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Stranger


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All characters and locations in this story are fictional. It is not an account of actual events nor does it describe actual people. No offence is intended to any person, alive or not.

Stranger

by Bruin Fisher

Much like the dawn, there were glimmerings for some time, and then quite quickly the light hit and it all became clear. Didn't make it easier to take, though. He felt stupid, and he felt used, which he realised wasn't quite fair because actually she'd helped him, and helped him a lot. Of course after it went sour she demanded all the money back, until her husband stepped in and said the money had to go back to the donors. For a while he thought that would break him. He'd sunk every penny into the business and although it had taken off wonderfully it would be a while before the cafe would be in a position to be paying back loans. And this loan had been a gift, originally.

At the start it had all been different. His Da took him to church each week and a lot of the congregation were Da's customers, including the politician and his wife, she was a politician too. He'd known them from when he was little. She'd come into the shop and chat with his Da. He didn't know, then, that they had an affair. Or that he wasn't her first.

Da got ill, cancer, and he had to sell the business. At the end he didn't get out of bed much and his son was the only one there for him, except the visitors. Church people came. It didn't help, just made more work for the boy, making tea, washing up. And she came, sat for long periods beside Da's bed. He made her promise she would look after the boy after he was gone. At the funeral she came up to him and said so. She put her hand on his forearm and looked sincere. But she was a politician, he should have known.

She did look after him. Bullied him into getting on with life when he just wanted to stay in bed and hide from it. Talked to him about ambition, about earning a living. Helped set him up in business. She found an opportunity, a new development under council control, a cafe that ought to be a gold mine because of its location against the canal. It was up for tender, but she was on the council committee, and she persuaded two developers to donate money, a lot of money, to her, to help him get started. The committee judged that his was the only application that met their criteria.

But her idea of looking after him was different than his Da's. He was sure of that. The time when she stormed into his house in the middle of the day and he was still in bed and not planning to change that, and she barged straight up the stairs and into his bedroom without knocking, and opened the curtains and the windows, and barked at him to get up, and he'd just pulled a pillow over his head, she'd pulled the duvet right off the bed, leaving him naked on the mattress. He still hadn't moved, it was better to be displaying his arse than his cock, he thought. She changed tack, sat on the edge of the bed, spoke softly to him, encouraging him. She reached out and patted him. She didn't pat his shoulder, or his back, she patted his bottom. And then stroked it. That made him react. He pushed himself up, turned his head in surprise, met her eyes, come-hither eyes. He'd never had his bottom stroked, certainly not by an experienced woman who was clearly offering more. What could be expected of him, his life was in ruins, his emotions all awry, his nineteen-year-old libido on fire? He turned over, displaying his mounting excitement, and she took him in hand.

From then on she visited most days, and expected to 'look after' him each visit. He was flattered, and satisfied. His girlfriend was not so accommodating. As the grieving process ran its course, though, he began to analyse his feelings more, and found he was not in love with this woman, that he didn't even like her very much. At that time she was causing a storm in the press by claiming that homosexuality was an abomination, and a homosexual act the only thing she could think of more sickening than paedophilia. She said it should be treated, could be cured. She knew people who'd been cured. He didn't think that was a nice way to talk about people, many of them good people. Some of his friends were gay. He thought a good Christian wouldn't say such things about people she didn't know. At first he just assumed she understood more than he did - she's forty years his senior. But later he changed his mind. He began making up excuses when she visited. Told her he had testicular cancer so she wouldn't expect sex.

The cafe did well. He and his business partner worked at it very hard and their efforts paid off. His partner was an old school friend, a good mate, who happened to be gay. It didn't matter he was gay, didn't affect their friendship. It was nice that he agreed to go into the venture, to go into partnership, and it was nice for the boy to assert his independence, knowing how it would anger her.

After she was pressurized into ending the affair, and she'd demanded the money back, it was nice too that they won Young Businessman of the Year. It gave good publicity to the cafe and showed that they had their own abilities, that they weren't there only out of favouritism.

A year later, the story broke in the press and they no longer needed publicity for the cafe, journalists were everywhere, as were curious local and not so local people, anxious to catch a glimpse of 'the boy who had an affair with the disgraced politician'.

She and her husband made an announcement. She would be stepping down from politics immediately, the pressure of the job had taken a toll on her health, she'd suffered depression. The undeclared financial dealings are still under investigation, and might bring further troubles to the most prominent couple in regional politics. Her husband's career might be brought down by the scandal, too. Who knows?

And what of the boy?

It could go either way. The press might take it into their heads to lionize him, or to demonize him. They're unlikely to leave him alone. Attitude wants him for their cover boy, and Playgirl wants him for their nude centrefold. There's no indication he's said yes to either. He has thousands of supporters on his fan site at Facebook, so it looks hopeful. The boy himself is being very wise, and keeping quiet, and trying to get on with his life, albeit under the glare of the spotlight.

When it all began he was very vulnerable, and was taken in by her, and little doubts were easy to discount. But after seven months he wanted the relationship to end and when it did he was relieved. He's learned a lot in the last two years, and he's had to grow up very quickly without a family support structure. He does have a group of good mates, though, and with their help he's made it this far. Let's hope he makes it through the next few months.

So, as Simon and Garfunkel put it so well, "Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson".

C Bruin Fisher January 2010

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Truth is way stranger than fiction, Bruin. Thanks for the clarification for this over on the News & Views forum. Such a complex web she wove, perhaps too much so for flash? A heroic effort nonetheless, and I applaud you for it.

James

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Yes, I think I was a bit optimistic, thinking I could condense the story into a flash. As it is, I think it's a little over a thousand words. And I did myself no favours with my first paragraph, which is probably superfluous and just serves to introduce too many threads that are not explained, and confuses the reader.

Never mind, it enabled me to get the dratted woman out of my system. For some reason I've been emotionally affected by the story. If I lived nearer I might even have gone to the cafe and joined the rubber-neckers. Of course it might just be Kirk's nice bright blue eyes...

_Kirk_McCambley___166241s.jpg

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Don't be so harsh on yourself Bruin. the story has merit in letting us see how much you were affected by the situation as well as being cathartic for you.

Truth be known, your story affected me in a similar way. It is a very worthy effort. :hug:

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  • 2 weeks later...

I liked it, am to uninformed as to the boundaries of flash fiction, and can still call it a snapshot (albeit a wide angle one) in my view, and decided not to go see what is being referred to, wanting to just take it as is, and my enjoyment of it as is, too.

Thanks Bruin, it's always a pleasure to see you out and about. :icon_geek:

Tracy

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  • 2 weeks later...
I think I was a bit optimistic, thinking I could condense the story into a flash. As it is, I think it's a little over a thousand words. And I did myself no favours with my first paragraph, which is probably superfluous and just serves to introduce too many threads that are not explained, and confuses the reader.

Why is it that the English are so bloody self-deprecating? You weren't writing a news piece - that it's based on real life is actually irrelevant, here. I liked it. It has a flavour that appeals.

Never mind, it enabled me to get the dratted woman out of my system. For some reason I've been emotionally affected by the story. If I lived nearer I might even have gone to the cafe and joined the rubber-neckers. Of course it might just be Kirk's nice bright blue eyes...

Emotionally affected? I couldn't see it until I saw the photo. He could be Jamie Oliver's younger brother! :icon_geek:

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Why is it that the English are so bloody self-deprecating? You weren't writing a news piece - that it's based on real life is actually irrelevant, here. I liked it. It has a flavour that appeals.

At least being English and sef-deprecating is better than being Australian and self-loathing, or perhaps that should be Ozzie and self-defecating? :hug::icon_geek: Naughty DesDownunder.

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Very nice story, Bruin. It reinforces some rules one might remember under appropriate circumstances.

A good rule: Don't have an affair with a politician.

A better rule: Don't have an affair with a politician who's married to another politician.

The best rule: Don't take money from a politician.

Colin :icon_geek:

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