The Lady's Man - Caleb Carter. Bad boy son of the Reverend Byron Carter.

Caleb's mother walked out on him and his father when Caleb was just a lad. Since then, his distrust of women ensured that any relationship he entered--now that he was a man--was both brief and superficial. He made no apologies for that and sought no sympathy. He was a man detached from strong emotion. Impenetrable armour as cold as steel surrounded his heart. Never again would any woman make him feel that pain again. He swore it.

Chapter 8 – Where am I? – Caleb Carter

            Monday morning found me in Ye Coffee Shoppe nursing a cup of tea and a hangover. The preceding night’s entertainment was thankfully hazy in parts, unfortunately clear in others. One of my high school chums, and golfing buddy, was getting married and had his bachelor party last night in the upstairs of a two story building in Dunfermline. The party that ensued was probably like most bachelor parties. Bored looking strippers trying not too convincingly to look like they were actually enjoying themselves. Old school chums trying to reconnect with their former friends. Everybody 'doing justice' to the full bar stocked with every alcoholic drink you could imagine, and a few you couldn't.

            All twelve participants that turned up had arrived in either a taxi or by bus or had been dropped off by a friend, and would leave the same way.

The memory of a conversation about horses being unable to walk down stairs seemed relevant somehow, but such relevance escaped me for the moment. I'm not a drinker by nature, which is probably why I am suffering so badly with my own hangover this morning. A glass of white wine and a few beers a week is my normal limit. I'm pretty sure I passed that benchmark within the first half hour.

            The lights in Mrs. Robson's coffee shop were trying their best to fry my dilated pupils. I should have brought my sunglasses.

            "Some vegetable soup perhaps, Caleb?" Mrs. Robson asked, as she approached my table. "Great for soaking up alcohol," she whispered.

            "You're an angel Mrs. Robson. I'll take the soup and more tea please."

            "Hang in there, Mr. Carter, I'll be back in two minutes."

A lovely woman, Mrs. Robson and perfect as an owner/operator of the coffee shop, I thought. Concerned about everybody, but never nosy, she had the knack of being there when you needed her and absent when you didn't. A trait that I wish she shared with Grace Wilson's mother.

            "Here's your soup and tea Caleb," said Mrs. Robson setting them both down on the table before easing the thick vegetable soup in front of me and disappearing with the empty teacup. Steam rose from the soup plate, bringing with it the heavenly aroma of carrots, potatoes turnips and several other wholesome ingredients. I inhaled deeply and felt better almost immediately.

            Simple sentences didn't seem to aggravate my hangover, but using words of more than five letters threatened to make my head explode. Bearing this in mind, I even tried to think in small words. It was useless. Trying to piece together what had happened in the last hour that I was at the party seemed futile. I vaguely remember getting into a taxi. Somebody in the back seat just wouldn't shut up, but I don't remember sharing the cab. It pulled up outside a house that I was quietly confident I had seen somewhere before.

I remember a woman's voice saying, "Caleb, are you okay, are you hurt or just drunk?"

The taxi door had magically opened, and now that fresh air had entered my system, my sole desire was to throw up. Disgusting I know, but there it is.

            "Come inside, Caleb," said the woman's voice as I was pulled out of the taxi.

            "Who's taking care of my cab fare?" I heard a voice ask, followed by the same voice thanking somebody called ma'am.

This ma’am then led me somewhere that ended up with me in a bathroom that I did not recognize. Then she asked me if I would be kind enough to not puke on the floor. At the time it seemed a bit unreasonable, but I pushed my own inclinations aside and obliged the kind lady. My clothes were taken from me. No easy task in my state, and the last thing I remembered after that was thinking that somebody had repainted my bedroom ceiling.

            When I awoke there was a woman's arm across my chest and the sound of heavy breathing. Beside me on the bed under the single sheet was a woman with blonde hair. Her face was hidden from me and her breathing was shallow but regular. The sound of a yawn caught my attention. Was she no longer asleep?

            It must still be early morning, I thought, since the room was still half dark despite a small side window that was not covered by a curtain. A groan and the arm that was across my chest was now sliding down, under the sheet, searching for and finding my penis. The woman's head followed her hand, disappearing under the sheet. I still didn't know who this young woman was. My stomach muscles jumped, sending my throbbing head straight to Defcon 3. My cock was now in her mouth and was rising fast. I threw the sheet off the bed, leaving us both naked.

            "Good morning, Caleb," said the woman.

            "Good morning, Mrs. Mathews," I replied, staring at the young widow who was moving my cock back and forward over her mouth.

            "After last night, I think you can call me Shona."

            "Good morning Shona," I said simply. "About last night. Did we?"

            "I tried to fight you off Caleb, at first, that is, but when you told me how you felt about me… well."

            So there you have it. I left Shona’s house shortly thereafter, went home, bathed and changed. Despite my delicate condition, I still made a cup of tea and took it into my father’s bedroom, who in turn asked about the bachelor party.

            “Was it any different from the others you have attended?”

            “Yes and no,” I offered.

            “The usual shenanigans?”

My father preferred shenanigans over strippers as a word choice.

            “No, nothing like that,” I said. “Well, yes, sort of.” I hated lying to my father and tried my best to avoid the practice.

            “When did you get back?” he asked, looking directly at me.

            “About two,” I said.

            “In the morning?” he asked.

            “Minutes ago,” I responded.

            “I don’t want to know Caleb. Please don’t tell me.” A chuckle escaped his.

            “As you wish father,” I said, and disappeared out of the room before he could change his mind.

            So here I am, in Mrs. Robson’s coffee shop, nursing a hangover and eating my soup. Two ex-girlfriends of mine were in the next booth. Etta and Irene. Shona Mathews slipped in through the coffee shop door, walked over to my table, nodded to the two girls in the next booth and sat down opposite me.

            “So where is my soup and tea, Mr. Carter?”

I could hear all conversation at the next table stop dead. The sound of silence was deafening. Three women, all waiting for my answer.

            “You look almost as good fully clothed,” I said, taking another sip of Mrs. Robson’s excellent tea.