on the warm pavement, my legs buckling from underneath me. I felt sick, and my oxygen supply seemed to have run out. I could hardly breathe. My eyes are darting everywhere as I search for a solution and try my best to salvage something from the nightmare I alone created.
       "I'm sorry," I  kept repeating, "it was only a bit of fun..."
       "Fun? This is your idea of fun? I'm sorry Irene, this changes everything. I would never have believed that a woman would put a man that she had any real respect for, through such an ordeal. I'm sorry, I can't handle this, it's just too... cruel."

There was nothing false about the tears that were coursing down my pale cheeks though. I begged. He stood his ground. I pleaded, and for a second it looked as if he was  reconsidering, then he shook his head. It was over, my bluff had been called. I ran the last hundred yards to my house and burst through the front door, leaving it swinging in my wake. It would be three weeks  and one overheard conversation later that made me realize that he had made up his mind to dump me long before I concocted up my idiotic plan. Now I felt doubly stupid. He had played me perfectly, letting me believe that my silly test had been my downfall. He must have had a good old laugh at my expense. I was wrong to do what I did, but I was in love. Clearly he never was.

20170530

The Lady's Man - Our heroine, Catriona McCaffery, staying with her aunt after the break-up.

Chapter 3 - Forgotten Friends - Catriona McCaffery


            My suitcase landed on the pavement with a heavy thud. The bus moved off, leaving me staring at the village church across the street from me. I had been in there a couple of times with my mother many years ago. The minister had been ancient. I doubt if he would still be there. I'm going to call my aunt in a minute and ask her for directions, but before I do, I think a cup of coffee might be in order. I wheeled my suitcase down the steep hill to a building opposite Carnock Primary School. Ye Coffee Shoppe, the sign above the large glass window boasted.
            With my head down, I dragged my suitcase over to one of the booths and collapsed into a seat, resting my head on my arms, crossed in front of me on the table. I was barely aware of the bell that had announced my arrival finally stop ringing.
            "I'll be there in a minute!" I heard a woman’s voice call out. The voice seemed familiar somehow, but I was too tired to think any more about it. I only wanted to rest right now. My head was empty of thought, perfect. Not for long though. The sound of two girls talking in the next booth invaded my peace and quiet. Their voices were very animated and the object of their ire was somebody called Caleb. I tried my best to tune them out, but it was nigh on impossible.
            "I honestly thought he was serious about me," one girl said.
            " I had marriage on my mind the whole time," came the reply.
            "He has it all," the first girl went on, "looks, physique, sense of humour, nice dad. Not rich but not poor either. His mother left Caleb and his dad when Caleb was only eight. He told me about it once, but when I tried to find out more, he got all bent out of shape."
            "Really?"
            "He was more than just angry, if you had seen the look on his face... I really believe he hates his mother for leaving them."
Are there any women who don't have men problems. My life has just been turned upside down and now I can't block out the problems of these two.
            "Even after all this time?” continued the second girl, "It must be close to sixteen or seventeen years ago."
            "From that point on, our relationship went steeply downhill,” said the first. “I think that's why he dumped me. Just because I asked about his mother."
            "When his mother left, his conscience disappeared with her," came the reply. "It's as if he is scared to get too close to anyone.”
            “How many girls has he dated… that you know of, Irene?"
            "Dated or bedded?"
            "Has he ever done one without the other?" the first girl asked.
            Men cheating on women, I thought. Same problem the world over. Why couldn't I be the focal point of a man's love. How wonderful it would be to experience naught but devotion from the man of my dreams. To know that he desired no other woman, but me. I sighed, a sudden feeling of heaviness spreading through my body. My number one fantasy, no closer to realization.
            "I still love him," admitted the girl called Irene.
            "Handsomest man I've ever seen," said the other. "Almost made me feel ugly standing beside him,"
            "There was no almost about it," the girl called Irene shot back.
I admit it, I almost giggled at this last comment. I barely managed to control myself. Good job they couldn't see the grin spread across my face. It turned out that the comment made them burst out laughing anyway, so I allowed myself a quick chuckle. It was wrong of me to feel better, but what is that saying? How can feeling so wrong feel so right. Something like that.
            "Is everything okay?" came the same voice that sounded familiar a short while ago.
            "Everything’s fine, Mrs. Robson, thanks for asking," coughed the first girl.
I recognized the symptoms of a person caught laughing whilst trying to swallow a mouthful of liquid. Been there, done that. I raised my head up from the table. My spirits rose immediately. Emily Robson, my Aunt. She hadn't noticed me.
            "Aunt Em!" I said, standing up and holding my arms out. Emily Robson spun around and let her gaze fall upon me. She pitched forward and grabbed me in what could best be described as a bear-hug.
            "Catriona, my wee darlin' how you've grown, you were about seven years old when last I set eyes on you. I live upstairs," she said, "that is we live upstairs. Yours will be the first door on the right once you’ve reached the landing. When you're ready I'll take you there. I'm afraid it looks out over the street to the bus stop, but there is another window which has a view out over a small park and beyond that, our village minister's manse."
My aunt was looking me up and down, her smile increasing with every pass.
            “My but you look wonderful,” she said.
One of the girls with severe love problems eased her way out of the booth and stepped into view.
            "What! You don't recognize me? Catriona McCaffery, am I right? We used to play together as kids."
            "Etta, is that really you?"
            “Ta-da!" Etta laughed, stepped forward and hugged me. "What brings you back here after so many years?"
            "I guess you don't recognize me then," interrupted the other girl, "now that I no longer wear braces on my teeth and sport contacts rather than glasses. Now that I am awesomely gorgeous, with big boobs."
            "And a butt to match," Etta whispered, a comment that Irene totally ignored.
            "Irene, of course. I heard you being called by name, but it never clicked." We hugged each other.
            "I am so sorry you two," I said, taking each of their hands in mine.
            "I'll bring some coffee," said my aunt, "while you three get re-acquainted."
I watched as she disappeared into what must be the kitchen.
            "Your aunt moved here years ago and has been running this coffee shop ever since," said Etta, anticipating my question correctly. "She's a wonderful cook, but I expect you already know that."
I nodded. We sat down at the table, Irene and Etta opposite me.
            "Men trouble, right?" inquired Etta.
            "Just one," I replied, glancing down at my naked ring finger. "The one I was going to marry."
            "Was," acknowledged Irene with an understanding nod. "No more needs to be said, I guess."
            "Nope," I replied.
            "Cheated on you?" Irene asked, her eyes narrowing.
            "Yup," I said, my eyes refusing to meet hers.
Irene just shook her head.
            "I can't see a man cheating on you," stated Etta, "I mean look at you. You look fabulous. There has to be a catch. Own up, what prompted this madman to cheat on the beautiful girl sitting in front of us?"
            "My desire to be a virgin bride," I said simply, but felt a little stupid at my admittance to such an old fashioned concept.
            "Too late for us," said Etta, looking directly at Irene, "but not as daft a desire as it might seem, I don't think."
            "Good for you," added Irene.
Aunt Em returned with three cups of coffee and an assortment of biscuits splashed onto a large plate.
            "Tuck in girls, it's on the house. Let me just go and check on my niece's room."
            "Thanks, aunt Em," I called out after her retreating body.
            "Apparently I'm not the only one with a mess of a love life," I said. "I apologize, but I couldn't help but hear your conversation. I overheard the name Caleb, am I right?"
            "You are," said Irene with a sigh. Etta gaze fell to the plateful of biscuits as she nodded in agreement.
            "So, which one of you dated this Caleb?" I asked.
            "I did," they replied in unison.
            "And he’s a movie star," I prompted.
            "He has movie star looks," corrected Etta, her gaze still fixed on the plate.
A bus passing the shop temporarily drowned out our conversation. Irene glanced at her watch.
            "Right on time," she said. "Exactly half an hour after the bus that you must have been on."
Less than a minute later, the bell sounded, announcing another patron. My back was to the door, but the look on the faces of my two childhood friends was a sight to behold. Neither said anything, but simply stared over my shoulder, their faces devoid of expression. To all intents and purposes, in a state of trance. I fought the urge to look. I felt it might be rude of me to do so. A man's rich, deep voice cut through the air.
            "Have you baked any of those wonderful raspberry tarts, Mrs Robson? You have? Excellent. I'll take two please. This should cover it. Thanks again."
I won't deny, I was more than a little curious to see the man to whom this richly erotic voice belonged, when it suddenly dawned on me. Who could possibly manifest such an effect on my two friends other than the man they called Caleb. I almost broke my neck turning around to check. Too late, he had already left the shop and disappeared from view. Good manners had prevented me from seeing the beast that had caused my two friends such grief. I turned back to face them again. Etta had her head down and her eyes shut, but Irene was still staring past me to where this Caleb had been standing.
            "I honestly thought he was serious about me, but all he wanted was to screw me senseless,” Etta said, her voice wobbling. “It's been four months, and I’m still pining away.”
            “We were both misled,” Irene piped in. “I had marriage on my mind the whole time. His mind was obviously full of hot torrid depraved sex. Oh, the things he made me do, the positions I was forced into. I blush now at the thought.”
Her words said one thing, but her face exuded a radiant glow as she spoke of this man and his heinous activities. Then she buried her face in her hands.
            "I hear he is chasing Shona Mathews," said Etta.
            "The widow? I thought he was after Adele what’s-her-name," said Irene from behind her hands.
            "Gillespie," Etta said providing the last name, "Adele Gillespie."
            "Not really his type I wouldn't have thought," said Irene.
I looked across the table at the two girls before fixing my gaze upon Etta.
            "Would you date this Caleb if he ever asked you out again?"
            "Never, no way, not a chance," she replied.
            "I would too," Irene admitted, staring into her almost empty cup. "As if that is ever going to happen again," she added wistfully. "It's a pity that he will never know the feeling of having his heart ground under the heel of his lover's boot."
            “Now that would be justice of the highest order," Etta agreed. "That, I would pay to see."
            "As daydreams go, it's the best," admitted Irene, "I can see the title of the movie now, 'Revenge of the Jilted Village Beauties.’"
            "You call that a movie title?” replied Etta, unimpressed. “I prefer a major magazine headline. Something like… 'Callous Golf Pro Steals Heart of Village Beauty Before Tossing the Woman's Major Organ Into the Garbage'."
            "Why would a golf pro remove a perfectly good twat and throw it away?" returned Irene, trying her best to look confused.
            "So that it could keep company with your unused brain," Etta chided. “We need to come up with a plan to avenge our shattered hearts.”
            "Caleb needs to be brought to heel, to grovel before both of us and beg our forgiveness," said Irene, warming to the idea.
            Apparently, this notion was to be savoured at every opportunity. Revenge was in order, my two friends both agreed, but how and when, were the questions still to be answered. I had nothing to add to the conversation, but let them vent without interruption.
            "Here's to revenge," said Etta.
            "Revenge!" Irene echoed, tapping her cup gently against Etta’s.
            “That takes care of the who and the what,” said Etta. “Now we need to work on the other details. Any ideas?”
            “I’ve an idea you will be leaving the tip for the tea and biscuits,” Irene said. “My purse is missing in action. I hope I left it at home and didn’t lose it.”
            “Really? What is that beside your left elbow. It sure as heck looks like your purse to me,” replied Etta.
            “My goodness! How could I have missed that?” a perplexed frown appeared on Irene‘s face.
            “Well, it clears up one issue,” said Etta.
            “And what might that be?”
            “Caleb wasn’t after you for your looks. He simply has a soft spot for the blind.
            “Evens?” Irene asked.
Etta grinned. “Okay, now we’re even.”
Satisfied, they both surrendered their full attention to finishing their beverage.
            "I don't know what to say girls," was my only comment after their latest banter.
            "There's nothing to be said, other than, I will have my revenge, either in this life or the next," said Etta.
            "Gladiator… the movie… Russell Crowe," I stated.
            "Great movie," said Irene.
            "The bad guy gets his in the end." This from Etta.
            "The good guy dies too, don't forget," I said.
            "How romantic." Irene sighed.
The three of us lowered our eyes to the plate, devoid of all biscuits bar one. Our heads raised simultaneously, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
            "You have it, Catriona," said Etta. It's your first day here, it's your aunt's coffee shop and it's our way of saying welcome back."
            "Well, thank you Etta," I said, as I reached for the biscuit in question.
Like a snakes tongue, Etta's arm shot out and snatched the biscuit from the plate and deposited it into her mouth in one smooth motion. Irene and I watched as she chewed for a brief second then swallowed.
            "Oh!" said Etta raising her eyebrows, “did you want it?"
            "Not at all," I replied. "Everybody knows that the last biscuit is the one which puts on the most weight."
            "Irene must have had a lot of last biscuits," suggested Etta, exactly one second before the sound of a hand smacking an arm disturbed the conversation.
My aunt reappeared at the foot of the stairs.
            "Feeling a little peckish after your long journey, Catriona?" she asked.
            "The poor girl was starving," said Etta. "Watching her eat was embarrassing, Mrs Robson."
            "Would you like some more, dear?" Aunt Em asked me.
            "Would I like some more, girls?"
            "I think she has room for a couple more," suggested Etta.
            "More coffee?" asked my aunt.
            "That would be lovely Mrs. Robson. Thanks," said Irene.
            "You two haven't changed," I said.
            "And yet it took you forever to recognize us," replied Etta in a miffed tone.
The three of us exchanged grins.
            "Nice to meet up with you again, Cat," said Irene. "You don't mind me calling you Cat, do you?"
            "Knock yourself out," I replied.
            "Cat it is, then."

            Half an hour later we had all caught up with each other’s news, and I was forced to bid them adieu. I felt drained. The only thing I wanted to do was lay down and sleep. They were still tucking into the biscuits when I went upstairs.
            "Going to rest for a bit aunt Em," I said climbing the stairs slowly. “I'll pick up my suitcase later if you don't mind."
            "Let me show you to your room then," she replied.

I don't remember much after that conversation. I was drifting quietly off to sleep, when a handsome man’s face outside a bus window drifted through my mind. A gentle fluttering in my stomach brought a warm glow deep inside of me. After that, nothing.