Greater Expectations (3 page)

Mike’s response was a complete s
urprise and perfectly logical–wise almost. “You don’t want to date son. It’s too soon for that and it wouldn’t be fair to you or any lassie that is genuinely ready and looking for love in a relationship. You have too much testosterone and sperm clogging up your brain. Give yourself time to get back on the horse son.” He took a moment in silent deliberation, staring deep into the fire. Irrationally, I feared he was seeing my coronation celebrations. Considering all that he had just been told, his suggestion was initially puzzling but, on reflection, made perfect sense.

“No, what you want is a ‘sex only’ site son. Some of the boys have been using a site called “Supasexxx.com”, or something like that. Get yourself on there and get laid. Have some fun for a change and take some time for yourself. You can be completely anonymous and comfortable in the knowledge that sex is all the women on there want too. Listen to me, you aren’t thinking straight just now son. Just let things take their course with Gem but, in the meantime, get yourself laid and have some fun for a change.” It was more of an order than advice but I knew he was right either way. “Better still, get yourself away for a few days and have some time to yourself.”

I hadn’t even given that a moments thought. Maybe a weekend break was exactly what I needed.

“By the way…”

Whenever Mike says “by the way” it always ends one conversation and almost always starts a ridiculously funny story. Tonight was no different.

Supasexxx.com was firmly locked into my head to be checked out when I got home. So was a quick search for a cheap mini break. It was Taylor’s turn to take centre stage and I was happy to pass the baton. Now it was time to try to cheer up and enjoy being regaled.

He didn’t disappoint.

4

An Exceptional Stereotype

Thursday 8th January

It was after midnight when I returned home and flicked on the television as I made my way through the living room into the kitchen. It was an unconscious action that was done more out of habit than desire to actually watch anything. Especially tonight, as I had been teasing myself all the way home with the delights that awaited me on Supasexxx.com. The television provided a white noise that obliterated the silence that normally dwelt within the house, and this would be most welcome whilst I enjoyed my endeavours on the laptop. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Then it happened, it penetrated my consciousness and demanded my full attention. One of the most famous lines in romantic comedy.

“…I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her...”

I immediately recognised the reflection of myself in the sentence and suddenly felt ashamed. I had hurried home completely focussed upon getting laid. I had never found it difficult finding sex in the past so I had high hopes from the site. Exacting my revenge on every girl that would let me fuck them. A little flirtatious chat and bang, the fucking. Fuck them.

Fuck them all.

It had all changed in that instant. A simple line in a movie made me realise that it was just that. It was
simple
. I was a mere man looking for a girl to love me, cherish me, no matter if I were a prince or a pauper. A girl who would love all of me, warts and all. It was Oliver Cromwell who had coined this very phrase. He had a hideously unsightly wart on his face and when he sat for a painting the artist omitted the wart. Primitive airbrushing. Cromwell refused to accept the picture as an accurate portrait of himself and told the artist to recreate his image “warts and all”.

Suddenly, the implication of it all, my separation, the pain, the sleaziness of my current endeavour, all of it hit me hard and I felt my legs give way from under me. I slumped into the chair and watched the end of Notting Hill.

Again.

Everyone has a guilty secret that they are in some way ashamed to admit. Mine is romantic comedies. I love them. That whole notion of everything working out in the end and the living “happily ever after” with your true love and soul mate. There’s a purity in this idea that provides comfort and solace. That semblance of a natural order in humanity and evolution. At least, it makes sense to me. Even now.

When the movie ended my thoughts returned to Supasexxx.com and I suddenly felt dirty. Too dirty. It could wait. It was for another time and another place. Another head space. Now it was the idea of the mini break that was more appealing to me–the more I thought about everything sensibly–than the idea of trawling for sex. The idea of Supasexxx.com was, in itself, fairly logical and Mike’s theories for why I should join the site were sound. Yet the reality of it now felt altogether too seedy to me. I also felt some overpowering and perverse sense of marital duty to “her”. I didn’t feel free to explore these avenues. Not just yet. I was undeniably curious though so I decided to focus on the mini break idea before I did anything too rash.

A quick Google search turned up a hunting lodge at the entrance of the Auchtershinnan Estate in the Scottish Highlands. It looked perfect, with stunning scenery and plenty of outdoor activities including shooting and archery. A prudent check on the weather forecast showed that it was expected to be dry, bright, and milder than usual for a January. It was an exceptional deal for the complete lodge with all facilities included, so I fished out my credit card and hurriedly booked it before I could change my mind.

One of the benefits of being a truck driver working through an agency is that you have the freedom to decide when you are available for work. In London, the weekends are naturally our busiest period as this is when the company’s full time drivers want to spend time with their families. As such, this is when we are paid the premium rates. Thankfully for me, my mini break started on the Monday through to the Thursday. It was ideal. One could say fate, almost.

I felt a sense of relief surging through me. A break. The crisp, clean Scottish air would do me the power of good and clear my mind. It could only help me put everything into perspective. I found myself wishing I was there already. An escape from the harsh realities of life and the stress of London driving. Parole from the attitude of the natives where they think that all truck drivers are to be subjected to their constant abuse. We are all just stereotypical truck drivers in their eyes. They seem to think that we have no other purpose than to get in their way. Obstructing the roads in our laborious juggernauts and impeding their day. We are merely sent to try their patience.

Unsurprisingly, the very idea of any stereotype is most disconcerting to me as, once again, it implies a certain amount of “normality” or sense of “average” within a defined category. Yet it is subject to universal practice that is, admittedly, usually derived from some modicum of basis in fact.

In terms of the truck driver, I understand and live the stereotype every day. The notion that we are loud, brash, ignorant, rough, and tough, who all suffer Tourette’s to varying degrees is, I concede, true to some extent. I certainly epitomise most of the stereotype as a 6’4” Scot, ex nightclub bouncer and former rugby player who weighs around the 300-pound mark, and has no problems or issues with cursing and swearing. Actually, I rather enjoy it. Indeed, there are times when it is fully warranted along with the appropriate gesticulations.

Mind you, I am also of the controversial opinion that Tourette’s was invented by a Scot. You see, we just have the perfect accent for swearing. Especially when pronouncing the word “fuck”. That, blended with the shock value that it holds when used in the most inappropriate moments, makes it the ideal word for a Scot. Of course, this just plays to the stereotype.

Yet, the stereotypical truck driver is generally abused on the highways and by-ways for impeding what seems to be the most important meeting or event that every other driver in the world needs to be at
now
. Be they young, old, male, female, able or disabled, irrespective of creed or colour, one stereotype for the UK truck driver is seemingly universal.

We all masturbate.

At least, that’s what they keep showing me with their hand as they pass. Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe they are all confusing me with Tam? No? I guess it’s just me then. Mind you, now I’m separated, it would be a fairly accurate and indisputable assessment of what is my only sexual option for the foreseeable future.

However, as with every stereotype, there are exceptions to the rule. As a truck driver with both undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in Law, I like to consider myself just such an exception. You see, gaining a truck driving licence at an early age made sense to me, clever almost. It allowed for flexibility with working hours, including nights and weekends, all whilst maximising my earning potential. I have always prided myself on a strong work ethic and being able to combine full-time study with, effectively, full-time employment was ideal for me. It was also fun. During my university holidays, I would drive trucks all throughout Europe and be away from home for weeks at a time. It was an adventure so what was there not to enjoy?

Not that my education has secured me a career. Rather all it has done is allow me to reasonably claim to be among the most highly educated truck drivers in the UK.

Still, the UK driving public see me as nothing more than a wanker.

I head to bed to make a vain attempt at sleep as I know I am up again for work in just over five hours. Sleep has not been easy found this past week. Here’s hoping the thought of the mini break will overpower all my other demons, if only for tonight, and I can catch a few hours rest.

My head hits the p
illow, let the battle commence.

5

The “X” Factor

Friday 9th January

Is there anything more difficult in life than disliking someone who obviously likes you? You know, those people that jumped into the gene pool when the lifeguard wasn’t looking. I seem to be a magnet for such mutants and I have no idea how or why; I only wish I did so I could adjust my mannerisms accordingly to repel them. However, truth be told, there is endless hours of fun to b
e had toying with these people.

Morally questionable but fun nonetheless.

When people genuinely like you they tend to be more forgiving and so this allows the boundaries to be fully exploited and stretched well beyond what would be considered “normal” or “decent”, all the while they just think you are being funny. This is a gift for someone like me as it provides me carte blanche to be completely outlandish, the more so the better as far I am concerned. In my defence, it’s not to be particularly nasty nor malicious but just more for my own amusement, and almost always in the form of veiled insults.

Many a true word said in jest and all that.

One such person works in the agency office and, for some reason best known to himself, he seems to believe that we are kindred spirits. He is a proper London boy, full of the brash attitude and the Cockney accent, whose given name is “Richard” but goes by “Richie”. This self serving moniker seems to be a somewhat foolish and altogether misguided attempt at finding a cool derivative from the name his parents lumbered him with, the poor lad.

Not that I am in any position to mock anyo
ne for their name, far from it.

My parents decided that having a child was such a precious and unique experience, to them at least, that I should have a name reflective of such a belief.

Something wholly original.

To that end, they undoubtedly succeeded. They yearned for a name that could not be butchered, mutilated, or otherwise hacked to something short and presentable. They also wanted something, in their own words, that was “somewhat holy” as I had been a “blessing”. It would seem that they took the full nine months gestation as a opportunity to consider and discard all the other names in alphabetical order, only to conclude that it was “Zacchaeus” that satisfied all of their needs. My parents somehow heard the name, read the parable and thought it perfect for me. It is painfully apparent that they never gave the consequences a moments consideration, that of my actually having to live with the name. Naturally, over the course of the 32 years since, I have never met another living soul that shares my name. So, as a means of revenge and to save having to fully explain my name to every person I meet, I shortene
d it to simply the initial “Z”.

That is “Zed” as in the British pronunciation of the letter “Z”, not as in the US pronunciation “Zee”.
Never
as in “Zee”.

It’s “Zed”.

Thankfully, over time, my parents have come to accept it.

Richie is in his mid 20’s and stands a shade under six feet and just over half my weight. I have no idea if it’s my size that intimidates him or if he genuinely likes the abuse I give him. Seriously, I have no clue. To be fair, he usually tries to have a comeback but it rarely works out in his favour. I do know that he isn’t gay and, as far as he is concerned, I am married so there is no sexual element to it. Yet, for some reason best known to himself, he always gives me the premium rate work and “looks after me” as it were. As such, I never saw the h
arm in keeping things friendly.

Until now.

The main problem with Richie is that he cannot be trusted.
Anything
that is said to him, work related or otherwise, goes straight into the ears of the company management. This can be useful when you are looking to have a little fun by playing the game a little and manipulating things in your favour. However, this can also come back and bite you square in the ass. So Richie will always rank as an “acquaintance” rather than a “friend”.

Whenever he calls and the conversation goes beyond the usual formalities, you know that he is fishing for information for the bosses. Particularly when he
says,
“listen mate, between you and me yeah? A little bird tells me…”
Such a person is always to be kept sweet, for they are usually dangerous and very indiscreet, with all interaction to be kept strictly to a bare minimum. The perfect example of keeping your friends close but your enemies closer.

It is truly infuriating that he is actually quite likeable.

My phone call was supposed to be short and sweet. A two minute effort to inform the agency that I was not going to be available from Monday through to Thursday. That’s what it was supposed to be. As it was January, traditionally a quiet month work wise, I envisaged no problems. How wrong was I?

My call was answered at the end of the second ring. “Good morning, Aeolus Recruitment, here to drive your business needs. Richie speaking, how may I help you?” I swear I will never understand why companies insist on using these idiotic slogans for business promotion in answering a call to someone who is actually phoning them. I mean, what is the fucking point?

It really grips my shit.

“Tricky Dickie!”
I favoured calling him “Dickie” as it is kinder than “Dick”, although that is what he is most of the time. It also has the added advantage of annoying him. In any event, it is easily explained as a term of endearment rather than an insult. Well, that's what I let him think anyway. “Quickly, tell me, what’s 1 plus 5?”

“Eh…eh…oh, oh, I
know
this…”

I love doing this to people. Ask them a quick and simple question but with the tone of haste and urgency, as if it’s somehow important. He finally blurted out “SIX!!!” with a combined sense of triumph and pride.

“Correct, and that’s as close as you are ever going to get to losing your virginity. Was I gentle enough for you?” He always falls for it. Only last week I caught him with the most obvious wind up I’ve ever done. I told him that I was suffering a hangover after drinking a new cocktail, the Mattabooboo. I could barely say it without laughing and was really struggling to hold it together when he predictably asked “What’s a Mattabooboo?”

I exploded
“nothing Yogi!”
then collapsed into a heap. I really shouldn’t have though, as my mother always told me never to torment children. After a while, they will inevitably bite back.

“Ah, straight to the abuse, no prizes for guessing who this is.” He seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me. “How are you mate?” It was a question that would ordinarily have led into a full on conversation but I wasn’t in the mood for a chat. I just wanted to let him, and so the agency, know my availability and get off the phone as quickly as possible.

“I’m fine my young friend. Just phoning with my availability for next week. Or, rather, my lack of availability for next week. Count me out for Monday through to and including Thursday my good chap. That should give you some free ‘alone time’ to sort out your…
ahem…
‘love life’ and so perfect your left hand technique to the same high standards as your right.” My own good cheer actually surprised me and was not reflective of my inner turmoil. Even the mere thought of this mini break seems to be working already, it was a promising omen.

“Oh yes, very good Z, very good.” He was beginning to sound exasperated and flustered yet I knew he was merely killing time whilst thinking up a retort. Perfect, just what I wanted. “You do know that I have a girlfriend?”

“Yes, I heard you got a new one for Christmas. Is she still inflated? You have had it for a few weeks now so I guess you need me to pick you up a puncture repair kit? You do know that donuts aren’t, in fact, anal moulds right? Just so we are clear for the next time I’m in the office and you offer me one. I just want to clarify that you don’t use them for ‘practice’ and give them your own special ‘filling’…”

“Yeah, yeah.” I knew he was trying to think of something witty to say but failing miserably.

“Come on Richard. No response? 5 second rule applies, no reply in 5 seconds and you’re done.” I was actually beginning to enjoy this. He gave up and quickly changed the subject.

“So why are you unavailable? What are you up to?” Thinking there was no harm could come from telling him, I explained that I was off to enjoy myself in the Scottish Highlands and got a little too carried away in my enthusiasm with the lodge, the facilities, the delights that were in store for me. I never paid much attention to all of Richie’s questions. “So you have the full lodge just to yourself?”

“Yes, of course. I keep telling you Richie, it’s all about style. You think ‘Style’ and ‘Grace’ are two contestants on the fucking ‘X’ factor. Listen to me, I am going to do you a favour and give you a wee life lesson now. You just sit yourself down and get comfortable. Here it comes. You ready? This is it coming, just for you, a wee lesson that is nothing short of profound. As such, it is simplicity itself.” I had built it up beautifully and then paused long enough to know I had his full attention, then I concluded.

“All the money in the world cannot buy
class
.”

In this, my moment of conceited triumph, I had gotten too carried away and never saw it coming. I should have saw it coming, but I didn’t. Richie caught me squarely unawares and I had said “yes” before I had given it a second’s thought. It was no more than I deserved.

He might be “Richard” but I was the dick.

“Here Z, that sounds fantastic mate. If I got booked on the same flights and split the costs of everything, would you mind if I came too? You see, I worked my arse off over Christmas doing extra days and on call at nights but they want us to take days off in lieu rather than paying the overtime so I have plenty of leave.”

“No worries mate, that would be a proper laugh. Lad’s trip away.” It was said without thought and certainly without conviction. Surely he was just being polite and filling out the conversation.
Surely
.

“Great, well I shall get going and check out the flights. Talk soon.” The line went dead.

Wait…what the actual fuck is happening here?
It was only now that I realised he had been serious. Blaming the sleep deprivation, I berated myself for the rest of the day for not having a quick retort that would have let him down gently whilst saving face for us both. I also kept asking myself why he wanted to come along with me in the bloody first place. Surely he would realise this too and think better of it.

Me and my big fucking mouth.

He texted me within 20 minutes of the call and told me he had everything booked, flights and the okay from work, and was good to go. Quite literally. So much for my time alone.

Bugger. What
a tangled web fate doth weave.